Rash led Lila to the front door and peeked outside. Fouch and his men were milling around near the barn, puffing on cigarettes. When all three had their backs to them, Rash and Lila slipped through the door and around the far side of the house. From there, they tromped through a narrow trail in the brush, eventually cresting a small rise and descending into a low box canyon.
“Where we going?” Lila asked.
“To the only school that matters.”
Halfway to the back wall of the canyon, Rash spotted a promising dead snag. Standing at the height of a well fed man, with broken branches on opposite sides, it looked the perfect target dummy. Rash balanced a fat pinecone scrounged from the nearby underbrush on top as a head and backed off five yards from it with Lila.
She pulled the Colt from its holster and held it off to one side, pointed at the dirt.
“There’s three hammer positions you gotta worry about,” Rash said, demonstrating. “This here’s safe, with the hammer forward. See how it’s pressing against that pin between the chambers of the cylinder? That’s how you want it. Always on a pin; never on a chamber.”
Lila stared at her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the world don’t respect girls. Or Coolies. Or old women, for that matter. But it sure as hell respects guns, regardless of who is attached to them.”
The kid nodded. “Show me.”
Rash pulled the hammer back all the way. “Fully cocked means you’re ready to shoot. We ain’t, so I’m gonna take it back down to a half cock. There. See how the cylinder spins now? That’s for cleaning and loading and taking it apart. To go back to safe, you hold on to the hammer, pull the trigger, and then ease to hammer forward. Like this. Now you try it.”
She handed the pistol to Lila. After verifying she had it pointed in a safe direction, the kid pulled it into a half cock, spun the cylinder, and then eased it back onto a safety pin.
“Like you were born to it,” Rash said, smiling. Then she took back the pistol and instructed Lila on how to charge the chambers with powder, squeeze the lead balls into them with the loading plunger, and seal them in with a smear of grease.
“What’s the grease for?” Lila asked.
“Prevents flashover. Without it, all five chambers are liable to blow at once.”
“Okay. And now we’re done?”
“Nope. Still gotta fit the caps to the nipples. Then we’re done.”
Lila pursed her lips. “This is a lot of work. Why don’t you just get one of them new guns like Fouch has?”
“Because I’ve had Ulysses here for forty-four years and he’s never let me down. Plus, he fits my hand.”
“But what good does it do me learning how to use some old gun nobody uses no more?”
“If you can shoot cap and ball, you can shoot anything. Now watch.”
Rash showed her how to fit the caps, then yanked back the hammer all the way and aimed at the dead snag.
“See how my feet are as wide as my shoulders? I’ve got my knees bent a little, I’m leaning toward the target, and I’ve got two hands on my Colt. That’s what you want: stability.”
Lila frowned. “But that’s not how a real cowboy does it at all,” she said. “They do it like this.” She dropped her hands to her hips and then whipped them forward, modeling them into pistols and blasting at the snag.
“That’s a good way to get yourself killed,” Rash said, chuckling. “Any fool can shoot like that if they’re touring with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West, but it ain’t no trifle when your life’s on the line. While I’m taking my time, you’ll be shooting over my head right up to the point I plug you dead. That’s where you can find advantage. Stay cool and calm and patient and you’ll live a long time.”
Rash adjusted her grip, getting a feel for how her hands were working. They felt good, warm, much better than the day before. Her joints still hurt, of course, but they were compliant. She slipped her finger over the trigger and fired off all five shots, pummeling the snag with a tight spread between its arms. In an instant she felt her old self return. Strong. Confident. Capable.
She handed Lila the pistol and the reloading supplies. “Your turn.”
The kid got straight to work.
“So how did Dandy lose his hands?” Rash asked after a moment.
“Hold on,” Lila replied. “I’m concentrating.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking. Gunfights don’t stop just so you can reload. You’ve got to be able to do two things at once.”
Lila squinted. “Okay. It was at Gettysburg. On Cemetery Ridge. He was there when that stubborn Pickett made his charge. All the other Union soldiers with him got killed, but he held the high ground, using the muskets of the dead so he didn’t have to stop to reload. Then, just as reinforcements showed up and helped him chase off that damn Pickett, a cannonball blew up and took his arms. He tried to chase after the General with a knife in his mouth, but the other soldiers wouldn’t let him.”
Rash stared at the kid. “That’s quite a story,” she said at last. She didn’t necessarily believe a word of it, but if it contained even a kernel of truth, perhaps she had underestimated Dandy.
“All done,” Lila said, handing the Colt to Rash.
After a quick inspection, she deemed it ready to fire and passed it back to the kid.
Lila spread her feet as wide as her shoulders, finding stability. Then she raised the pistol with both hands and slipped her finger over the trigger.
“Breathe out as you pull. But be careful. It’s going to kick a bit.”
The Colt exploded into action, firing a lead ball into the dirt several feet in front of the snag and spewing up a plume of dust.
“I thought that might happen,” Rash said. “You were expecting the kick, so you braced for it and fired into the dirt. Try not to do that. And lean forward, toward the target. Remember, you’re in command here.”
Lila took a deep breath and aimed again. Rash stepped behind her, peering down the sights.
“If you aim for the head, you’ll miss. It’s a small target. What you want to hit is the chest. Even if you’re off a bit, you’ll still strike something important.”
The muzzle dropped a bit.
“And if you want to hit the chest with this gun, you’ve got to aim low.”
“How low?” Lila asked.
Rash grinned. “I always aim for the nethers. Usually hits them in the ribs, but I find it quite satisfying.”
“But then why do they call you The Headhunter?”
“I may not drop them with a head shot, but I always finish them with one. Some shooters are stubborn about death. Never leave them twitching.”
Lila fired off another shot. It struck the snag true, if a little off to one side, and knocked the fat pinecone to the ground.
As it lolled back and forth in the dirt, Lila ambled over and blasted it with another lead ball.
Rash nodded her head in approval, unable to hide her smirk.
“I like your style, kid.”
