Then his grip was gone, and Pussy Cat collapsed. Her vision darkened, till all she could see was a small patch of worn smooth floor boards. Several startled gasps came from the saloon, followed by the clatter of something heavy and metal—my gun, she thought as she reached toward where she had heard the sound. Then there were footsteps, heavy and quick, and then a flurry of small, delicate footsteps. Tender white hands grasped Pussy Cat's arms and helped her back to her feet. She saw the back of Brushy's head as he shoved through the saloon doors.

"Ain't no one gonna chase him down?" she asked. She looked around the saloon, but the only people paying her any attention were the handful of her girls who had helped her up. She staggered forward, fresh pain blossoming in her he...

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