She slips her grip to the barrels as soon as she realizes she's not staying upright, knuckles white against steel. She can fall on her rear, even on her head, but she can not lose her guns.

The wind's knocked out of her. For a second or two she sees stars. Someone reaches under her armpits, but before he can haul her up she swings the butt of her gun around and catches him in the jaw.

She can hear the commotion by the bar, and staggers to her feet. Rachel needs help —




Oh. Or maybe she's doing just fine.

"What in hellblazes is that thing?"

She calmly holsters her Colt, and throws her body into a right hook that catches Thomas Black square in the chin.

She stands over his crumpled body.

"That thing is a lady, sir, an' my friend. You best mind your manners."