The first assassin came from behind Steve, materializing in a puff of dust, a rifle aimed at Steve’s head. Steve wheeled and fired before the bastard’s trigger finger could budge. A red spot tattooed the assassin’s forehead. As he fell, he gave a look of dull consternation followed by the terror of insight. By that time, Bastards Two and Three were already charging, Two brandishing a long-barreled revolver, Three howling savagely and waving a bowie knife. They came at Steve simultaneously, Knife to the right, Gun to the left, forcing a split-second decision. One miscalculation, and Malcolm would be looking at his brother’s corpse. Steve used his Colt to strike out faster than the snap of a bullwhip, chopping Knife’s plunging arm. The guy fought for equilibrium, the bowie flying from his hand. He scurried to retrieve it. Rather than try to stop him, Steve turned his attention to Mr. Gun, who’d lofted his weapon. Three quick bursts of gunfire. Another headshot, followed by two bloody holes at center body mass.
