Kate looked down at the man slowly bleeding out on the dust beneath her. She tilted her head, and her green eyes narrowed with rage.

"Hello, Matthew."

***

"7. 3. 11."

Three gunshots rang out in quick succession, mirrored with the sound of breaking glass.

"2. 12. 6."

Two quick ones, then a pause, followed by another shattering shot. 

"Reload..."

Kate's fingers had already flown to her gun and her belt, smoothly unloading and loading cartridges as naturally as most people breathe. As she slid the third round in, John surprised her by shouting. Her fingers were already snapping the loading gate as she spun.

"4! 10! 8!"

Three more shots. She began reloading automatically. When she had three more in she hesitated, waiting for another yell, but John only stared at her. Cursing, she finished loading. He smiled.

"1. 5. 9."

She moved quicker than even before, blasting away with three quick shots as she spun clockwise. She was greeted by the sound of two bottles breaking. The third one stood there, imperiously. With a curse, she finished it off. 13 shots. Unlucky.

Still, John was pleased as he stood from the tree stump where he was sitting, in between the second and third of the twelve bottles than had been arranged in a wide circle around Kate.

"Nearly perfect that time. It's in your head, you know. If I'd asked you to hit #9 first you would have done it easily. But you out-think yourself, feeling the weight of each shot build as you chase perfection. It will only happen when you learn to forget it."

Kate sighed and shrugged as she loaded five rounds and holstered her gun. John's gunbelt was slightly too big for her, but she liked the way it fell haphazardly down her hips. She kept the right side tilted downward, so that her gun was between her thigh and her knee, rather than riding tight on her hip. She had to crouch slightly to draw it, but it felt more natural- particularly after three years of daily practice with a master marksman.

As she climbed onto her horse, John walked over to her and stood next to her as she looked down at him.

"Head into town on your own and bring the mail waiting for me. Don't fold anything that looks official."

"What is it?"

"We'll talk when you're back."

With a wink, Kate sauntered off towards Valentine. She'd been into town again with John in the last couple years, and he'd sent her alone when he knew she could handle herself- although she suspected he'd still followed her. She rode silently into town, content to be alone with her thoughts. She barely glanced at the people as she walked into the post office.

As she deposited the envelope in her saddlebag, she considered a drink at the only bar in town. Part of John teaching her to protect herself had included building up her tolerance to alcohol, and she smirked imagining the shocked faces of the barkeep as she drank his regulars under the table. But she swiftly mounted and pointed the horse towards home, leaving only small regrets behind her. 

She saw the smoke from miles away, and immediately dug in her spurs to send the horse sprinting towards it.

The fire was visible from a close distance.

Her gun was out as she dismounted, frantically looking around for raiders. Approaching the front door, all she saw was a stunned looking Mark, who looked at her and spoke three words over and over.

"He killed him. He killed him."

She grabbed his shoulders.

"Where the fuck is John?!"

By the time he was finishing pointing, she was already running towards the fire. 

She found him lying on the floor, bleeding and sweating. Kate grabbed under his armpits and started dragging him, headfirst, toward the door. At one point, she felt something pop in her left shoulder, but she persisted until he was a safe distance away from the house. She knelt down next to him, tearing at his shirt to try to find the wound- but John reached up and took her hands, ignoring her protestations.

"No, Kate. I am..."

He winced, suddenly, followed by a long exhalation. Too long. Kate stared, shocked that a man like him could die with such few words. She looked up at Mark, and the inferno from the house was reflected in her eyes- despite the water beginning to stream from them. 

"Who did this?"

"He-"

"Who did this?"

Her head jerked around.

"Where's Matt?"

Mark just nodded. Kate stared at him. Stunned.

"HOW?! John was too good! He never-"

"Kate... John never even drew.... he was trying to talk him down... said they'd work it out... then Matt shot..."

Kate was already in motion toward her horse, who'd wandered off. Mark yelled after her as she ran.

"He just snapped! John was going to sign the farm over to you! He took the guns! Kate! Kate! You shouldn't..."

The rest of the words were devoured by the wind as she dug the spurs into her horse, not caring about the pain she was causing.