cards to the old miner to shuffle and leaned back in her chair. "Speaking of points, I ain't following yours."
"Just pleased to meet a legend like yourself," Wash replied. "Some folk go their whole lives without cutting a deck with Cora the Mad."
"Lucky them," Cora said. She tilted her head back and shouted for Boots.
"Yes?" the bartender replied from behind the bar.
"I got some winnings that need spending," she said, holding up her empty glass. Boots nodded and walked over with a bottle in hand. Glass clinked against glass, and Cora leaned back with the whiskey burning her throat.
"You're an odd one yourself, Wash Jones," she said, peering at him over the top of her glass. "Ain't got much by way of manners, at least."
"I got a few to help me get by," Wash said, "but not so many as get in my way."
"Well, you might want to find one that stops you from asking strangers questions. Some of them might take offense."
"I ain't worried none about that. Why, I'm the one most folk should take care not to rile. I've ended more than a few as did in my day."
"A gunfighter, I take it?"
Wash nodded. "Some would say I'm a braggart."
"Well, I ain't one of them," Cora said, sliding two cards toward the dealer.
"Never said you was." Wash traded in three cards. "Of course, I reckon you have the same sort of troubles."
"How's that?"
"A lone gunfighter roaming the West with a reputation as big as yours."
Cora laughed. "Hell, I know Ben ain't much of a fighter, but it ain't fitting to leave him out of the legend all through. He's shot him up some bandits, too."
"If he don't make the tales, he ain't worth the fame," Wash said.
"You really is hurting for manners, ain't you?"
"Did I give offense?"
"Could be," Cora said, leaning forward. "Could be you're just lucky."
"How so?"
"Lucky shot, lucky stars." Cora shrugged. "Lucky Ben ain't here to put you in your place."
A small grin spread beneath the man's beard. "I don't suppose you'd care to take it up for him."
Cora blinked at him, then howled a laugh that startled the other players. Wash's grin soured. Behind the bar, Boots leaned on his elbows and watched her.
"So that's what this is about, is it?" Cora asked when she regained her breath. "You're fixing for a fight and figured licking me would add to your own tale?"
"What if I am?" Wash asked, scowling at her from beneath his hat. "Ain't that always what happens when two legends meet?"
That earned him another good laugh. "I ain't sure about my own legend, Wash Jones," she said, "but I know I ain't never heard of you before. Ain't the two legends supposed to be legends before they have their showdown?"
The gunman's blue eyes burned with anger. "I'll lay you out right here for that!"
He jumped to his feet, his hand reaching for the pistol at his belt. Before the barrel could clear the holster, Cora placed her palms on the edge of the table and shoved. The table fell toward Jones, catching him just above the knees. Coins clattered to the floor as he toppled forward, his head slamming into the tabletop. The revolver fell from his hands as Cora jumped over the table. Before Wash Jones could pull himself together, she gave him a solid smack behind the ear with the butt of her Colt. He collapsed in a heap.
"Damn pups," Cora said, holstering her gun. The other players stared at her as she bent over and recovered a few coins from the mess on the floor. Walking over to Boots, she tossed them on the bar. "Here's for the mess, Boots."
"Thank you, Cora," the bartender replied.
"While you're at it, have yourself a drink," Cora said. "You look like you got a bear standing on your toes."
"A drink, yes," Boots said, favoring her with an odd grin. Cora paid him no mind as she headed for the door with a wave to her fellow gamblers. Stepping out into the street, she breathed in the cold smell of falling snow, then turned her boots toward the marshal's station. Duggan needed to know that there was a new roughneck in town looking for trouble. If nothing else, sorting Wash Jones out would keep the lawman busy while she and Ben took care of the wendigo.
There was a slight bounce in her step as she walked to the station. Her bones might have protested the cold air, but she could still lick a young