on her. Victoria's spine popped as he leaned into her, pushing her down onto the bar.
Twisting against him, Victoria tried to get enough leverage to kick him in the shins, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. The smell of sweat clung to him like a second skin, smothering her. She screamed, but the men at the tables just sat and watched. Wilson's face loomed only inches above her, yellow teeth bared in a grin. All of Cora's warnings exploded in her mind. If only she had listened. She could feel his crotch pressing into the folds of her dress.
"Enough!" The hunter's voice cracked like thunder across the saloon. Wilson turned his face toward the sound, and his grip loosened. Victoria cried out as she shoved him away. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a chair. Pulling herself upright, Victoria blinked back her tears and looked up at her savior.
Cora stood on the staircase. Silver metal gleamed in her right hand, the long barrel pointed at the man named Wilson. The hunter's eyes glinted as she descended, planting each boot deliberately. When she reached the bottom, she continued her advance, the gun's barrel never wavering. The room rang with her footsteps. They came to rest in front of Wilson, silver pressed firmly into his chest.
Nobody breathed.
"Leave her be," Cora said. "I need her." Wilson's mouth opened to reply. Cora twisted the gun. "No lip from you. Now get."
Wilson stared at her a moment, then nodded. Keeping his eyes on her, he slowly backed toward the saloon's door. The batwings creaked as he stepped through, disappearing into the glow of the daylight. Only when his shadow faded did Victoria dare to breathe again.
Cora cocked her head toward the young Englishwoman as she slid the revolver into a low-slung holster on her belt. Victoria's blue eyes were rimmed with white as she blinked back.
"Didn't I warn you about them, Miss Fancy?" Before Victoria could respond, she turned to the flabbergasted men at the tables. "What're you all gawking at? Ain't you never seen a gun before?" She spat on the floor. "Fine lot you are, watching a lady get roughed up and not lifting a finger. I ought to shoot the bunch of you for yellow cowards." A few of the men grumbled in protest, but they fell silent when Cora's hand returned to the butt of her gun. "Go on now, all of you. The Print Shop is closed for today."
They rose to their feet and shuffled past the two women, some with a glare at Victoria. When the batwings creaked shut behind the last man, Cora heaved a sigh. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the bar and looked at Victoria. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"
Victoria's tongue darted across her lips. She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.
"You're welcome," Cora said, "but don't go thinking I did that because I like you. Fact is, I ain't all that fond of you. I reckon that little display with Wilson showed you that this ain't no place fit for prancing ponies and the like. You prance too much out here, you get yourself hurt. Hard places make hard men, and you got to be just as hard if you aim to keep all your parts and pieces."
"I'll remember that," Victoria said.
Cora nodded. "See that you do, because I ain't going to jump in next time." She fell silent, seeming to ponder that for a second. Victoria did not want to dwell on it any longer, but she could think of nothing else to say. Even now, she could still feel Wilson's fingers on her arms, dirty nails digging into her skin.
"But," Cora said, "that ain't the real reason we're still talking." Her face grew grave, a look of determination and cold fury that made Victoria slightly uneasy. "I reckon you figured that me and that Fodor Glava got us some history."
"Yes," Victoria said, unsure if she should explain further.
Cora didn't give her the option. "We've crossed paths a time or two, and it never was a happy time when we did. Thing is, I'm right sure our last meeting ended with my stabbing him and shooting him and cutting off his head."
Victoria covered her mouth with her hand. "What did you say?"
"That I killed the dirty son of a bitch like the dog he was," Cora said. "Don't go all fluttery on me. Ain't no man living or dead deserved it more, except maybe the feller