Raff heard the lever action of a rifle behind him, saw McCosker look beyond his shoulder. The man’s eyes widened in amused disbelief, and a chuckle erupted. Porter straightened in the saddle, the rifle coming level with his shoulder.
‘Would you look at that, Porter? A little lady—’
A round boomed. Raff’s ears split.
Porter’s horse stomped, reared and the rider landed heavily on the dirt, his gun flung wide. ‘Chrissakes,’ he yelled. ‘She bloody shot at me.’
‘He’s not hit,’ Mrs Robinson called. ‘He just fell off his horse. Goodness, the loud bang must have frightened him.’
A rifle reloaded behind Raff, practised, swift. Jesus, she is one cool-headed woman.
McCosker had swung away from Raff to check Porter, swung back again, lifting his gun.
‘Raff?’ Evie. Shaking, by the sound of her voice.
A glance sideways and he caught her on the edge of his vision. Christ almighty, she’s got a rifle too. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Stock still, his gaze went back to McCosker, who wasn’t laughing now.
The disgraced policeman pointed his rifle at Evie. ‘You don’t look like you know how to use that thing, girlie.’ He settled his shoulders, and the sight came up to his eye.
He wouldn’t bloody shoot a woman. Raff sucked in a breath. Why the hell had Evie stepped out into McCosker’s sight?
‘But don’t dare me, mister,’ Mrs Robinson called out again.
McCosker swung towards Jenny. ‘Couldn’t hit me yest’dy,’ he scoffed.
‘Today I’m aiming at you.’
McCosker snorted, swung back, his eye over the sight, and spoke to Evie with a grin, a leer. He was toying with the women. ‘How ’bout you, girlie. Game?’ Theatrical, it was menace only; the bastard didn’t need to line up at this range.
Raff’s fists shook; one move from him and McCosker would take a shot, just for show. The rifle veered back to Raff, the sight at McCosker’s eye for real this time. Blood boiled fast, sped in Raff’s veins, his chest filled with it, his head—
‘I’m told it’s just point’—Raff heard Evie and then a lever open and close—‘and shoot.’ And she did.
Raff dropped to the ground, the shot clanged in his ears as it whistled past him and thunked into a wall of the house. Another shot rang out, a horse squealed, reared. Raff rolled on his side then staggered to his feet. Jenny had advanced on McCosker, the rifle back at her shoulder. Beyond her, Evie had landed flat on her back, skirt a-foof around her knees. Struggling to sit up, her elbows scraped in the dirt. Her shot had blasted past Raff and missed McCosker, whose own shot went wild when his horse pawed the air. Jenny’s rifle had fired again, aimed above his head, and when the horse recovered his nerve, McCosker wasn’t waiting. He dug in the spurs and they bolted into scrub beyond the lane that swallowed them up.
Another round boomed, but Robbo’s shot missed the fleeing McCosker. He marched out of the kitchen, reloading. Porter scrambled for his gun. Jenny loaded again and fired, its blast peppered across him, and he fell back, yowling.
Despite shaking, Evie scrambled over and snatched the rifle she’d dropped and stood, waving it madly in Porter’s direction.
Robbo fired another round into the scrub and yelled, ‘Missed him again, bugger it.’
Raff had other worries. Out of nowhere, a rider had stormed up the laneway and charged through the open back gate, rifle ready. The horse charged, and hooves slashed too close to Raff. The butt of Haines’s rifle came up ready to slam down on Raff’s head when another round blew the air apart.
Haines howled. His rifle shattered at the barrel, the bullet exploding inside the chamber. His forearm snapped, and blood erupted. Broken pieces of the gun rained down. Raff grabbed him out of the saddle and aimed a cracking fist into his face. Haines went limp on the ground and Raff sat on him a moment, inhaling the hot stink of gunpowder and coppery blood in the air, his ears ringing in the silence.
Jenny and Robbo were agape at Evie. She was on her backside again, dress around her knees once more, her legs bare to her boots. She fumbled with the rifle, trying to figure out how to open it. Bullet casings had scattered out of her reach.
Raff got up unsteadily and reached out. ‘Evie, give it here. You’ll kill someone with that.’
She handed it over, shaking uncontrollably. ‘I … could’ve killed him,’ she said, aghast. Then, mortified, she avoided Raff’s gaze and pushed at her skirt. ‘I was bound to hit something, though, wasn’t I?’
Raff snorted a laugh, sank to his knees by her side. ‘Grateful it wasn’t me,’ he rasped. Thankful she was alive and unharmed, he grabbed her shaking hands, his head low over them. He was about to press his lips to her hot and grubby palms when he heard a roar.
‘What in the effing bloody hell name of Jesus effing Christ is going on in my town?’
Robbo was in the kitchen doorway, rifle barrel open across his arm, staring at the mounted trooper with a handgun drawn. A grin split his gunpowder-smudged face. ‘Mornin’, Constable Stillard. Welcome home. Thought you said nothin’ ever happens in this town.’
Stillard tucked away his gun and dismounted. ‘You won’t be smiling when I tell you the news.’