Over the whistle of the wind, the beat of the dust on her door, and the night howling of wolves and coyotes, she heard it. The steady tread of a horse, carrying something more cumbersome than just a saddle, and belabored wheezing. It came closer and she left her book on the table by her rocking chair to grab her gun.

Cocking it with a flip of the lever before bringing it back to the stock she opened her door and aimed. "That's far enough mister."

Even with the weak moonlight she could see his outline, swaying slightly on the horse in a motion that had nothing to do with strong winds. "You just turn yourself right around now and make for whatever lodging you need that's not here."

"My horse's almost lame and I can't get my bearings in the dark."

"Then you should've learned to navigate by the stars." She motioned with the end of her gun, "Be on your way now."

"You can't shoot me in this light."

She fired a shot, taking a chunk out of his saddle horn. His hands flew up as she pulled the lever again, the gun butt secure in her shoulder. "I don't miss and this light is more than sufficient for me to take off that rather large head of yours from this distance. And if I don't, this is a Spencer repeating rifle so I've got more shots where that came from."

"I understand, and I don't mean to cause any trouble."

"Then be on your way."

"I need a space in your barn where I can see to my horse. She's injured and can't go further unless I want to put a bullet between her eyes."

She bit the inside of her cheek before speaking. "Dismount your horse as carefully as you can. Once you're on the ground, take one hand, slowly, and unbuckle your gun belts. Toss them and that rather nice rifle on your saddle to the ground. Then you walk back five feet and wait."

He did as instructed, limping slightly on his right leg, and waited patiently. She walked forward, keeping the rifle trained on him, and bent to collect his belts and rifle before gesturing with the barrel of her own toward the barn. He tried to smile but she shook her head.

"I've got no time for pleasantries or gratitude. You need a place to see to your horse. Once that's done you mount her, collect your things, and be on your way."

"In the dark?"

"I hope you're not scared of it."

"Not as it is but being as I've never set foot in this vicinity before there's hazards out there that could have me leading myself and my horse off a cliff."

"Not my concern."

"Just a night, please." The man pointed to his saddle, "I've got money to pay you and I need to rest this leg before it gets bad."

She squinted at it in the dark before sighing. "Get in the barn. See to your horse and then yourself as best you can."

"Thank you." He gripped his reins, patting his horse's neck. "I'd thank you by name but I don't know it."

"It's Ms. Smith and, for now, that's all you need worry about." She retreated to her house, slamming the door and dropping the bar to keep it secured.

The guns belts and rifle clattered on the table as she uncocked her own weapon and leaned it on the door. His rifle was larger, made to fit his larger frame, and she immediately registered the weight in her own hands. Even fitting it to her shoulder was a struggle compared to the one she wielded like an old friend.

Examining the gun belts she admired the mother-of-pearl on one with ivory inlay before inspecting the onyx with ebony of the other. As she did so something clicked in her mind. She grabbed her rifle, leaving the others gun on her table, and marched to the barn.

Throwing the doors open she startled him. He tripped, holding his hands in front of his chest where her rifle pointed. His horse neighed, beating slightly against the stall but she ignored it.

"Tell me why I have John Bates's guns on my kitchen table."

"What?"

"Why are the guns belonging to John Bates, noted for pointing them in the faces of many a lawman from here to Kansas City, sitting on my table?" She raised the rifle, her gaze on his face. "Are you John Bates?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And you're here, taking refuge in my barn, and telling me you don't mean me harm?"

"I'd never harm a lady, ma'am."

"I'm not a lady and I don't pretend to be."

"Anyone who lends me the use of her barn for a night and takes a divot from my saddle horn is a lady to me and I've never met a finer shot than you."

"Be that as it may, you'd best be on your merry before I find myself overly compelled to do my civic duty."

"That's the thing," John Bates kept his hands up, "The reason I'm here is because I'm going to turn myself in."

"Why?"

"Heaven and Hell have seen enough bloodshed and it's time I did something about that."

She frowned, "What do you mean by Heaven and Hell?"

"The names of my guns." John Bates struggled to speak, "It's not important. What is important is that I don't know where the nearest Sheriff is and I need the light to get my bearings."

"You swear on what you hold dear you're telling me the truth?"

"Yes ma'am. May God and my dearly departed mother witness it and strike me dead if I'm lying."

"Or I will." She lowered the gun, "What are you doing here?"

"Turning myself in."

"Why?"

"It's a long story."

"We suddenly find ourselves in possession of quite a bit of time." She sat on a barrel, pointing to another one for him. "Make yourself comfortable."

"I usually do that with introductions."

"I already know who you are."

"Yes, but I only know you as Ms. Smith and, if we're about to get as personal with this story-telling as I think we're going to, I should know your first name." John shrugged, "Make us as equal as we can be."

"We're not equals."

"For a moment, then."

"Anna Smith." She rested the rifle over her knees, "Start talking."