All eyes were on the Minister and his boys leaning over him, so the groan and thud from the doorway went almost unnoticed.
"Yes, go on, you cry. Weep your tears of weakness, Joshua! That's all that's left to you, you poor old sod!"
Framed in the doorway, an 1873 Winchester rifle held between her elbow and her side and aimed directly at the unconscious body of Clint, stood Lucy McGinley. Her pistol, whose butt had cracked across the back of Clint's skull, now turned to face Sheriff Cole.
"Drop your gun, Cole, or the kid gets it!" she rasped.