Kit walked out into the dusty street. The sun was hot on her vest, but her large-rimmed hat protected her eyes from the relentless heat that seemed to permeate this town. Her hand hovered over her revolver. Slowly, her opponent took his position about 50 feet away from her. His face was hidden in shadow and she couldn't gauge his expression from this distance.
Suddenly, she heard a small but noticeable click come from the clock inside the Inn she had just come out of. That was the signal. One one thousand she counted to herself and right on schedule the bell chimed. Perfect, she was ready. Hardly before it had begun to chime her gun was out of its holster and firing. She heard David's gun fire too, a moment after her own. But he couldn't have fired soon enough to save his own life.
She gasp and dropped her gun in surprise. A hot, shooting pain traveled all through her arm. She looked down at it in shock and disgust. She was bleeding! Damn that man, she was bleeding! She felt faint at the blood loss, but regained her balance. Picking up her gun and holstering it, she tore off a piece of the sleeve and began to tie up the injury with the help of her teeth. It wasn't a bad wound.
She glared across at David. From the shadow of the overhang above the porch of the local whore house came Jack Smith, the local law and arbitrator of this contest.
"No good." he said shortly. "Nobody fell, so no winner comes out of this match. It's up to a reshoot."
Damnit! thought Kit. That bastard must've known about the clock too. Bastard. I'll get him though.
David had started to come over toward Kit, but stopped at Jack's intervening. He started back to his spot some 50 feet from Kit and turned around.
Suddenly he called out, "I could've killed you, you know, Kit! You should've dropped and been over with it!"
Kit gritted her teeth. "Then maybe you should've killed me, David!" she shouted back. "Right now I'm still standing. Hope you're so lucky in a few moments!"
David gave an almost imperceivable shrug and moved his hand back to hovering above his gun.
"I'll call 'draw'," Jack said. The clock doesn't chime whenever the hell you want it to, Kit commented to herself. A few moments passed. "Draw!" shouted Jack.
Like a reflex Kit's hand had grabbed her gun out of her holster and was firing. David was too.
"Agh!" she cried out shortly. Again a sharp pain, worse this time than the last, had shot through her arm. The immense pain from the wound and the blood loss was too much. Kit dropped to the ground, clutching at her arm and generally feeling nauseous. David ran over to her as a small crowd of greedy onlookers formed ready to pick her incapacitated body clean of anything valuable.
"Back! Back you dogs!" shouted David, sounding almost flustered. "What kind of people pick the body's of the hurt and wounded?" Because they were obviously not interested with his spiel on honor, he pulled out his revolver and cocked it, to help make his point. "I said get back!" he shouted again, more angry this time. The small crowd began to back away and disperse when faced with the barrel of his gun.
Kit, still laying on the ground, smiled weakly to herself about David. Maybe he's not such a bad guy... she thought to herself. The thought was left unfinished, though, as the doctor had finally walked over to Kit and David. Without taking much heed of David he leaned over and flung Kit over his shoulder. A little angry cry from David and the short conversation that ensued between him and the doctor saw that David and the doctor together carried Kit off to be treated in a slightly more comfortable position.