The Treasure of Lei Fong Wu

Chapter Twenty One

Rowan skidded to a halt just outside the office door to the whitewashed clapboard building that housed Milsa’s Manufactory, her pistol in her fist, safety off. It was a .45 Holt Defender revolver, a big gun for a sixteen-year old, but then Rowan McKlintock was no ordinary girl.

Neither was River Tam.

River arrived seconds behind Rowan, her hair flying in a chaotic halo around her head, her eyes bright with excitement and concern. Tinker was still in trouble, but unhurt, she knew. She could feel his anxiety like a beacon, and the three other men in the building were likewise anxious. Two of them had guns, she knew, and while they didn’t particularly want to use them, they weren’t adverse to the prospect.

“Don’t know how you know all this,” Rowan whispered, “but if you’re wrong, I’m gonna be lookin’ pretty stupid.”

“I ain’t wrong,” River said, slipping into the Rim-world vernacular. “Two men, two guns. And they ain’t here for tea.”

“Figgered. Probably a hold-up. St. Albans got all kinda hill bandits, mostly escaped bondsmen and such. Come down and strong-arm the townsfolk, take food and money, mostly. Figgers that Tink’d choose Hold Up Day to install that piece on.”

“Heart racing,” River said, “adrenaline pumping. Fight or flight reflexes engaged, screaming to run to hit to run.”

“That’s me in a nutshell,” Rowan agreed.

“I was talkin’ bout Tinker,” River explained. “He’s . . . hidin’. Under somethin’, like a table. They don’t know he’s there.”

“Well,” said Rowan, pushing a shock of her red hair out of her eyes, “they’re about to get about as much McKlintock as anyone can stand! Hump this sneaky-stuff – I’m goin’ in!”

“Can I help?” River asked, nervously counting her fingers with her thumb.

“’Less you got a shotgun under that skirt, I’d say the smart thing is to stay put,” Rowan said breathlessly.

“Yeah, it would be,” conceded River. “Good thing I’m crazy, then,” she added.

Rowan shrugged. “Your funeral,” she sai