I downed my whisky, steeled my nerves and stepped out of the saloon. Boot Hill was full of gunslingers put there by The Kid, and now he’d called me out. Only two ways left to go: running like a dog for the rest of my days, or onto that street.
He was waiting there, fixing his beady eyes on me, eyes that had seen death without ever blinking. Hard to believe that someone so fluffy could be so cold.
“Fill your hand, varmint,” he squeaked.
“This is Hector my decadent hamster.” says Hannah.