But they were too damn many—
Cutlass cursed through the dust in his teeth and lunged for the Winchester still holstered on his pony's flank. The animal screamed as a slug tore through one of its legs but Cutlass had half emptied the Winchester's clip before the big corporal had got a slug through the pony's head and put it out of its misery.
There were two quick pains in his right arm, so he had to aim and fire the rifle with his left, pump the best he could with his right. There wasn't any getting away.
"Yer all through, Cutlass! Stand up and toss yer guns down or we'll save the state the cost of a trial!"
"Start savin', blue-coat!"
Cutlass groped at his belt to claw another handful of cartridges from it. His bleeding fingers felt a hard, square object. Something stirred somewhere deep inside his boiling brain. He was supposed to—press it!
Far away, in another Space and in another Time, a smile spread slowly across an old man's wrinkled face. No, you couldn't change the blood in a man's veins! But perhaps—
Swiftly, his short thumby fingers played over a row of relays....