Buntline Special. Slade felt bullets race all around him. He fired
back twice, but curse it - the hammers of his two sinister .45s only
clicked on empty chambers. He had forgotten to load up after
downing the three badmen back at the Rotten Vulture.
Lee rolled to cover behind a barrel of taco chips. Columbine was
already crouched behind a giant bottle of mayonnaise that had been
air-dropped a month before after the worst flood disaster in
American Southwest history (why drop mayonnaise after a
disaster? None of your damn business).
'Who's that out there?' Lee yelled.
Slade thought quickly. 'It's Randolph P. Sorghum' Hh cried. 'The
real McCoy, Lee! And this time I'm gunna blow off more than
three fingers!'
His crafty challenge had the desired effect. Pinky rushed rashly (or
rashly rushed if you preferred) from cover, his sinister Buntline
Special blazing. 'I'll blow ya apart!' he yelled 'I'll -'
But at that moment Slade carefully put a bullet through his head.
Pinky Lee flopped, his evil days done.
'Lee?' Sam Columbine called. 'Pinky: You out there:' A craven
cowardly note had crept into his voice. 'I just dropped him,
Columbine!' Slade yelled. 'And now it's just you and me...and I'm
comin' to get you!'
Sinister.45s blazing, a Mexican cigar clamped between his teeth,
Slade started down the hill after Sam Columbine.
Halfway down the slope, Sam Columbine let loose such a volley of
shots that Slade had to duck behind a barrel cactus. He could not
get off a clear shot at Columbine because the wily villain had
hidden behind a convenient, giant bottle of mayonnaise.
'Slade!' Columbine yelled. 'It's time we settled this like men!
Holster yore gun and I'll holster mine! Then we'll come out an'
draw! The better man will walk away!'
'Okay, you lowdown sidewinder!' Slade yelled back. He holstered
his sinister.45s and stepped out from behind the barrel cactus.
Columbine stepped out from behind the bottle of mayonnaise. He
was a tall man with an olive complexion and an evil grin. His hand
hovered over the barrel of the sinister Smith & Wesson pistol that
hung on his hip.
'Well, this is it, pard!' Slade sneered. There was a Mexican cigar
clamped between his teeth as he started to walk toward Columbine.
'Say hello to everyone in hell for me, Columbine!'
'We'll see,' Columbine sneered back, but his knees were knocking
as he halted, ready for the showdown.
'Okay!' Slade called. 'Go fer yore gun!'
'Wait,' Someone screamed. 'Wait, wait, WAIT!'
They both stared. It was Sandra Dawson! She was runniug toward
them breathless.
'Slade!' She cried. 'Slade!'
'Get down!' Slade growled. 'Sam Columbine is-'
'I had to tell you, Slade! I couldn't let you go off, maybe to get
