Play

“Three of a kind.” Lisa said as she played her cards.

“Sorry,” the man shrugged, “royal flush.”

Lisa watched with a bit of annoyance as the man laid his cards in front of her. It was in fact a royal flush, so, pulling her pistol from her holster, she left the saloon. She found three other men already waiting in the street, and though they seemed surprised to see a girl as their final ally, they stood side by side, waiting for the Black Lynchers to challenge them.

“How often does this happen?” Lisa asked the man next to her. He was old, maybe in his late sixties.

“Once a week.” He replied. “To be honest, I don’t care if they kill me. I’m tired of this town.”

The Black Lynchers weren’t slow to face the four. There were ten of them, but as they made a half circle on the opposite side, a single man stepped forth.

“Who is that?” Lisa asked.

“John Delver, the Black Lynchers best shooter. We’re all dead.”

“So!” John Delver yelled at them. “Will it be one at a time, or all at once? Make it fun for me.”

“He wants us all to go at once?” Lisa asked disbelievingly.

“He’s beaten more.”

“Then let me go alone.” Lisa said.

The three looked at her.

“You crazy or just stupid?”

“You want to live, don’t you?”

Two of them nodded.

“Then let me challenge him alone.”

“Your funeral.” One shrugged.

Lisa stepped forth.

“Just one, and a girl?” John smirked. “You’re making it too easy!”

Lisa ignored his comment and prepared to pull her pistol. John did the same.

“On the count of three.” John said.