"You're my last chance!" Jenny shouted, stamping her foot at the slowly retreating figure.
"Then you're fucked, sweetheart." Cole half turned, lifting his head, and from beneath the brim of his hat she saw the blood running from his mouth. He smiled, his eyes glazed, and he fell, twisting, to reveal the dagger hilt emerging from his chest.
Jenny stared, tears threatening, then stalked up, yanked the dagger from his chest, wiping it on his shirt. She knelt to unbuckle his gunbelt and put it on, yanked the buckskin jacket off the still form, and stood.
She'd have to be her own last chance.