You held into the iron’s pearl grip and brandished it square at him.

“I’ll blow a hole clean through his skull,” you warned, casting a furtive glance over your shoulder.

The man donning the white Stetson hat just smirked, holding the barrel of his own six-shooter on you with a loose, almost mocking grip.

“You know what’ll happen to me ain’t much of a threat as what’ll happen to you, ‘Only Dead’ Aug.”

Lyrebird's voice dripped into his, “Reckon you remember who I am?”

You spat into the dust. “Ain't too many outlaw women I've hunted down. And among them all, Lyrebird, your unhinged voice is one to remember.”

Goodwin scoffed, lifting his gun to scratch at his chin before turning the barrel back at you. “‘Unhinged’? Is the last word I’d use for my dear’s voice.”

“Nine or so years, ‘Only Dead’ Aug, and they've not been kind to you, have they?” Lyrebird said. “But I ain’t looking to kill you here, or to get my revenge. I -will- do it, if you try to pull anything on me, but that’ll be bad for all of us. I’ll get to rest before what I need is done, you’ll become a Judged, and Goodwin here will be left lonesome.”

“And if killing me ain’t what you want, then what?”

“I reckon I’ll make you do something for me. Seems a fairer way to settle our score than claiming' your soul. After all, you're just one bullet away from eternal damnation, ‘Only Dead’ Aug. My bullet.”