[Complete] When young Boone Rigger is pulled into the most fierce Gunslinger Tournament in the country, he must find the courage to kill, or be buried six feet underground.
The Iron Alchemist: Slinger Wars Book 1
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Scarlet strands danced in the wind while wine-red blood soaked the stone.
Leslie blew smoke from the barrel, looking upon the pair of red-bearded men positioned face down, limbs spread and twisted.
"Like I told you ... I'm not a Huskwoman. Bastards." She spat, spun her revolver, and slipped it into her holster.
Where she stood, reddish-orange boulders were stacked like balls. Each one on top of the other, creating mounds and tunnels between them. Leslie had done her best to shimmy to the top, giving her the advantage over other competitors.
Leslie squinted, looking beyond her brim, examing her surroundings. "Damn ... I'm turned around."
Just beyond the boulders were mounds of sand, riddled with dancing horses. "There ... I need to get there." With a mount she could travel much faster, locating the others quickly. "But I'll become a much bigger target." There was no time to wait.
Leslie's boots clicked against stone, running across boulders and somersaulting over gaps; a fifteen footfall. She landed and crouched, a palm down, revolver lifted to her shoulder. Her hair waving circles at her back.
An orchestra of guns and screams came from between the cracks. Leslie gazed down. Barrels flashed like lightning as gunslingers fell, misty blood in the air. Shadows crept back between stone along with silence.
Leslie grimaced and carried on. There was no use mourning the dead — and no time to — not when their lives were at stake. First, they needed to find each other. Once together, they could seek out the trinket, wherever and whatever that maybe, but they had to be quick. Other groups were already merging.
Leslie looked ahead, tightening her thighs; She sprang forward. Her legs carrying her like a horse, launching across three more boulders. She stopped and pinned herself against a halved boulder. The second piece lying flat somewhere in the sand.
"Halfway there," Leslie said, peeking around the stone. She drew out her hand, waving a finger, lips mumbling. "One, three, six, nine more gaps."
Once she'd caught her breath and made certain nobody was in her midst, Leslie bolted, clearing another two gaps. She stopped and crouched at a pile of rubble. The sun was closer to setting on the western horizon.
Climbing and leaping were expelling too much energy. If Leslie continued this way the afternoon heat would make her weary, leaving her sluggish, and easy pickings for a clean shot. "The mount. I need to get to the mount." There was water somewhere within the canyon. She could smell it in the wind, and she heard the streams that trickled deep beneath the boulders.
Leslie rose back to her feet, crouched. Another three gaps in front of her. After a breath, a surge of energy pushed through her body and she was off. "One!" She shouted, gliding over the first gap. She now had momentum. "Two!" She sprung like a mountain lion; though her boots were slick, and not ideal, they seemed to carry her just fine. "Three!" The last gap was the largest and she flew. Leslie outstretched her legs and caught the surface wrong. She slammed against the boulder. A whistle
