[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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Leslie gathered enough strength to get back on her feet.
The button shirt was torn. Leslie ripped it from the bottom, exposing her abdomen. She then slipped a piece between her teeth, tearing the strand in two. With much work, Leslie tied the wound at her shoulder and the one at her leg, groaning from the sharp pain.
"A horse … I just need one damn horse."
Walking was more challenging than before. With each step, a stream of blood filled her boot and her leg screamed, but that was not what bothered her most. Leslie's head pounded, eyes fighting to stay focused. The fall had shaken her up. Only a stiff drink and good sleep could knock her right.
Leslie stopped and overlooked the dunes. The dirt must've been brought in with the wagons that rest half sunken and battered. Wheels and boxes scattered while horses galloped, bobbing their heads.
With the gun drawn to her chest, Leslie walked the dunes, searching the wagons. Inside there were many valuables. Some stashed with boxes of coins, a distraction she believed. Others had knives and extra ammunition; she pocketed the rounds and left the knives. After five wagons, Leslie stumbled upon one with a box full of hay and herbal goods.
"Numbwillow," Leslie mumbled, holding the bottle in hand. She bit the cork and spat then swallowed enough to make her feel more confident and rid the pain for at least the time being. Next to the bottle, was a canteen she used to quench her thirst and a jar of Tonic Sap. Leslie applied it to the wounds, feeling a burning sensation then cooling relief, clotting the blood flow. All temporary remedies that would at least help for the day.
Leslie acquired a sack, throwing the contents inside then the sack across her shoulder. It was a suprise the wagons hadn't been raided and the horses taken. The competition was steep, and everybody was looking for an edge.
Leslie rubbed her chin, watching a beautiful brown horse twenty paces away. Ears back. Something was spooking them. "Unless they all fled …" Leslie was very exposed in the dunes, though nobody had tried to take her head. There was something else there, she could feel it.
With a palm extended, Leslie walked towards the horse. "Easy girl … easy." Leslie stayed light on her heels and toes, cautious not to scare the beast. One false move would send the horse racing. It was no tamed beast afterall. Not anymore.
There was a light wind that churned the sand, kicking up orangish-white clouds that spun, moving up and over the dunes. Scorpions had made the place their home, burying themselves on her approach, raising their claws and pointers. While crows sat on wagons, watching with beady eyes. Interested in her as the crowd that sat in the benches.
Leslie almost forgot about them. Since the tournament started they'd grown hushed. Their eyes glancing through enhancers, trying to locate where the action was, and cheering when there was an explosion or gunfire.
