The retort of the gunshots rang out across the still, open countryside, echoing amongst the nearby mountains. There were six shots, even and measured. Simms squinted through the cordite and whistled.
“You"ve nailed it, Noreen,” he said, grinning, and glanced across at the short, dark-haired woman with the striking face, dressed in dungarees and red-checked shirt.
She smiled back at him, cheeks reddening. “Ah, shush, you"re just saying that!”
“No I ain"t,” said the Pinkerton detective and he strode over to the fence not fifteen paces away and looked down at the cluster of tin cans lying on the ground. The holes torn through their sides from Noreen"s bullets testified to her improved accuracy with the six-g*n. He got down on his haunches and picked a can up, examining it more closely. He
