As the last puff of life drifted from the hunk of metal that had been a Firebeetle Automaton mark IV, William “Wild Bill” Hickok holstered the ColtCo pistol and nodded at the wreckage. “It’ll take more than a giant fire-breathing bug to take me down, McCall,” he said, and walked away. It would be somebody else’s job to clean up the mess.

Charlie Utter ran out from between the livery and hardware store, his goggle irises wide open in the cloudy afternoon light. He was followed closely by Jane, looking pissed off because she’d missed the fight.

“God damn it, Bill,” she said through a mouth of tobacco as they walked. “You had all the fun yerself!”

“You can put another bullet in his skull if it’ll make you feel any better, Jane,” Charlie replied. “Where the hell did McCall get this contraption? And why’d he come after you?”

Bill paused as a steamhorse trotted past. “I beat him at cards yesterday,” he muttered. “He said I killed his brother, too.”

“I’m alive and kickin, Wild Bill!” someone else shouted.