6
Netty Caverson sat in the sudden silence after the gun fight for what seemed like hours. Her heart slowly stopped pounding in her throat and her breathing slowed. The sting of her wound and the slow realization that no one else stirred brought her out of her shock. She had shot the rifle before at snakes, Mexicans and prairie chickens but she had certainly never killed anyone.
She took a deep breath and pulled herself up with her good arm from under the sink in the kitchen. Her shoulder had been hit but just grazed. The bleeding had stopped, but the sting of gunpowder remained.
The Murrays were long gone, it was mid-day. None of her brothers, her cousin or her father had called out or so much as groaned leaving her to assume they were all long dead and had not suffered. She began to
