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Jim is out back, leaning against the wall of the bar proper. He's looking at his guns - two beautiful nickel-plated 7 1/2" Peacemakers with the letters "WK" engraved on the handles.

They're totally unusable now. The barrels have been warped to all hell. Firing off tens of thousands of rounds in five hours will do that to any gun.

"Funny. This sorta thing never happened back home."

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Kate's returning from the forge, having just parted ways with Teja. She catches sight of the unfamiliar cowboy before she heads in.

It's his guns that catch her eye. She's loaded down with a few of her own, though in better shape they may be.

"Y'might wanna get used t'things like that," she says, in a soft Texas drawl. "I dunno where you come from, but the world doesn't end every day back home, either."

She chances a small smile.

Jim returns the smile. "Suppose not. We do see a little trouble here and there, though. Boss'll kill me if he sees 'em in this shape."

He tips his hat. "Don't believe we've met. They call me the Waco Kid. I call me Jim."

"Nice t'meet you, Jim," she chuckles. "They call me 'Kissin' Kate Barlow'. I call me Kate."

She leans her Winchester up against the wall, and takes a few steps closer.

"Could I have a look?"

Jim cocks an eyebrow slightly at the name. "Interesting nom de guerre."

He nods at Kate's request. "Be my guest," he says, handing over one of his revolvers.

"Parlez-vous français?"

Kate's surprised. You don't run across many men like Jim willing and able to say a few words in another language.

She takes the revolver in hand and gives it a long look. That — that is some serious metal distortion. Her eyes flick from the warped barrel, to Jim, and back again.

"Gracious. Y'could be aimin' in one direction an' you're gun'll be aimin' in another."

"Non," he deadpans.

"Yeah," he says. "Not very common, even for me. And I shoot pretty damn fast."

Her lips twitch.

"You're a gunslinger, I take it?"

Beat.

"Or an outlaw, with a name like that."

"I put holes in things 'til they stop moving. I'm good at it. Though right now I'm actually working for the law."

He looks at the absurdly twisted barrel and chuckles. "You know, I remember the day I got those guns. Funny story."

She shakes her head, and hands the pistol back.

"I know a smith or two who could probably do somethin' with those. Dunno how soon after today, but I've seen one'a them work metal in worse condition than that."

She narrows her eyes, and gives Jim a quick once-over.

"Bet you're full of funny stories."

"Well, hopefully I can find 'em pretty soon. There's a guy here I promised to help out. Assuming he made it through alive." He frowns.

"I sure am," he says. "You know those engravings weren't made for me?"

She rubs at her brow nervously.

"Who? Maybe it's someone I know."

She shifts her gun belt, and leans a shoulder against the wall. As soon as she does so, she can feel the muscles in her legs shudder. Mercy, she's tired.

"Don't tell me y'stole somebody else's identity?"

"Fellow named John Marston. You know him?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Belonged to a Pinkerton man by the name of Bill Knowles. Happened to be on a train I'd been hired to help hit. Not usually my style, but well...let's just say I had an awfully big bar tab at the time. I took the guns and the gang I was with hogtied him to the front of the train with his legs spread out."

He grins a bit as he recalls this part of the story. "Further on down the track another gang had the same idea, only they figured on doing it by dynamiting the tracks. Train went off the rails and straight into a 20-foot saguaro at 30 miles an hour. He didn't die, the poor bastard."

"I know Mr. Marston."

She nods carefully.

"Last I saw of him was before all this broke loose. I'm s'posed t'be helpin' him out in his world. Dunno whether I should hope he was in or out when things went t'hell; jus' hope he's okay."

Jim's story pulls her up short. She blinks, a touch wide-eyed.

"You're foolin' with me."

"That's what I'm doing, too. He sounded like he needed help, so I volunteered. Sure hope he's okay."

Jim grins and puts his hand over his heart. "Scout's honor. The other gang decided to be stupid and take credit to save their pride. We wore masks during the thing and the agent was unconscious, so it's not like anybody knew who did it. A week later I was enlisted as part of the posse that tracked the other gang down. Long story short, they didn't get a chance to tell what really happened."

He pauses. "They shot first. Honest."

Well. Kate has seen stranger things.

The shock of the day is still hanging over her like a dense fog. She shakes her head, like she's trying to loosen the bit of her brain that finds the sensibleness in his story. It doesn't work, so she ends up chuckling instead.

"I reckon I'll hafta take your word for it. An' if you're as honest as y'say, I'd wager you'll make it past the horrors of today just fine."

The jury's still out for Kate, leastways until she can clean herself up and sleep off the worst of the jitters.

"I'm glad t'hear y'volunteered t'help Mr. Marston. Way he tells it, he was gonna go in alone. I'll be glad t'have you with us both."

Beat.

"Once your guns are mended, of course."

"Of course," he says. "Not much good without 'em, though I do play a mean game of darts.

"So are you from closer to John's where 'n when or mine? I'm from California, '74."

"Texas, eighteen-eighty-eight."

Her lips twist.

"Guess that makes me the babe of our posse."

Jim smiles devilishly. "Not the only thing that does," he says.

She titters, turning her face away. After today, she can't imagine she looks — or smells, for that matter — very nice at all.

"Don't worry; I can handle my way around a piece."

She ain't no wilting flower, or tag-along gal. She can pull her weight when the chips are down.

"Y'know somethin', Mr. The Kid? I'm gonna be out puttin' the stables back together tomorrow. Y'come find me, I'll see if I can't introduce you t'someone who works the forge. We'll get them guns of yours fixed up. Ain't nothin' sadder than a bent weapon."

Jim laughs heartily. He wasn't expecting that. "Yeah, I'll bet."

He laughs again. "Certainly aren't many things worse than that. Though I can assure you it's the first and only time anything of the sort's happened to me."

Her lips twitch.

"Guess it's a good thing, then, it didn't happen before the big climax. That would've been — embarrassin'."

You don't want to be caught during an apocalypse with your pants down.

So to say.

"I'll keep an eye peeled for you, then. For right now, I think it's time t'see what condition my room's in."

And then curl up in a ball for the next several hours.

Jim smiles. "I always get my shots in when it counts."

He tips his hat again. "See you tomorrow then."

She gathers up her rifle, and stifles a chuckle.

"Nice meetin' you, Jim."

Beat.

"Take care."

Just in case the world goes battier than a belfry again before morning.

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