The Beast of the East by Wolfson, Ken

was off. Always possible. He had money to pay three assassins. Fifteen large was enough to buy a house and full furnishing out here, and he was spending all that to kill her. She squeezed her eyes and searched her memories. There were a few people who’d want her dead, but not enough to travel all the way across the frontier. She’d caused a lot of death. Most were rotting in some wilderness, but a few had definitely been brought home and buried. With three deft strokes she snapped her long arm back into place. The magnets hummed a moment as they connected to the battery. Her gun was alive again, and ready to kill like it had for the last century. She returned it to its sling. Now to scour the town. Stuffing her cold hands into her pockets, she trudged down the cobblestone street. She tried the two saloons. Each had a bare handful of ragged visitors. It was too late in the year for casual travelers. Only the over-winter trappers came in for their last pints, plus a few other wayward souls. Then the two restaurants. Then, she resorted to roaming the back alleys, scanning every building. Nothing. She leaned against the frost-coated side wall of a house. A pair of teenage boys ran by. A girl trailed after, struggling against woolen dress and jackets. One came back and scooped her up, then carried her away, giggling on his shoulder. She considered asking them and drew a copper five-chip from her pocket. She ended up toying with the coin, flipping it over and over in between her fin