“You been eatin’ loco-weed!” called a little bantam of a man in a cowboy’s outfit. “Ado Ellie never did no such thing, an’ yer a consarned liar, Cody Lee!” This was followed by jeers and a great many rude noises from some of the others in the crowd. Little Fred pushed himself to the front and stood just under Lightning’s nose, shaking his finger at the star of the show.

“Jest because you got your name plastered all over this here show, don’t you think you kin push this liddle gal inter somethin’ she thinks she cain’t do jest cause ye wanta prove you’re better’n her with a Colt!” The Captain’s moustache drooped further. Giselle sensed that Fred had hit on the real reason why Captain Cody had tried to get her to do something that would likely prove dangerous. His masculine pride had been touched, because she was better than he with a rifle. He wanted to prove he was as good a shot or better with the revolvers.

Well, he could have his victory!

“I wasn’t born in the saddle, and I’ll not risk anyone’s safety on my aim with a revolver,” she repeated firmly. “Besides, as Fred pointed out, it is your face and name that are the basis of this show; your expertise should be the last turn the audience sees before the closing number.” And with that, she led Lebkuchen out of the arena, leaving Cody with no alternative but to run through his mounted trick-shots.

It wasn’t as if he actually needed her as part of this turn! He combined his trick-riding with extremely accurate target shots, shooting while hanging from positions all over his poor horse. “I don’t know how he gets Lightning to put up with that,” she remarked to Lebkuchen, as he hung off the patient horse’s neck while shooting. “He truly is a ‘Wonder Horse.’ It’s a wonder he doesn’t throw the Captain right off!”

Lebkuchen snorted, as if in total agreement, then it was time for her to mount up for the concluding Grand Parade. As she passed through the tent flaps and turned aside, Ned seized Lebkuchen’s reins. “We all reckon yer fit fer the show,” he said, flatly. “I’m a gonna send Carmelita t’help ye sort out yer costumes an’ get ’em set up here fer changin’.” He cackled. “Time t’start earnin’ yer keep!”

Her heart was pounding and her mouth was as dry as the desert sands as she lined up with the others for the Grand Parade. She didn’t feel anything like ready! It was one thing to perform in front of people who—truth be told—had not expected more of her than of their previous girl sharpshooter. It was quite something else to perform in front of a potentially critical audience, who were expecting . . . well . . . were expecting something like a Karl May hero!