Kitty glanced in his direction—a momentary loss of focus. Ramón seized the opening. He leapt forward, flailing both fists. Kitty dodged and countered, catching Ramón with a hook that wobbled but didn’t stop him. He muscled closer, wrapped his arms around her, and wrestled her to the ground.

They tussled in the dirt, knotted together. Ramón freed one arm and rang his fist against Kitty’s jaw. She grabbed a handful of his thick black hair and pulled. Her efforts—her strength—fueled Luke. He cried out, twisting his upper body enough to yank the revolver from the waistband of his jeans. Within seconds, he had it aimed over his right shoulder. He pulled the trigger, a weak-handed shot, but accurate enough. The shepherd’s left ear disappeared in a splash of blood and fur. It yelped, let go of his sleeve, and whirled away from him.

Luke clambered to his feet, his tee hanging off his shoulder in rags. He shook the ringing from his ears and the muddiness from his head. Kitty and Ramón had risen, too, still locked in a vicious embrace. Luke viewed them through the revolver’s sights. First Kitty, then Ramón.

“Get away from him, Kitty,” Luke wheezed, but his voice was lost beneath the dogs’ frantic yelps and yowls. He shifted position, his finger on the trigger, waiting for a clear shot.

It was Ramón who forced separation; he twisted free of Kitty, then pushed her toward Luke. She careened into him, and they both toppled backward. By the time Luke had reset his aim, Ramón had rolled over the hood of the Eldorado and ducked from view.

“Bastard,” Luke said. He wavered forward with the revolver extended. Weary, painful breaths pounded from his chest. He reached the Eldorado, swung around it. Ramón had already moved. Luke glimpsed him disappearing behind another wreck, then scrambling across to the minivan that bore the dent made by Luke’s body. He was exposed for one second. Maybe two. Luke squeezed off a shot and blew out the minivan’s passenger window. The report drowned the racket of the dogs for several seconds, then faded into the deep desert air. Luke shuffled toward the minivan, ducked around it. No sign of Ramón.

“I’ll find you,” Luke growled. He kept moving, staring down the revolver’s stubby barrel. Kitty had positioned herself beside a small crate brimming with parts and junk, also looking for Ramón. Luke caught her eye. She shook her head.