“Why don’t you go over and ask him about it?” said Jacob. “Let him know that his shiny engraved revolver is throwing sunshine in your delicate eyes, that tears of pain are dripping down your face.”
“Fine, if it’ll shut you up, I will!” Virginia kicked back her chair and walked over toward the well-dressed gentleman.
“Hello there, young lady,” the man said with a silver dollar smile. “Dr. Daniel Evans, Esquire. Faro dealer, card player, gentleman of fortune, at your service. May I interest you or your posse comitatus over there in a game of chance or skill?”
“Your table gun there is shining light in my eyes,” said Virginia.
“I suggest you purchase a pair of tinted spectacles in that case,” Evans said. “I am also a trained optometrist and would be happy to set you up with a pair.” He opened a side compartment in his faro game box, revealing a selection of eyeglasses ornate and plain.
“Aren’t gamblers supposed to keep their guns up their sleeves?” Virginia continued.
“I’m sure an observant and intelligent young lady like yourself can see the impossibility of containing a full-size Merwin Hulbert revolver in my shirtsleeves. And a lady never asks a gentleman about his gun,” Evans said coolly. “My offers of entertainment or protective eyewear still stand, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to be on your way otherwise, unless you’re buying me a drink.”
Irate at the implied insult, Virgina lashed out her hand, intending to scoot the offending shooting iron out of the sun.
Evans reacted with lightning speed. He snatched the gun up by its handle and deftly twirled it in one hand. It threw the afternoon sun square into Virginia’s eyes once again; as she held up a hand, blinded, Evans spun his revolver into his other hand, gripping it by the barrel. He brought the handle down on the crown of Virginia’s head, lightly enough not to shatter bone or draw blood, but heavily enough that she stumbled backwards and landed square on her rear with a dazed look.
“I’m normally not one to engage in ad feminam attacks,” drawled Evans, “but you lay a finger on my gun at your own peril, miss. Mulier est hominis confusio.”
The saloon roared with laughter as Virginia sulked back to her table.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” snickered Jacob as she unsteadily sat down opposite him. “A fellow tried to lay hands on that gambler’s gun while you were tarrying and got the same treatment. Seems he’s a mite temperamental about his shooting irons. Sorry to say it slipped my mind.”
Excerpts From Nonexistent Books 