A spaghetti western shoot-out featuring a big-mouthed, left-handed, female sharpshooter.

(At the moment, this story preview does not have any formatting – this means character thoughts aren't differentiated from plain text.)

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I'll Just Take A Rye Whiskey

I tug the leather straps, signalling to my horse to pull over to the left and come to a stop. We end up stopping directly in front of a wooden pylon, I dismount the horse and tie it up. I take my rifle out of the holster on the horse and sling it on my back, if I leave it out here it will surely be stolen. I look up and read the painted characters positioned above the veranda, ‘John’s Saloon’. Let’s hope they have more than Adam’s ale. I walk around my horse and ascend the steps to the veranda. I push open the doors and walk in, my eyes quickly adjust and find that the saloon is quite full. All the tables I can see are filled with people, however, the bar is surprisingly empty.
I slowly walk over to the bar, trying to ignore the looks I’m getting from the people at the poker table and another group of odd sticks huddled around their own table getting roostered. I make my way up to the bar and find a seat at one of the stools, I sit there and examine the saloon’s collection of rye and bourbon. They’ve got a few good bottles; I then look over and find the bartender frowning at me as he cleans a glass with a brown cloth.
He slowly sets the glass and cloth on the bench, he then begins to walk over to with a rather frustrated look. He stops directly in front of me on the other side of the bar and crosses his arms. “I think I’ll just take a rye whiskey, the brand's up to you.” I say before he can open his mouth.
“Well then, we’re going to have a problem. You see, women aren’t welcome here.” I frown back at him.
“Why not just a few shots then? I’ve been on the horse all day and I need something to keep me above snakes, I’m sure you’d understand what that’s like.” When I finish talking I realise that the noise within the saloon has died down considerably, I guess I caught a bit of attention.
“How about you just leave, before we have a problem.” He puts both his hands on the bar and leans into my face.
“Alright, pull in your horns. I’ll just take a bottle and leave then, 'even give you a little tip for the trouble.” I hear some footsteps approaching me from behind, I subtly drop my left hand down to one of my two shooting irons.
“Get up and leave! Before you’re made to-” The bartender says, pointing over to the doorway.
I sigh. After getting up and turning around, I find that all the occupants of the saloon are standing up. Some are still near their tables while there are a few standing in front of me. There are at least 2 table’s worth of people looking like they’re ready for a brawl.
“You got a good bib and tucker going on there. Be a shame if we... dirtied it.” One of the people threatens, I chuckle back at him.
“Instead of flapping your big bazoo, why don’t you come over here and try?” His face scrunches up faster than the quickest draw in town.

“Fine, you asked for it!” He quickly walks up to me, and reaches out his left hand.
I grab two of his fingers and twist them, causing him to scream out and pull away from me. He takes a few steps back, caressing his hand with pain smeared all over his face. “What, that's the best you got? What about you other curly wolves? Who else wants their horns clipped?”
The guy continues to hold his hand in agony while two others approach me. “This’ll be the last saloon you see, lady.” One of them says as he prepares a punch.
“Well then, let’s get a wriggle on you prairie coals!” The one that taunted me before advances faster and goes for a heavy swing with his right fist.
I duck under it to the left so I end up standing next to him, quickly jabbing him in the side with my right fist and swing a big left to the side of his face. He shouts and falls backwards onto the ground. I turn to look at the next guy who is now right next to me and already mid-way through his punch. I raise my hands to block it – which mitigates the pain, but I get knocked back onto the bar.
He goes for a second punch, and I manage to catch his arm. I spin around so my back is no longer against the bar and I pull his arm towards the ground, his head bashes against the bar and he flops onto the floor. I quickly turn back to face the tables and see if anyone else has decided to join the fun. I find that everyone is still standing at their tables, but some are drawing their six shooters.
I quickly hop over the bar and duck, two bottles of booze explode above me and pour out over the shelf. I also find the bartender right next to me, there’s a mix of fear and rage in his eyes. After seeing that I’ve noticed him, he quickly tackles me and pins me to the ground. I dig for the cannon on my right hip and shoot him in the leg, he quickly rolls off of me screams as he holds his leg in agony.
I pull back the hammer on the pistol and holster it, I then unsling my rifle and creep across to the other side of the bar. The others seem to be too hesitant to shoot again, they probably forgot the bartender was over here. I come up to a gap in the bar, this is how you’d get in without jumping over it. I then quickly dive forward and point my rifle in the direction of the tables. I aim for the closest armed man and take a shot, the bullet cracks straight through his side and even hits the person behind him in the arm.
I then jump back as two more shots sink into the floor in front of me and one into another bottle of booze. “Y’all should probably light a shuck 'fore someone else gets hurt,” I call out from behind the bar.

I move back in the direction of the bartender so they don’t get wise of my position. I hear a few people hightail out of the saloon, but it also sounds like a few stayed. “Not a chance little missy, I’ll die standing up if I have to!” Another shot rings out and the part of the bar blows out from where I just was.
There’s a moment of silence and then two more shots cut through my last post. “Did we get ‘er?” I hear one of them ask as a few sets of footsteps progress toward the bar, “I don’ ‘ear anythin’...”
I drop the rifle and draw a six shooter with my left hand. I then hastily stand up and point the gun forward. There’s only three of them left, I aim the pistol at the leftmost one and pull the trigger. I then move to the next one and fan the hammer while still holding the trigger, two shots plunge into the middle one. I then move one to last one just before he can react and I send two shots his way.
I cock back the hammer this time – but don’t shoot – and I check for any more threats. No one else is left, I then examine the three I just shot. The leftmost one was shot in the shoulder, he’s squirming on the ground trying to stop the bleeding. The other two are lying on the ground lifelessly, they both have two red holes in their chest. I de-cock my shootin' iron and holster it, I then pick up my rifle and jump back over the bar.
I sling the rifle on my back and head for the door; as I’m about to leave, I hear the bartender shout at me. “You’re so dead, outlaw. I’m gonna report you the very second I’m able to and you’ll be thrown in the hoosegow for good!”
I stop, but don’t turn around. “You’re barkin’ at a knot, I’m gonna skedaddle and you’ll never see me again.”
I throw open the doors and walk over to my steed, I then untie it and mount up. Off to the next town for a drink, then...