As the mob cried out for supposed justice and the blood of what was probably an innocent man Grace and the two men beside her stood and watched. There was nothing that any of them could do. The accusations flew, only to be cut off by the words of the sheriff. A faint smile pulled at Grace’s lips, though the woman was very sure that no matter what he said blood would still be spilt. The mob was far too riled not to attempt their sick sense of justice. Just as she expected one of the many townsfolk gathered drew his gun but before he could even pull the trigger it was shot out of his hand with a bang. 

Grace’s brown eyes widened in shock, first looking about on the ground for the marksman responsible, but when she glance up at the saloon windows she found the suspect. It was a woman with a rifle. She didn’t really put her race, which was obviously a blend between a Native American and European. What really intrigued her though was the weapon in her grip. From where she was standing she did not have a great view of the particular rifle but from the street below she could tell it was nowhere near new. 

A gun could tell a lot about a person and just from the blurry glimpse at the weapon Miss Baur knew that the woman used her weapon often. Most likely she used it for her job, which could be several things, but whatever it was needed something more powerful than a simple hand pistol. 

The young woman was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice that the crowd, save for Johnny, was gone. All she knew was that suddenly she heard another shot ring out. Her gaze widened only for a short gasp to leave her lips. Johnny now lay in the dirt, dead as a doornail. As much as she hadn’t care for the now deceased man she was still saddened by the loss of his life. 

Without a word to her father or Johnathan Grace stepped out into the street. She watched as some strange man picked up the corpse and slung it over his shoulder. Grace looked over to the man who had been so wrongly treated as she approached where the three men stood. The two men she had left behind did not follow, only watching in confusion as she stepped over to the Sioux Indian. 

Grace glanced away for a split second to get a good look at the other stranger, catching the quick glint of a gun on his person as well but not getting a good look at it. She quickly looked away, casting a sympathetic smile at the Indian. “Are you alright?” she inquired, facing the stranger yet not turning her back to the saloon. Part of her wondered who that mystery shooter was and if she needed any gun repairs.