"What d'you mean, what do I mean?" she stares. "You been hiding under a rock this past month? Darlin', I'm talking about the bounty hunters. The bastards're picking us off, one by one. Ya don't want to be in the way if one o' them starts taking pot-shots, I'll tell ya that for nothin'."

She displays her gun proudly. "Nicked this off of one of them, didn't I? And a bunch of ammo, too."

"Gosh," you say weakly, partly because being dead is taking its toll on your voice strings, but mostly because she just stuck the business end of her shotgun right in your face.

"Anyway," she says, lowering the weapon (to your intense relief), "where're you going? You was definitely going somewhere when I saw ya."