Her window of opportunity had opened and Abigail reached for the barrel of the gun, busting a move that her mentor had taught her long ago. She wasn't exactly sure how she did it, it was all muscle memory. But within seconds she had the shotgun in hand and the muscle pointed at the Marshal's head.

"That's alright, because I don't give a rip about yours."

The Marshal held her hands up about shoulder level.

"You're fast, and you know a few tricks. Good." The Marshal studied her. "Also, you're a durn liar."

"Never had much use for lying, only leads to more trouble. Golly woman, haven't you ever been to Sunday school?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm goin' straight to hail." The Marshal flipped around, her boot hitting the shotgun within an inch of Abby's hands. Almost before the one foot hit the ground, the other was coming up, aimed straight at Abby's head.

The foot made contact, throwing Abigail to the ground. She laid there, momentarily dazed for just a few short seconds. Then she used her feet to swipe the Marshal's leg's out from under her.

"So am I." She said, timing her words with a elbow to the face.

The Marshal let out a grunt as her back slammed against the ground. Despite the pain, she refused to let herself rest, forcing her feet underneath her and pushing herself up. She looked around quickly, noting where her shotgun was, as well as Abby's own weapons. She should have known better than to go soft on a girl. After all her years, she should know that you always treat everyone as firmly as you possibly can. This girl was acting just as the Marshal had taught her own proteges to act, and as she had done hundreds of time herself. The girl had pulled a page from her own playbook and used it against her.

The girl wasn't that good, however, since she let loose with an ill-timed kick at the Marshal's head. The Marshal ducked and grabbed Abby's ankle. She did not get a good enough grasp to bring her down completely, but it was enough to throw the red haired girl's balance off.

Abby stumbled backwards, her center of gravity pulling the two combatants apart. The brief separation gave Abigail an opportunity to go for her weapons, an opportunity she couldn't turn down.

"Oh no you don't," the Marshal grunted, springing after Abby and tackling her. Both women landed in the dust--again.

At the other end of the tussle, Abigail somehow wound up on top. Breathing heavily and bleeding from both her nose and various scratches that crisscrossed her face. "You don't know when to quit, do you?" She asked, trying to reach her weapons belt while simultaneously keeping the Marshal pinned, something she failed to successfully.

The Marshal spit out dirt, then gave a sharp kick before pushing herself up from the ground and grabbing a good handful of her opponent’s hair. The woman’s bandana had gotten in the way, still, the Marshal was able to get a nice hold just below the crown of her head. She used it to guide Abigail backward, then pinned the woman’s right arm down with her knee while struggling to control her left. Finally, she grabbed Abby’s left pinkie and bent it back. Abigail let out a shriek, the kind that comes from a person when something unexpected happened, then the Marshal slammed her head back and into the dirt.
“Are you done yet?” she asked, casually twisting Abigail’s finger a little more.

“Yeah sure, just as soon as you are.” Abigail wasn’t ready to quit just yet and as a last ditch effort she timed a well aimed loogie with a frantic struggle. All in a final attempt to set herself free of this strange woman’s grasp.

The Marshal grimaced as the wet glob hit her face and her knee slid off of the woman’s arm. She adjusted her grip on Abby’s left hand, then twisted as hard as she could, then dropped her hair in favor of getting a good hold on the woman’s neck.

“Stop,” she commanded.

The scream of pain was quickly cut short by the forceful closing of Abigail’s windpipe. Who ever this warrior was, she was double the fighter that Abby could ever hope to become.
“Okay, okay. You’ve got me, what the heck do you want?”

The Marshal leaned forward, allowing herself the ability to slip a knife off of her bandolier. She flipped it around, let go of her hold on Abby’s throat and replaced it with a knife.
“Information, that’s all. So let’s start with your name.”’

“Abigail McKinley, at your service.” She glanced down at the knife, the sun reflected off of it’s shiny surface and temporarily blinded her. “How about you? Do you got a name?”