Wyatt fiddled with the can, unsure at first how to get the damned thing open, then, just as he finally figured out the clasp, he heard it - a snapping branch. Rustling leaves. Shifting earth.

Or maybe it was more the feeling - the eyes burning into his back.

Whatever it was, the bells were suddenly going off in his head and the canister was crashing to the ground as his gun hand snapped for the make-shift weapon at his hip.

It wasn't his six-gun, but he spun on his heel just the same, rock swinging up, ready to defend.