He was standing there, uncomfortably open to attack, waiting for a a reply when when he heard the gunshots. His instinct kicked in and he was right on the other big man's heels before he could even get a thought in about being shot. Instead of charging into the fray - even when operating without he wasn't that foolhardy - he dropped down on a knee once he came within sixty or so feet of the strangely haired girl and her aggressors. Up came his pistol, in both hands, and he carefully took double-shots at the heads of anything near the girl or the guy, his puny revolver doing little damage otherwise.
Damned woman, whats her problem?, he allowed himself to think. The annoyingly familiar clicking sounds of his empty gun soon reach his ears - too soon, much too soon - and he swore vehemently. Instead of bothering to take the time to reload, he shoved it into his pant-pocket. Rushing to his feet, he ran a few yards, then leaped into a well-practiced roll over to his big friend (not officially yet, but anyone with that amount of firearms was bound to be his friend eventually, one way or another), knelt again, and yanked out a pistol he'd spotted on his ankle. Spinning around, he began spraying the enemy with bullets, aiming for the knee's because he didn't have time for head-shots.
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