Sight was found in every burst of gunfire, firefly flickers in the mine shaft. In the firefly light Mint could see the motionless canary and wished it was the gunfight that claimed the creature’s life—but he knew better; Mint’s gamble was simple—outlast the six gunmen in the poisonous gas until they decided to turn tail.
Mint had wrapped his shirt around his face, peering through two tiny holes like some mummified pharaoh. "Would be a damn fine tomb to fit the reason…" He thought to himself.
*Crunch*, Mint heard them trying to move closer as they stepped on a broken bottle of whiskey he had purposely shattered and returned gunfire. Earlier one of the miners had tried to clean a path in the narrow passage that was littered with the glass and Mint shot the man in both hands. If he had killed the man they could have used him as a shield to advance, Mint wasn’t sure if they would have thought of that but he wasn’t taking any more chances than he already had to.
“Damn you Sheriff! *Cough, cough, wheeze* you gotta run outta bullets eventually!”
"It’s starting to take effect, good." Thought Mint as he touched the soft wet of his shirt underneath his mouth and fired another shot while looking at his fingers. "Blood…damn."
