Once inside he pulled Big Thunder from its holster and drove near the crew wagon.

Big Thunder bucked, and the 240-grain slug tore a hole the size of a quarter in the guy's chest wall.

So Big Thunder would be riding his hip, just like always.

He stood up and yanked Big Thunder from its sling.

Big Thunder's deadly eye scanned back and forth, watching for an opportunity.

Once on the deck, he drew Big Thunder from its sling.

Big Thunder's magazine was empty but now he held the Beretta 93-R in his hand.

Big Thunder jolted where it was tied down at his hip.

Big Thunder spoke again as another projectile opened Sam's throat.

He hoped Big Thunder would not be needed at all or only as a last resort to blast his way out.