Ringu stumbles into town on a horse whose horns pull it nearly to the ground. She leaves it slurping water and strides into the post office.

“Delivery,” she announces, and slings a dusty bag transomwards.

The postmistress can’t take her eyes off the gunspirit, drifting at Ringu’s waist. “They let Express riders carry those things now?”

“I’m not carrying him, am I?” says Ringu, amused.

“Not for long you ain’t,” growls the bandit leader, pushing through the door. “Step away from it, mailgirl.”

“Do they not understand what I do?” murmurs Edgefield, barrel gleaming.

Ringu grins, and flexes her shooting hands.