[ Whatever reason Sam has for keeping Emma out of the fight, Faraday can't help but disagree. She's a skilled shot – a far sight more skilled than most of the men they've been tasked to train – and with the odds they face, another steady hand certainly couldn't hurt. But he also thinks that regardless of what Chisolm thinks, Emma will make her way to the fight, regardless. He's seen her stubbornness, after all, seen the resolve that helped bring seven strangers to her town.

If Emma Cullen wants to fight, she's damn well going to fight.

And for as much of a fool as Faraday seems to be, he knows well enough to step the hell out of the way of a speeding freight train.

He pulls back at her word, raising both hands up, palms flat, in a gesture close to surrender. A smile ghosts across his lips. ]

Easy, there. [ Slowly, voice dropping to something approaching gentle. ] Easy. Just breathe.

[ A beat, as his eyes flick to her gun arm then back to her face. ] Good. That's better.

You gotta strike a balance, when you're firin' with a pistol. [ He turns to stand beside her, bringing out his favored gun and aiming at the distant tree to demonstrate the stance. ]

Keep your arm straight enough to take the recoil in your shoulder. Too rigid— [ And he demonstrates, arm straightening and elbow locking. ] —and the recoil messes with your aim, makes you waste time getting your targets in your sights again. Too weak— [ His arm bends. ] —and you may as well be shootin' yourself in the head.

[ The gun spins on his finger before he slips it back into the holster at his hip. ]

Try it now?