Sam lets out a low whistle as he takes in the quality of the weapon. The barrel’s longer than their Colt, which makes sense since it’s a Buntline instead of a Paterson.

Carefully, admiring the ivory grip, he picks it up to sight along the barrel to the floor - and yelps as it suddenly flares and sears his hand with fiery pain. Sam’s unable to hold it, dropping it back to the book in front of him.

“What the hell?!”