Margo nodded. "Okay, work the action and look down into the top of the loading mechanism while you do it."
They obeyed, opening and closing the actions slowly.
"Notice anything?"
One of the younger men spoke up first. "The loading ramp flips up, like a toggle. And there is not so much room in the loading ramp and chamber as with many rifles."
"Very good."
The young man started, looking up in brief astonishment; then grinned belatedly. "Thanks."
"Okay, class," Ann took her turn in an astonishingly commanding voice, "anybody guess why the Model 94's feed system is constructed that way?" It was clear that only the younger man had much knowledge about guns in general. He glanced at all the others, finding only blank faces, before clearing his throat. "It would be a fairly smooth way to bring a cartridge into the chamber. Not so many moving parts, I think."
Ann nodded. "Very good." She glanced at Margo, silently saying, "Over to you."
Margo drew a deep breath for courage and plunged in feet first, her limited experiences gripped in both hands like daggers.
"Yes, you've noticed something very important about the Winchester 94. The 94's feed system does flip like a toggle, or to use an easier analogy, it tips like a teeter-totter every time you shoot, to bring a new cartridge up into the chamber. Okay, everybody lay down their rifles and gather 'round me."
In a moment, she was loosely surrounded by the group. "Now look," she picked up the Model 73 and proceeded to tip it up so everyone could watch, "at the difference here." She worked the lever slowly, so they could see the difference. "On a Model 73 or 76, the feed system just moves straight up and down. Like an elevator. That's important to all of you for your downtime research. Anybody care to guess why?"
Several chewed their lip s. The young woman spoke up. "Because somebody'd notice the difference while we're getting our gear together in Denver?"
"Too right. No Old Westerner's going to miss that difference. They pay attention to guns. All guns. For one thing, guns keep 'em alive, and I haven't met a man yet who didn't just love tinkering with the toys-or tools-of his choice."
Both male grad students went red at the unintended double entendre. She ignored them as she ignored most boys. "Now, go get your Model 94s and keep the muzzles pointed toward the ceiling."
Eventually, they all returned to her side, Model 94s held carefully, muzzles rigidly pointed toward the ceiling.
"Okay. Look at the outside of each rifle. This side plate on my Model 73, for instance, doesn't exist at all on your Model 94s. Again, every Old Westerner who notices that your rifles don't have a side plate and believe me, someone, maybe several someone's, will notice! So the second they spot that little detail, they'll know it's something they've never seen before. And they'll get mighty curious about it. Curiosity about your group or your gear is the very last thing you want."
She smiled coldly and drove home the point like hammering in a wooden stake.
"Any Old Westerner seeing these 94s is going to wonder just what in heck they are and where in heck you got 'em. I think the only other Model 94s in existence in 1885 were in a workshop in Ogden, Utah, where the Browning Brothers were just finishing up inventing it. Winchester bought up the rights like a fish snapping up a fly, because the improvements the Browning Brothers had made over the Model 73 and the Model 76 were so good.
"But the Model 94 didn't come out for a while, because Winchester had to buy manufacturing rights from the Browning Brothers, and they had to play with the design a little until it was as good as they could make it, then Winchester had to tool up their factory to accommodate the changes the 94 would require, that sort of thing-all the normal delays between prototype and commercial release."
Before she could say anything else-or any of the paleontologists could draw upon their courage to ask a question-the weapons-range door opened, admitting a cool draft, Malcolm, and closely following him, Kit Carson.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gasps went up from those who'd seen photographs. Margo just grinned, ignoring the sound, which set her heart beating so fast that cute young grad students might have never existed. Malcolm had a breathtaking smile that turned her insides-and occasionally her very bones-to melted marshmallow.
"So there you are!" Malcolm exclaimed, relief on his long, craggy , sun-and-wind scoured face. "I thought maybe you'd come down here to spar with Sven. We looked. He's miffed."
Margo said smugly, "I'm saving up for that. If he throws me twice, I'll fast for a whole day."
Kit grinned. "I'll make sure you honor that one, my girl."
She put her tongue out, then kissed Malcolm, just thoroughly enough to set him on fire, but not quite thoroughly enough to push him over the edge and carry her out of here. She finally broke the kiss, smiling up into his eyes with a promise of more to come later, then all but crushed Kit's ribcage. It startled him, but he didn't let go before she did. He did lower his head to kiss her hair several times, as though he couldn't believe this was happening.
When she looked up into his eyes, she saw joy and tremendous pain there. "I'll make it up," she whispered, "all of it. I'll even tell you my whole life's story. I should have a long time ago, but I was scared. After class, okay?"
Kit just closed his eyes.
"I'll--yes, please." Then he opened his eyes again, cleared his throat. "I believe you have a class to teach?"
She sighed, then commented wryly, "Yeah. Like everything else I do, it appears to be part of my training."
Kit and Malcolm nodded approvingly, Kit adding, "A fine lesson for you to learn-and all on your own, too." Margo wrinkled her nose at him, then turned back to the class of goggle-eyed scientists.
Margo took Malcolm's arm, wrapping it possessively around her waist so he all but surrounded her. Determined to do this right if her tongue shattered from all the gilding one was supposed to learn to master gracefully, she said, "This gentleman with his arm around me is Dr. Moore, Freelance Temporal Guide, sought out by members of the very oldest names and fortunes in the world, men and women who bear European titles of nobility, Americans of the greatest industrial and computer families in the nation, prestigious members of the press and the glittering stars of New Hollywood.
"They seek Dr. Moore for assistance with private tours away from the main Time Tours itineraries so they won't have to endure the endless chatter of the rift-raff who take the same tours. Dr. Moore is also a successful gemstone speculator," Malcolm squeezed warningly, "a doctor of philosophy in both anthropology and classics, and, to my greatest happiness, my fiancée."
A few faint groans reached them, bringing laughter to Malcolm's eyes when she glanced up.
Kit, however, was staring at her oddly.
"And this renowned hero," she said, slipping loose of Malcolm's grip just long enough to take her grandfather's callused hand, "is the most famous recluse on Earth. You are deeply privileged to meet one of the original time scouts who pushed the major gates the first time they began popping open and closed on a regular, stable schedule. Knowing the danger that he might shadow himself, he continued pushing gates until the odds were simply too great, then settled down as owner of one of the world's most prestigious hotels, the New Edo, right here in TT-86, where he pushed most of the tourist gates Shangri-La Station possesses. It is, indeed, my intense pleasure to introduce the legendary Time Scout of Shangri-La Station, Kit Carson." She deliberately left out the fact that he was her grandfather.