Pouring a measure of gunpowder into her cupped left hand—Leonor never poured straight down a barrel from a flask—she dumped the charge in before spitting one of several lead balls she’d popped in her mouth down after it. She wouldn’t take time to patch the ball for accuracy, and didn’t even ram it down. Without the patch, the ball was loose enough to seat just by thumping the butt in the sand a couple of times. As quickly as that went, she wouldn’t trust that enough powder had trickled through the vent to the pan, but before she could prime it from the little horn dangling from her shooting
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