Six, at least.

Dan nods and studies the layout of the canyon. He's driven his herd through here a few times, knows it somewhat well enough.

"Nothin' we can't handle," he echoes.

(Part of him wonders when they became a we.)

His mare shifts on her feet before Dan coaxes her down along the wall of the canyon, following the natural trail of the slope in the soil.

That revolver in his holster's got six bullets. So does the Hand of God.

Twelve bullets for six men -- five, really, since they don't want to kill Butterfield.

"Twelve bullets for five men."

Ben only needed six for his entire gang.

Seven if you counted the last one he put into Charlie Prince's heart -- but that wasn't his gun.