Stories of the old West were filled with bad men who lived by the speed of their gun hand. Well, meet Buck Tarrant, who could outdraw them all. His secret: he didn't even have to reach for his weapon....
up, like you said."
Buck laughed shortly. "I'll be waiting. I don't like that lanky bastard. I reckon I got some scores to settle with him." He looked at me, and his face twisted into what he thought was a tough snarl. Funny--you could see he really wasn't tough down inside. There wasn't any hard core of confidence and strength. His toughness was in his holster, and all the rest of him was acting to match up to it.
"You know," he said, "I don't like you either, Irish. Maybe I oughta kill you. Hell, why not?"
Now, the only reason I'd stayed out of doors that afternoon was I figured Buck had already had one chance to kill me and hadn't done it, so I must be safe. That's what I figured--he had nothing against me, so I was safe. And I had an idea that maybe, when the showdown came, I might be able to help out Ben Randolph somehow--if anything on God's Earth could help him.
Now, though, I wished to hell I hadn't stayed outside. I wished I was behind one of them windows, looking
There is no Sci-Fi in this story, rather it is an example of the Weird West genre: a sad little bully rides into town with the ability to have his gun materialize in his hand, literally.
Like most Spaghetti Westerns as long as you don't look too hard at the plot you'll have fun. Never mind that the one person in all of the Southwest who could figure out what the cow-poke's secret was just happened to be passing through town at that exact moment, the point is that the bartender didn't lose his ears for nothing.