I clenched my fists so hard they hurt. "I wish we could
think his gun right back into the holster or something!"

Ben and Buck were about forty feet apart now. Ben was coming on
steadily, his hand over his gunbutt. He was a good man with a gun,
Ben--nobody around these parts had dared tackle him for a long time.
But he was out-classed now, and he knew it. I guess he was just hoping
that Buck's first shot or two wouldn't kill him, and that he could
place a good one himself before Buck let loose any more.

But Buck was a damn good shot. He just wouldn't miss.

The professor was staring at Buck with a strange look in his eyes.

"He should be stopped," he said.

"Stop him, then," I said sourly.

"After all," he mused, "if the ability to perform telekinesis lies
dormant in all of us, and is released by strong faith and desire to
accomplish something that can be accomplished only by that means--then
our desire to stop him might be able to counter his desire to--"

"Damn you and your big words," I said bitterly.

"It was your idea," the professor said, still looking at Buck. "What
you said about thinking his gun back into its holster--after all, we
_are_ two to his one--"

I turned around and stared at him, really hearing him for the first
time. "Yeah, that's right--I said that! My God ... do you think we
could do it?"

"We can try," he said. "We know it _can_ be done, and evidently that
is nine-tenths of the battle. He can do it, so we should be able to.
We must want him _not_ to more than he _wants_ to."

* * * * *

"Lord," I said, "I want him not to, all right...."

Ben and Buck were about twenty feet apart now, and Ben stopped.

His voice was tired when he said, "Any time, Buck."

"You're a hell of a sheriff," Buck sneered. "You're a no-good
bastard."

"Cuss me out," Ben said. "Don't hurt me none. I'll be ready when you
start talking with guns."

"I'm ready now, beanpole," Buck grinned. "You draw first, huh?"

"_Think of his gun!_" the professor said in a fierce whisper. "Try to
grab it with your mind--break his aim--pull it away from him--_you
know it can be done! Think, think_--"

Ben Randolph had never in anyone's knowledge drawn first against a
man. But now he did, and I guess nobody could blame him.

He slapped leather, his face already dead--and Buck's Peacemaker was
in his hand--

And me and the professor were standing like statues on the porch of
the Once A