s fist was the size of the man.

So that's Buck Tarrant--a halfsized, poisonous, no-good kid who wanted
to be a hardcase.

[Illustration]

But he'd never be, not in a million years. That's what made it
funny--and kind of pitiful too. There wasn't no real strength in him,
only a scared hate. It takes guts as well as speed to be tough with
a gun, and Buck was just a nasty little rat of a kid who'd probably
always counterpunch his way through life when he punched at all. He'd
kite for cover if you lifted a lip.

I heard another shot, and looked up the slope. I was near enough now
to see that the card he was shooting at was a ten of diamonds--and
that he was plugging the pips one by one. Always could shoot, like I
said.

* * * * *

Then he heard me coming, and whirled away from the tree, his gun
holstered, his hand held out in front of him like he must have
imagined Hickock or somebody held it when he was ready to draw.

I stopped my horse about ten feet away and just stared at him. He
looked real funny in his baggy old levis and dirty checkered shirt and
that big gun low on his hip, and me knowing he couldn't handle it
worth a damn.

"Who you trying to scare, Buck?" I said. I looked him up and down and
snickered. "You look about as dangerous as a sheepherder's wife."

"And you're a son of a bitch," he said.

I stiffened and shoved out my jaw. "Watch that, runt, or I'll get off
and put my foot in your mouth and pull you on like a boot!"

"Will you now," he said nastily, "you son of a bitch?"

And he drew on me ... and I goddam near fell backwards off my saddle!

I swear, I hadn't even seen his hand move, he'd drawn so fast! That
gun just practically _appeared_ in his hand!

"Will you now?" he said again, and the bore of his gun looked like a
greased gate to hell.

I sat in my saddle scared spitless, wondering if this was when I was
going to die. I moved my hands out away from my body, and tried to
look friendlylike--actually, I'd never tangled with Buck, just razzed
him a little now and then like everybody did; and I couldn't see much
reason why he'd want to kill me.

But the expression on his face was full of gloating, full of wildness,
full of damn-you recklessness--exactly the expression you'd look to
find on a kid like Buck who suddenly found out he was the deadliest
gunman alive.

And that's just what he was, believe me.

Once I saw Bat Masterson draw--and he was r