Man with No Name- Sharps-Borchardt

He snatched the rifle and dropped down behind its bulk, laying the barrel of the gun across the body. The hunter swore disgustedly, drew his own rifle from its boot and rode out toward the embattled fugitive.
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The rifle blammed and the slug screamed past the hunter’s head. He growled, “Dammit, you insist on asking for it!”

He threw the high-power Sharps-Borchardt to his shoulder, his finger tightening on the trigger. There was still a chance that he could shoot the gun out of Froggy’s shaking hands without injuring him seriously and thus salvage his grand plan.

- The Million-Dollar Bloodhunt, chapter 3