Man with No Name- Broken Ribs Quickdraw

  There was a snap! Rider and saddle flew into the air, a broken cinch strap whipping behind. The handlers were down and running before he struck the ground. They were fast but Satan was faster. The youngster was still trying to get his foot out of stirrup on the under side when Satan lashed a savage kick. It caught the fallen man on the right side of the chest. There was the brittle sound of breaking ribs and a wave of pain that made him gasp.

  Then the handlers were driving Satan back. The youngster got his foot free and struggled to stand. He got as far as his knees and had to stop to let another wave of pain ease off. As he hung forward, his eyes fell on the broken end of the cinch strap. Unmistakably the strap had been cut halfway through with a sharp knife.

  He made it the rest of the way to his feet, waved aside the hands who came running to help him and began to walk, bent over and holding his broken side. Someone had the good sense to run ahead and open the corral gate. He stumbled through, his lips set tight, making no reply to the bombardment of anxious questions.

  He went to the bunkhouse, got his gun belt and holstered gun from its peg on the wall and managed to strap them on. He had to wait a long minute, clinging to the bunk to let another wave of pain subside. Then he stumbled back outside and toward the corral where the men were gathered in a knot.

  They gaped at him as he pushed past to face Carvell.

  "You—cut my—cinch—strap."

  "Me?" Carvell blustered. "Now look here, kid, you better be careful, makin' crazy charges without no proof."

  "I don't—need—proof. I know."

  "So? What do you figger to do about it?"

  "Kill you."

  "You hear that?" Carvell said, his eyes shifting. "Me, with five notches on my gun, and he's gonna kill me."

  At the word me his hand slapped down to the butt of his gun. He had it almost clear of the holster when the youngster drew and shot him through the heart. He stood, swaying, watching Carvell's collapse into the dust. Then his own gun slipped from his fingers and he fell in a heap.
...

  It proved to be his lucky day in another way. Satan had been too far away for his savage kick to do more than graze the ribs, cracking four ribs but not driving a broken one into the lung. A tight professional bandaging made him feel almost as good as new.

- A Coffin Full of Dollars, chapter 20