Man with No Name- 10 Foot Sidestep

“But in about two seconds he ain’t goin’ to be, because I’m puttin’ my first slug right through the middle of that poncho. You look to me like pretty smart fellers. I’m betting you’re too smart to start a gunfight and get yourselves shot up over a corpse that ain’t worth a cent to you.”

The bounty hunter had been standing quietly, his head tipped to the side
as he listened with detached interest to the exchange. For all his apparent
concern, the discussion might have been about a stranger in Timbuctoo. When the rifle lifted to point directly at him, he looked mildly puzzled.

One moment he stood motionless, remote, empty hands loose at his sides. The next moment he was ten feet to the right, the forty-four tipped upward in his hand, his calloused left palm slapping the hammer.

Two shots crashed almost as one. On the ledge the hairy man let the rifle slip from his grasp and over the edge. He stood for a long moment, slack-jawed and teetering drunkenly, staring down at the long path of its drop. Then his knees buckled and he plunged after it, executing a slow, ungraceful somersault as he fell.

- Blood for a Dirty Dollar, chapter 20