Man with No Name- Humiliating Bat McCord

"I'm Bat McCord. I'm the man who gunned down Whip Purdy, goddam yuh!"

  "So? It probably served him right for turning his back on you. Tell me something, sonny. I've heard that children who play with guns are bed-wetters. Is that true?"

  The boy loosed a wordless shriek of rage and grabbed for his gun.

  The hunter said, "Naughty, naughty!"

  His hand flashed under the poncho and out, holding the .44. It crashed, erupting smoke and flame, and the gun flew out of the youngster's hand, skidding off across the grass. The boy looked down, staring in dull disbelief at his right hand with its broken index finger dangling limply.

  The hunter's second shot severed the boy's holster from his belt. It dropped, to dangle ludicrously from its tie-down thong. His third shot ripped off one of the high slanting bootheels. The kid staggered backward, thrown off balance.

  "I don't kill women, children or idiots," the hunter said coldly. "Your gun's back there. Go pick it up and clear out."

  The youngster, his face chalk white, limped back and bent down. As his left hand was about to close on the weapon, the hunter's gun slammed once more. There was a spang of lead on steel and the gun flew another dozen yards.

  "Go get it, then keep right on traveling, punk. Some day, if you should live long enough to get to be half as big and tough as you think you are now, look me up. I'll still be around."

- A Coffin Full of Dollars, chapter 8