Man with No Name- Four Gunmen with Two Guns

As he finished, his meaning became unmistakable and his voice as it spoke the final words had a hardness which made the laughter freeze upon the lips of the four. They spread out slowly, watching the stranger with great care, knowing that if a man spoke to them in such a manner, he had to have confidence in his ability to back up the words. The stranger backed away slowly to the far side of the road, took a long puff against his cigar.

The leader of the four spat into the dust and sneered, went for his gun. In a blur of movement, the stranger went for his own pistols and squeezed the triggers of both simultaneously, hurling himself to the ground, rolling between the low piles supporting the building behind him. Two of the gunmen were already dead from the first shots, knocked backwards by the heavy calibre bullets, and the other two only managed to loose off a few shots before the stranger’s gun spoke again, several times in quick succession. The third man to die caught a bullet in the stomach and doubled up, collapsed to the ground and stayed in his folded position. The last man took a bullet high in the face, stood motionless for a moment as the stranger hauled himself up and watched through narrowed eyes as the gunman finally toppled backwards, his face a mask of blood. The Man With No Name twirled one of his pistols around his index finger and then slid both weapons back into their holsters with a slow, gentle movement that was almost a caress.