Man with No Name- Killing Red

The hunter remained in his half-crouch, his gun still levelled, while he searched the faces of the spectators jammed along the farthest wall. He saw awe, incredulity, naked fear, a furtive darting of eyes toward something behind his back.

When the Man With No Name had let go of Red Cavanagh to make his play, the outlaw had slumped to the floor, then scrambled wildly to get out of the line of fire. Red was behind him now—and so was the gun the outlaw had been forced to drop. The hunter’s mind pictured exactly where the weapon had come to rest after skidding away.

Afterwards, a score of witnesses in the saloon were willing to swear that the tall, lean stranger fired behind him, under his left arm, before he had spun far enough around to see his target. That would be impossible, of course, but by the time the stranger had fully turned, Red Cavanagh lay dead on the floor, with one hand on his gun and a bullet hole in his forehead.

- For a Few Dollars More, chapter 2