Man with No Name- 10 Foot Dodge and Shooting Weapons

Many Dogs’ nerve snapped. He loosed a high, wild yell, part war-cry and part simple howl of frustration, and made the fatal mistake of grabbing for his rifle. He was dead with a .44 slug through the center of his forehead before his hand closed on the weapon.

His fellow-warriors found themselves aiming at a piece of empty space. In one lithe move, the Man With No Name was a good ten feet to one side. The deadly forty-four was out from beneath the poncho and flat against his hip. The heel of his left hand brushed the hammer of a Colt .45, filed to a hair-spring response.

Four gunshots sounded with drum-roll thunder. Two of the Apache rifles seemed to explode where the butt joined the magazine and two of the Indian bows shattered just above the handgrips, their arrows flying crazily off into the mesquite and manzanillo.

- The Million-Dollar Bloodhunt, chapter 1