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gun right back into the holster or something!"

  Ben and Buck were about forty feet apart now. Ben was coming onsteadily, his hand over his gunbutt. He was a good man with a gun,Ben--nobody around these parts had dared tackle him for a long time.But he was out-classed now, and he knew it. I guess he was just hopingthat Buck's first shot or two wouldn't kill him, and that he couldplace a good one himself before Buck let loose any more.

  But Buck was a damn good shot. He just wouldn't miss.

  The professor was staring at Buck with a strange look in his eyes.

  "He should be stopped," he said.

  "Stop him, then," I said sourly.

  "After all," he mused, "if the ability to perform telekinesis liesdormant in all of us, and is released by strong faith and desire toaccomplish something that can be accomplished only by that means--thenour desire to stop him might be able to counter his desire to--"

  "Damn you and your big words," I said bitterly.

  "It was your idea," the professor said, still looking at Buck. "Whatyou said about thinking his gun back into its holster--after all, we_are_ two to his one--"

  I turned around and stared at him, really hearing him for the firsttime. "Yeah, that's right--I said that! My God ... do you think wecould do it?"

  "We can try," he said. "We know it _can_ be done, and evidently thatis nine-tenths of the battle. He can do it, so we should be able to.We must want him _not_ to more than he _wants_ to."

  * * * * *

  "Lord," I said, "I want him not to, all right...."

  Ben and Buck were about twenty feet apart now, and Ben stopped.

  His voice was tired when he said, "Any time, Buck."

  "You're a hell of a sheriff," Buck sneered. "You're a no-goodbastard."

  "Cuss me out," Ben said. "Don't hurt me none. I'll be ready when youstart talking with guns."

  "I'm ready now, beanpole," Buck grinned. "You draw first, huh?"

  "_Think of his gun!_" the professor said in a fierce whisper. "Try tograb it with your mind--break his aim--pull it away from him--_youknow it can be done! Think, think_--"

  Ben Randolph had never in anyone's knowledge drawn first against aman. But now he did, and I guess nobody could blame him.

  He slapped leather, his face already dead--and Buck's Peacemaker wasin his hand--

  And me and the professor were standing like statues on the porch ofthe Once Again, thinking at that gun, glaring at it, fists clenched,our breath rasping in our throats.

  The gun appeared in Buck's hand, and wobbled just as he slippedhammer. The bullet sprayed dust at Ben's feet.

  Ben's gun was halfway out.

  Buck's gunbarrel pointed down at the ground, and he was trying to liftit so hard his hand got white. He drove a bullet into the dust at hisown feet, and started to whine.

  Ben's gun was up and aiming.

  Buck shot himself in the foot.

  Then Ben shot him once in the right elbow, once in the right shoulder.Buck screamed and dropped his gun and threw out his arms, and Ben, whowas a thorough man, put a bullet through his right hand, and anotherone on top of it.

  Buck sat in the dust and flapped blood all around, and bawled when wecame to get him.

  * * * * *

  The professor and I told Ben Randolph what had happened, and nobodyelse. I think he believed us.

  Buck spent two weeks in the town jail, and then a year in the statepen for pulling on Randolph, and nobody's seen him now for six years.Don't know what happened to him, or care much. I reckon he's workingas a cowhand someplace--anyway, he sends his mother money now andthen, so he must have tamed down some and growed up some too.

  While he was in the town jail, the professor talked to him a lot--theprofessor delayed his trip just to do it.

  One night he told me, "Tarrant can't do anything like that again. Notat all, even with his left hand. The gunfight destroyed his faith inhis ability to do it--or most of it, anyway. And I finished the job, Iguess, asking all my questions. I guess you can't think too much aboutthat sort of thing."

  The professor went on to San Francisco, where he's doing someinteresting experiments. Or trying to. Because he has the memory ofwhat happened that day--but, like Buck Tarrant, not the ability to doanything like that any more. He wrote me a couple times, and it seemsthat ever since that time he's been absolutely unable to do anytelekinesis. He's tried a thousand times and can't even move afeather.

  So he figures it was really me alone who saved Ben's life and stoppedBuck in his tracks.

  I wonder. Maybe the professor just knows too much not to be someskeptical, even with what he saw. Maybe the way he looks at things andtries to find reasons for them gets in the way of his faith.

  Anyway, he wants me to come to San Francisco and get experimented on.Maybe someday I will. Might be fun, if I can find time off from myjob.

  I got a lot of faith, you see. What I see, I believe. And when Benretired last year, I took over his job as sheriff--because I'm thefastest man with a gun in these parts. Or, actually, in the world.Probably if I wasn't the peaceable type, I'd be famous or something.

  * * * * *