The Draw Part 3

Buck was staring at the little man in town clothes, over by the window. The little man had reared back at the shots, and now he was sitting up in his chair, his eyes straight on Buck. The table in front of him was wet where he'd spilled his drink when he'd jumped.

Buck looked at the little guy's fancy clothes and small mustache and grinned. "Come on," he said to me, and picked up his drink and started across the floor. "Find out who the dude is."

He pulled out a chair and sat down--and I saw he was careful to sit facing the front door, and also where he could see out the window.

I pulled out another chair and sat.

"Good shooting, huh?" Buck asked the little guy.

"Yes," said the little guy. "Very fine shooting. I confess, it quite startled me."

Buck laughed harshly. "Startled the old guy too...." He raised his voice. "Ain't that right, Menner? Wasn't you startled?"

"Yes, sir," came Menner's pain-filled voice from the bar.

Buck looked back at the little man--let his insolent gaze travel up and down the fancy waistcoat, the string tie, the sharp face with its mustache and narrow mouth and black eyes. He looked longest at the eyes, because they didn't seem to be scared.

He looked at the little guy, and the little guy looked at Buck, and finally Buck looked away. He tried to look wary as he did it, as if he was just fixing to make sure that n.o.body was around to sneak-shoot him--but you could see he'd been stared down.

When he looked back at the little guy, he was scowling. "Who're you, mister?" he said. "I never seen you before."

"My name is Jacob Pratt, sir. I'm just traveling through to San Francisco. I'm waiting for the evening stage."

"Drummer?"

"Excuse me?"

For a second Buck's face got ugly. "You heard me, mister. You a drummer?"

"I heard you, young man, but I don't quite understand. Do you mean, am I a musician? A performer upon the drums?"

"No, you G.o.ddam fool--I mean, what're you selling? Snake-bite medicine? Likker? Soap?"

"Why--I'm not selling anything. I'm a professor, sir."

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned." Buck looked at him a little more carefully. "A perfessor, huh? Of what?"

"Of psychology, sir."

"What's that?"

"It's the study of man's behavior--of the reasons why we act as we do."

Buck laughed again, and it was more of a snarl. "Well, perfessor, you just stick around here then, and I'll show you some _real_ reasons for people acting as they do! From now on, I'm the big reason in this town ...

they'll jump when I yell frog, or else!"

His hand was flat on the table in front of him--and suddenly his Peacemaker was in it, pointing at the professor's fourth vest b.u.t.ton.

"See what I mean huh?"

The little man blinked. "Indeed I do," he said, and stared at the gun as if hypnotized. Funny, though--he still didn't seem scared--just a lot interested.

Sitting there and just listening, I thought about something else funny--how they were both just about of a size, Buck and the professor, and so strong in different ways: with the professor, you felt he was strong inside--a man who knew a lot, about things and about himself--while with Buck it was all on the outside, on the surface: he was just a milksop kid with a deadly sting.

Buck was still looking at the professor, as carefully as he had before. He seemed to hesitate for a second, his mouth twisting. Then he said, "You're an eddicated man, ain't you? I mean, you studied a lot. Ain't that right?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Well...." Again Buck seemed to hesitate. The gun in his hand lowered until the end of the barrel rested on the table. "Look," he said slowly, "maybe you can tell me how in h.e.l.l...."

When he didn't go on, the professor said, "Yes?"

"Nothing."

"You were going to say--?"

Buck looked at him, his bulging eyes narrowed, the gunman's smirk on his lips again. "Are you telling me what's true and what ain't," he said softly, "with my gun on you?"

"Does the gun change anything?"

Buck tapped the heavy barrel on the table. "I say it changes a h.e.l.l of a lot of things." _Tap_ went the barrel. "You wanta argue?"

"Not with the gun," the professor said calmly. "It always wins. I'll talk with you, however, if you'll talk with your mouth instead of with the gun."

By this time I was filled with admiration for the professor's guts, and fear that he'd get a bullet in them ... I was all set to duck, in case Buck should lose his temper and start throwing lead.

But suddenly Buck's gun was back in his holster. I saw the professor blink again in astonishment.

"You know," Buck said, grinning loosely, "you got a lotta nerve, professor. Maybe you _can_ tell me what I wanta know."

He didn't look at the little man while he talked--he was glancing around, being "wary" again. And grinning that grin at the same time.

You could see he was off-balance--he was acting like everything was going on just like he wanted it; but actually the professor had beaten him again, words against the gun, eyes against eyes.

The professor's dark eyes were level on Buck's right now. "What is it you want to know?"

"This--" Buck said, and his gun was in his hand again, and it was the first time when he did it that his face stayed sober and kind of stupid-looking, his normal expression, instead of getting wild and dangerous. "How--do you know how do I do it?"

"Well," the professor said, "suppose you give me your answer first, if you have one. It might be the right one."

"I--" Buck shook his head--"Well, it's like I _think_ the gun into my hand. It happened the first time this morning. I was standing out in the Pa.s.s where I always practise drawing, and I was wis.h.i.+ng I could draw faster'n anybody who ever lived--I was wis.h.i.+ng I could just get my gun outa leather in no time atall. And--" the gun was back in his holster in the blink of an eye--"that's how it happened. My gun was in my hand. Just like that. I didn't even reach for it--I was just getting set to draw, and had my hand out in front of me ... and my gun was in my hand before I knew what'd happened. G.o.d, I was so surprised I almost fell over!"

"I see," said the professor slowly. "You _think_ it into your hand?"