The fastest draw

By LARRY EISENBERG
Illustrated by SCHELLING
Steinberg was an electronic genius. Here, the Old West was dead and gone for many decades, but now once again a man could stroll down Main Street for a showdown with the Marshal.
Like most men, Amos Handworthy was a creature of many parts. To his business associates he was a sober, calculating entrepreneur, given occasionally to rash ventures which through outrageous turns of luck usually ended well. To his employees he was a distant, ominous figure, wandering through his electronics plant occasionally, staring with pale blue eyes at a myriad of trivial details, sifting through the reject box of discarded transistors and occasionally stopping to ask a loaded but seemingly innocuous question of one of the production engineers. To his housekeeper he was a brusque, harsh man, not given overly to entertaining or keeping late hours but sober, sedate and completely absorbed in his pervasive habit of collecting automata.
Very few men had ever seen the eyes of Amos Handworthy come aglow and Manny Steinberg was one of them. Manny was a superb engineer who combined the ability to carry out a sophisticated circuit design with the old fashioned desire to tinker. It was almost physically painful for him to pass by a mechanical device that was not in working order. And so, in his first visit to the Pecos Saloon, a town landmark that had been restored to its pristine décor through the generosity of Amos Handworthy, Manny caught sight of the magnificent music making machine as soon as he cut through the swinging doors. He proceeded first to the bar and availed himself of the tequila and lemon juice which was the specialty of the house. Much of the town showed the influence of its close location to the Mexican border, the large Spanish speaking population, the frijoles that were vended off street carts, and the tastes in liquor.
Still sucking on the lemon, Manny walked over and surveyed the glass enclosed music maker, four vertical violins arrayed in a circle with a hoop of horse hair spanning about the four violin bridges, electromagnet stops hovering above the strings. A dried out square of paper had been crudely taped across the glass with the clear inked inscription, Out of Order. He had removed the back door of the machine and was examining the innards when he felt a proprietary hand on his shoulder and swivelled about to meet the questioning gaze of his boss, Amos Handworthy.