“All right, I’m a liar, but I can beat you to the draw easy. I’ll tell you why. You waste time. You don’t co-ordinate your movements.”
“Don’t what?” His eyes opened a trifle.
“You’re all wrong. Show me again.”
He stared at me, his curiosity battling with his rage. Then he set himself, the gun jumped into his hand. It was fast and smooth. I knew I’d have to be extra good to beat him.
“Yeah,” I said, “the holster’s in the wrong position. I thought that was the trouble. It’s too high. You want to sling it lower. You waste time catching at the butt. When you get the rod out you have to lower the barrel before you fire. See ? Wastes time.”
“Got it all worked out, ain’t you?” he said, staring at the gun. I could see he was impressed. He put the gun back into the holster, adjusted the strap to bring the gun in a slightly lower position. “That right?” he asked.
“I’d make it lower,” I said, “but then you’re not as tall as I am.”
He hesitated, then let the strap out another knotch. The way he had it now was the way I wanted him to have it if I could lay my hands on a gun. The holster was now loose enough to go with the gun when he pulled it, and that’d mean a time lag before he could free the gun.
“Yeah,” he said, looking at the way the gun was hanging. “That’s okay.” He grinned at me. “You ain’t so smart, are you, bub?”
“What the hell?” I said, shrugging. “I still got confidence. I don’t murder guys. I give ’em a chance.”