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                         The Fastest Gun Dead

                           BY JULIAN F. GROW

                     The skeleton had the fastest
                      draw west of the Pecos. Too
                     bad he was such a lousy shot.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
               Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


He was a big man, broad of shoulder, slim of hip. His Stetson was
crimped Texas-style, over slate-gray eyes that impassively had seen
much good and more evil in their twenty-six years.

He stood in the saloon door with the dust of the streets of Dos
Cervezas Pequenas still swirling about scuffed, range-rider's chaps.
His left hand held open the weatherbeaten swinging door. The right
hovered 