Even though he had a reputation for being fast and deadly, some thought it was just a myth. Still, the last thing all ever saw was the lightning streak of his hand and his gun flashing upward so fast that no gun could ever clear its holster. And that was all they saw, besides the puff from the end of his gun…then, nothing. It was all over before it ever began.

And even though he was a wanted man, no lawman would ever step forward to challenge him. None wanted to tempt their fate. They didn’t feel as if they wanted to take that ill-fated chance that he would be quicker than they were. They refused to send any bounty hunters after him as well. They didn’t want to have anyone else’s blood on their hands, so they allowed him space. They allowed him to roam the frontier unfettered and unhounded.

Yet, no one knew the full story. Only the one they called Fancy knew how the ruthless gang he once rode with had tried, unsuccessfully, to kill him and place all the blame of all their misdeeds on him. No one knew it had all been because of one fateful robbery. Fancy had been against it from the start. Rustling, he had said, was one thing. Robbery was another. They wouldn’t succeed. And he was right. That had galled them. He was right.

So they waited for him to turn his back to them, then shot him. They had been too cowardly to face him down, so they shot him in the back. But they did not kill him. Perhaps they thought they had, or that the posse that followed them would hang him, for they left him behind. Yet, he didn’t die. Nor did the posse hang him.