by Jerome Bixby
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 glancingaround, being "wary" again. And grinning that grin at the same time.You could see he was off-balance--he was acting like everything wasgoing on just like he wanted it; but actually the professor had beatenhim again, words against the gun, eyes against eyes.
The professor's dark eyes were level on Buck's right now. "What is ityou want to know?"
"This--" Buck said, and his gun was in his hand again, and it was thefirst time when he did it that his face stayed sober and kind ofstupid-looking, his normal expression, instead of getting wild anddangerous. "How--do you know how do I do it?"
"Well," the professor said, "suppose you give me your answer first, ifyou have one. It might be the right one."
* * * * *
"I--" Buck shook his head--"Well, it's like I _think_ the gun into myhand. It happened the first time this morning. I was standing out inthe Pass where I always practise drawing, and I was wishing I coulddraw faster'n anybody who ever lived--I was wishing I could just getmy gun outa leather in no time atall. And--" the gun was back in hisholster in the blink of an eye--"that's how it happened. My gun was inmy hand. Just like that. I didn't even reach for it--I was justgetting set to draw, and had my hand out in front of me ... and my gunwas in my hand before I knew what'd happened. God, I was so surprisedI almost fell over!"
"I see," said the professor slowly. "You _think_ it into your hand?"
"Yeah, kind of."
"Would you do it now, please?" And the professor leaned forward so hecould see Buck's holster, eyes intent.
Buck's gun appeared in his hand.
The professor let out a long breath. "Now think it back into itsholster."
It was there.
"You did not move your arm either time," said the professor.
"That's right," said Buck.
"The gun was just suddenly in your hand instead of in your holster.And then it was back in the holster."
"Right."
"Telekinesis," said the professor, almost reverently.
"Telewhat?"
"Telekinesis--the moving of material objects by mental force." Theprofessor leaned back and studied the holstered gun. "It _must_ bethat. I hardly dared think if at first--the first time you did it. Butthe thought did occur to me. And now I'm virtually certain!"
"How do you say it?"
"T-e-l-e-k-i-n-e-s-i-s."
"Well, how do I _do_ it?"
"I can't answer that. Nobody knows. It's been the subject of manyexperiments, and there are many reported happenings--but I've neverheard of any instance even remotely as impressive as this." Theprofessor leaned across the table again. "Can you do it with otherthings, young man?"
"What other things?"
"That bottle on the bar, for example."
"Never tried."
"Try."
Buck stared at the bottle.
It wavered. Just a little. Rocked, and settled back.
Buck stared harder, eyes bulging.
The bottle shivered. That was all.
"Hell," Buck said. "I can't seem to--to get ahold of it with my mind,like I can with my gun."
"Try moving this glass on the table," the professor said, "It'ssmaller, and closer."
* * * * *
Buck stared at the glass. It moved a fraction of an inch across thetabletop. No more.
Buck snarled like a dog and swatted the glass with his hand, knockingit halfway across the room.
"Possibly," the professor said, after a moment, "you can do it withyour gun because you want to so very badly. The strength of yourdesire releases--or creates--whatever psychic forces are necessary toperform the act." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Young man, supposeyou try to transport your gun to--say, to the top of the bar."
"Why?" Buck asked suspiciously.
"I want to see whether distance is a factor where the gun isconcerned. Whether you can place the gun that far away from you, orwhether the power operates only when you want your gun in your hand."
"No," Buck said in an ugly voice. "Damn if I will. I'd maybe get mygun over, there and not be able to get it back, and then you'd jumpme--the two of you. I ain't minded to experiment around too much,thank you."
"All right," the professor said, as if he didn't care. "The suggestionwas purely in the scientific spirit--"
"Sure," said Buck. "Sure. Just don't get any more scientific, or I'llexperiment on how many holes you can get in you before you die."
The professor sat back in his chair and looked Buck right in the eye.After a second, Buck looked away, scowling.
Me, I hadn't said a word the whole while, and I wasn't talking now.
"Wonder where that goddam yellow-bellied sheriff is?" Buck said. Helooked out the window, then glanced sharply at me. "He said he'd come,huh?"
"Yeah." When I was asked, I'd talk.
We sat in silence for a few moments.
The professor said, "Young man, you wouldn't care to come with me toSan Francisco, would you? I and my colleagues would be very gratefulfor the opportunity to investigate this strange gift of yours--wewould even be willing to pay you for your time and--"
Buck laughed. "Why, hell, I reckon I got bigger ideas'n that, mister!_Real_ big ideas. There's no man alive I can't beat with a gun! I'mgoing to take Billy the Kid ... Hickock ... all of them! I'm going toget myself a rep bigger'n all theirs put together. Why, when I walkinto a saloon, they'll hand me likker. I walk into a bank, they'llgive me the place. No lawman from Canada to Mexico will even stay inthe same town with me! Hell, what could _you_ give me, you goddamlittle dude?"
The professor shrugged. "Nothing that would satisfy you."
"That's right." Suddenly Buck stiffened, looking out the window. Hegot up, his bulging blue eyes staring down at us. "Randolph's comingdown the street! You two just stay put, and maybe--just maybe--I'lllet you live. Professor, I wanta talk to you some more about thistelekinesis stuff. Maybe I can get even faster than I am, or controlmy bullets better at long range. So you be here, get that?"
* * * * *
He turned and walked out the door.
The professor said, "He's not sane."
"Nutty as a locoed steer," I said. "Been that way for a long time. Anugly shrimp who hates everything--and now he's in the saddle holdingthe reins, and some people are due to get rode down." I lookedcuriously at him. "Look, professor--this telekinesis stuff--is allthat on the level?"
"Absolutely."
"He just _thinks_ his gun into his hand?"
"Exactly."
"Faster than anyone could ever draw it?"
"Inconceivably faster. The time element is almost non-existent."
I got up, feeling worse than I'd ever felt in my life. "Come on," Isaid. "Let's see what happens."
As if there was any doubt about what was bound to happen.
We stepped out onto the porch and over to the rail. Behind us, Iheard Menner come out too. I looked over my shoulder. He'd wrapped atowel around his head. Blood was leaking through it. He was looking atBuck, hating him clear through.
* * * * *
The street was deserted except for Buck standing about twenty feetaway, and, at the far end, Sheriff Ben Randolph coming slowly towardhim, putting one foot ahead of the other in the dust.
A few men were standing on porches, pressed back against the walls,mostly near doors. Nobody was sitting now--they were ready togroundhog if lead started flying wild.
"God damn it," I said in a low, savage voice. "Ben's too good a man toget kilt this way. By a punk kid with some crazy psychowhosis way ofhandling a gun."
I felt the professor's level eyes on me, and turned to look at him.
"Why," he said, "doesn't a group of you get together and face himdown? Ten guns against his one. He'd have to surrender."
"No, he wouldn't," I said. "That ain't the way it works. He'd justdare any of us to be the first to try and stop him--and none of uswould take him up on it. A group like that don't mean anything--it'dbe each man against Buck Tarrant, and none of us good enough."
"I see," the professor said softly.
"God...." I clenched my fists so hard they hurt. "I wish we couldthink his