GEORGE LODGE'S jaw set stubbornly. He said, " Doc, I'm not running. I've got to fight Guyer, and I might as well get it over with."
"George, there are normal men and there are abnormals. You're normal, and you're letting an abnormal force you to do exactly what he wants."
Lodge said quietly, "If he wants to kill so badly, let him try it on me. Maybe I don't have a chance, I'm not fast. But it's a chance I've got to take." He loosened the gun in his holster and stepped out the door.
Stanton watched his friend stride up the street. Luke Guyer came swaggering down to meet him, proud owner of a gunspeed no man could beat. The doctor's eyes went to Lodge. He thought of how he had missed his chance to stop this. He felt that it was himself, not Guyer, who was about to murder Lodge.
The men stopped in mid-street, dust settling around their boots. There was a bluffed movement of Guyer's hand. Then Lodge's gun came up from the holster. Late. Too late. Guyer's was already coming to bear on Lodge.
"George! Shoot! You've no time to aim!" Stanton cried.
Two shots blended together, resounding against the buildings. Lodge stood still. Luke Guyer toppled through the cloud of smoke and hit the dust as though thrown.
Boots thudded in the silence, crowding up around Guyer, and Stanton had to thrust his way through the men. One glance at the still figure was enough. He felt the pulse to make sure, then stood up.
"Did yuh see it, Doc? Luke barely beat Lodge to the draw! It was a even match! Did yuh see it, Doc?"
The doctor nodded, knowing now that he hadn't failed....
Stanton was coroner, and when he filled out the death certificate he wrote: "Cause of Death, half ounce of lead in right ventricle of heart."
But only Stanton knew the actual cause. The patient died from taking 1/4 dose opium syrup three times a day, which almost managed to slow his extraordinarily fast reflexes down to those of a normal man.
THE END**
Copyright 1955 for The American Magazine, no separate record of copyright renewal
IllustrationL Leslie Ross