His finger twitched slightly, as it lightly touched the ivory handle of his six shooter.

Steel blue eyes stared deep into the eyes of his foe.

Both waiting for that moment, that sign, that inevitable second, when it would be speed against speed.

His heart was beating ...

faster

louder.

Then he saw it.

It was subtle, no more than a twitch of his foe's leg, but it was a sign.

He drew quickly.

Aimed.

And fired.

One shot.

Two shots.

Three shots.

Then silence ...

save for the mocking gobble of the turkey as it disappeared into the sagebrush.

Happy Thanksgiving.