He opened another bottle of rum and listened to the gale rage outside the tent. He took the oily, heavy, sleek bulk of the revolver from its web holster and sat fondling it in the gloom. He had always favored a revolver over a pistol. Automatics jammed. Clip springs wore out. Not for him. You knew where you were wit a revolver. This one was fairly new, not the old Webley he had practically teethed on, but it was a good hand gun. Smith and Wesson, double action, .41 magnum.

1967.