DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
The usual approach of bringing a gun to a gunfight was not working. It would, if that cowardly blond weasel would bother to play by the rules. But he was cheating, and so it fell to the master outlaw Colt Winchester to cheat as well.
To that end, Winchester had devised a plan that would take care of the big blond bastard once and for all. A night spent thieving from the locals while they slept had yielded the tools needed to implement this plan.
There was his target now, on break from a day of continuing to look for work. His nemesis had sought refuge from the afternoon heat in a folding chair under the awning in front of the saloon, taking frequent hydration breaks in the form of cold beer.
Little did he know it was about to be the last beer he would ever have!
Winchester readied his stolen wheelbarrow, which held an equally stolen barrel of powder. The barrel would be detonated by its fuse, a quick burner to keep Winchester's wily prey from emerging triumphant again by some cheap trick like cutting the fuse or extinguishing it. Yet to ensure enough time for delivery, Winchester had cut the fuse long. It was long enough that it sat currently on the ground.
The outlaw had not allowed chance in the cutting of his fuse. He had carefully measured the distance last night from the spot the fuse would be lit to where the detonation was planned, done the calculations for burning time, and ensured the length the fuse was currently was exactly right for what he planned.
He rolled the barrow along his side of the street from his concealed vantage spot, making his way to the point directly across from the saloon where he would light the fuse.
The walk was rough and uneven, as this little town had no proper grading, and rocks of different types were about. The barrow scraped one such rock; it yielded only small sparks from its contact, but that was enough to light the quick-burn fuse, made of powder meant to be easily lit. The man Winchester had stolen it from had, for his own reasons, specifically made it that way, only the outlaw knew none of this when he took it for his own ends.
Winchester came to a stop at his planned lighting point and set the barrow down. Just as he struck a match, the already-burning fuse reached its end.
The explosion that resulted wasn't enough to do more than minimal damage to a building, but it certainly was enough to send Winchester flying into the middle of the street to land on his back with a hard thud. The very best outcome for him would be that the most harm done was the wind was knocked out of him, but when does one ever encounter the best outcome from being next to a barrel of powder that explodes?
Whether he was injured or not, Colt Winchester didn't look very good, his face and clothes covered in black soot.
A figured appeared as a silhouette that blocked out the sunlight as it stood over the master outlaw. "You ok?"
Winchester coughed, a cloud of black smoke coming out. "I hate you," he wheezed.
His blond enemy sighed and bent, placing a frothy stein of beer in the sand next to him. "You need this more than I do, mate."