10 Short Novels Magazine — page 80: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

—_ up fresh hosses for the ride to the -Stirrup.” ornate Yonkel nodded, shucked out his six-gun. “Make it snappy. You—runt— into the house you go!” Ruff stamped into the ranchhouse, went to a rocking-chair with sheep-skin tacked on the seat, planted himself in it. He glared at Stan Yonkel. “I’m tell- in’ y “You ain’t tellin’ me nothin’!” grunted the old rancher. “I’m tired of listenin’ to you. An’ I’m holdin’ you here while Silky Ed an’ some of the boys ride to the Brok- oe Maybe we’ll know then what’s Ww 9? Ruff tilted back in the rocker, locked his fingers together and said no more. Silky Ed Crowder rode up to the door on a fresh horse. “We'll be back in ’bout three hours,” he called. Wheeling his horse, he galloped back to the bunkhouse. A moment later came a roll of hoofbeats. The noise receded. Ruff got up, failed to heed Stan Yon- kel’s growled warning, and strode to the window. He looked out in time to see Silky Ed Crowder and his companions top a knoll and disappear. He counted the riders. “Say—’” He didn’t finish it—became si- lent and tense, ears strained. All the Boxed-Y hands had ridden with Silky Ed Crowder Stan Yonkel fingered his six-gun. “What's eatin’ you?” Ruff lifted a fist, smashed the glass out of the window. . “Hey!” roared Yonkel. “Them winders cost money !” Ruff put his head out. He turned it from side to side. He sniffed. Then he jerked back into the room as though he had been struck at. He backed for the door. “Quick!” he barked. “C’mon outside!” “Stand still!” yelled Yonkel. “You ain’t trickin’ me!” Ruff kept moving for the door. He put his hands up. “Quick! Outside!” He passed through the door into the sunlight, made no effort to dodge away, and literally ran backward. Old Stan Yonkel followed him, bellow- ing, “Stand still or Ill salivate you! Stand still or—” In the door the old rancher halted. He brought the hammer of his gun back, steadied the weapon. Deadly purpose was in his faded old eyes. He suspected some- body might be hiding behind the house, ready to cut down on him when he came out. “I’m not trickin’ you!” Ruff rapped at him. “Under the house! There’s—” Who-o-m! Flame and flying timbers suddenly filled the interior of the ranch- house. Old Stan Yonkel was blown out of the door like a paper wad from a school kid’s bean-shooter. The sod-covered roof:sprouted upward, bloomed a great cloud of smoke. Dust and torn logs boiled, fell back. UFF, tumbled end over end by the blast got to his feet as soon as he could. He leaped to old Stan Yonkel. The withered frame was limp, pinned down by logs. Ruff boosted the logs aside, took the old man’s wrist. There was pulse. He flexed Yonkel’s bony arms and legs, lifted his head cautiously, pressed fingers to his ribs. No bones seemed to be brok- en. He was merely knocked out. Ruff scooped up Yonkel’s_ six-gun, sprinted to the bunkhouse, came back car- rying the water bucket. He doused the rancher. The elderly man showed no signs of reviving. Ruff stared in the direction taken by Silky Ed Crowder. He swore softly. Ex- ploring, he found a sizeable knob in old Stan Yonkel’s thatch of white hair. The skull did not seem to be fractured. Flame was rapidly enwrapping the ruins of the ranchhouse. Somewhere in the burning tangle a box of cartridges started exploding. The slugs squealed about, knocking sparks, digging up dust. Picking up old Stan Yonkel, Ruff ran to the bunkhouse. He had seen a writ- ing tablet and pencil there. Seizing them, he wrote: STAN YONKLBE: Your foreman, Silky Ed Sommiac and your spread of punchers are behind this, I think. They must have put a keg of black powder under the house with a long fuse. I’m trailing them. Gacee Rowe Shouldering the old rancher once more, Ruff carried him to a freight wagon which stood near a corral, put him in the wagon bed, tucked the note in his pocket, covered him with a tarp. “He’ll wake up in time,” he grunted. Silky Ed Crowder had turned the buckskin into a corral with the other horses. Ruff ran to the enclosure, got a lass, spooked the buckskin into a corner and settled the noose on the animal. He saddled, mounted, spurred the trail Silky Ed had taken. Ruff was certain now that Crowder had the girl held prisoner. Ruff flung along at a mad pace. Miles on, he slowed down and anxiously studied the gait of his horse. The animal’s hide was a paste of lather and dust. It was blowing steadily, but not with the spas- modic force that meant exhaustion. COPMICLOOOKS ico