15 Western Short Stories — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

GOLD BULLETS A man stood in the clearing in front of the cabin. A dark figure was watch- ing him. Immediately a panicky feel- ing swept through old Matt. This was the murderer; the man Collins was after and had warned him about. “Well, what do you want?” the prospector asked. It was a foolish question, but it was the only thing he could think to say. “How about staking a hungry man to some grub?” “Come inside,’ Matt said. Nothing was to be gained by telling the man he had no grub to spare. Doing that might provoke him. It didn’t take much to provoke such a_ hardcase. Anyway, the killer might stay peace- ful and clear out once he was fed. He entered the shack, went to the fireplace and laid his burden down on the hearth. He set about arranging the logs so the fire ‘would start burning bright again. He heard the man enter behind him and close the door. Don't act suspicious, he told himself, take it easy and don’t let on that you know what he is. ATT STOOD up and turned around to find the man looking at the rifle hanging over the fire. place. There was a chill, speculative gleam in the man’s eyes. A week's growth of beard covered the lower part of his face. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in that time. It was a tough, gaunt face. The prospector knew that the man wouldn't pull any- thing until he’d got some grub into him. He looked wolf-hungry. As he fixed the beans on a plate and poured coffee into his tin cup, Matt tried to think of something to say to the man. He knew he couldn’t ask the likely questions—where he came from, or where he was heading, why he was out here afoot. The man would get ideas if he pried. “Turning cold early this year.” “Yeah.” “Soon time to hole up for the win- TOR.” Durango merely grunted. Matt pushed the plate and cup across the table; and put a spoon down. The man sat down on the stool, placing himself at the table so that 1S he was between the rifle and Matt Webb. He grabbed up the spoon, wolf- ing the beans. Every second or two he would throw a speculative glance at old Matt. | “Guess you got a good claim here, eh?” Jake Durango said slyly. “Ain’t found no color yet.” “You miners always talk poor.” “It’s the truth. I'll have to try to get me a grubstake ta see me through the winter.” “You wouldn't be wasting your time here, old man, af you weren't panning some paydirt.’ The prospector stood patiently, not daring to make a move. He wondered what the criminal was thinking, what would be his next move. The man was dangerous, just like Sheriff Collins had said. He should have taken the lawmans warning seriously. He should have loaded the rifle as soon as he had come in and kept it at the eaay. Now it hung on the wall, emp- ty, doing him no good. The killer was scraping the bottom of the plate, the spoon against tin making a loud sound in the silent room. Finally he gulped down the coifee. “That all you got to of mer 2 “That's all tne beans. More coffee in the pot.” Durango reached for the pot, re- fiiled the cup with the hot, black liq- uid. “What’s back on that shelf?” “Want some hardtack?” “Phat’ll do. Fetch some.’ Matt Webb turned and went to the Shelf. He reached for the tin can the biscuits were in. He spotted the small leather sack next to the can. His back was to Durango. He reached for the biscuit can with his right hand and, hoping the man wasn’t watching, got the sack off the shelf with his left. This was the answer—he must hide the sack so Durango wouldn’t find it. “What you got there?” Durango’s voice barked. Matt Webb spun around. Now it was for keeps. The man knew he was suspected. He’d got the rifle from its place. This one had killed before and there was nothing to stop him from killing again—except the rifle was empty. He held the gun pointed at (please turn to page 54) (CO MICLOO© SS (CO