15 Western Short Stories — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

N MANY stories of the West, the [= action takes place with a bartender cringing in the corner or hiding behind the counter, while his saloon is being demolished by the battling hero and villain. Sam Gentry would have laughed at these stories. Because Sam Gentry was the toughest galoot this side of the Pecos, and widely known as the fighting bar- tender of Tucson. Sam was born in Tucson, and he had lived there all his life without venturing further than a hundred miles in any one direction from it. His father had owned a small ranch, and Sam helped his father with every part of the ranching business. He was big, and like his father he had flaming hair that bordered between copper and gold. Sam had lots of ribbons in the house that he had won at the annual rodeo. Nobody in Tucson could ride as well, or pin a steer as quick as could Sam Gen- try. But for all his strength, Sam was a a " quiet “boy who never harmed anyone unless he was provoked. Sam had never seen his mother, who died right after he was born, and his father died when he was twenty-one. Sam took over the ranch then, and ran it until a drought killed off all the cattle and he had to sell out. He could have gone to work as a foreman for a dozen more prosperous ranches in that vicinity, but Sam got a better offer from Eli Sudney who owned the SIL- VER STAR, which was the best bar in Tucson. Eli had been a friend of sam’s father, and with the large num- ber of drifters, gold-miners and rene- gades that were pouring into Tucson, he needed someone like Sam to act as bartender and bouncer. sam had never taken more than a couple of drinks in his life, so that being around all the liquor didn’t af- fect him any. He was punctual and he was thorough. When a man had too much to drink, it didn’t take more 16 by HOWARD OZMON than a glance at Sam's steel-blue eyes to tell he wasn’t having any more and that he had better take off for other places. In a week’s time, Sam had brought more law and order to. the SILVER STAR than there was in the whole of Tucson. The oldtimers knew that Sam meant what he said, but there were always some fiery young newcomers looking for trouble, and when they ran into Sam, they found it. One such newcomer was a young kid by the name of Jack Durranger. It was rumored that he was wanted in Abeline for murder, and he had worked his way to Tucson, leaving a wake of rustling and theft behind him. It was evening when Durranger en- tered the SILVER STAR. His clothes (There wasn't a | {man who stood | more for the | Old West ideal | of unselfish | courage than} Sam Gentry..... | and boots were dusty from traveling, and the holster which housed his six- shooter was hung low and tied down. A wisp of smoke-black hair pro- truded from underneath a large five- gallon hat, and he had a small scar, which looked as though it had been made with a whip, on his right cheek. When he came up to the bar, Sam was in his‘apron, wiping glasses. Durran- ger ordered seven drinks in a row and with a snarl said, “I’ll shoot it out with any man in the house.” Everyone heard him, but no one moved. “Tl make ya shoot it out, ya lily- bellied cowards,” he roared, and he drew his six-gun and shot at a tum- bler on one of the far tables, It ex- ploded into a million flashing pieces. But that was the last shot Jack ever got in the SILVER STAR. One huge arm reached over the counter and around his neck, while another shook (cont'd on page 23) CO NOOK (CO