Pulp Fiction, 1955 · page 61 of 101
15 Western Short Stories — page 61: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is an interior page from a pulp-fiction western story titled "Raw-Red Law of the Rebel Legion" by Wayne D. Overholser, marked as a "Time-Honored Western Classic." The page contains story prose alongside a dramatic black-and-white illustration depicting a violent confrontation—a man being thrown through a doorway into the street while others watch from inside a saloon. The text introduces Dan Casey, a hard-luck fighting man in Denver who's been abandoned by his fiancée Rose O'Hearn; after attempting to drink away his sorrows at a bar, he's approached by someone named Big Red Masters seeking his assistance with an unspecified tough job.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
[ TIME se HONORED | WESTERN CLASSIC if i t [is Hin by WAYNE D. OVERHOLSER A fighting man, was Dan Casey, whese range luck al- ways ran good... “NHE PHILOSOPHERS - say that it is a thin line between love and hate. Maybe this is so. Dan Casey was in no mood to medi- tate on the subject. He only knew that a week before Rose O’Hearn had promised to marry him. Then, for no reason at all, she had disappeared from Central City. She had left with- out sending word to him, and that, to Dan Casey was proof enough that everything she’d told him had been lies. Dismounting in the Elephant Cor- ral, Casey lurched into the Denver House, bone-weary from the long ride and soul-sour. He didn’t want to see Rose again. He didn’t want to hear her name. He'd get drunk enough here in Denver to forget her, and then hed light out for California. A lanky man, this Dan Casey, long- boned and long-muscled, with a repu- tation in Central City as a fighting man whose luck always ran good. He’d sold his claim for the gold that was heavy now around his middle, but if anybody had called him Good Luck Casey, he’d have laid the man flat vith a sledging right to his jaw. What good was it to be lucky if he lost the woman he loved? Casey rammed his way to the bar, using a pair of hard-swinging elbows co clear his way. If any of the men in his path resented his belligerence, they took a look at his stubble-black face, his dark eyes as sharp as chipped obsidian, his big-knuckled fists, and the .41 stuck in his belt, and forthwith r 61 sian me. Mehl Ty hat Bee, Then Casey was thrown head-first through the door into the street. lost their hostile intentions. Casey had one drink. That was as close-as he came to getting drunk that night. Big Red Masters shouldered his way to Casey and laid a hand on his arm. “You're the fellow I’m looking for, Dan. I was making the rounds to pick up a man who could handle a tough job, but I didn’t figure I’d be lucky enough to run into you.” Casey shook Masters’ hand off, re- copyright 1948, Interstate Publishing Corp. oO COMiicloo SCO in