15 Western Short Stories — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

70 shirt as her breath came swiftly. A year and a half ago all of Powder Mace’s dreams for the future had been bound up with Nancy Rolfe.... “Lets hurry,” she begged. afraid.” A blood-gold moon hung in the sky, spraying them with misty light, as they gained the dim wagon trail and rode swiftly to the west. Nancy Rolfe led the way, and as Powder Mace watched the lithe sway of her body in the saddle those memories crowded in closer. He’d met Nancy Rolfe soon after coming to the basin, and loved her. But with the danger from Turk Brule hanging over him he hadn't dared ask her to share his little out- fit with him. fo him, Nancy Rolfe had been something to fight for, to worship and dream of. Nancy lived on the little Triple X outfit with her step-father, Judd Ray- der. Rayder was a hard, sullen man who was forever quarreling with his neighbors. The Triple X really be- longed to Nancy Rolfe, having be- longed to Nancy’s mother, now dead, before her marriage ten years before to Judd Rayder. In the red hearts of a hundred camvfires during the last year Powder Mace had seen Nancy Rolfe’s lovely face. But this was the first time he’d seen her since Turk Brule had driven him into unjust outlawry.... They drew up before a low, fort- like old ranch house that was quiet and dark except for the dim glow of light in one window. They dismount- ed, and the girl led the way without speaking along a shadowy corridor to a lighted doorway. Powder Mace paused, his wary eyes probing from instinct into the dimly-lighted room. A smoky lamp set on a table beside a disordered bed. On the bed lay a man, his features almost concealed by the tumbled blankets. Nancy had gone into the room. She looked back over her shoulder at Pow- der Mace, said, ‘“I—he must have suf- fered awfully. Maybe we can do some- thing.” Powder went into the room. He went to the bed, stooped over the half- concealed figure. Like a blow, warning of menace hammered at Powder Mace, and he “T’m WESTERN SHORT STCRIES knew that Nancy Rolfe had led him into a trap. He twisted aside, tried to hurl himself backwards. But he was too late. He felt a pair of hands grip his ankles like steel cables. The hands heaved savagely, jerking Powder’s feet from under him. His head smashed against the floor, and the room seemed to explode in a roar of zooming lights before his eyes. But before losing consciousness he was aware of several things: Nancy Rolfe’s sobbing scream, the flat, snarl- ing face of the man who had been hiding under the bed to grasp his an- kles, the gaunt, scare-crow figure of Judd Rayder as he reared up from the bed, a gun in bis hand... . When Powder Mace regained con- sciousness his head throbbed with dul! pain. He lay on the bed, bound hand and foct, beside the table that held the smoky lamp. As remembrance ré- turned, bitterness flooded through aim. He’d been tricked, betrayed by the one person in the world he would have trusted utterly. | Without moving, he looked about the room. Hunched in a chair at the foot of the bed was a squat, powerful, flat-faced man whose dark, stupid fea- tures were stamped with cruelty. This gent, Powder Mace knew, was Ike Torgin, who worked for Judd Rayder and was his slave. It had been Ike Torgin who was waiting under the bed. ANCY ROLFE sat beside the ta- ble, her tanned face strained and set in the dim light. She was watching Ike Torgin, her dark head turned to one side as if she were listening, Ike Torgin looked suddenly at the girl, and grinned. “They're comin’,” he said. The girl said nothing. Just sat there, almost like one in a trance. There was a clatter of hoofs out- side; then a quick thud of boots along the corridor, and two men came into the room. One of them was Judd Ray- der. The other was big, with hard dark features that would have been hand- some if they hadn’t been so indelibly stamped with his cruel, ruthless na- ture. His flashy raiment, his expensive boots and ornamented gunbelt, gleamed in the lamplight. COMMICLO© S COL