Pulp Fiction, 1955 · page 85 of 101
15 Western Short Stories — page 85: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains story prose from a pulp fiction Western titled "Starpacker Stampede." The narrative follows the narrator and his partner Windy McCarthy as they encounter two suspicious miners, Bill Mabie and Droopy Dildock, in a railroad car. After an tense confrontation involving drawn guns, the men introduce themselves and begin playing cards. When McCarthy mentions seeing the miners near a livery, Droopy becomes agitated, accusing McCarthy of calling them liars, though Mabie attempts to calm the situation. The scene depicts classic pulp Western elements: frontier dialogue, quick-draw tension, and character conflict.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
STARPACKER STAMPEDE 88 bills when Grumpy Gordon finds out what he signed awhile back. If you wasn't so danged stuck on yourself you’d see that them folks signed that petition o’ yours as a joke. They all wanta see what Grumpy does when he finds out you intend runnin’ agin ilim tor marshal. Personally I'd rather not be around to see, you bein’ a friend o’ mine, kinda.”’ McCarthy ignores this turn of the conversation. “Wish we could’a’ waited to see what was the trouble around the bank just as we was leavin’,”’ he says wist- fully. “If it was a hold-up or some- thin’ I oughta been there. Maybe I could’a’ got in some practice herdin’ outlaws.” “What you're gonna catch ain’t out- laws,” I assures him. “And if I was you ’d—” “All right,” interrupts a harsh voice, “raise yer mittens!” I swings around to see a tall, hard- jawed hombre steppin’ out from be- hind a pile of packin’ cases at the back of the car. He don’t look like a very friendly party, even without that long-barreled .45 he is doin’ calisthen- ics with. Before we can say howdy to this bird, we have another visitor, a funny, hatchet-faced little fella who jumps out beside the first man and starts wavin’ a gun. “Save yer lead, Droopy,” growls the tall one. “Wait till we find out what these hombres is doin’ ridin’ in our private coach.” The hatchet-faced man grumbles somethin’ I couldn’t get, but it seems to me as if he is gettin’ anxious to get ahead with his target practice. Just then, however, my pardner wakes up and introduces us. “Gents,” he says hearty-like, “I’m plumb happy to make your acquaint- ance! I’m Windy McCarthy, former- ly with the Bar BOQ outfit, but just now travelin’ for my health, and this here is Piccolo Peters, my pardner.” Our two visitors look at each other, then lower their artillery. ‘“Reckon they’re all right,” says the tall one, tuckin’ his .45 back in the leather. “I’m Bill Mabie and this is Droopy Dildock. We been placer min- in’ up in the Bear Tooth Range an’ Struck some dirt. Headin’ fer Long- horn City to git a little recreation.” I looks at his red nose and decides there is only one kind of recreation he would be interested in, but that numb- skull pardner of mine seems set on cultivatin’ these two birds. “Pleased to meetcha,’ McCarthy says again. “Me and my pardner here is makin’ a business trip to Longhorn City ourselves. We might as well be sociable.” I give McCarthy a look that oughta have singed his eyebrows, but the danged fool just grins and the next thine I know we are squatted on the floor bein’ sociable with a deck of dog-eared playin’ cards which Droopy drags outa his greasy vest. McCarthy shuffles and deals and then says: “Didn’t I see you two fel- las drift out from Salter’s livery and roll your tails towards this freight just as me and Piccolo was crossin’ Ma.n Street?” Bill Mabie scowls. “Couldn’t’a’ been us,’ he says shortly. “I'd’a’ swore—"” begins Windy. Droopy Dildock jerks to his feet and yanks out his gun again. “Yuh hear that?” he squeals. “He’s insinuatin’ you're a dog-gone lar, Bill!” Mabie gets to his feet and bats down the gun. “Shut up!’ he says harshly. He turns to Windy and me. “Don’t mind Droopy, boys,” he growls. “He gits as proddy sometimes as a old maid with spring fever.” I don’t like the way these birds are actin’, but that addle-brained peanut I'd taken for a pardner evidently thinks they are all right. “No apolo- gies necessary,” he says with a big- hearted wave of the hand. “All of us fly off the handle at times.” And he looks at me. Itowever, the card game is definite- ly off. When Hatchet-face has scram- bled to his feet, he has scattered the cards all over the floor of the box car, and some of them have blown out through the open side doors. I can hear the engine puffin’, and realize we are almost at the top of Two Mile Grade, the toughest part of the twenty mile run to Longhorn City. Droopy Dildock has gone back to the packin’ cases and is now sittin’ on one, sulkin’, | cCOMmichoooks.c©