Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

50 Street & Smith’s Western Story Magazine you're to do, Stuart,” Sanchez ex- plained. “Sure!” “This is your test. If you run out, we'll drop you in your tracks.” “The only thing I ever run out of was the Wagon Gap jail,’ Dan retorted. “I figure to cut in to the tune of ten thousand on this deal. Watch me, Sanchez; I'll be around.” “You drift across the street from the bank,” Sanchez went on. “Drill anybody who comes around either corner of the building. The rest of the boys know what to do without orders—they’ve been through this before.” “So have I,” Dan retorted. El] Mudo’s glittering eyes were studying Dan, searching for some- thing on which he could lay the fin- ger of suspicion. variably nervous inwardly at such times. Qutwardly he was nerveless, and followed his companion’s code —kill when in the slightest doubt. “There'll be a deputy sheriff loaf- ing around somewhere,’ Sanchez concluded. “I'll take care of him.” Dan rode ahead, and he noticed Sanchez and E] Mudo remained to- gether, the former again leaning on the dumb one’s sensitive instincts to the slightest danger. A deer, stalked by a mountain lion, could not have been more alert. El Rio was like a hundred other Southwestern communities—a main street on which stood the more sub- stantial buildings, structures sandwiched in between. Several intersecting streets made a brave effort to carry on the town’s growth, but trailed into dust and - were lost on the brush pressing in ‘on all sides. Dan followed one of the intersect- ing streets and turned the corner into the main thoroughfare. “Quite a few strangers in town The man was in- with humble t’-day,” an old fellow remarked to a companion. “You might think the Texas Rangers was sneakin’ into camp—that’s the way they trickle in.” The other chuckled. “Any Rang- ers in these parts are over to Wagon Gap, fixin’ to surprise Sanchez. Seems like an Injun boy give a note that he was supposed to pack to Al Ford’s sister to the deputy. Danged if it didn’t tell about a rescue. San- chez has rid to his last fight,” the old man concluded. “You don’t say!” the other ex- claimed. “That’s where our boys must be—over there lendin’ a hand.” Dan grinned. So Sanchez had borrowed his trick of ridding a com- munity of man hunters? “He’s be- ginning to appreciate my _ real worth,” he mused. “Well, here’s the bank. And there’re a couple of the band.” One was examining his horse’s hoof, the other searching his pocket for a match to light a ciga- rette. A clock in the bank showed five minutes to eleven. “Five long minutes to wait,” Dan said, “then }?? men will die! E looked into a store window briefly, then walked down to the corner and lighted a cigarette. It was eleven o'clock when he returned to his place oppo- site the bank. Sanchez was saun- tering toward it. El Mudo was com- ing from the other direction, and suddenly the air was charged. El Mudo slowed up sufficiently to per- mit Sanchez to enter the bank ahead of him. No recognition passed be- tween them, but the dumb one was five feet behind his chief when they reached the teller’s cage. “How about cashing this?” San- chez softly suggested, and Dan saw him hand the teller the sheet of pa- per which stated on. the twentieth