Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

74 Street & Smith’s The wearer’s body prevented the pivoted gun from swinging far to either side, for one thing; cut down the possible are of fire. | The five men halted briefly in the recessed doorway of the bank, the shadow there veiling the movements from Vestry’s gaze. Unless his sus- picions were the mere vaporings of an imagiantive fool, these men were donning masks! But he could not be sure. He saw them push the bank door inward and file through; heard a short, sharp yell that was shattered before it reached its peak by two quick shots. ween ane Vestry spat an oath as he lunged from his hiding place into the bril- liant sunlight that bathed the street. He had not expected shooting yet. He had thought only of Franklin would fight. He realized, now, why. Dean; had been sure that Dean, himself, would give the bandits no excuse to sheot. But he had forgot- ten Dean’s cashier! Dave Wilson the cashier had never entered into his calculations. Wilson always went to dinner just at noon, leaving Dean to watch the bank alone. Something must have delayed him to-day—of all days! HERE was a man in the door- way of the bank. Vestry saw him, crouched in the cor- ner of the deep recess; saw a red tongue of flame reach out as a bul- Jet droned past Vestry’s ear. Ves- try’s answering guns blasted chalky dust from the stone wall a foot above the marksman’s head, the crack of the reports blending with the echoes of that first shot. Vestry had drawn both guns in mid-stride; the Vestry draw—that- amazing whip of agile hands that had writ- ten the Vestry mame, father and son, among the famous gun-fighting men who had built the West. A Western Story Magazine | man needed no trick holsters if his hands were fast enough! The man in the doorway ducked, whirled, and darted back inside the bank. Vestry had crossed the street at a sprinting stride, and his boots thundered briefly on the plank side- walk before the bank. He dropped his head, charging at the closing door. His shoulder struck it before the latch could fall. The heavy bar- rier crashed inward before his weight, hurling a man’s body before it to sprawl full length halfway across the room. Vestry flung a shot at the slithering shape even as it. fell; could not be sure if his lead had hit or not. Yonder, in the cashier’s cage, Dave Wilson clutched at the iron bars of the grille before him, sway- ing slowly and sinking down. There was a scarlet smear on his white shirt front—like a rose. Another man stood just outside the cage, his back toward the door. There was a smoking gun in that man’s hand; the gun that had pinned the scarlet rose on Wilson’s shirt! The man outside the cage spun swiftly to face the door, and Ves- try fired once, hastily, carried for- ward by the momentum of his charge. The man yelled, and Ves- try saw the smoking weapon leap from the bandit’s hand and_ fall, spinning. A bloody shower sprayed from mangled fingers as the bandit threw up his hand and yelled again. Vestry ended his charge close in be- side the cage; whirled, slashing his left-hand gun across the bandit’s head. There were four others some- where near; no shots to waste! A gun spat thunderously from be- hind the front door, and Vestry poured two slugs at the 4licking flames. It seemed dark in here, coming from the sunlight outside. Another gun barked at, Vestry’s left.