Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

Ss Street & Smith’s Western Story Magazine . T was nearing midnight when they stopped at last in the shadow of close-growing trees. They were on the southern flank of Bay Horse Mountain, Travis knew. There was a clearing ahead, and a darker hulk that must be a shack. Thin strips of light outlined a window there. Travis spoke for the first time since they began their ride. “That’s the old Bar 11 line shack, ain’t it? What are we doin’ here?” Vestry’s fingers sank deep into the sheriff's arm. A_ thin trickle of sound came up the mountain, break- ing finally into the beat of hoofs. A man rode out of the shade on the opposite side of the clearing, and a yellow mouth opened in the cabin as a door swung inward, silhouetting another man against the inner light. The newcomer spoke softly as he dismounted. He went inside. Vestry hitched his belt up a lit- tle, lifting the two strange guns to test their weight. His tongue licked out, moistening his lips. “You wait here, Tom,” he said. “Tt won’t be long.” He walked, light-footed as a cat, toward the shack. The moon slid out from behind a cloud, and Vestry looked up. “Pretty!” he said. A murmur of voices drifted through the cracks between un- chinked logs in the cabin wall, and Vestry stooped a little, peeping through. He straightened finally and walked toward the door. It gave inward slowly, noiselessly. A man with a stubbly, week-old beard pushed a packet of crisp bills across a table underneath a swing- ing light. -Franklin Dean, president of the Tascosa Bank, laid that packet atop the neat stack of cur- rency in front of him. “Twenty-eight thousand,” he said. “Ten to me, and you split the rest of it.” Vestry spoke softly from the open door. ‘“Must’ve miscounted, Dean,” he said. “They was tellin’ me in town the bank lost twice that much!” The group around the table split suddenly like an exploding bomb. Quick sixes ripped the silence with their raucous thunder, and there was a jangling crash as something | smashed the window into shreds.. Vestry’s hands whipped up, rocking behind his spouting guns. The vicious crack of a rifle cut the deeper echoes of the Colts, and Ves- try saw Long Tom Travis’s face framed in the broken window oppo- site him. Vestry’s lips twitched back in a wolfish grin. Good old Tom! A chair hurtled straight at Ves- try’s head, and he ducked, going down to his knees. The guns still chopped in deadly arcs as_ his thumbs rolled their hammers back. Hot smoke billowed up from the belching muzzles, stinging Vestry’s ~ eyes. A little man in a business suit cowered against one wall, whimper- ing. Three bodies lay sprawled awk- wardly across the wreckage of the table. Another man lay in a twisted heap beside the bed, groaning dis- mally. A tall, black-bearded man with two guns still sheathed in cut- down holsters stood a little to the left, rocking on his heels. His knees gave suddenly, and he fell, striking shoulder first, heavily. It was over! Long Tom Travis chopped the jagged glass from the window ledge and came through like a lumbering bear. He glared at Vestry as he found his feet. ‘Walkin’ off like that!” he growled. “Leavin’ me t’ suck my Comicbooks-com