Cowboy Short Stories, November 1939 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

COWBOY SHORT STORIES pig when the flat-tined fork skewered his ody to the wall. Drifter tried to jerk back. Forbes’ dead weight falling against the fork jerked it from his hands. Then above the crackling of the fire he heard another voice shout from outside. “Move along there fast, I tell you, sir, or I'll blow the whole top of your head off.” “Wilkins is out there,” Jenkins shouted. ‘Forbes, can’t you hear me? Wilkins is out there, and he’s got the boss with him.” Forbes didn’t have anything to say, not wtih four pitchfork tines run through his chest. Drifter turned and stumbled through the fire that licked hungrily at his levis. He couldn't have told how he reached the feed rack, but Jenkins wasn’t there when he reached it. The dry hay leaves in the tack were blazing, and the fire was licking up the posts into the loft. Drifter cursed a stream of profanity while he groped for Jenkins. As though from a long way off he heard Wilkins’ voice again. “I know you've got the youngster in that barn, Lyman, and if he doesn’t come out, youre going in after him. Believe me, sir—"’ The crack of a gun cut Wilkins short. Ahead of him through the open side of the barn, Drifter saw the stars lying low against the Tetons. He hesitated a moment. If Jenkins had fired that last shot, he hadn't a chance in that direction. Flames were licking at his boots again when he stumbled toward the free air outside. He almost ran into Trude Lyman groping toward him, whimpering and cursing, and Gus Wilkins prodding Lyman along with a six-pun bela: against his kidneys. When Lyman saw Drifter, he turned and tried to bolt. One of Wilkins’ long-fingered hands shot out and hauled him back. ‘No sit, you don’t. The first job I'll have as judge is to sentence you to hang, and, by heaven, sir, it’s just like I told the voters, I’m not a man to shirk my duties.” Drifter was leaning against Gus Wilkins’ horse when the old politician came over to him, still prodding Lyman along. ‘Never knew a Haferty yet that knew when to die,” he observed dryly. “You spotted who I was then?” the kid asked unsteadily. “Right off the bat. Knowed your paw before ye, and sort of recollected his father a little, too. Now, sit, since you're votin’ for me, will you have a cigar?” HE kid called Drifter began to swear. He was a haru case, and his language showed it. He hinged his profanity together and then broke it apart and made it crackle. “You damn, cast-iron-lunged old fool, give them rolled-up pieces of cow dung to them that ain’t goin’ to vote for you, and you'll poison all the opposition in the county !”” EVERYBODY'S HOROSCOPE Something entirely new and different in astrology. The only astrology magazine based on your year, month, and date of birth. If your dealer cannot supply you with copies, send 25¢ for a copy of the October issue to M. L. Sales Company, 160 W. Broadway, New York City. OCTOBER ISSUE NOW ON SALE! GOMIGIOO (C@