Fifteen Western Tales, January 1953 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

20 FIFTEEN WESTERN TALES Big Sam’s chest was heaving, his eyes - wild. “Don’t you never put your hands on Miss Jane,” he murmured. “Why you devil!” Stinson exploded. His | hand reached for his holster and Chef’s rifle exploded. The bullet sprayed gravel in Stinson’s face and stopped his draw. Pete Bryan sat | there, rage flooding his face, peering at the cabin. “Who you got in there?” he said finally. — “No one you know,” the gil said defi- antly. Stinson picked himself up from the ground. “Tt’s one of the nésters, boss!” he shouted. “Who else could it be? Doc Acton has been takin’ care of the ones that got away and she’s been helpin’ him!” “Surround the cabin!” Pete Bryan com- manded. Chet Wainworth had reloaded the rifle. “I'll kill the first man that makes a move,” he said softly. “I’m not one of the nesters. I’m one of Les Gunther’s raiders, and I learned the hard way how to deal with cat- tlemen! I been looking for you a long time, Pete Bryan. Ever since the night you burned out a town in Kansas just because nesters owned it. Do you remember that night, Pete Bryan, or shall I tell you about it?” Pain that was greater than the wounds in his body dragged at Chet Wainworth. He stood there in the darkness in the cabin with the rifle thrust through the window, the bore centered directly between Pete Bryan’s eyes. His finger tightened. against the trig- ger and all the old memories and the old hatreds were strong in him. Then the girl moved directly between him and her father and Big Sam’s hand reached into the waist band of his trousers and came up with a cocked six-shooter. “Mr. Pete,” Sam _ said, . “IT worked for you a long time. Don’t. make me turn against you.’ Pete Bryan was suddenly an old man. He was tired and his shoulders slumped and he stared instantly at his daughter. do this thing to me, Jane,” he said softly. “T can’t stand any more, father,” the girl said, and the tears were close. The old man’s shoulders straightened and | there was hatred in him too, and old mem-. ories. “I aim to wipe out every nester that was in that bunch that came into the valley,” Bryan said. “As far as I’m concerned it makes no difference if they’re just dirt “Don’t farmers or part of Les Gunther’s raiders. To me they’re one and the same and you and Doc Acton won’t change my mind. If you and Sam and Doc Acton go on protecting ’em, Jane, I'l] count you as one of them.” “All right, father,” the girl said quietly. “Then we know how we stand.” | A sound that was half way between a curse and a sob broke across Pete Bryan’s lips. He wheeled his horse savagely and signaled to his men with a wave of his hand. He rode back down the slope toward the flats, spurring his horse wickedly, and the riders followed him. A deathly quiet set- tled around the little line shack. The girl ran a short distance, as if she would follow her father, then stopped and stood with her hands gripped at her sides. She was sobbing so bitterly that Chet could hear her. He leaned the rifle against the wall and walked out into the sunshine. “You were a fool to get mixed up in it, Sam,” he said. “There was no need of it.” The mammoth man looked at Jane Bryan -and he looked at Chet Wainsworth. “What- ever Miss Jane does is right, Mr. Chet,” Sam murmured. “TI like to be right. It’s the only way a man can live with himself.” He thrust the six shooter back in his waist band and walked rapidly around the cabin. For a long time, Chet Wainworth stood directly behind the girl as the memories that were part dreams and part realities became totally real. In his mind, she was standing over him, bathing his face, pressing cold towels against his forehead. The memory of her eyes was strong on him.. Then he broke away from his thoughts and said “I’m sorry, Jane, Your father won’t change and neither will I. What I said just now was the truth. I’m not a farmer looking for land. I’m one of Les Gunther’s raiders. I’m an outlaw and a killer and it makes no difference to me if a man runs cows or digs in the dirt just so I. get what I’m after.” * She turned swiftly and she was facing him, the tears bright in her eyes, the torment that was in her plain on her face. “That isn’t so, Chet,” she said. “I told you you talked a lot when you were unconscious. I sat by your bed and held your hand and_ you talked to me as if you knew I was there. You told me everything you believed.” “A man can lie,” he said. She shook her head slowly. “Not when he’s telling his dreams. Not when he’s tell- Coniiclboooks.c©