Fifteen Western Tales, January 1953 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

NEVER SELL YOUR SADDLE! 47 been mentioned when Clinton had been hired and he did not expect any. He was perfectly satisfied with his three-squares a day, this, and the knowledge that the job had probably prevented him from doing something wrong. He had been on the verge of going bad the day Valverde had picked him up. N THIS evening, Valverde came over to Clinton and said, “You could stand some new clothes, son. Here’s an advance | on your wages. Run into town in the morn- ing and get yourself a new outfit. You've earned a day off.” Young Clinton thought of the holes in his boots and of the patches he had sewed on to keep his clothes together and he flushed a little. He could feel Valverde’s eyes on him. They were keen and piercing as if they were looking right into the maw of his heart. When he spoke, Valverde’s voice was strangely gentle. “A man needn’t be ashamed of being poor. It’s bad only when a man has to be ashamed of how he got rich. Remember that, son.” Duke Bedford came out of the house and he and Valverde mounted their horses. They rode off together. Ernie Clinton watched them go. He knew it was none of his busi- ness but he wished Valverde wouldn’t do so much night-riding. . The new clothes and new boots made young Clinton feel right good. He could not quite put it into words as he tried explain- ing it to himself. All he knew was that the new outfit had boosted his feeling of self- respect, not so much because it was new but because he had earned it rather than having received it asa gift. On the way back to the double V, he was overtaken by two riders. They told Clinton to pull up and then they arrayed their mounts side by side in front of Clinton. One of the riders was a short, beefy man with a red face and a tawny mustache. The other rider was tall and slat-thin with a gaunt, hollow-cheeked. face. The red-faced one said, “My name’s Fred Aderhold. That there is Bruce Partridge. We're Valverde’s neighbors.” Clinton nodded in acknowledgment. He said nothing. His heart was pounding a lit- tle,.as if in atic ania of something un- pleasant. | “You been working for Valverde a month now, ain’t you?” said Aderhold. - ness,” Clinton nodded again. ‘Aderhold’s eyes swept Clinton’s brand new clothes. “Doing all right, I see,” Aderhold murmured. Resentment and anger flared in young Clinton. “I bought these clothes out of my wages. Anything wrong with that?” “No-o,” drawled Aderhold, with exag- gerated indifference. “Only, we can’t see how an outfit the size of the double V can pay the way of three men in times like these.” “YT don’t see where it’s any of your busi- snapped Clinton. “Tl show you where it’s our business,” said Aderhold, the color of his face deepen- ing, the timbre of his voice thickening. “We're warning you this time only, kid. Maybe you don’t know it but Valverde and Duke Bedford and some others have been running off our stock to some secret place in the badlands. There they butcher the cows and skin them and dry the hides. The hide right now is worth more than the cow but it won’t last like that. When the day comes that beef prices go up again, we want to cash in on that to make up for these poor times. We won't be able to cash in if we don’t have any stock. You understand, kid?” - “YT never stole another man’s beef in all my life,” young Clinton said indignantly. “Y’m not asking you to own up to it,” said Aderhold, his tone flat and uncompro- mising. “I’m just telling you that if you’re smart, kid you’ll get out of the country. We're going to find that trail into the bad- lands one of these days and when we do, there’s going to be a bunch of hombres kick- ing out their lives at the ends of ropes... .” Duke Bedford rode in alone one morning. He was driving a couple of calves and he herded them into a corral. “They must have strayed from their mammies,” he told Ernie Clinton. “I thought I’d drive them in so you can brand them.” | “With our brand?” asked Clinton. “Whose did you think?” said Bedford, dismounting. He unsaddled and turned his tired buckskin into a corral. | “Where’s Valverde?” asked Clinton. “Val’s away on business,” said Bedford. “He'll be back in three-four days.” He was eyeing Clinton’s new clothes. “You buy yourself a gun?” he asked casually. “There are things I need worse than a gun,” said Clinton. CoMmicboooks.com