Fifteen Western Tales, January 1953 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

48 FIFTEEN WESTERN TALES “I don’t think so,” said Bedford. “One of these days you’re going to wish you had a gun.” « He yawned, and started for the house. Clinton watching him go, kept thinking about what Bedford had said of Valverde. Valverde could have gone to sell some hides. The thought made Clinton angry and sick. He didn’t want it like that. He wanted Valverde to be honest and respectable but Clinton realized sadly that there was noth- ing he could do about it. He could leave, that was about all; but he owed something to Valverde.... HEN Valverde returned, four days la- ter, he looked angry. There was a hard, bright glint in his black eyes and his mouth was pinched tightly. A muscle kept twitch- ing at the base of Valverde’s jaw. Duke Bedford had done no night-riding while Valverde was gone. Clinton had begun to hope that that part of it was over for good. He wished for that, even if it meant that he would no longer be needed then at the double V. Valverde planted his boots firmly on the ground, his legs spread a little. His thumb was hooked in his cartridge belt. When he spoke, he looked neither at Clinton nor at Bedford. “T’ve come across a couple of our calves following two of Fred Aderhold’s Rafter A cows. Who did that branding?” The pulse began to pound in Clinton’s throat. “I did,” he said. “Why?” said Valverde. There was sadness in Ernie Clinton. He could see how it stood. There was only trouble for him here now and it would be best if he left, but he hated the thought of going away. “T thought they were ours,” he said sim- ply. -Valverde’s eyes moved now and fell on young Clinton. Valverde was squinting so hard his lids almost touched. His glance was practically a palpable thing on Clinton. ~ “Couldn’t you read the brand on their ‘mammies?” asked Valverde. “Their mammies weren’t around,” said Clinton. He wanted to explain the all of it but there was a strange reluctance hold- ing him back. He had been tricked by Duke _ Bedford but he was not going to cry about it. Valverde’s stare switched to Bedford. “Why did you do it, Duke?” Valverde asked. He must have known his partner very well, Clinton thought. Bedford made no effort to deny it. “It’s about time the kid started earning his keep,” said Bedford. “I thought I’d break him in this way.” A cunning smile curved the cor- ners of his mouth. “He’s no longer clean, Val. He can get sent to the pen for what he did. So he might as well start giving us a hand in the badlands.” Bedford spat. “I’m sick and tired of the dirty, stinking work: while he’s here living on hand-outs.’ “T told you to leave him alone, Duke,” said Valverde. “This finishes us. First, though, I owe you something. I’m leaving the choice up to you, Duke. Either pull your gun or drop your shell belt. Which is it 80; ing to be?” Bedford’s mouth twitched, baring his teeth | in a grimace of rage and hate. His hand. started to move toward his gun but then he caught the gelid, uncompromising. glint in Valverde’s eyes and paled a little. The snarl left his mouth. Then with a display of bra- vado, it came back, wavered a little, dis- appeared. He reached for the buckle of his belt. Almost simultaneously the two heavy belts hit the ground. Valverde turned a little drop- ping his and, in that instant, Bedford rushed. He loosed a wild swing that caught Valverde on the side of the head and sent him sprawling. Bedford leaped. in, boots seeking Valverde’s face. Valverde swore with hurt and fury. Grab- bing one of Bedford’s kicking legs, he pulled and twisted. Bedford cried out as he lost his balance and went crashing to the earth. But he was up instantly to meet Valvaiae S charge. Bedford started another prodigious swing but Valverde ducked under it and with his head still down butted the dandy in the stomach. The breath whooshed out of Bed- ford; his face turned green. Before he could recover, Valverde was raining blows at him, his fists cracking with sounds as sharp as gunshots. At first, Bedford tried to retaliate but he could not stand up to Valverde’s in- sensate fury. He worked on Bedford’s face with a single-minded savagery. The flesh be- gan to split and the blood dripped from Bed- ford’s features to his clothes, spattering the close working Valverde.. Bedford was grunting with pain and fu- cCoMmicboo S C© inn