Fifteen Western Tales, January 1953 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

BRING HIM BACK DEAD! 91 voice! “What’s wrong?” he asked groggily. Blaney was lifting an arm to shield his face from the sun. A patch of blood showed on his forehead, and his eyes were dazed as he looked up at the two men. Seminole glared down at him. ) ‘“What’s wrong?’ he jeered. “Yore little plan miscarried, that’s all! Yuh figgered it cheaper to kill me off than pay me off! Safer, too! Nobody would be left to know that yuh killed Jess McCaulley! An’ Farley ‘would get the blame.” And Jim Blaney stared up at that furious man with slowly comprehending glance. Painfully the big Cross L man lifted him- self to a sitting position. His dark face twitched as he turned his glance momentar- ily from Seminole to Sam Fenton. “Smart,” he said. “Smart as hell!” He was unarmed. The deputy — had knocked the six-gun from his hand, and now his holster was empty. He sat there on the ground, looking up at Seminole. “Vuh’ve said enough now, Seminole.” “Enough!” rasped Seminole. ‘Yuh’re wrong, Blaney! Wait till I tell the story an court! Wait till I tell a jury how yuh cheated Jess McCaulley—an’ killed him when he found yuh out! An’ offered me a thousand dollars to testify he was dead. Slowly, painfully,-Jim Blaney got to his feet. He was unarmed. He had been tricked, and he knew it, but he could not know the manner by which it had been accomplished. A thin smile twisted his lips. “T promised you a thousand dollars,” he repeated softly. Then, suddenly, swiftly, he moved. His left hand snaked a hide-out gun. _ For an instant he stood still, gun balanced. “Vuh yellow rat!” he snarled. “T’ll pay yuh off—in full!” He fired. The slug sent Seminole reeling backward, hands clutching empty air. He threw another bullet at the swaying man, and Seminole went down. Sam Fenton’s Colt leaped from his hol- ster. Blaney whirled on him, but Fenton’s gun was belching lead. A brace of slugs caught the Cross L man at the belt line. He staggered back. The gun slipped from his fingers. Clint Farley, Colt uplifted rushed up the gulley just as Blaney went down. Sam Fenton bent above Seminole. The man had been hit twice, and hard, but he grinned faintly at the deputy. “I’m all eight,’ ‘he whispered. “I'll live—long enough.” He tried to raise himself up. Clint Farley said: “Here’s the sheriff.” “Take it easy, Seminole,” said Fenton gently. “Blaney’s outa the jurisdiction of the court now.” He straightened, looked at Farley. ‘That clears you, Clint.” Clint nodded. ‘For the second time to day, Sam, [’m obliged.” “Forget it,” said the big deputy. ‘Don’. say anything. Seminole is all right. Let him tell the story the way he knows it. Because, sure as hell, if Sheriff Leonard ever hears the truth of this affair, I'll be a cows again!” GOOG I told my beautiful wife: “All right, Vd get you your divorce, but I’m not doing it for you, or for your racket boy-friend. I’m | doing it for me, so thanks for letting me get off the bus.” Exit lines. Big stuff. Bigger lies. I walked out wishing I were dead. And that wish was almost to come true too soon. Don’t miss this tense murder novelette— DEATH LIVES HERE _ By Fletcher Flora and a full quota of short stories and fea- tures by Frank Scott York, Butt Sims, Charles Beckman, Jr., and Dan Gordon. This big January issue is on your news- stand now. Don’t miss it! ~ DETECTIVEstony MAGAZINE cComiclbooks CO