Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

“I’m going to kill you, Ram.” FRANK SCOTT YORK Death stalked Thacher across the bar- ren, sun-scorched desert . .. Death that could ride on the bullets of the posse that followed him, in the terrible thirst that gnawed at him—or even from the killer’s guns of the man he trusted to ride beside him! Death is my Brother HE BROTHERS had ridden hard for days over the flat, burning prai- fie. Fear will shake a man of his appetite and he can go for days with an occasional handful of dried corn. He lives on his flesh, his fear and his fury. But a man must have water. Thacher licked swollen lips with a heavy, wooden tongue. “Ramsey,” he croaked, the word burn- ing his throat. “Ramsey, we got to have 14 water soon. The horses won't last beyond tonight and we'll be done tomorrow.” They were the first words since early morning when they’d climbed, stiff and weary from their bed of ground. Ramsey turned in the saddle to face his younger brother. His powerful, dirt-creased face tightened under its scrub of whiskers. “We go on,” his voice rasped. . “Whether we hit water or not, we go on. You under- stand, Thacher ?”’ COPMICLOOKS sO