Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

the attention of the people back to him. _ He started the hymn again. They sang weakly now, twisting in their seats and almost talking the words. He could hear his wife’s voice, distinct above the mutter- ing. He finished quickly and bowed his head. “We'll have our prayer,” he sad: He had a hard time keeping his mind on the idea. The gunfire started “again, this time in a rapid staccato. The sound of a voice. carried down the street, and_he stopped, anxiously listening. Then he went slowly through the rest of the prayer and paused, expectant, before he said, ‘“‘Amen.”’ The people got up and rushed toward the narrow doorway. Hardeman smiled disap- provingly, picked up the Bible, and went to his wife. Outside a few people had taken the time to unhitch their teams. Others had gone off on foot toward the street, leaving the horses still tied to: the tall cottonwoods. Hardeman helped the woman to the seat of the buckboard and started the team through the yard. Once on the street he could see the crowd gathered in front of Dolan’s Sa- loon. He stopped the wagon at the edge of it and elimbed down, pushing his way through the group. On the sidewalk he saw his son, Ben, and a little farther down, leaning in.the doorway, was Bal Kincaid, a bottle in one hand and a gun in the other. The Circle N’s half-witted Mex, Santiago, ‘was sitting in the dust of the street, his gnarled face white with fear. “Dance, you greaser,”’ Kincaid yelled at him. He brought the gun up and’ sent a shot whipping through the dirt. The bullet skidded past the Mex’s hand. crouched and whimpering. Ben Hardeman laughed and raised his own gun. A commo- tion started at the back of the crowd and Chet Maurer stepped forward. “You got no right to do that,”’ he shouted indignantly. Kincaid had the bottle to his mouth. He brought it down again. He was a stocky He jumped - and rolled to his side and stayed there,. Will Out! 3 4{ NOUGH of this. modesty, this hiding our lights under .bushels. a We know of no other whiskéy so good as Custom Distilled Lord Cal- vert, so pleasing to so many palates, There, we’ve said it. 8 We’ve printed a little booklet of mix- ing hints and favorite recipes, with Lord Calvert—the whiskey that costs a little more, tastes a little better— and you especially in mind. For your complimentary copy, write: Dept. B,. Calvert Distillers Corp., 405 Lexing- ton Avenue, New York 17, N. Y. Blended Whiskey. 86.8 Proof. 65% Grain Neutral Spirits. Calvert Distillers Corporation, N.Y.C. youth ; his hat was tilted back exposing the pale, dirty hair. His lips twisted into a thin smile. : “Who say's we haven't?” he sneered. His | eyes scanned the gathering of men. Here and there a man edged back, losing himself in the crowd. Chet Maurer fidgeted and said nothing. Kincaid -pushed himself out of the doorway and came to the edge of the sidewalk. He tipped the bottle up and drank in long, gulping swallows. He let at the men in the street. “Somebody want to join ee: he asked meanly. ‘ No one spoke. The crowd drifted slowly back, leaving Hardeman alone. The Mex was sitting up again, his rounded eyes dart- ing back and forth. His hat had come off and his black, greasy hair stood up at an ~ it drop to his side and glared scornfully — angle. He chattered in Spanish and started — to creep backwards toward the opposite COMNICOOOKS (E(0) e