Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

FIFTEEN WESTERN TALES —s _ pressed on up into the first timber. Behind and below them, Drings and two riders ap- peared on the bench. Three tiny fluffs of white smoke spurted and faded ; the bullets slocked short. Trask fired and missed. -Then they were riding upward again, seeking deeper timber. The day was getting old and trees were turning from green. to purple. Once, Drings shortened the dis- tance at a crazy_gallop on his patch-colored pony and fired four times and then circled back into the lower rocks; another time, Sam and Trask lagged until less than a hundred yards separated them from the pursuit, when each fired and one of the riders yelped and rose in his saddle and then sagged over the pommel, hanging onto it. His horse crow-hopped and threw _ him, and Sam and Trask whirled away through the timber and were gone. It was twilight in the valleys though not yet on the slopes when they paused to rest their horses again, and to listen. But the pursuit had ended, and the dying day was quiet. ‘Trask nodded happily. “With a wounded man to pack, they figured to turn back, an’ damned glad of it I'l bet,”’ UDDENLY HE yanked on his bridles _ and turned, staring below into a wooded vale where half a dozen canvas-topped wagons had been drawn into a quick de- fensive circle. “B’God, Med’ry, there’s the reason Drings didn’t want to come any further!” He pointed. “He didn’t want to spook his next target ‘til he had enough ‘Strength to hit it.” Samveyed him curiously. “You know a lot about Drings, don’t you?” Trask ‘poked away. His horse, switching its tail, suddenly tensed, came together and backed against Sam’s animal, bumping it aside. | A gaunt-faced man wearing a blue kepi and jackboots rose from some bushes and threw a Spencer on them. : “Well, boys,” he twanged, “just what’re you doin’ up: here all alone on the hot end of gunfire?” Sam hauled his bits arotind and squinted | through the dusk. “We got fired off the Broken Key, that’s: what.”’ “Fired, is right.” The man held the Spencer higher. ‘““The Broken Key?” He grimaced with distaste. “I didn’t know they fired men with Southern accents. You better come down an’ explain— Get off an’ walk, I’ll be right behind you.” One by one, figures began to crawl from the wagons. The first were men with rifles ; the last were females—two of them. The largest had gray hair tucked beneath a bonnet, a firm mouth and an understand- ing eye; the smallest had dark hair and lots of it, a smooth skin and sparkling blue eyes. The man withthe kepi lowered his Spen- cer and beckoned to a burly man wearing side-whiskers and a black coat. “Peter, I flushed these two on the bench yonder. They say they just got kicked off the Broken Key.” | Peter Meservey examined Sam and Trask with great care. : “Where'd you come from?” “We just told your outpost, here.” Sam went on, “You sound as if we're culprits, Let me ask a’ question—where'd you come from?” The bonneted woman made backing noises and climbed back into her wagon. | The younger woman, the pretty one, con- tinued to stare at Sam. 7 “We're from California,” Peter Meser- vey said firmly. ‘‘We teamed up two days ago with the Santa Maria Mining wagons, here. We're leaving them-at the town of | Arapahoe, where we hope to settle.” He cleared his throat. “That satisfy you?”’ Sam, nodding, dragged -his eyes from the pretty girl. ; : ree comicbooks:com,