2-Gun Western, February 1954 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

20 maybe he'll get to me.” “Sound reasonin’,” complimented. “I want to slip away before day- break, and I don’t want a lot of men followin’ me.” “T’ll see they don’t. If they try it, I’ll setid ’em on a false trail.” “Thanks,” Lanwell said. “Give me two days. If I’m not back by then, pick a couple of men and follow me and gather up what’s left. If I get Wolf Clade, either dead or alive, Pll bring him in on his own horse.” The marshal got out of his chair and stretched. “Let’s step outside, Lanwell, and I’ll do a mite of talkin’ to the local gents.” Lanwell opened the office door, and the marshal went out first. As the townsmen’ gathered, Lanwell leaned against the door casement in his familiar pose. “Gentlemen,” the marshal told the townsmen, “I’ve had a talk with Dep- uty Jim Lanwell. He’s made plans, of which I approve. He’s startin’ after Wolf Clade in the mornin’, and he’s travelin’ alone.” Ed Swall yelled, “Are you crazy, Marshal? Clade will murder him if they meet. I'd make up a big posse and ride the hills and smoke Clade outen his hole.” “That's enough!” the marshal barked. “You’re not handlin’ this. And don’t mix in. If you interfere with Lanwell in any way, I'll arrest you. That’s all.” the marshal AN HOUR before daylight the following morning, Lanwell left the house and took the trail. There had been a tearful parting with Ella. He had cleaned, oiled and loaded his pet gun, and filled his cartridge belt with shells. He had donned old trail clothes, and taken a bundle of thick meat sandwiches she had made, and put them into a saddlebag. Then he went outside and quickly saddled his pony. In the streak of lamplight which streamed through the doorway to penetrate the blackness just before dawn, Ella watched him. When he was ready, she went forward, hold- ing out her arms. He clasped her, bent and kissed her. 2-GUN WESTERN “I’m hopin’ everything will be all right,” he said. “Try not to worry too much.” ) Then he swung up into his saddle and rode without turning his head to look back. _ The eastern horizon was pinkish when Lanwell reached the mouth of Mad Dog Canyon, where he usually met Pedro Perez. He stopped his pony as the Mexican came from be- hind a mass of rocks. “Nobody has passed, senor,” Perez | reported. “Neither traveling from the town or toward it. During the night, I went to the top of the can- yon wall. In the distance, I saw a tiny flicker I knew came from a fire.” “Good enough! Will you wait for me here?” “For two days, but no longer. If you do not return in that time, Ill trail you. Are you prepared, senor?” “As much as I'll ever be,’ Lanwell replied. “I shall pray for you, senor. Go with God!” Lanwell gathered up his reins, touched lightly with his spurs, and rode on. 7 Before he had traveled a mile, the high rocky walls of the canyon frowned down upon him. He stopped at a wayside spring to let the pony drink, Removing his coat, he rolled it and tied it behind the cantle, for he knew that when the rising sun struck the canyon wall it would grow hot. In the saddle again, Lanwell settled himself, adjusted his holster, and rode on. After covering a couple of miles, he rested his pony in a spot of shade, then went on leisurely. He had no definite destination, no urge to make speed. He was there to show himself, in the hope Wolf Clade would see him and make contact. He was riding to a strange duel where the advantage would be against him. HE CANYON broadened an hour before sunset, and the shadows lenghtened. One thought chilled him. Suppose Wolf Clade had changed his method. What if he merely fired from ambush to make a quick end of ‘it, instead of facing his victim and Eomichbooks (E@)