2-Gun Western, February 1954 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

BADMAN ON of a fiddle for young dancers. Dark brought a woman with a basket of grub. The sheriff unlocked the door. “My old woman. Your supper.” “Hope you enjoy the hot biscuits,” the old woman said. “They’re wropped up. Take keer.” The lock snapped and the law took up its vigil. Hot biscuits—for a horse thief! Windy didn’t have much ap- petite but he unwrapped the hot bis- cuits carefully. The old woman must have felt sorry for him. He ate and found himself working to the bottom of the basket. In the very bottom he found, of all things, a key! A bit of paper attached to it had writing. He was hard put to find light enough to read the message. “9 o'clock tonight. Use tiie key.” Events were afoot of which he could not guess. He was so shaken by this promise of deliverance that he could hardly creep to the door to try the key and discover that it would turn the lock. Lest a premature at- tempt at liberty would lead to his being shot instead of hanged, he crept back to his seat. He tried to think who could have smuggled in the key. Not the old woman; she would do what the sher- iff said. He paced the floor. Without a timepiece how wou!d he know when nine o’clock came? He was in agony about the passing of time. He guessed his escape was timed for change of guard. There would not be a moment to spare. God, he groaned. He peered through the grate, knowing the caravan was scheduled to start about nine. But he could not depend on that. He was aware that the sheriff stood guard outside. The man might or might not carry a watch. A question about the time might rouse suspicion. When he felt that he could not live through tle suspense a sma’! hoarse whisper sounded at the window. “Nine o’clock.” Windy dared lose a second to see who spoke. He saw no one. The per- son had drawn back against the wall. Windy knew the sheriff had gone. He groped to the door. His hand shook like a cottonwood leaf in a gale. He managed to fit the key in the lock and turn the bar. The door THE BENCH 33 squalled when he pulled it open with an effort. Outside was the night, the dim noise, the smells. He made one step and he had freedom in the hol- low of his soul. A horse pawed. It was in the shad- ow of a nearby outbuiiding. Winuy darted to the brute. It was the Judge s__ roan, the horse he was to have been hanged for stealing! He did not ar- gue with his fate. He got into tne saddle, trying to make himself smal, trying to keep the horse quiet. These next few moments spelled life and death. Who had got the key to him, had left the horse, saved him? He tried to imagine as he skirted the great camp, and had no answers. He estimated the number of wag- ons, thinking there were at least fif- ty; maybe three hundred oxen, hors- es and milk cows, He could see the dim shadows of boys who tended the cattle, sheep and goats. Silhouettes of men and women readying to ride moved between him and the dying . camp fires. The stir was unmistak- able. The outfit was fixing to move. Windy did not propose to be cap- tured twice. He walked the spirited horse until shed of the town. Then he gave the brute its freedom and galloped through the moonlight and chill air. The road was well marked by the heavy movement of trains which had already gone. Hundreds of wagons, thousands of beasts, had whipped the earth into meal and ruts. At midnight he came to an aban- doned camp where some of the fires still smouldered. He had only the clothes on his back, no blanket, jack- et, hat, no money. Nothing but Judge Bradshaw’s stolen horse. There’d- be no trial caught again. if he were E FOUND a remnant of wood and built up a small blaze to warm by. He lay on the ground, the bridle rein in hand, and slept. He was wakened by the rumble of the advancing column of wagons. He was instantly wide awake and in the saddle. He rode till dawn, shaken down and famished with hunger. He filled his gut with water, let his horse graze, and took stock of his chance ECORMICLOOOKS (C@)