2-Gun Western, February 1954 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

N THE upper Scioto River, ( )e= the present town of Ken- ton, Ohio, the early settlers knew Bill Quick as a fast-shooting, dead-eye hunter, and- with a temper and determination the equal of his work with a rifle. He lived in a small cabin, with his aged father, at some distance from the nearest settlement with no close neighbors to bother him. Most of his time was spent in hunting, for his livelihood depended upon furs he could trade for food, supplies and some money. While he was away, his father was alone at the cabin, but not lonely, for he loved that wild country and found plenty to occupy his attention while Bill was away. One day when Bill re- turned, his father alarmed him by saying, “Son, there are unfriend- ly Indians about. I saw them skulking around this afternoon,” Bill Quick did not wish to have his father note his own alarm and so tried to. pass it off lightly as he said, “I doubt if there is anything for worry, Dad. We often have strange Indians around and they always want to find out how things are before they get too friendly.” But he was worried plenty. He, too, had noted tracks when he was out hunting and two other hunters had told him there were hostile redmen in the vicinity. They ad- vised him to move into the settle- ment, where there was a fort, until those Indians had left the region, but Bill Quick was obdurate. He was not going to let a few stray Indians chase him of his own property. He THE LAST SCALP W. K. by PUTNEY could shoot with the best redman that ever lived. A couple of days later, when Bill Quick returned from a hunting trip, he was surprised that there was no light in the cabin. It was getting pretty dark and usually his father had the light on long before it got as dark as it was now. Hurrying to the door, he opened it and called, “Dad! Dad! Are you asleep? Is anything the matter? Don’t you feel well? Answer me, Dad.” There was no response to his call and he stepped in and lighted a flare. By this light he saw what he had feared for several days. Aghast he stood in the middle of the room and looked around. His father lay in a pool of his own blood, on the floor, his scalp torn from his head. The cabin had been turned upside down. His furs were gone, everything of value taken. Only the table, bunks and chairs remained. He looked down upon his father again for a long mo- ment, then turned and sat down at the table. His head dropped to his arms and he sobbed. Then, after his spasm of grief was over, he leaned low toward the inert form on the floor and said, in a low, husky voice, “Dad, you'll be avenged. I'll see to that.” He carried his father to the bunk and laid him tenderly on a blanket. The following afternoon he dug the — grave and buried his father, after which he promised, “I swear this over your grave. I shall avenge your death a hundred fold.” "| swear this: I shail avenge your death a hundred fold.""— So vowed Bill Quick over the grave of his father. But ninety-nine Indians were all he could find... COPMICLOOOKS (C@)