2-Gun Western, February 1954 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

WHEN A TEXAN TAKES OVER leading to bloodshed she did not ask herself). She was at the window when he rode out of town, and was turning away from it when the side door opened and a slender, narrow-faced man stood there. She felt a start of fear. This was not the first time she had seen Lee Dunn, and there was something about him that frightened her. - “Who was that?” he demanded. “That man who walked out?” “I...-I1 dont know,” she said, and then was surprised to realize that it was the truth. She knew nothing about him, and she had seen him but twice. Lee Dunn was a narrow, knife-like man with a bitter mouth that never smiled, but there was a certain ar- resting quality about him so that even when you knew who and what he was, you respected him. His manner was old-fashioned and courteous, but without graciousness. It was rumored that he had killed a dozen men... and he had killed two here at the Springs. Kitty rode to the party in a buck- board with Fred Hitch. And she was dancing her third dance when she looked up and saw the stranger stand- ing at the floor’s edge. He wore a dark red shirt that was freshly laun- dered and a black string tie. There was a short jacket of buckskin, Mexi- can style, over the shirt. His black boots were freshly polished. She saw Dutch Gerlach watching him, and was aware of worry that there would be trouble. Yet two dances passed, one of them with Dutch, whom she hated but could not avoid without one dance,-and he did not come near her. Someone men- tioned his name. Matt Ryan...she liked the sound. Lee Dunn came into the room and paused near Gerlach. She thought she saw Dutch’s lips move, but he did not turn his head. But that was silly... why would the foreman of the KY talk to a rustler? When she looked again Matt Ryan was gone...and he had not even asked her for a dance. Something seemed to have gone from the lights, and her feet lost 53 their quickness. Suddenly, she knew she wanted to go home...., Matt RYAN was riding fast. He had seen Dunn come into the room and turned at once and slipped out through the crowd. What was to be done had to be done fast, and he went at it. The big bay was fast, and he held the pace well. An hour after leaving the dance Ryan swung the big horse into the KY ranchyard and got down from the horse. With only a glance at the darkened bunkhouse he crossed to the big house and went in. He had not stopped to knock, and he startled the big Mexican woman who was dusting a table. ‘“Where’s Tom?” he demanded. “You can’t see him,’ the woman barred his way, her fat face growing hard, “he sick.” “T’ll see him. Show me to him.” “T’ll not! You stop or I’1—!” “Maria!” The voice was a husky roar. ‘“‘Who’s out there?” Matt Ryan walked by her to the bedroom doorway. He stopped there, looking in at the old man. Tom Hitch had been a giant. He was a Shell now, bedridden and old, but with a flare of ancient fire in his eyes. “You don’t know me, Hitch,” Ryan said, “but it’s time you did. You're losin’ cattle.” Before the old man could speak, Ryan broke in, talking swiftly. He told about forty head that had left the day before, in broad daylight. He told of other, smaller herds. He told of the rustlers’ growing bold- ness, of Lee Dunn at the dance, of Indian Kelly riding down to Hanna’s Stage Station. “They wouldn’t dare!” the old man’s voice was heavy with scorn. “IT learnt ’em manners!” “And now you're a-bed,’ Matt Ryan said roughly. “And you’ve a fool and an outlaw for an adopted son, a gunman for a foreman.” Hitch was suddenly quiet. His shrewd old eyes studied Ryan. “What’s in you, man? What d’ you want?” “You’re down, Hitch. Maybe you'll get up, maybe not. But what hap- COPMICLOOOKS (C@