2-Gun Western, February 1954 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

62 accounts of other men. And by an- other way that was unique to Col- ter. Though he may not have kept any kind of journal, he had a habit of doodling that has turned up some tantalizing evidence of his journeys and whereabouts. In the museum of the Grand Teton National Park there is a rock crude- ly shaped as a human head. On one side is scratched the name, “John Colter,” and on the other, the date, 1808. Exhaustive study has been made to prove its authenticity as a sculpture done by Colter, and it is now considered his handiwork. Since it was found in a secluded spot in the foothills of the west slope of the Teton Range, it is thought that Colter had sought shelter from a storm or a band of Indians. And in the course of things he found this rock and chipped away at it for something to do. Another time, for what reason no one can know, Colter slashed a large piece of bark from a pine tree and initialed the bare place with a large J C under an X. It was found later and under expert study judged to be about eighty years old. The pine was cut, to be placed in a park museum, but for some reason the part with his initials was misplaced and never reached the museum. These famous men—Colter, Irv- ing, Boone, Lisa and many others —roamed the West, but always seemed to run across one another somewhere on the Missouri. It was a huge country, but it was whittled down to size by men who traveled up three thousand miles of wild river in savage country as uncon- cernedly as some persons walk around New York’s Times Square. @ END BUT OME MAN ALONE MIGHT.... (cont'd from page 21) sheriff, of the others Clade had slain, of Ella, to whom he could return now unharmed.... ae AFTER daybreak, Pedro Per- ez saw Lanwell emerge from Mad 2-GUN WESTERN Dog Canyon, leading his pony, with Wolf Clade in the saddle, weak from loss of blood and from the pistol- whipping he had received. The outlaw was lashed there, his ankles tied beneath the pony’s belly and his wrists manacled behind his back. “Your trick did it, Pedro,” Lanwell told the Mexican, as he stopped the pony. “Stand back! I realize how youre feelin’, rememberin’ your daughter. But we’ll let the law han- dle Wolf Clade. You'll get to see him hang. I couldn’t locate his horse any- where. So you hit for town on your own pony and tell the marshal, and have him come with a couple of men, and bring an extra mount. And spread the word in town, so Ella will hear and take comfort.”.., @ END THE TROUBLED GUN (cont'd from page 47) tically pressing fingers. Holbrook took one tottering step forward, mouth still working, and then his knees gave and he pitched forward on his face. He did not stir. Cameron turned slowly and looked at Lucy. She stood there as stiff and unmoving as a statue. Cameron’s .44 was still in her hand. A tiny trickle of black gunpowder smoke was curl- ing out of the barrel.... Afterward, she told Cameron, “I thought once that I loved him. If I hadn’t, I never would have married him. But I can’t seem to remember loving him any more. If I ever did, then it died in me all at once. Is it awful of me, Steve? I can’t shed a single tear. I killed him yet I don’t know a bit of regret. Is that awful of me?” “Let’s not talk about it, Lucy,” he said gently. “Let’s begin to forget. There should be enough for us in the future to make us never think about the past.” “That’s right,” she agreed. “We do have a lifetime together ahead of us, haven’t we?...” @END eConlichbooks (E@)