2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

58 - “Better raise your sights,” advised their target coolly. The next bullet came closer, and the gambler, for once unarmed but defiant, sneeringly told them to try again. The third shot struck him in the kneecap; he spun around and fell, but managed to crawl back to the one-room half-dug- out, where the landlady was hiding in terror. Instead of finishing off their vic- tim then and there, the posse went on to Bennet’s store. The door was locked, the building dark, but after repeated pounding with gun butts, the storekeeper came to the door, holding a lighted lantern. “What’s up?” he asked shakily. “Thompson wants to see you,” said Ed Munger. “He says you're back of the trouble over One-eye George.” “He’s mistaken,” said Bennet, “but I’ll go see him anyway.” As he turned to get his coat and hat, one of the men ordered, “You come right now.” They tramped down the snowy street, Bennet hatless and coatless, his thumbs (by order) hooked in the armholes of his vest. At the dugout, Thompson was ly- ing on a cot, his knee swathed in bandages. -Half-conscious, he opened his eyes and tried to speak. Then he fell back, twenty-three bullets rid- dling his body. Screeching in panic, the landlady fled into the night. “It’s your turn, Bennet,” said Munger. “You deserve to die for stealing One-eye’s claim.” A _ bullet crashed through Bennet’s brain. He fell dead near the bloodsoaked bed where Thompson lay. 3 The posse then rode on to settle with Tracy. But when they reached his place, the feed-barn man-had his 2-GUN WESTERN light buggy hitched up and he and his wife were ready to drive off. “Halt or we'll shoot,’ the posse shouted. Bullets whined through the air, but Tracy laid the whip to his team and left on a dead run. At the first Kansas town they came to, he begged for protection, and he and his wife slept in the jail that night. Next morning, as Buck stood in front of Old Man Willard’s, a wagon came along, drawn by a yoke of steers, a boy driving. Two armed men walked on either side. Ed Mun- ger following behind. Seeing two long, narrow boxes in the wagon, Buck called, “If you need help with the grave-digging, I’ll come along.” “Come on,” jeered a guard, “and we'll bury you on top of the boxes.” “Much obliged,” said Buck polite- ly, “but I’ve changed my mind.” Ed Munger was hanging around at the feed barn when Buck went to get his pony. “Did you see Limpy here yesterday?” he quizzed. “T told you before,’ answered Buck, “I didn’t see a soul.” “Well, he was here all right,” said Munger grimly, “hiding up in the loft. We made him come out, then we paid him off, give him a good hoss, and told him he better go where it was healthier. He lit out.” Buck made no answer. He saddled the sorrel and rode away, not even stopping at the Wild Horse Saloon for a parting drink. Mustang looked more natural, with men going into the saloons, and ponies waiting out- side. But as Buck headed for the snowy stretches of his ranch in No Man’s Land, he wondered if the town had got such a big dose of civ- ilization after all. @® END BJORKLUND ee oO EComicboo (CO)