2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

THROUGH GUNSIGHTS the blood-soaked bandage, twisting it tight and tighter with a stick, setting his jaw against the pain that rolled over him as he lashed the stick itself against his leg. It was done at last, and then, slowly, cautiously, crawling from bush to rock, from rock to snow- covered bush, he worked his way back along the ridge away from Galt and toward the cabin. | Knowing each foot of this country he knew exactly the point at which, having left Galt behind on the thick- ly-wooded hillside, he had to cross the ridge to drop down on the cabin from the rear. He persevered grimly, push- ing his rifle ahead and dragging his useless leg behind, dropping down slope with agonizing slowness toward the cabin, The crutches he had aban- doned, : There was a small space of level ground at the bottom of the slope. He managed it on hands and knees, ex- pecting each instant to hear the blast- ing roar of guns from the hillside. Nothing happened; he pulled up in the shadow of the cabin wall without event. The cabin had one door, in front; there was a window at the back, on hinges and fortunately un- locked. He shoved the window open, hoisted his body over the sill, crawled inside the cabin. Inside, he managed to get his one good leg under him and pulled himself erect. He hopped through to the kitchen. There was a fire in the range, and on the oilcloth-covered table were dirty dishes which had not been there when he and Alec had left the cabin two days before. Outside the kitchen window he could see a path already well-broken through the new snow leading to the tar-paper shack which had served Alec and himself as com- bination stable and blacksmith shop. That Galt and his men had spent time here was evident, but now Donnelly could see no sign of any of them about the place. N A CORNER of the kitchen table Donnelly assembled a miscel- lany of instruments and material: a Colt sixgun, a pocket-knife, a quart bottle of whiskey, a package of absorb- ent cotton, and strips of white cloth for bandages. Aware that he might be 71 interrupted any moment he lost no time. Already the tourniquet on his leg was biting into flesh; he set his jaw and hooked it up another notch. He cut the blood-soaked bandage from his ankle and soaked the leg liberally with whiskey. The bullet had gone through neatly, in and out. In the wound he rammed plugs of absorbent cotton soaked in whiskey, closing his teeth against the pain and pushing the plugs solidly into place with a match stick. He sloshed more whiskey on the leg, wrapped it tightly with layer after layer of ban- ‘dage. That done, he removed the tour- niquet and wrapped leg and foot in wide strips torn from a blanket. It was makeshift medicine, the best he could manage under the circumstances. He was finished barely in time. He had just finished tying the blanket- bandage in place when he lifted his head to see men and horses coming up the trail toward the cabin. Three men, with two saddled horses; and then Donnelly saw that Galt and his crew had caught up old Alec’s horse and his own. Their thought was plain enough; in this lonely wasteland a wounded man on foot would be in des- perate plight. The three men came on carelessly, Dave Galt in front, and behind Galt two men leading the captured horses. Donnelly recognized them both; the tall one was Pete Duchelle, the short-- er one Clint Abad; both worked for _Dave Galt’s K Bar outfit beyond the mountain. Knowing them only slight- ly, Donnelly knew them well enough to know that both were tough hands. He reached for his rifle, resting against the table. By the time he got the gun the men with the horses had turned aside toward the stable and Galt was coming up the trail alone. He came on, striding carelessly, a big, _hook-nosed man in levis and sheep- skin coat. Sixgun in hand Rod Don- nelly worked his way along the wall to stand quietly just inside the cabin door. = The door shoved open. Galt was coming through the doorway when Donnelly stabbed him with the Colt. “Lift ‘em, Galt!” he snapped. For the space of a single heartbeat big, hook-nosed Dave Galt stared at Cconnlelooo S CO