2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

THROUGH GUNSIGHTS the mine, there would be none to dis- pute their ownership. “You hit it right, Galt,” Rod Don- | nelly said slowly. “We found a pock- et, Alec and me. Quartz you can crum- ble in your fingers, rotten with gold. It’s up there now—and you'll never get it. Some of it will buy drinks for San Lorenzo the day you hang.” Dave Galt expelled a thin stream of blue smoke. “Mebbe,” he said hardily. “I ain’t on the gallows yet. It’s forty miles to San Lorenzo, and you got two jaspers to wrap up and tag before you make delivery.” “Those gents will pull out, Galt.” Galt grinned at him. “With Alec Brendle dead down on the flat?” he jeered. “With them knowing they got a murder charge to face if you get out of here alive? Don’t fool yourself, Donnelly. Those gents will camp right here till your hide’s nailed on the wall.” And, deep in his heart, Rod Donnel- ly had no choise but to agree with that hooked-nose killer on the floor. The odds were two to one against him. More, the scales were tipped in anoth- er way: he was crippled; he had lost more blood than he could afford; and he knew in a few hours more or less that fever would be rushing through his veins. He knew that then he would be in no shape to deal with those kil- lers beyond the cabin. “They got the horses,” Galt said. “Don’t reckon you'll try to hop to town on one foot. And you got to sleep sometime. This is a finish fight, Donnelly, and you're still a hell of a long ways from San Lorenzo.” A finish fight! A fight he didn’t have much chance of winning. Don- nelly could see that now, very clearly. Stretched out beside the window, his wounded leg on fire, he watched against the chance of a surprise at- tack by that pair. camped in the blacksmith shop, But probably they wouldn’t attack; probably they would be content to wait. They could af- ford to wait. In this empty, snow- filled wasteland there was no need for haste. “You had your chance to kill me once today,” said Galt suddenly. “You had me dead center in rifle sights. Why didn’t you squeeze trigger?” 73 “Maybe I. was saving you for the gallows, Galt?” “Hell!” said the hook-nosed man scornfully. “You didn’t have the guts to shoot! I’ve known gents like that before now—gents packing a gun they were afraid to use. It takes nerve to kill a man, Donnelly—even a man you | hate. Mebbe you didn’t know that be- fore today.” | Bae looked up. “You got that kind of nerve, Galt.” “Sure,” said Galt. “It was my slug - killed Alec Brendle. Why should I lie now? You had your chance to square it and you couldn’t pull the trigger.” He grinned wickedly. ‘“Meb- be it was Bible stuff. Thou shalt not kill, eh, Donnelly? Mebbe that’s why you held your fire?” “Maybe,” said Donnelly. He crawled across the kitchen to stoke the range with clumps of pinyon wood. He piled the firebox full, then crawled on to close the door between kitchen and bedroom, and came back to take his position at the win- dow. Pain moved along his leg in knife-thrusts of agony. There was still no sign of activity from the blacksmith shop. Those men could wait. He couldn’t. He had ‘to bring this to a boil—had to end it quickly, one way or another. Heat from the blazing stove spread out and filled the tiny rom. Dave Galt wriggled in his sheepskin coat, perspiration flowing down his lean ~ face. “You trying to roast us Donnelly?” he snarled. “Take off the coat,” said Rod. “With my hands tied behind me?” Donnelly moved around him. “I ll untie you long enough to slide out of the coat,’ he said. “Don’t try any- thing, Galt. Maybe I ain’t got nerve enough to kill a man, but sure as hell I’ll knock your skull loose from your shoulders if you make one funny move!” He untied Galt’s wrists, waited while the hook-nosed man wriggled out of the sheepskin coat, tied the wrists again. His gun was in Galt’s back, but the other submitted without protest. From the blacksmith shop a rifle roared and a bullet buried itself in log walls. comiclbool CO fl)