2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

80 action yet. Which meant that Buck Caspian and Milo Studinger were still safe. “Stick around, Pedro,’ said Bar- mney. “Nothing to worry about yet. I got a little chore over at Doc Oliver’s place.” Barney slipped around the back way to Doc Oliver’s house, which also contained the doctor’s office and a hospital bed or two. Doc Oliver him- self let Barney in at ‘the back door. “About time you were showing up,” grumbled Doc. “There’ll be a lynch- ing bee if you don’t do something pretty quick. They tell me Ed Dow is sweating blood, worrying over wheth- er he can protect his prisoners, now . he’s’ got ’em.” “Let him sweat,” said Barney. “Do him good. Teach him something. How about that drummer, Doc? Is_ he thinking a%y clearer, now?” “He’s about well enough to travel, if that’s what you mean. You want to see him, of course?” “Yeah. For a few minutes.” The drummer was sitting up in bed, ifhead encased in a broad, white band- age. “I know what you want,” he said peevishly, as soon as Barney entered © the. room. “And there is only one thing I can add to what I told you before. Thinking everything over, particularly, how they looked—well, there were two of them, both masked. ‘And I can’t. recall anything else but this. The one who shot me when he cursed and half whirled my way, the tails of the handkerchief he was masked with, sort of fluttered aside. And it seems I recall seeing some- ‘thing that- looked like the edge of a ‘beard, I wouldn’t be positive, under- stand—for the next split second ‘everything went to pieces in thunder and lightning, It ain’t much—but it’s ‘all I can do about it, sheriff.” The gleam in Barney Carr’s eyes Jhad deepened. “You got no idea how ‘much that little thing means, amigo. ‘Thanks—a heap.” At that moment a wild, deep throated, concerted yell echoed in from the street. The drummer s@uirmed nervously. “Now what?” he demanded shrilly. “The crazy, damned country...!” Barney was already on his way wout. “Just a few of the boys who 2-GUN WESTERN. need to have their ideas straightened out,” he drawled. = S Bears MOB had made up it’s mind. © The crowd, a full hundred strong, was massed before the door of the sheriff’s office, swaying, growling, cursing—yelling for the prisoners. Ed Dow stood on the step, facing that mob. He had a sawed off shot- gun, held waist high, the twin muz- zles swinging back and forth in a threatening arc. . Sheriff Barney Carr, slipping un- noticed up to the fringe of the mob, watched Ed Dow and nodded grimly. “Worried,” he told himself—‘worried and a little uncertain, the kid is. But not one damned bit afraid. He’ll do.” Then Barney Carr went driving through the mob and he was no long- er a shuffling, amiable, easy going old timer, In some strange and mysteri- ous way he seemed to have grown tall- er. His leathery face was grim and harsh, his puckered eyes full of fluid ice. Men who turned to curse him when he shouldered quieted suddenly as they glimpsed that ice in the old man’s eyes. And when a burly miner, somewhat addled with drink, aimed an angry blow at Barney Carr, Barney gun-whipped him with the merciless speed of a pouncing wolf. And in two more strides, Barney was up on the steps beside Ed Dow and turning to face the mob. | They yelled when they saw who it was, yelled taunts and threats. Bar- ney looked them over coolly, waited until they quieted. “You’re clawing at the wrong corral if you think you're going to take any prisoners away from the kid and me,” he told them harshly. “You might as well break it up and git. Lynching is out. That’s final!” Ed Dow didn’t say a word, but Bar- ney heard his deep gulp of relief. The mob wanted to argue. “We want Caspian and Studinger,” yelled one of them. “We're going to string those two damned crooks up. They should have been hung long ago. You can’t keep us away from them.” Suddenly Barney Car was a snarl- ing old tiger. He half crouched and both big guns leaped into his hands. “That’s what you think!” he spat. oO Conn S them aside, - CO Ghoo