2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

86 blurring out the surroundings were no blacker than his thoughts. Anvil Shane had denied that the suspicions against Bert were his own but the sheriff hadn’t fooled Webb. Shane was giving Bert Freeman the . benefit of doubt because Anvil Shane and Webb had began~a friendship in Texas thirty years before. That friendship had matured here in Montana where both men had mi- grated. Shane and old Webb had been mighty close but there was one phase of Webb’s life that Anvil Shane didn’t know. NVIL SHANE didn’t know about the early years of Webb’s mar- ried life. Shane had been pushing cattle north in those: days. True, “Shane had probably heard of Wild Bill Leatherby, the Texas badman, who had been corraled and sent to prison for twenty years. But Shane didn’t know Webb and his wife had adopted the infant son of Wild Bill Leatherby to bless their childless marriage. That was Webb’s secret, and Webb’s alone. His wife had died a dozen years before and Wild Bill Leatherby was lost among the shad- ows of the past. So Webb had been living with fear and uncertainty since the Jumping Jack had began to ride. Webb had reared Bert by the same rigid code of honesty that had governed Webb’s own life. But blood is blood—and Bert Freeman was the son of Wild Bill Leatherby, bad- man, The dead past had refused to stay buried, Webb reflected biiterly. He called Bert his son and the boy was ‘everything to him that the word im- plied. He thought of it now and felt very old and very much alone. Then, as though summoned genii-like by his thoughts, Bert Freeman dis- mounted at the corral, headed for the house. Bert might have been his kin for the boy was tall and lath-like too. His shock of hair was the same blue- black that Webb’s had been before the years had thinned it and sprinkled it with gray. Slumping down beside his foster father, the boy grinned wanly. “Left the beef in the corral up at the line shack,” he reported, “I'll 2-GUN WESTERN ‘em down to Mustang come drive morning.’ Webb remembered Anvil Shane’s advice about keeping Bert at home but only grunted. After all, Bert was twenty, a man by range standards. Bert had taken a lot of the work from Webb’s shoulders. He couldn’t order the boy to hang around the ranch-yard from now on. His hands were tied by Bert’s ma- turity and next morning he watched silently as Bert rode away. It was the beginning of a week of sheer tor- ture for the lanky oldster for each day the boy found something to keep him in the saddle and Webb was usually in bed when Bert returned by night. They always met at break- fast and, facing the boy across the table, Webb‘ would choke back thronging questions he wanted to ask and couldn't. Once Webb saddled up, rode down to Mustang. There were supplies to be bought but, afterwards, Webb prodded, himself into the sheriff’s office. Anvil Shane greeted him eae and gave him the information he wanted. “Yep, the Jumping Jack held up a prospector night afore last,” Shane reported. There were new worry lines etched in Shane's broad face and a heap of untouched correspondence was piled upon his desk. Webb didn’t linger and he almost collided with Tate Jervis as he went through the door. . The carefully-dressed Western Over- land manager gave Webb a_ long searching “glance as the oldster grunted his apology. Afterwards Webb toiled up the hill trail to the ranch and found Bert ab- sent. Nor did the boy show up for supper..Webb spent another solitary evening brooding on the porch steps and went to bed early. But his thoughts made for sleeplessness. He wondered where Bert was riding— and why. And he was still wondering when Bert came in hours later. He heard the boy steal along the hall, pause for a moment at Webb’s bed- room door. Then, apparently deciding the oldster was asleep, Bert went to his own room. Fok LONG moments Webb lay there listening. Then, impelled by Commicloo S (C@) rfl)