2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

92 saying. “We've got to drive cattle through here. We cain’t afford to have somebody in that shack. They might talk, and cause trouble. Varing, you got any idea who it might be?” Kent Varing, muscularly lean body slouched in his Texas saddle, shook his dark head. He said, “Likely a stranger, somebody who hasn’t heard it’s sudden death to squat hereabouts, or a nester with a bunch of kids.” “They've got to get out, whoever it is,” Kilrain scowled. “First, though, we'll give ’em a chance to leave peace- able. Varing, you’re acquainted in the basin, and yore picture ain’t on pieces of card-board all over the country. You ease down there and look things over. We'll wait here.” Kent Varing touched spurs to his big dun, rode through the screening thicket of cedars and toward the cab- in. A tight, sardonic smile twisted his lips as he rode. Despite the fact that his home range was only twenty miles away, in the northern end of the ba- sin, the odds were against his know- ing whoever was in that dilapidated cabin, He’d been away .almost five years. HE TRANSFORMATION wrought by those five years, Kent Varing realized, was bad. The basin had known him as a wild, but honest, good-natured buckaroo. Folks had grinned and predicted that slim, red- haired Barbara Wayne. would tame him. But, a week before her scheduled marriage to Kent Varing, Barbara Wayne had suddenly and without ex- planation married handsome Jack Ivor, and the devils that were in Kent Varing’s heart burst their bonds. He’d sworn to kill Ivor. But dud- ish, whiskey-drinking Jack Ivor, son of a well-to-do cowman, had turned yellow and refused to fight. So Kent Varing had ridden away, swearing never to return. The last year he'd been riding with Russ Kilrain’s gang over in New Mexico, Kilrain had once operated here in the San Simon, run- ning stolen cattle into Mexico, but for the last year he’d been away while things cooled off. And now Kilrain was riding back, Kent Varing with him. Varing had thought, “This is my chance to get €ven with that yella skunk, Jack Ivor. 2-GUN WESTERN I'll help break him, then kill him!” The years had hardened Kent Vare- ing, turned him into a bitter, cold- eyed hombre whose law lay in his lightning-fast guns. He’d severed all ties with the past, except for the memories he couldn’t crowd out.... A spotted puppy bounded from the porch and came barking and nipping at the dun’s legs as Varing rode up and stopped. Drawn by the racket, a wide-eyed, curly-haired boy of no more than four, came onto the porch and stared solemnly at Kent Varing. Varing dismounted, his silver spurs jingling as he placed one shiny boot on the porch. He asked, “You here all alone, sonny?” “You ain’t my daddy,” lisped the youngster, backing away. He called, “Mummy! Mummy!” Footsteps sounded inside, and a low voice asked, “What is it, Billy? Is somebody...?” The voice dwindled to silence. Kent Varing had thought he was imune to shock. But something almost like a physical blow shook him as his gaze lifted to the woman in the door- way. This was not the figure of his dreams that he’d seen in the red heart of a hundred campfires, but living ~ flesh and blood. Barbara whispered, Varing! Why—why...” The years had changed Barbara too. Still slim and pretty, but there was a haunting sadness about her violet eyes. She looked thin, tired, and her hands were toil-worn. She stood there looking at Varing, bewilderment in her eyes. Varing fought to steady his whirl- ing mind. Barbara—here! He was con- scious of resentment for the fact that “Kent—Kent she was still able to make him feel fierce emotions. Affecting a casual- ness he didn’t feel, Kent Varing doffed his cream sombrero, smiled tautly. He said, “I’m sorry, Barbara. I~ didn’t know you were here.” The youngster was tugging at his mother’s skirts. “That ain’t my dad- dy,” he piped. “Who is it, Mummy ?” Barbara said, “Hush, Billy.” Then to Kent Varing, “I—won’t you come in, Kent? You look tired, and hun- gry.” On an impulse, Kent Varing went Oo conmmilelboooks CO©