2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

04 = where else to go. Why should we leave here?” “People have died here in this cab- in.” “But that was several years ago. Nobody has bothered us.” “They might, if you stay. You must leave, as soon as you can.” Bass shook her head again. “IT know you have a reason for saying those things, Kent. But we’ve got to stay here—got to! It’s our only chance, Jack’s only chance. I know I haven’t fooled you. You know why we lost everything, why we’re living here. Jack’s weak. He’s always had too much. I made him come here. I thought, away from everybody, he might—do better. In time, he may. It’s his only chance, our only chance. I married him, and I'll stick with him. I owe him that much.” . Varing fought back the words of contempt he felt for Jack Ivor that came to his lips. He said, “If you feel that way...” Barbara had quieted. Her eyes steady, she said, “I owe you some- thing, Kent Varing. I know. how ter- ribly I hurt you. I want you to know why I married Jack Ivor, without even telling you I aimed to do it. It can do no harm, now. I did it for an old, old reason. Money—money Jack Ivor promised to pay off a mortgage on daddy’s ranch with. Jack wouldn't let me explain, or even tell you what I meant to do. “So I married him; but I didn’t get the money. Daddy lost the ranch, and it broke his heart. He died soon after. Then Buck Ivor died, and Jack seemed to go to pieces.” Fresh hate and contempt for Jack Ivor welled inside Kent Varing. He got to his feet. He didn’t want to see Jack Ivor, for fear of what he might do. Barbara had got to her feet and gone to the window. She said: “Here comes Jack now.’ Varing heard hoofbeats outside. They stopped at the rear of ‘the cab- in, and footsteps sounded as some- body entered through a back doorway. The footsteps came through a back room, then Jack Ivor stood in the doorway. Again shock over-rode the hate that the 2-GUN WESTERN smouldered inside Varing. This wasn’t the old, debonair Jack Ivor he’d known, the old swaggering, arro- gant dandy. A stubble of beard cov- ered Ivor’s gaunt face. His eyes were bleary. His clothes were dirty, un- kempt. Jack Ivor had a quart bottle in his hand, and he swayed a little as he squinted in the sudden change from sunlight to shadow. Jack Ivor asked, bronc is that outside? And who're them hombres coyotin’ out behind the thicket 2?” And Barbara said softly, “Jack, here’s an old friend of yours. Kent Varing...” Jack Ivor stiffened, took a back- ward step. Then his eyes focused on Varing, and he laughed sneeringly. “No need to come sneakin’ back now, Varing. She’s my wife now, remember that!” Barbara flushed, said pleadingly, “Barbara, whose: “Jack, please! Kent didn’t know we. lived here when he stopped.” “Then why is he here?” Ivor asked. “Anyway, he knows it now. He’s not wanted here. Is that plain, Varing?” Kent Varing held himself rigidly in check. “Plain enough. Your skunk smell is worse than ever, Ivor. It must be hell to have to stand it for five years. Five seconds is too long for me!” ENT VARING whirled, strode from the cabin. He swung into the saddle, his brown, hawkish features harsh with anger, and sent the dun at a gallop up the incline and through the cedars to where Russ Kilrain and the others waited. “It took you a hell of a cae time.” burly, red-bearded Kilrain growled impatiently. “Who’s down there?” “Just a woman and a kid.” “I saw a man ride up on a hoss a minute ago. What about him?” Varing shrugged, said. “He don’t count, Soused to the gills, and yella. Name of Jack Ivor.” “Ivor, huh?” Kilrain grunted. “I’ve had dealin’s with him. He’s yella, all right, and treacherous. He cain’t be trusted. Rather have most anybody there than him. Did you tell ’em to get out?” Comichoo S AA (©)