2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

16 told him; maybe Johnny was right. In the morning, he’d ride from town. Down-valley he’d take the medicine to Rodriguez, and go back over the pass to Yuma. His fingers moved to close the Bible. A page had come loose and he looked down, meaning to put it back in place. Out of habit, he started read- ing; . —and thy rod, wherewith . smotest the river, take in thy hand, and go ... The river. The Rio Gato wound out of the hills above Rodriguez’s place—and Rodriguez’s mine was flooding with water. Dorn read the next verse, his heart pounding; Behold...thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink... It was all there, in the Bible! thou 19) Geet later, Dorn came hurry- ing out of the Mercantile, a paper bundle in his arms, and called to John- ny Hackett; who’d just swung down in front of the Empire Saloon. Johnny led his gelding across Main Street. “Sorry for what I said at the meeting, Preacher. That talk about me and Beth—” “You want to marry Beth, don’t you, Johnny? You’d rather save your spread than fight Gruber and his out- fit?” “IT reckon so,’ Johnny eyed the preacher curiously. “What you got there, Preacher? Don’t look like groceries—”’ “Dynamite,” Dorn said, _ softly. “Get back on that horse, Johnny. You’re riding for me tonight, fast— and careful...” RUBER stood massive, his back to the dam, his feet planted in the dawn-lit clearing. His crew was spread out behind him, except for a few who stood guard on the opposite bank of the narrow river. _Box-G’s owner smiled. “I don’t scare easy,’ he said to the ranchers who sat their horses before him. His hand hovered above his holster. “You want to be the first to move, Hanni- gan?” The red-head swore. He turned to the men beside him. “Keep listening 2-GUN WESTERN to the preacher here, and you'll all turn yellow.” He couldn’t delay any longer, Dorn | was thinking. Maybe he had heard the explosion, riding down-valley with the ranchers—but he couldn’t be sure. He’d been too worried about Johnny’s ever reaching Rodriguez, hard-riding with his saddle begs stuffed with dynamite... Dorn swung from saddle and walked toward Gru- ber. “Stop where you are, Preacher,” Gruber barked. He’d drawn his gun; his glance flicked over the ranchers, his will commanding. Dorn unbuckled his gun-belt and let it drop to the ground. “I don’t think you'll pull the trigger now, Gruber— that’d be murder.” He went forward slowly, until he could see the grey hairs in Gruber’s stubble of beard, the tiny beads of perspiration that stood on his forehead, “Besides, there’s something I want to show you.” Dorn went to the edge of the dam, picked up a stick, and thrust it in the water. With his knife he notched the stick where it reached the surface. He turned to Gruber. “The Mexicans call it Cat River. You know, Gruber, you never can tell which way a cat’ll jump... He swung: to. faee the ranchers. “Give me five more minutes, before you start shooting.” “Out of the way, Preacher,’ Hanni- gan warned. “We're not waitin’—” Time, Dorn thought, minutes, and he might avert a range war. He turned again to Gruber, an answer forming as he spoke. “You thought you had a river—maybe a whole valley,’ he laughed. “It’s going to be tough Grub- er, watching your dam go empty.” Gruber’s solid face worked with suspicion. “You lie, Preacher. But if you’ve done anything to that river, you damned, sneaking—’ “You wouldn’t talk like that with- out a gun in your hand,” Dorn taunted. Gruber out-weighed him by thirty pounds of solid brawn, he was thinking; Dorn straightened as the rancher dropped his gun-belt to the ground. Then Gruber was coming to- ward him, charging like a maddened bull, his fists swinging. Dorn raised his arms, warding off the savage fury of those first sledge- [im conmilclboooks C©