2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

“THOU SHALT NOT KILL..." 7 like blows while he waited for an opening. When it came he swung a hard right to the side of Gruber’s head; the blow spun Gruber around, a look of astoniskment on his beefy face. A grow] came from the ranchers, “Hit him, Preacher,’ one of them yelled lustily. Dorn’s glance flicked over the horseman; Hannigan sat unmoving. They'll watch while it lasts, the preacher -thought grimly. Suddenly Gruber rushed him, and this time the rancher’s driven fist struck with an impact that resounded in his skull like thunder. Dorn fell sprawling. Gruber was upon him in a second, his huge fists pounding, battering him with blows to the head and shoulders. Dorn struck back, realizing he fought a losing battle. But he fought for time. The sky wheeled crazily be- fore his eyes.- In desperation, he grasped Gruber by the arms and, planting a knee in his belly, heaved upward. Gruber fell sideways and they grappled, rolling on the ground near the dam. They broke apart and Dorn came up on one knee, and remained there, try- ing to clear his vision, when he saw Gruber coming toward him. The rancher kicked viciously at his face. Dorn grabbed the boot and twisted; Gruber toppled, swearing as he fell. Tired, Dorn took the moment to stagger to his feet. Some of his blows had told on Gruber, he thought with satisfaction, as the rancher rose and came toward him. There was blood on Gruber’s cheeks, and his eyes had the look of murder. “I’m going to kill you, Preacher,” he muttered thickly. Dorn stood still, waiting now for the chance he knew would come—for Gruber in his rage had become reck- less. Even as the rancher swung, Dorn stepped inside the wide arching blow, and brought up his fist against the side of Gruber’s head, with a crack that resounded in the clearing. The blow knocked the heavy man off-bal- ance and Gruber was that way, his head back, his jaw out-thrust—when the preacher’s last blow hit him. Dorn stood for a moment looking down at Gruber, hearing only dimly the clamor of voices around him. Then he walked to the edge of the dam where he’s left the notched stick. When he swung to face the ranchers, there was a slow smile spreading on the preacher’s face,.““You’ve no reason to fight now,” he said, “Get Gruber over here and I'll prove it...” It was then that he heard the beat of hoofs, and turning, saw Johnny Hackett come pounding into the clearing. Johnny swung down from his lathered gelding and walked ove to the sky-pilot. “You should have seen it, Preacher,” he said, panting. a i strung that dynamite in the minehead, like you said. When she blew, me and old Rodriguez had to run like jack- rabbits to keep from getting drown- ded. Why,- that there's the purtiest little river you ever did see, runnin’ straight into the valley!”... See RODRIGUEZ didn’t really need the medicine, Dorn reflected now, as he prodded the reluctant mare back over the pass toward Yuma. When he’d waved good-bye, Rodri- guez had been bending over his new vegetable garden beside the river, happily digging. Working in the sun, Rodriguez’s gnarled hands had lost the misery. Dorn chuckled; now that the old Mexican was something of a celebrity, he’d changed his plans about going back to Sonora. All in-all, Dorn allowed, it had been a pretty fair trip over. If he lived-to be a hundred, he’d never for- get the dumfounded expression on Gruber’s face, while water fell away from the notched stick—or the look in the Widow Johanson’s eyes as she stood in her yard, and saw the back- water from Gruber’s dam receding. A fair trip, what with Beth and Johnny Hackett’s wedding, and the way the Widow Johanson had smiled at him afterwards, when she’d said goodbye... “Get along, girl,’ the preacher said gruffly. He prodded the drooping mare. A fine woman, the Widow, Dorn reflected; the kind that would make some lonely man, downright happy. Maybe someday soon he’d come back > this way, and just call on the Widow Johanson, social-like. Maybe some- day in the spring.... The preacher. rode on over the pass. @ END oO CcomiclookSs.c@©