2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

NOON TOMORROW 33 have done a job on Johnny. But in his haste, Jim didn’t take time to think it out. Jim piled through the door of the Palace and found Johnny Benton still-posted in the center of the floor. Mojave Jack leaned back negligently, his elbows resting on the bar. His right hand was dropped down near the butt of his gun and that wicked smile curled the corners of his lips. Johnny was white-faced with shock and fear, but he held his ground. “What you pickin’ on me for?” Johnny asked as Jim came in. “T ain’t pickin’ on you, boy. I just said you looked like a yellow sheep- herder. It ain’t my fault the way you look.” ' Jim moved up on Johnny’s right side and Mojave Jack straightened. A queer light came into his eyes. a glitter, and suddenly it hit Jim with all.the force of a sledge-hammer blow to the belly. It wasn’t Johnny Benton that the killer wanted. That was a ruse. His real victim was Jim Forbes. For a moment the knowledge para- lyzed Jim and then his mind began to function coldly and surely. If he was to survive, he had to think clear- ly, surely. “Get out of here, Johnny,” Jim said. “There’ll be no fightin’ in my town.” Johnny wanted to go, but he didn’t want to appear a coward, so he hung back for a moment. “Get movin’, Johnny,” Jim said again. This time the young puncher left. Monty Ferris stirred behind the bar, as though released from the weight of some mighty load. He sighed. Jim laughed then and he saw surprise momentarily break the sur- face of Mojave Jack’s eyes. “You can quit actin’, Jack. It took me long enough, but I finally know who you came to kill. Why didn’t you just Say So yesterday afternoon instead of sparrin’ around all this time? You came to kill me.” Jim heard Monty Ferris gasp and then Mojave Jack’s harsh voice rasped through the stillness. “That’s right, Marshal, I came to get you and no-one hired me to do it. I wanted an excuse to get you to draw on me and that young puncher was it. But he wouldn’t quite take the bait. You got here too fast.” Jim was placed twenty paces from Mojave Jack and he wasn’t going to let the man get any closer. At twenty paces a man could easily miss, especially if he hurried the shot. Jim didn’t fool himself that he could outdraw the killer, so he had to make the man miss that first shot. “What did I ever do to you?” Jim asked. “You killed my brother in the street here last fall. He didn’t have a chance.” Jim remembered the man and thinking back he could see now that there was a strong family resemblance between the two. “TI remember,” he said. “He was in here drinking and causing trouble. I warned him to cut it out and left. He followed me out and called to me as I walked across the street. He drew and fired when I turned on him. His first shot missed and mine didn’t.” “You killed him and I’m here to square accounts. That’s all that mat- ters.” “That would be all that mattered with you,” Jim said, a sneer in his voice. “Sure, I shot him down and I’d do it again. He was a worthless, gutless punk, Jack, just like you.” He saw the words hit the gunman like physical blows, saw the hate that flared in his eyes. Mojave Jack’s mouth twitched spasmodically and he looked like a crazy man. Jim felt cold and alone, his senses acutely tuned to every move the deadly one in front of him made. Mojave Jack said, “I’m going to shoot you in the belly and watch you claw the floor while you die.” He stopped talking and Jim laughed at him. Jim saw the gunman’s eyes flicker wildly once, then nar- row, saw his shoulder dip, and Jim drew. Mojave Jack’s draw was a flash that beat Jim a full tenth of a second. The killer’s’ gun roared and bucked back in his hand, but the slug missed Jim’s hip a split hair. Jim’s gun was out and he fired, not aiming. He lowered the gun to his side, knowing he would have no time for a second shot. Mojave Jack was jerked back against the bar as though some mighty fist had smashed him in the chest. His gun fell from his hand and bounced once on the floor. He (please turn to page 44) commie ooks.c@©