2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

2-GUN WESTERN f Bite EVENING sped by while Caleb dreamed and Ellen and Un- cle Windmill spun their magic for lonely gold seekers. It was near the end of the program when Caleb made his grevious error. Uncle Windmill, fortifying himself between scenes with hot water and whiskey, had over- done and become befuddled. When he labored to a tortuous halt in mid- speech, Caleb from far back in the hall intoned, “...then must you speak, of one that loved not wisely but too well...” Uncle Windmill snorted dead cen- ter, swung around and stared. Caleb struggled to his feet in confusion and scuffled out into the windy night. Caleb squatted three hours next morning over the streambed and panned a lucky ounce of gold and was ignorant of just when Joe Salem ar- rived to sit in the tree shade and smoke and contemplate him. “You know them O’Fayes, don’t you, Caleb,” Joe said finally. Caleb nodded, sifting rhythmically at his pan. “I figured so,” said Joe. “Else why do we stop here and file a claim and go down to.a showing at the Dramatic Hall... =x stop here,’ said Caleb shortly. “You can go where you please, Joe.” “Why do you keep hid under your hat and bush whiskers, Caleb? You afraid of her?” Caleb stopped his sifting. He set the pan down on a rock and looked over at his companion. Joe, in some special way, had become a part of Caleb during their long trek north on the Mother Lode. He’d become an honest, dogged, goading thing which at first followed and later drove Caleb —like a conscience. He was prodding now; too hard. “You think too much, Joe Salem. Either pan gold or get out.” “The girl’s in trouble, Caleb. Her and her uncle are in a claim fight with a dude named Reno Cucci. He’s about to beat them out.” Caleb picked up his pan again and resumed sifting. “It’s a queer point,” Joe went on. “Reno was working quartz ledges on both sides of a little gulch. O’Faye tracked a rich placer run in the exaggeration with his stream between the ledges and claimed it. Cucci raised ned, of course, and some of the boys think he’s mean, but in his rights. Most don’t give a- hoot.” “I don't give a hoot,” said Caleb, “They say Ellen O’Faye brought her uncle into the gold camps because the stage was. killin’ him off. They say if Reno takes this strike away from him, it'll kill him sure. Don’t seem just, somehow.” “Hold court and settle it,” snapped. Joe got up and Inocked the ashes from his pipe. “They’re holding court tomorrow night and Reno’s al- ready spending the gold he’s gonna be awarded.” ) Caleb sifted on, head bowed, still searching his pan for the tell-tale glit- ter. He was mightily relieved when Joe Salem walked away. Caleb 8 NOT in my heart to dispos- | sess a lady of such charm as Miss O’Faye of any rightful claim she may have on a fortune to match her fame,” Reno Cucci was saying smoothly. The late afternoon sun struck a lively gleam in Reno’s over-large black eyes and broad, toothy smile. He was_a big man sure in the knowledge of his shrewdness and arresting good looks. “This matter of a placer strike her uncle has made directly in the midst of my quartz ledges can be easily resolved,” he said. The men of Dogleg stirred and nod- ded to one another and Temescal Mur- phy, the presiding officer, looked hugely comforted. To be caught in the middle of a dispute between the adriot and sinister Reno and a purposeful woman like Ellen O’Faye was neither pleasant nor healthful. Temescal was a simple and honest man who was well aware that a wrong move could ruin him. Uncle Windmill, from across the circle of men, cleared his throat. “What is your purpose, sir—your of- fer?” he said in his half- whisper. Reno shrugged, gesturing in comic large, flat hands. “Ellen must marry me!” The miners howled with laughter. They pounded knees, slapped hats to the earth and jig-stepped. And Reno grinned immensely. Oo in S CO CO Ghoo