2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

; a — om b= —- ets a bet SSD EIS Ms my ICK FOSTER said, “What do ] ) = mean, I never do any work? What about that last brushpopping trip I—” “I didn’t say you never did any work, and you know I didn't,” Mrs. Foster said. “And that’s no way to talk to your mother.” By the time Landry could get his bullets off, the Rangers had literally blasted him to hell! ae Stir, 4 Dick winced irritably. “Oh for gosh sakes’, Ma, cut that ‘your moth- er’ stuff. I’m eighteen now, remem- * ber?” He flung up from the table and went and got the .30-30 from the corner and levered it violently. Then he squinted close at some detail of MAYBE DICK FOSTER WAS SIMPLY BAD AND HEADED AND GIRLS WERE ALL A KID THOUGHT OF..... Dick's .30-.30 crashed and the tincan took a trip. a wears Sai, magn Cr EATON SS “4 J \ | \ | }} J) They were saying that the killer would proba- bly ride right on through, but the tough _ ones hoped he'd hole-up in town for a spell.... = SW : A the mechanism. Then he put the rifle ee ANY \\ ti elie up and sighted once down it. Mrs. Sy A la Foster, her neck somehow looking ee NN scrawny from the way the muscles oo bee at = <a 4 . y . = of her jaw tightened back to thin her mouth, finally turned back to the stove. But she didn’t do anything at the stove. She stared at the top of it. “T’ll be back at dinnertime,’ Dick Foster suddenly said, and the con- cave-worn doorsill creaked as he stepped on it going out, and the big kitchen was thrown momentarily in shadow, as the landscape is when a cloud blots the sun, from his cut- ting off the bright morning sunlight that had been pouring through the & by JOHN LUMSDEN STRAIGHT FOR HELL — OR MAYBE AT HIS AGE GUN % GRIPPING THRILLER BY A ey WRIT AR KOOKS) Y)