2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

LAST CARD could start even and still beat you. I’m giving you a good chance. We might just forget we ever saw each other before. Your name is maybe Jake Brown. I can use a good deputy for a month or so.” “New way of livin’ for me,’ Grin- nell said. Relief poured through him like pure, sweet water. “You got a dodger on me, Mr. Dyke?” “No. Probably get it a couple of days after you ride out. I’m surprised at you, Slick. In the old days a man couldn’t get within a mile of where you was sleeping.” “We all get old,” Grinnell said. “For a minute there I thought I wasn't going to get any older. The people of this county know what kind of lawdog they got?” _ Shorty smiled his mirthless gri- mace. “Only one person in this county whose opinion is worth a damn. His name is Bayer, big rancher. We'll ride by his ranch on the way to town.” I never knowed the time you needed help, Shorty.” “A man can’t have eyes everywhere. These homesteaders will fight for this rich land. Some of them are pretty tough. You might say you're insurance for me, just like I’m insur- ance for Mr. Bayer. Let’s ride, Depu- ty.” AYER’S ranch was on a hill over- looking the river. Grinnell, when the horses splashed across the shallow ford, saw a blacksmith hard at work in the shop, a rifle leaning against the forge. Three men were working at the corral, repairing cinch straps, but behind them were three more rifles, new, from their appearance. The house itself was set back against the hill, and was made of fieldstone heav- ily mortared together. The full length porch commanded a view of the en- tire valley, Behind the house, up on the rim, more riders were hazing some horses. The Bayer’s ranch was sét for trouble. It would take a small army to get at Bayer. One of the men at the corral had stopped hammering rivets into a strap and was carefully inspecting his rifle as Shorty and Grinnell rode up. Shorty jerked a thumb at Grinnell. “New deputy, name of Jake Brown,” 49 he said. “Parker Nichols, foreman of the Bar B, Jake. Bayer at home?” “Up at the cookshack, getting breakfast. If the cook is in a good mood maybe. you can get some grub, too.” Bayer, a heavy, red-faced man of forty, was seated alone in the cook- shack. “Mornin’, Sheriff,” he said. “Who’s your boy?” “This side of the line his name is Jake Brown.” Bayer speared a slice of ham. “He ain’t very pretty. Is he useful?” “He'll get the job done.” Bayer’s cold gaze rested on Grin- nell. “You boys represent the law. J want the homesteaders off the Indian Strip. I don’t want.a federal marshal down here nosing around afterward. If you're wanted in other states, get the job done and get out of here.” He turned back to his ham and eggs. “How about some breakfast, Mr. Bayer?” Shorty asked. “Don’t anybody ever eat before they come out here? Plates are on the side table.” Grinnell was famished again. The meal he had got at the homesteader's and the sage hen he had eaten the night before had barely taken a wrin- kle out of his hunger. He loaded a plate with the ham and eggs and filled a mug with coffee from the back of the big range. The ham was beginning to dry out and the eggs were greasy cold, but he grabbed a knife and be- gan to take the slack from his empty stomach, Bayer pushed his chair back and stood up. Grinnell, stopping to refill his coffee cup, noted he wore choke- bore riding pants and hand-tooled boots and that he carried a _ short- barreled gun in a specially tailored hip pocket. Bayer grimaced at Shorty. “Your friend may be a curly wolf, but he eats like a hog. Next time, feed him outside; he turns my stomach.’ Shorty laid a lightning-fast hand on Grinnell’s arm. “Take it easy, Slick,” he said. Bayer stared at Grinnell with con- tempt, but Grinnell could see the nervous flicker of his eyes. Outside they mounted and turned their horses up the valley toward Pal- ouse City. Shorty seemed worried by oO nn CO S (CO) Goo