2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

by D. AYDELOTTE | sane up the main cowpath of mustang, as if the town was get- ting to be real civilized. There were a few more shacks and dugouts, and instead of only the two saloons—the Wild Horse and the Black Wolf— various business establishments now spread all up and down the street. After this last long stretch on his ranch in the lonesome reaches of No Man’s Land, Buck was cheered to see the note of progress. It did seem queer, though, not to find a single cowpony waiting at a hitchrack, nor anyone along the main street. And Trady’s feed barn, where Buck went to put up his pony, was deserted too; no sign of even Limpy Horton tilted back in his favorite chair. But as Buck led the sorrel to a stall, he discovered at last a sign of life: a powdering of dust filtering down T LOOKED to Buck Sizemore, There were no courts in No Man's Land, no law except that of the sixqun. And yet Buck Sizemere) wondered if civilization ‘hadn't begun to reach this raw frontier ..... “How’s tricks?” “There ain’t no tricks,” answered the barkeep gloomily, “and you better find you a hole and craw! in it. Un- shirted hell’s liable to bust loose here any minute.” He pushed bottle and glass toward Buck and propped one elbow on the bar. Thinking back to that sifting of dust from the barn loft, Buck decided to play innocent. “I just this minute hove in,’ he explained, searing his gullet with a drink. “What’s going on?” “You'll know soon enough,” hinted Anse. Leaning near, he whispered, “Thompson and two others mebbe won't see the sun come up tomorrow. » The vig’lance comnaittee’s after ’em.” “That being the case,” drawled Buck, “I’ll mosey on to Gus Wil- lard’s and lay low.” Stepping outside, he saw Ed Mun- from a crack in the loft floor. Almost certainly this meant that someone was hiding up there, but in Buck Size- more’s code of etiquette, it wouldn’t be polite to inquire who. So he got feed and water for his pony, gave the animal a parting slap on the flank, and left without looking back. © He was the one, lone customer at the Wild Horse, and his spurs clat- tered loudly in the empty room. It wasn’t healthy for a cowtown saloon to be so quiet, that time of day. Even Thompson, the gambler, wasn’t at his usual table, riffling a deck of greasy cards. “Howdy, Anse,” hailed Buck. 56 ger walking down the middle of the street, holding a Winchester and looking both ways. Trailing him were four men, all toting rifles and seem- ing itchy to use them. Buck dodged back inside. 7 | “Kinda crowded out there,’ he grinned. “Last time I saw Ed Mun- ger, Thompson had got the drop on him and made him dance, and there was Ed with his hands up, kicking sand fit to kill. He didn’t much like the tinhorn after that.” “Ed’s been bound to get even,” said Anse, “and this here claim-jumpin’ — give him his chance to put it on Thompson.” OO com ©