2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

TWO OR-THREE FUNERALS ~— $7 As one of the posse turned in at the swingdoor, Anse fell silent and began busily polishing the bar. “Howdy,” greeted the guntoter. Then, staring suspiciously at Buck, “What you doin’ here?” “Just got in from the ranch,” an- swered Buck, “and stopped here for a Slug of red-eye to warm me up. Then I’m going on to Gus Willard’s.” “If you go there,” growled the man, “be sure to stay inside. You hear?” - Buck was no stranger to violence, he had been in the thick of more than one running fight with cattle rus- tlers, yet he felt a chill prickling down his spine as a few minutes later, he walked along the street with four men on his heels. Old Man Wil- lard met him at the door of his little shack. “Come right in,” he called, “and rest your hat while I warm up the beans and cawfee. I been waitin’ ever since I heard you’d hit town.” “First time in my life,” drawled Buck, closing the door behind him, “that I ever had an armed escort. Those fellers must think a lot of me.” “They seen you go to Tracy’s barn,” said Gus, “and they been here askin’ about you.” “IT don’t see what for,” puzzled his guest. “What’s back of all this ki- hootin’, anyway?” ; “Plenty,” said old Gus cryptically. “Come on, set up to the table and 1’ll tell you later on.” At the crash of gunfire, Buck was on his feet, reaching for his gun. “I’m not going to set here like a plumb coward while there’s shootin’ going on.” | * “You step outside,” warned Gus, “and you're liable to run into a bul- let. There’ll be two or three funerals tomorrow, and that’s enough.” After another roaring fusillade, silence and darkness closed in upon the little town. Later, there was a knock at Gus Willard’s door. The old man started up in his bunk. But Buck opened the door, six-gun in hand: “Did you see Limpy Horton at the barn?” asked one of the posse. “Not a sign of him when I went there,” answered Buck. “Well,” growled his inquisitor, “we knew he’s there and we're goin’ to root him out.” They made off, grumbling among themselves. “What they got against poor Lim- py?” asked Buck. “Nothing,” said the old man, ‘only he worked for Tracy, and they figger he might talk too much.” ES TROUBLE had begun when One-eye George came to Mustang and bought a claim at the south edge of town, paying a few hundred down and the balance mebbeso-tomorrow. Instead of living on his land to help “prove up,” he got a job at the Black Wolf Saloon and slept in the back room. Three men—Bennet the storekeep- er, Tracy who ran the feed barn, and Thompson the gambler—put_ their heads together and decided to run One-eye off. So Thompson put up a tent at one corner of the claim, and when One-eye, warned of what was going on, showed up and claimed possession, he was driven off at gun- point. Being mild-mannered and a bad shot besides, the luckless fellow stayed away. There were no courts in No Man’s Land, no law except that of self-de- fense. You might say that the law ended at a man’s front door. In Mus- tang, a man couldn’t be arrested, no matter what he’d done. There was no jail to hold him, no judge to try him, no jury to convict him. Only horse and cattle thieves, when caught, were punished—by the law of hemp, a rope slung over a limb of the near- est tree. Claim-jumping was generally con- sidered a nuisance rather than a serious crime, but the high-handed tactics of the Thompson trio gave Ed | Munger his. chance to finally square things with the hated gambler who'd made him dance to the song of bullets cutting aroud his feet. And as Ben- net and Tracy were in on the land deal, they had to be dealt with also. About sundown, while Buck Size- more was having supper at Old Man Willard’s, the five man self-appointed vigilance committee headed for Thompson’s tent. They met their man leaving a place where he’d had supper. One of the posse fired, but the shot felf short. oO comiclsoolks.co