2-Gun Western, November 1955 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

64 feet. This girl, whose scorn-filled eyes and biting words had lashed his anger, was the daughter of the man who had just been laid there for his final rest. The man whom he had killed. Contrition filled him. “Forgive me!” he pleaded humbly. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry!” She tried to control her voice, but emotion put a trembling in it. “Are you finished?” she asked, tensely quiet. “I think you’ve done quite enough, Mr. Hatton. You've taken away my father, and our home—” His head jerked up as he stared at her. “Your home?” he echoed. “I don’t understand!” “I suppose you didn’t know that Spade Pierce made my father deed over the Rafter K to him!” That staggered Hatton. exclaimed. “I swear it!” She said, “I think he made it con- tingent upon payment of the money my father owed him. But now—fa- ther is dead! And Pierce has the deed, and— I hope you’re pleased with eve- rything you’ve done!” Suddenly she couldn’t bear to talk to him any longer. She turned and walked away, small shoulders back, head proudly erect as she took her mother’s arm. Hatton was left star- ing after them. “No!” he H's RESENTMENT at the girl had been swept away by the news she had just given him. Dragging on his hat, he stood there thinking over this new angle; and slowly his jaw muscles began to harden into knots. So Pierce had lied! He remembered how smoothly the saloon man had told him about tearing up Kelsey’s notes. Hatton was just the tool he’d used to satisfy his greed! Inwardly seething, but with the old, deadly calm showing in his face, Hat- ton started down the hill toward the sunbaked boxes that were the houses of Banville. When he reached the saloon, he strode on back and looked in Pierce’s. office. The fat man wasn’t behind his desk. Hatton slammed the door and went over to the bar. “Where’s Pierce?” “I dunno,” the barkeep told him. 2-GUN WESTERN “He went out awhile ago. Took Stew Bardon and one or two of the. other boys with him.” Hatton stopped outside the bat- wings, looking up and down the sun- - gmitten road as he built a cigarette and lighted it. Then he went over to the livery barn and rented a bronc. He was a good horseman, although he seldom rode. Leaving the town be- hind him, he struck out across lush grazing land, browning now under the hot summer sun, and sought the wood- ed foothills where Pierce’s Wigwam outfit was located. But he never got as far as the ranch, for as he came out on a spur he looked down over the burning plain and saw three riders ‘ jogging away from there. At this distance, through the heat haze and dust of the valley floor, he couldn’t see the trio clearly; but he didn’t have to be told who they were. Pierce, and his gunslinger Bardon, and another. And they were heading in the direction of the flashing bright- ness which was Somers’ Creek. Face grim, Hatton ticked his mount’s ribs with spur steel and set it on a course down through the hills. The leisurely gait Pierce and the others were taking indicated they were very confident and sure of themselves; it also gave Hatton time to beat them to the goal if he hurried. And that was what he did. Using the spurs, he cut a circle around them and then struck out in a rolling gallop. He had left them far behind when Som- ers’ Creek showed ahead, and the tiny buildings that were the Rafter K. Hatton dropped from a saddle into a cloud of dust, and waded through it toward the front door of the little _ house. It was a neat place, with a tiny porch and curtains at the windows, and vines climbing up the white wall. The door opened as Hatton came up, and Mary Kelsey faced him. She had a rifle in her hands, and be- yond her Hatton caught a glimpse of her mother, face white with grief, and with fear at the sight of him. He needed nothing more to tell him that these women were alone here, and that there would be no one to help them when Pierce came. But the gun made him hesitate. The Comichoo nal “S (CO) ian