2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

14 , 2-GUN WESTERN trouble you, but a few minutes ago the calves began bawling. Mr. Smith- ers said they’re skim milk calves— whatever that means—and must be fed out of a bucket. Fed what?” (What the devil does she think they drink?) “Feed ’em milk,” he said. “After you juice the cows—” “Juice? Juice?” Click! Click! Click! Receivers go- ing down all along the line. Never too early or too late for the rubber- necks, one of whom now scoffed, “For gosh sakes! She don’t know what ‘juice the cows’ means.” “Bill, I reckon you find all this right juicy,’ Lance growled. “But get off the line...You still there, Blanche?” “Yes. Funny for us to be interrupt- ed.” “You'll get used to it... Now, first you milk the cows. Then run the milk through the separator and—’ “Milk the cows?... I cut my fin- ger whittling shavings and I’m afraid—” “Afraid you can’t milk?... you get a fire started?” “No shavings, nor. fire, and Aunt Kate won’t risk using the butcher knife. I’ve put two buckets of water down the pump; none came up. What must I do to the pump, Lance? What should I feed the pigs? The chickens seem hungry, too...What’s a separator, and where is it?” Lance drew a deep breath, counted to ten, and said, “I’ll be along quick as I grab some breakfast.” “Why not have breakfast here? Though there won’t be cream or but- ter until after you’ve milked.” Again he counted to ten. “There’s Did something I’ll have to explain to you ~ about butter, But I’ll be there for breakfast.” HILE HE was dressing, his ring came through again. He glared at the telephone, afraid to answer. But he did, and_ heard, “Lance? This is Alec Potter.” “Ves, Alec?” Lance was immediate- ly both polite and respectful, Alec Potter of Circle Three was a plumb ~ good scout. “We're starting to brand calves, and we'll bunch a herd at Beaver Water Hole. Can you give us a hand today?” “You bet-cha, Alec.” | “Good. I’m set to make talk with you about a job as range foreman. Hundred dollars a month to start. Interested?” “Damn-darned right I am!” “Well, don’t let me down with to- day’s work. ..@G’by.” With his head whirling, Lance put on chaps and spurs for a long day in the saddle. At the D K, however, he made a comprehensive and regret- ful survey of the ranch. The early morning sun threw silvery glints on the creek winding through willows along the valley. Native wire-grass and blue-stem spread a two-hundred- acre green carpet on either side of the stream, and three hundred-odd acres of excellent pasture bordered the meadow on the north. A sweet little spread. The former owner, Ditmore, had lost his wife and had then put this property, including dairy cows, hors- es and equipment, up for sale. Lance had been diekering for it, but now— “Like what you see?” Blanche in- terrupted his thoughts, head tipped to give the man on horseback her complete attention. Today she was wearing striped slacks and a gay shirt which set off her slender figure to advantage. Her dark hair was- curled beautifully on her well-shaped head, and in spite of his peevishness, Lance’s nerves tingled at seeing her in full daylight. “If you mean your ranch, yes,” he said. “It will winter two hundred cattle, and there is summer graze for the same number in those rough hills to the east.” Blanche put a hand on his horse’s mane, and her brown eyes looked right into his. “Of course I meant the ranch—and isn’t this view breath- taking? What else could I possibly have meant?” She fluttered her eye- lashes. Lance didn’t answer. His heart was going as fast as a humming- bird’s wings. He fought an impulse to bend down and plant a kiss on those pretty lips—and the fateful moment passed. Blanche turned away and _ said, “Still grumpy, Lancee no ooies com