2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

THANKS TO THE PARTY LINE 17 flea-bitten, sway-backed white plug with a fiddle head. Darting into the barn, Blanche re- appeared with a saddle, a halter and a bridle. “Which one can I ride?” “That ancient white plug,’ Lance said, chuckling. “Old man Ditmore’s one and only saddle horse. Spook’s its name.” “It’s the ugliest beast I’ve ever seen.” “That’s swell, Blanche. By con- trast you'll look all the prettier... I'll leave you to saddle him yourself.” “T’d like to go with you, Lance, but I won’t be seen riding that sorry nag...I’ll ride this’ trim, beautiful sorrel.” “Hold up, Blanche. If you fall off of Spook, he won’t run away or kick you. The sorrel isn’t broken.” She looked up mischievously. “Then I shall break him while you are gone...See, he is gentle, after all. I shall name him ‘Cotton’.” While she was speaking, Blanche had walked up to the sorrel and had slipped on the halter. Much to Lance’s surprise, until he recalled that Dit- more halter-broke his young colts. . But this did not mean the sorrel was broken to ride. He said sharply, “I don’t want to measure you for a wooden overcoat! Turn Cotton loose, Blanche.” “Cotton’s sweet,’ said Blanche, watching Lance out of the corner of her eye while she rubbed the sorrel’s ears and neck. “I’m sure I can ride him.” For an instant it seemed to dis- turb Lance that the girl was smother- ing her laughter. “What’s a wooden overcoat?” “A coffin!” Lance snapped. “Now you savvy, promise me not to try to ride Cotton.” “But I want to learn to ride. Now. Today...If you’re so sure Cotton will buck me orf, prove it by riding him first. If he acts up with you, ot eng “You'll stay off him?” Lance smothered a profane word. “Okay, it’s a deal.” He stripped the saddle from his own mount and entered the corral. N HOUR later, Lance was still there. As he had suspected, the “eventle” sorrel began to act up the moment he felt the saddle blanket. ‘enthusiastic, Lance was obliged to put a hobble on the animal before he could cinch the saddle in place. When he remov- ed the hobble and mounted, Cotton exploded in all directions at once. Lance had to sock his spurs into the cinch to stay in the saddle. It wouldn’t do to take a spill and get his shirt dirty in front of Blanche, and by sheer grit he rode the horse to a finish. Blanche rewarded him with an “You were swell, Lance! Is Cotton broken now so I can ride him?” “Judas, no!’ panted Lance. “But I like to finish what I start. If you'll take care of my horse, I’ll ride this ornery cayuse to the Circle Three and give him a workout on tomorrow’s roundup.” “Tomorrow’s roundup? You mean you won't be back home tonight? Won't be back here?” “T won’t be home or here tonight either one,” with hard finality. “You and your aunt need a hired man, but I’m not it. Telephone the liveryman in Pivot and have him send some- body.” “But...” apparently dismayed and deeply troubled. “No buts,” said Lance firmly. “Now please open the gate.” Cotton shot out through the open gate, running like a scared cat. Lance let him run. This was an outlet for the roiliness brought on by that girl. He’d been fiddling around, milking, building a pig pen, and breaking a horse, until mid-afternoon, time he should have been helping Alec Pot- ter, Well, he’d square himself with Potter and still get that good job. But on a sagebrush flat, ten miles from any ranch, the bronec became sullen, Furiously, and to no avail, Lance tried all known expedients. At last he dismounted and led Cotton toward the Circle Three. The sun was dipping low to the west, however, and the day’s work would be over, the cowboys at home. If they saw Lance Condon hoofing it in, leading his mount, how they’d rib him! Again Lance mounted, and when he discovered that Cotton would travel back toward the D K, he decid- ed to ride the brone te his owt homes.