2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

DEATH OF A COWBOY | 93 him as the men usually were. He had said, after kissing her the day before, “I’m right sorry about that, ma’am,” and gone immediately. And of course had not brought the saddle horses. “I ordered you to bring two sad- die horses to the house yesterday afternoon.” “Yes Ma’am.” She seemed about to demand why he hadn’t brought them but instead she said, “Is whittling all you do in your spare time? I’ve never seen you do anything else. How are you go- ing to make anything of yourself if all you think about is whittling?” The backs of Curt’s ears reddened. “Curt, dammit, I ain’t going to call you again!” Gus Ball hollered. “I got to go, ma'am” Curt said, pointing with his knife at Gus in ex- planation and snapping the blade shut as he rose from the steps. He tried to tuck the block of wood in a breast pocket but it was too long so he looked at it briefly and then threw it away. “Rub down that sorrel I rode to town this morning,” Gus Ball said to Curt at the corral... HE BOSS breezed in that same evening. “Found it,” he greeted his fore- man, Gus leapt up from the poker game in the bunkhouse. The other men rose too. “A new cut through to the Blue?” Gus grinned. “A new cut through to the Blue,” the boss repeated. “Jeest!”’ Gus Ball said. Several of the men echoed the “How did things go?” the boss asked. “Okay,” Gus said. “Well, then, golly we start moving’ again—” “We'll have a herd on the trail be- fore the week’s out... Where’s the niece? She wasn’t up at the house just now.’ Gus frowned, started for the door. “She was around this afternoon. And the coosie took her supper up to her. She ought to be—” Gus whirled to the men. “Where the hell’s Curt Lit- tle?” he demanded. “Probably beatin’ himself at a game _ of mum’ly peg in the moonlight,” one drawled. “Or settin’ under the cottonwood listenin’ to the crickets,’ another said. “If he’s with Miss Dooley again—” Gus Ball began fiercely. “One of the boys been botherin’ my niece?” the boss said. “Because I wouldn’t like that.” | “This damfool Curt Little,” the ramrod said. “I thought I’d taught him a lesson but he’s probably too thick-headed to learn.” “No, I wouldn’t like that at all,” the boss said again. “Don’t worry, we'll find your niece, boss,” Gus Ball said, tugging on his stetson as he went out of the bunk. shack. “Let’s go, lads...” Catherine Dooley and the cook rode ina half hour later, in the buck~ board. She’d got the coosie to drive her to town so she could find out at the hotel when was the next stage Hast. Curt Little they still hadn’t found when Miss Dooley showed, so every- body, especially the boss, was worked up into quite a lather in his regard by that time. “Who the hell does he think he is anyway, the boss had shouted at one point, “What’s he been doing, mak- ing passes at her or something?” “Well, all I can say, boss,” Gus Ball had said grimly as they beat the brush down along the creek, “is that what he did wasn’t good.” Curt Little appeared about ten o'clock. By then the boss was agitated anew at Miss Dooley’s announcement that she was leaving, for he assumed that Curt was the cause of this. “Look, you,” he greeted Curt, “who the hell do you think you are anyway? Where the hell you been?” Curt pointed with a thumb back over his shoulder, “Rode out to the mesa,” Curt said in a guarded tone. “What did you want to do, look at the moonlight on the mountains?” “Ves sir, that was what I went out there for.” The boss glared. “What are you, fella, loco or somethin’ ?” “No sir.” Peo Lodcomicbooksucom