2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

THE BIG HAND by WILLIAM VANCE He felt himself going thru the air on the next spin. “T guess I'll ride."—As casually as that, Patsy said it. And threw away everything he cared about—the girl, the ranch, the respect of the man who'd raised him...." Pree MOONEY stood on the corner of Gold and Silver and looked around. Old red-brick buildings, old gingerbread-fringed houses, and old walrus-mustached Otie Pfluger resting his bony shoul- ders against Uncle Tom’s Saloon. Across the street a yellow dog lay in the warm sunshine. The warm scent -of baking bread came from Toot’s Bakery across the street. Overhead, the sky looked like an ocean, and there was enough wind to whip the neckerchief around Patsy’s brown throat. And there was a big sign pasted over the usual whiskey 47 ad: Patsy Mooney—BIG RODEO— Patsy Mooney. He looked at the sign with quiet gray eyes, not seeing the name, not heeding the small fry parading behind his tall figure. He had a sturdy brown face, flat-planed and strong, with a suggestion of truculence at the cor- ners of his wide mouth. “Patsy,” Otie Pfluger said. “How you been, boy?” “Fine,’ Patsy said and he gave all the small fry his small change and said, “Beat it, kids.” Otie took his shoulders away from the wall and shifted his cud to the IGbooksacom C© nn}