2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

48 ; 2-GUN WESTERN other cheek. “You feel fine? You think maybe I could lay a dime or two on you, Patsy?” “You got a dime or two, put it in Magruder’s bank,’ Patsy _ said. “Where it’ll get you five percent.” “Four,’ Otie said and put two fin- gers across his lips and a stream of tobacco juice made a straight line be- tween his pursed lips and the dusty street. He cleared the remains from his chin with the two fingers and. said, “It’s hard times all over hell.” Patsy crossed the street and walked two blocks to the railroad track. The loading pens were there and the smell was high, He watched while a herd of purebred Herefords were unloaded from stock cars to the loading pens. That was the kind of stuff Dutch needed, he thought. A man had to keep up in this world. Had to keep up or get himself left way behind. Patsy walked along the railroad trackage to Eb Painter’s Livery. Eb, sharp of face and long of body, had his chair tilted back and it came down with a mild thud. He said, “Land sakes, Patsy Mooney.” Patsy leaned a point of his big shoulder against the barn and said, “TI thought maybe I’d ride out if you got a good gentle old horse.” Eb slapped his thigh and bent over as his guffaw bounced back from the Parker House walls across the dusty street. “Gosh amight, that’s a good one,’ he chortled, red-faced. He straightened and wiped his eyes with his fingers. stomping grounds, hey?” Patsy nodded. There was a strange mixture of eagerness and reluctance inside him at that moment, Eb hobbled back into the cool dark space of the livery. “You ain’t got no kak either, hey?” Patsy following him, said, “No. Show me where things are and I'll do it myself.” “Saddle, bridle and blanket right in here,” Eb said. “And take any o’ them out ’cept that black gelding in the last stall.” EN MINUTES later Patsy rode a chunky roan through the big double doors. “See you later, Eb.” he said and put the roan down the road, away from town, _ “Going out to the old ~ He stopped at the clump of flicker- ing cottonwoods on the creek and lengthened his stirrups again and then mounted and rode on. His reluctance left him when he rode under the steer skull, nailed to the cross-bar over the gate to Scan- lon’s place. He saw the gaunt, scrub- by cattle, the broken-down fences and it gave him a mournful feeling. The Running S was in worse shape than the last time he’d seen it. The big two-story frame house was the same, only more weathered. Patsy got down from the roan and said, “Hello, the house!” A voice answered from within. “Hello,” Patsy said. “Hello, Dutch.” Dutch Scanlon stepped through the door, bareheaded, his thin white hair waving a little in the light breeze. Patsy stared, He’d last seen Dutch three years before, a big bluff, red- faced man with a hearty voice and self-assurance, Now, the skin dropped sickly from his neck in flab- by yellow folds. His face was no longer pudgy but wrinkled. The big- gest change was his eyes; they’d lost their fire. Dutch said, “Go tell somebody they need you.” “Just thought I’d drop by,”. Patsy said. “It’s been a long time.” “Not long enough,” Dutch said, “Get lost.” “The old place hasn’t changed much,” Patsy said. “She’s goin’ steady,’ Dutch said. “She goes with a good, easy-goin’ feller what knows his navel from a hole in the ground.” “That’s a break,” Patsy said, and grinned a white-toothed grin to cover up his inside pain as he put a big hand on the porch post. Dutch stared at him for a moment. “Got some waterin’ to do,” he grunted and walked past Patsy and down to- ward the corral. Patsy saw the watering trough was full. He looked around. An air of desolation hung over everything. “W hat’s happened?” He wondered out loud. “Don’t you know, Patsy?” a voice asked. : aay felt his heart flutter and CORNICE OOOXS COM as > nie —= ~