2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

THE BIG HAND ee then settle down to a hard, steady pounding. He turned slowly. She looked just as she had the last time he’d seen her, here in the front yard of the Running 5S, a century ago. Brown eyes, creamy white skin, blonde hair and a round chin and a generous mouth—he’d seen that pic- ture in a thousand dreams. “I guess maybe I forgot.” “Good old Patsy,” she said lightly, but with a coolness he didn’t miss. “Always forgetting. But you won't forget that the crowd settles down at two p.m. to watch the great Patsy do his stuff. You won’t forget that, will you?” e “No,” Patsy said around the lump in his throat. “No.” There was a slow dull ache in his leg now. He hadn’t felt it for a long while, that old leg injury and suddenly it was there again. She stepped up on the porch with that easy grace still a part of her. She swung around to face him. “You still love it, Patsy? The crowds, the cheers?” “I guess I love other things,” Patsy said, looking meaningly at her. She ignored that, looking past him, over his head. “You shouldn’t have come out here,’ she said. “You shouldn’t, you know.” “Because I wanted to get out and make some real hay,” Patsy asked. “Just because of that I shouldn’t come in and say howdy?” “We broke it off,” she said. “Three years ago. Let’s leave it that way.” UTCH CAME slowly up from the corral. His walk was stiff and jerky. He said tiredly, “You had dinner yet, Patsy?” To Dutch Scan- lon, dinner was the noon meal and so it would remain as long as he lived. “I don’t eat dinner when I’m going to ride,” Patsy said. “Just toast and milk.” “We got that left,” Dutch said .and went on into the house. “Tl tell him you couldn’t stay,” ‘ she said. That told him how it was. Here were the two people who meant ‘more to him than anyone in the .world, The two people he loved best ‘and he found he couldn’t talk to either of them. He said, “I wanted to do what was best—” “Best for Patsy,’ she said lightly, but it wouldn’t have hurt Patsy half as much if she was rough with him. “Tf you'd only listen,’ he began. “I’ve been listening,” she said. “For three years. The sound I hear is a cash register clanging, Patsy.” He blindly stepped to the roan and mounted. He sat there for a moment, the reins in his two hands. “The old man said you had a steady,” he said in an uneven voice. “Is that the straight goods, Annabel?” Her voice was remote, her eyes cool, “No,” she said. “Not that it makes any difference.” He reached in his pocket and brought out a pair of Annie Oakleys. He leaned over, offering them to her. “Thought you might want to see the show.” She put her two hands behind her back, She said, “We've seen it. Patsy.” He looked into her eyes for a moment, They were cool and unyield- ing and he stared for a moment long- er and then put the roan about and jogged toward the town. If they’d only listen to him, he thought. If he could only tell them why it had to be this way. But neither Annabel nor Dutch would listen. The moment they saw him, they’d put up that barrier and he couldn’t brush it aside. He thought back to the time the Running S$ was one of the biggest spreads in the state. That’d been a long time ago, when Dutch was vigorous, strong enough to come out ahead, even if he didn’t see the changing trends and. conform to them. Of course, that hadn’t occupied Patsy’s mind much either, in those days. He’d been too busy. Too busy enjoying the things that had always seemed out of reach, Learning to ride and rope. Swimming in the irri- gation ditches and hunting ducks in the fall and deer and elk in the winter. All that had happened to him so suddenly he did all those things with more than usual vigor because he half belived it wasn’t happening. Before that it’d been a mean shack on the Pecos River, no food =]. = comicbooks-com