2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

68 2-GUN WESTERN the early night made a splotch of gray. Hitching his body over the Sharp rocks, like a huge earthworm. If he could get out into the open, he could yell and make Brannon hear him. It was slow work. Slow and pain- ful. And when he reached the mouth of the shaft he heard voices in the distance. At that very moment, a light in the mining shack went out and then there was the sound of hoof- beats on the rock, heading off over the weed-grown trail that led even- tually to town. He couldn’t tell how many, but it sounded like a small cavalcade of riders. He was too late, then! Shan Du- pree had come for Brannon, and the gang was already on its way! For long minutes after the last sounds had died, Kirk lay panting trom his efforts. Then, frantically, he _was working at the ropes again. Twisting and pulling at the knots. He couldn't lie like ‘his, helpless! So desperately did he work that, suddenly, the ropes began to slip a little. Maybe the strain of crawling over the rocks had loosened them some, too. Kirk redoubled his efforts, praying for time and for every inch of slack that began to develop in the knots, | Then, they gave! First his arms were free and then his hands; after that there was quick work with the rest, and he was on his feet and hurry- ing out and down the slope on legs that trembled from the exertion. He found his horse where he had hidden it in the brush; but the rifle scabbard was empty and Brannon still had his six-gun. No matter. He could try and dig up a weapon somewhere. Kirk came up into the saddle, backed his mount free of the brush. Eased Out into the trail and lined out for town at a gallop. How long that ride took he never clearly knew. He was too intent on peering ahead into the darkess, try- ing to catch a glimpse of Dupree’s gang somewhere on the trail in front of him, thinking only of the trap Del Brannon was heading into. Once, top- ping the far horizon, he thought he saw four riders against the early moon; but they were gone again in a moment. Kirk still hadn’t caught up with them when he saw the lights of town winking on the plain, and a sickening fear arose within him that he was too late, and that he couldn’t do any good. Couldn’t stop Brannon. But he pounded on toward the growing pat- tern of lights; hoping to the last. HEN there were houses and trees, and, the rear of the bank building was just ahead. And back in the brush, fifty feet from the dark building, he came across a cavvy of four saddle. horses, blowing. He rode up cautious- ly, thinking a guard might have been left with them; but decided not. He dismounted went quickly among the horses trying to find a rifle stuck ina scrabbard, or some other weapon, but there was nothing. He even looked in Del’s saddle pockets, with the thought that the six-gun Brannon had taken from him might be there. But Bran non must still have it. : No more time to waste here. Kirk went on under the trees, emptyhand- ed, and came within sight of the bank just as four shadowy figures con- verged upon the rear door into Ward Shipton’s office. Lee Kirk knew the layout of the bank well. Shipton’s office opened into the larger room that contained the cashier’s counter and the vaults; and in that big room there would be guns waiting for Dupree and his gang. Sheriff Cowley would be there, and one or two of Shipton’s hired guards. They’d be crouched in the dark, guns at their fingers. Maybe smoking, cracking jokes back and forth. But ready with death for any- one that should come. They were at the outside door now. Even as Kirk melted out of the shad- ows and came stealthily along the wall, unnoticed, the hand of the lead- er took the knob and turned it. The door swung open! 3 Why hadn’t that door been locked? It wasn’t part of the plan. The idea was to let them force their way in, come clear through the office and into the main room before the trap was sprung. Kirk heard one of the outlaws swear a little under his CoMmichbooksscom