2 Gun Western, May 1957 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

74 : -2-GUN WESTERN Alec fought his plunging bay horse as hard as he fought to fire and re- load and fire again his Springfield, and all the while he could see the lurid flashes, bright against the thickening dusk, of the quick- firing - Winchesters. When the firing ceased’ and the Avaches had vanished, Alec slipped from the saddle and stared at a sprawled heap among the rocks. It was a dead pinto pony, and pinned beneath it, by the legs, was a live Apache. eyes in a squat dark. face, drawn back lips and bared teeth. He saw the In- dian’s awkward attempt to bring his tifle to bear. Alec used his boot, hastily. Trooper Schultz came _ running, cursing in his Bavarian German, lift- ing his carbine to smash the Apache’s skull. Alec grasped Schultz’s arm and swung him aside. “Don’t,” he yelled. “He’s helpless.” “He's better dead—ya!" muttered. “Better for us.’ He came on again with his car- bine, and Alec stepped in front of him. “Dammit, Schultz; he’s my prison- er! ide Lieutenant Macklin came up, then Aubrey. They stared at the trapped Apache, and the officer muttered, “Q’Mara’s dead. We got only one— besides this bronc. Aubrey was taking a fresh chew of tobacco, He said, “And this one’s Or- fano.” Schultz Ds came suddenly, com- pletely. The patrol moved back from the defile, into the broader can- yon, There were five now, with O’Mara gone, and they took the pris- _ oner with them. Midway through the inky canyon, Aubrey signalled a halt. ~ Men held their horses, held their breaths, while the scout listened. There were no sounds in the night; at least, Alec Small heard nothing. But finally Aubrey said, no louder than a sigh, “They’re all around us. We better fort up as best we can, . Lieutenant—until Captain Hammond) gets here.” : A rifle cracked, and Aubrey sank down with only a wispy gasp. Mc- Alec saw glittering black. Swan swore, and growled, “Who said Injuns don’t fight at night?” The hidden rifle cracked again, and _ an Army mount screamed horribly and fell in a thrashing heap. Macklin spoke an order, and the deciminated patrol flattened down behind boul- ders. Alec pulled Orfano down, and the Apache, speaking for the first time, said in English, “You four are dead men.” “Maybe so,” Alec muttered. “But we're not afraid to die.” “You lie,” Orfano grunted. “All white men fear death.” His arms were bound behind him, his injured legs must have tortured him, but he was calm in a fatalistic way. In his early twenties, Orfano was stockily built in the way of his people. He was naked to the waist, but he wore white man’s jeans. His hair was cut as short as Alec’s own, yet he wore the Apache-style red band about his head. To Alec Small’s mind, Orfano was a strange admix- ture—a° white man’s mind in an Apache body. He was still certain that the Apache thought like a white man. “What about you?” Alec asked. “Are you afraid of death, Orfano? “He wasn’t a soldier when he spoke the question; he was the _ school- teacher with the inquiring mind—the book-author seeking truth, “How do you feel about dying?” “Tf I was afraid, soldier,’ Orfano told him, “I wouldn: t be here.” | “Why'd you do it?” Alec went on. “Why did you turn bronc?” Orfano didn’t answer that. A sliver of a moon rose, and once, dimly limned, half a dozen _half- naked warriors were glimpsed on a high rock shelf. There was an oc- casional movement about the canyon, a deliberate maneuver to draw the soldiers’ fire. McSwan and Schultz grabbed at the bait, and a dozen Apache rifles opened up in reply. McSwan was hit in the head and died without a sound. Another horse was killed. Lieutenant Macklin cried out, hit in the left arm. Alec was all empty inside. He could not force himself to look at McSwan’s slumped form. He had liked McSwan. BE SNIPING kept up, and Schultz fired an occasional hot in ecom OKS- GOI