Ace High Western Magazine, March 1941 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

10 ACE-HIGH WESTERN STORIES before he let Jeanie marry a damned Devil’s Canyon squatter, Hass Colley, head of the Devil’s Canyon Grange, had repeatedly said that any canyon man who would marry into a cowherd wasn’t worth a damn. They passed the place where the foot- hill road forked off into Devil’s Canyon and Bill had to saw on the leathers to keep his horses from swinging up the old, familiar road. His glance turned toward the Bluestone range, and something in him hurt at the thought of leaving his little horse-ranch and the herd of seventy-five broncs he had party broken to saddle. He would be starting from the beginning now, with no capital and with a bride to sup- port. From here on the way was strange. In Bill’s searching eyes was a dull, somber despair. Behind him he was leaving men who would despise his name... anda stiff-necked old cattleman who would never get over the hurt they had given him, “Don't, Bill!” Jeanie’s fingers sudden- ly pressed his arm. “You're blaming - yourself, and you must’nt. We tried— we tried hard.” “T still can’t help feeling I’m being two-bits worth of yellow dog’s meat,” Bill Bronce ground out. ‘“Hell’s set to pop, and I walk out. Your dad needs you. The Grange will need me.” “Tt’s isn’t our fight!’’ Jeanie’s voice held a ring of fierceness. “‘Why should we stay and fight each other? If Dad won't see what you've been trying to tell him—” “Tt’s not only his fault.” Bill jerked his head. “It’s half mine for ever letting Hass Colley get control of the Grange. Scotty and I were coming to some kind of a truce when Colley stepped in with his loud-talking, back-slapping hypocrisy. He’s the sort that can run an outfit any way he wants with his slick tongue, and all I could offer the Grange was plain talk. That was good enough those first two years, when we were fighting drouth, but now Colley’s got every man in Frijole Flat spoiling for war. “Do you know what’s going to faten Jeanie? One of these nights, Scotty’s go- ing to catch some of our boys butchering his beef. It’s bein’ done, since Colley took over. Then there'll be a hangin’. And then, by the Lord, it'll start! I can see new graves up on the knoll . . . more of them every day ... until the Tonto Basin feud seems like a Christmas party.” The dry rasp of his voice lost itself in the bang and rattle of the buckboard. Jeanie drew away from the lax embrace of his arm. “We can’t stop it by staying. Kingbolt can call me vain and selfish, and Devil’s Canyon can say you ran off when the going got tough. But we'll still have each other, and the knowledge that we’ve done what we thought was right.” Bill forced a crooked grin and brought the girl back against him. ‘Fine kind of a bridegroom I make! My old man used to warn me about the black moods of the Irish, but I never believed him. I guess it's Scotty I’m thinkin’ about. A good word’s never passed between us, and I’ve wanted to kill him so often I’ve plumb > lost- count, but yet that old mosshorn’s got more downright man-stuff in him than the rest of us put together.” It was the wrong thing to say. Jeanie buried her face against his neck and be- gan to cry. Bill Bronc clucked the horses faster along the road to Sacaton. . . | INGBOLT range was sick . . . sick to its very vitals. Cowman and hoe- man alike said it would take a powder- smoke purge to burn the poison out of it. Each thought of the other as the fester- ing sore that was killing the cow-country. Kingbolt ranchers swore allegiance to two deities: God and Scotty Hallett. Sun- day was God’s day. Scotty considered their prayers the other six. oO EoOmichboo cS: (EO)