Ace High Western Magazine, March 1941 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

Re - 5 ‘ + r 20 ACE-HIGH WESTERN STQRIES Low it didn’t fret you none,’”’ Bill gave back. Hostile gazes whipped resentment alive within him. He’d come here for no pleasure of his own, and he aimed to take no sass. Tom Brush stared across a whiskey glass balanced neatly in three fingers of — his right hand. ‘“Reckoned you didn’t figger on coming back,” he dropped cas- ually. “‘Hosses were turned out when [ rode by and no sign of life around the place. Somethin’ change your mind?” Brush was a rangy hoe-man of sixty, bald- headed and with a lazy way about him. He’d been Bill’s nearest neighbor and a good friend to him in those early days. Bill Bronce startled them all by thrust- ing a granger from his place at the var- ‘ nished pine and uncorking the bar-bottle. He downed a hair-raiser and flung the bottle against the unplastered adobe wall. “T didn’t come here to put myself on trial,” he snapped. His voice had a con- temptuous sting to it that backed the dis- taste in his deep-set gray eyes. “I don’t give four-bits worth of last year’s turnips what any of you think of me, and I guess you savvy my opinion of you. But just so you won’t go off at half-cock when the Kingbolt crowd gets here—” Hass Colley started, foam Sigil from his glass over the front of his shirt. “Kingbolt—! You full of corn, Bronc? That ain’t on the level—? Bill said coldly: “Will you keep your big mouth shut till I finish? Mean’ Jeanie Hallett tried to-elope tonight. The wagon turned over on us in Sweetwater Wash and Jeanie’s hurt bad. The doc doesn’t know if she’ll live. Maybe she’s already gone, because Scotty Hallett’s bringin’ the cow-crowd up the canyon right now.” You could hear a gasp go through the ~ room like a gust of wind. Colley’s horsey red features seemed to go blank. Then he came to life with a shouted curse} and a yank of energy that sent the beer mug into a corner. “A hell of a time to tell us—! Douse the lights. Any of you that ain’t wearing guns, I’ve got extras in back.” H* HELD still through a brief instant, -poised on his stubby legs, glancing this way and that as he considered the pos- sibilities of the room as a fortress. “This joint’s a rat trap!” his decision came thfough the deepening dusk. ““We've got to spread. Four or five men to every building along the street.’’ “What’s. your plan?” Bill Brone had come close to him. \\~ “Smear ’em!” the Grange boss snarled, “Tf any man rides back to Kingbolt, it’ll be because somebody. didn’t aim careful enough. Douse those lights, I said!” “Oh, no!” said Bill. “They’re all going to ride back, Colley. Sloane’s got ’em drunk, or they wouldn’t be trying such a damfool trick. What you’re going to do is Jet them ride into town, then fire a warn- ing shot and tell Scotty they haven't got a_ chance. He’ll be sober enough to realize | he’s in a trap.” “When did you begin mapping our fights?” Colley’s voice was an audible sneer. The last lamp sent up a ring of soot. Darkness came like black smoke rising from the floor. Through it Bill reached to jab Colley’s stomach with the barrel of his six-shooter. “A mad dog like you needs a strong leash,” he whispered. “This is mine.” Only the saloon man could hear the gritty sound of his voice. “Tell ’em to go on as planned, but not to fire a shot unless you give the order. Make it sound like you mean it. This gun will go off the first time one of them cracks a cap.”’ Hass Colley’s flat belly shrank from the bite of the gun’s cold barrel. A second he was silent; then: ‘Wait a minute, boys. No gun-stuff unless I give the order. I’ve changed my mind. Savvy?” A rumbling murmur answered him. The — EomMmicbooks (ae)