Ace High Western Magazine, March 1941 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

6 ACE-HIGH WESTERN STORIES (Continued from page 4) Two months passed before Duverne tried his stunt again, and this time he made a mistake. He should have remembered that young Pete Woods seldom gambled, and that Pete had been keeping steady company with Eileen Clary, the pretty nineteen-year-old daughter of the man Duverne had shot down. But the gam- bler didn’t remember this, or if he did, he noticed that young Woods was not heeled, and therefore didn’t worry. But he made a bad mistake when he palmed a card. Pete’s hand shot out and closed on the gambler’s wrist, squeezed till Duverne’s lips drained white with pain. The cards dropped on the table and Pete picked them up and counted them aloud. There were six. “You're a dirty crook, Duverne,’’ Pete said. ‘‘I aim to beat the life out of you.” Duverne’s fingers twitched toward his gun as Pete pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. Then the gambler checked his move. The youngster was unarmed. “T wouldn’t dirty my hands on you,” he said. ‘Get a gun if you want to fight.” The kid hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘All right, Duverne,” he said. “I’ll do that.”” Then he turned and walked out of the saloon. When he came back fifteen minutes later, there were two guns in his hands. “We're going to do this my way, Du- verne,”’ he said. “‘Unless you’re too yellow to take a fifty-fifty chance.” There was nothing Duverne could say to that, and the kid went on. “There’s six shells in each of these guns. Three of each are loaded, and three are blanks. Take your pick, Du- verne, unless you’re scared.” Duverne started to protest, then kept quiet. The thing the kid suggested was fair, and the crowd in the saloon wanted it that way. The gambler chose one of the guns, shrugged with elaborate uncon- cern. ‘“Why waste powder?” he sneered. Then the kid turned to the crowd. “Turn out the lamps and get outside,” he said. ‘We're going to do this in the dark.” Before the last lamp was out, he took a half inch candle from his pocket and lit it. “When that goes out, Duverne,’’ he said. “I’m startin’ shootin’.” UVERNE’S face was like a death- mask in the semi-darkness. From time to time a muscle twitched on his cheek as he stared at the guttering candle. The flame flickered and went out and the ' room was plunged into a blackness. The gambler fired three shots in quick suc- cession, and young Pete laughed. “Nervous, Duverne ?” he taunted. Instantly the gambler’s gun _ blazed again, and the kid answered his fire. That made four caps Duverne had cracked. The kid laughed mockingly again. “Take it easy Duverne.”’ Gunroar was his answer. Then there was silence that seemed to last forever. “T’m coming to get you, Duverne,”’ the kid whispered. Then his footsteps scuffed softly, slowly, across the floor. “I’m com- ing, Duverne... .’’ But there was. no shot. The gambler had another’ bullet, but there was no shot. | The footsteps moved softly through the darkness, like the steps of death. “No! For God’s sake, kid, don’t!” There was silence again, and those re- morseless footsteps sounded once more. . “No!” the gambler screamed. “No!” Then the kid scratched a match and lit a lamp. Duverne’s face was like that of a corpse. His gun slowly sagged to his side. The kid lifted his own gun, levelled it at Duverne’s chest. He held it there, then slowly squeezed the trigger four times. “They were all blanks,” he said. “All twelve of them. Now get out!” Duverne left that night, Banker Brasen- ly left the next morning—-and neither came back. Young Pete Woods _ had proved again the old truth that true courage, put to the test, can route, bare- handed, the toughest of swaggering, bully- ing killers. It was as true in the West of yesterday as in the teeming, gangster- ridden cities of today! | THE EDITORS. - CONMIECLOOOLKS (E©)