Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

HELL’S CARGO over the two big men who stood pant- - ing, facing each other on the sinking ship’s deck. 7 | ~ “You'll never take her away from me, boy,” Rolf breathed, flexing his big hands. “She’s the devil’s own wom- man, but she’s in my blood, God help me. Nobody will take her away from me!” He rushed at Steve and the two locked and rolled across the deck. Rolf picked up a stick of wood and swung it at Steve’s head. Kent grabbed his arm, wriggled from under him and got to his feet. Again Cass attacked him, but Steve met him with swing- ing fists. He drove Rolf back against a cabin wall with blood running down his face. Rolf sidestepped, got away from him. Again the two bloody men faced each other on the deck, blistering now from the blazing heat. The shirt was torn half off Cass Rolf. In the ruddy flames, his dark skin, bulging with muscles under it, glistened in a bath of sweat. Steve wiped the blood out of his eyes. He circled the other man warily. Cass was a good fighter; he’d battled his - way from one end of the river to the other in his lifetime. They say he’d never lost a fight or a race on the IMississippl. He rushed Steve again. This time, the younger pilot ducked a whistling blow and drove a hard uppercut into Rolf’s solar plexus. Rolf’s breath whistled through his teeth. He backed with a smile of pain. Kent swung aczain, and hit him a hard blow on the cheek bone. Rolf tried to bring his _ guard up, but it was weak. Steve hit him again. He knew he had the fight _ now. He walked Cass Rolf back across _ the deck with stinging rights and leits to the face, until the older man fell - against the cabin wall. Steve hit him one more time. Rolf’s eyes glazed and ___he slid down the wall and lay in a still heap, Se = Emily...” he had thought of only (17) {fs ‘Steve stood over him, swaying, his — chest heaving. “That’s for a let of things, Rolf,” he panted. “For steal- ing the Lone Siar and taking He turned and staggered to the rail- ing. He knew, if he hurried, he could jump into the water and swim to safety before the boilers blew sky high. But, he could not swing over the side of the boat. He stood there, wip- ing his hand across his eyes. Things were in his heart that should not be there. Bruised by Rolf’s fists, he should be thinking only that he was glad he’d won the fight and that Cass was going to die. Instead, he heard a voice in his memory, a low, steady voice, teaching him the ways of the river. = “Well, easy boy... that old boat is talking to you. Hear what she says in the rigging? She says we're getting too close to a sand bar. Look how she’s shying away, like a boogeed horse...” The past tugged at him. He saw a boy, sitting on a dock, looking with awed eyes up at a steamboat and the great pilot at her helm. “Some day,” that boy said, “I’m gonna get Cass Rolf to learn me to be a pilot.” “Gwan,” one of the other boys chided, “Rolf would never bother to spit on you, much lesse’n take you on as his cub.” : “You'll see...” the boy who had been Steve Kent muttered. And sure enough, one day he’d stood behind the big steering wheel of a river-boat and Rolf was putting a friendly hand on his shoulder and say- — ing, “Now you pay attention to what I say, boy. I’m going to learn you every- thing I know. I’m going to make you one of the best pilots on this here river, and everybody’s going to say, ‘See that pilot, that Steve Kent? Cass Rolf learned him the river.” And Rolf kad taught him the river. But that was another matter and another time. For the last three y oi- €o eYorer