Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

44 the star started to lock the cell door, then changed his mind and stepped inside. “How you feelin’, feller?” he asked, in a voice that was neither friendly nor unfriendly. “Little wobbly,” “What happened to me, anyway?” — “Got whanged on th’ head a coupla times an’ thrown in jail,” the officer told him. ‘Anything you want you better ast for it now. I’m leavin’ in a little bit.” “You might bring me a coupla buckets of ice water. First though, tell me what I’m in for.” “In for plenty—but we'll talk that over when th’ distric’ ’torney gits here. Be here this afternoon, maybe. “Pll send that there water in by Tom Worden, my head deputy. Gotta be goin’, now. I’m Jim Hannon, sher- iff here.” _.. Sheriff where?” Bart asked, still a little befuddled. “Sand Creek—best damn cowtown in Dakoty,” Hannon spoke up. loyal- ly, then went out, locking the cell door behind him. After he had stumped down the corridor, Bart heard him un- lock and relock another door. Then he clumped off along a board walk and si- lence settled over the gloomy jail. ITER A little time, a short, bald -man with a hooked nose and pale eyes appeared with a pitcher of ice wa- ter and a glass. After giving Bart a drink, he started to leave, then ap- peared to change his mind. “Jim says you might need a little waitin’ on, fel- ler,” he said, then added a little doubt- fully: “I ain’t no day nurse. Reckon they couldn’t be no harm in turnin’ yur pardner in with yuh so’s he kin kinda ride herd on yuh.” “Comin’ up prompt,” another voice sounded near Bart’s head. 3 Twisting gingerly around, the puncher saw a homely freckled face ‘pressed against the bars of the parti- tion. “Cheer up, cowboy,” grinned. “Mis’ry loves comp’ny, you Bart admitted. — Speck — = - Uday or t’morrow. Hf you get out, la- ACTION-PACKED WESTERN know. We're both in for plenty mis’ry, but we got each other for comp’ny. Un- lock this gate, Tom, so’s I kin team up with ’im.” - 7 | “Plumb ’ginst th’ rules, but I’ll do er this one time,” the deputy agreed, “No. funny bizness, though.” He un- locked both doors, then stepped aside, sixgun in hand, keeping his pale eyes fixed on his prisoners while Speck joined Lyons. “Fetch yuh two lobos, some chuck after a bit,” he promised gruffly, then locked the cell and de- parted. “Grouchy hombre, Tom is,” Speck remarked, seating himself on the foot of Bart’s bunk and commencing to build a smoke. “Hannon’s a good fel- ler, though, in a way—but he don’t weigh a hull lot. Fact is, he don’t never have a thought of his own. Does just what Fox tells ’em, most usual, F’r in- stance he made a deputy outa Tom ‘cause Fox told ’im to. Onct in a while, though, Hannon gits kinda balky, when Fox wants to o too far. Take las’ night f’rinstance. t was some luck far us that Hannon ketched us, ’stead of Fox. Fox would have hung us to th’ limb of th’ first tree if Hannon hadn’t horned in.” “Who’s Fox?” , “Th? dude galoot at th’ big house that fanned your tail out of there an’ into my camp.” “How'd Hannon happen to horn in?” “He didn’t.” “But you jus’ said—” “Well, in a way he did. Hannon an’ a bunch was out scratchin’ aroun’ af- ter some hide thieves that slid over that way after doin’ a job east of town. Fiannon’s posse wasn’t after us, but they run smack-dab into our camp just as Fox an’ his bunch got us spotted down. If Hannon hadn’t stood pat, Fox would have stretched our necks like rubber bands. : “Incidental, an’ whilst I think of it, I'll be leavin’ out of here some time — S) (EC)