Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

43 “Yuh mean they ain’t found it?” Boeck asked, brightening preceptibly. “No, it hasn’t been found yet,” Ful- ton admitted, commencing to write. “That’s a small matter, though. You admit that you had the hide and hid it.” _ “Never admitted anythin’,” Speck ovjected. “Comin’ t’ think of it, I be- lieve that steer was th’ skinless kind.” Price leaped to his feet and swung a hand to smack Specks furrowed cheek resoundingly. ‘Think you'll trifle with me, eh? Think you’ll sit there and defy the law on the theory that without the branded hide, we’ll be unable to prove Fox’s ownershi ? He drew b ack his hand again, “Now -answer me, you damned thief, or i 2 | See “Just a second, J.B.,” Hannon inter- jected, stepping to the table. “I don’t - like to call your hand, but I’m dead set agin’ maulin’ a prisoner. If he wants ‘to talk of ’is own free will, let ’im; if he don’t—” “Oh, very well,” Price surrendered. “Tf you’re getting squeamish, I suppose he’d repudiate his confession if he made one, so it would be worthless in court.” Then sneeringly. ‘It must be you’re taking this talk of an election seriously. Getting a little weak-kneed, eh?” “Call it that if you want to,” Hannon said, commencing to look nettled. “Lection or no ‘lection, nobody’s going to beat up my prisoners. Ever’body gits a square break in this jail.” Price waved a hand hopelessly. “Well, go ahead and give that stubborn jackass a fair break. Maybe you can get him to talk.” “Why, of course he can; he’s a white hombre,” Speck spoke up, grinning ami- ably at the sheriff. “What is it you want to ask me, Mister? My life’s a open book—whole library, I might _ gay. ?? “Well then, what about that hide?” Hannon asked, as one not expecting to e answered. Sa s genial cake broadened. “Tell you what Dil do, IH tell you where that ACTION-PACKED WESTERN hide is if you’ll agree to fetch it in here ’thout lettin’ any other geezer lay eyes | on it. Is that a bet?” “She is,’ Hannon answered, locking puzzled. “If you go an idea like that— for some reason I can’t understand— tell me where to look, an’ I'll go-get “, "er. bP “Wal, she’s up on top of that big boulder—th’ one where we had our fire. “Now go get ’er, an’ have this Price gazabo here when you fetch ’er in an’ spread ’er out right on this floor.” FANNON left immediately, Price going out with him. Wurden re- turned Speck to his own cell, then seated himself at the table and com- menced playing soltaire with a dog- eared pack of cards. After a time, he tilted his chair against the wall and commenced snoring lustily. Shortly afterward, Speck began making similar sounds, and Bart drowsed also. Two hours later, he came wide awake when Hannon clumped in, followed by Price. “Hey, beef-eater,” the sheriff bawled into Speck’s cell as Tom unlocked the door. “Ramble out here an’ see th’ evydence!” “What brand is it?” Price asked, in- terestedly as Speck came out, rubbing his eyes and yawning sleepily. Instead of answering, the sheriff grinned dryly and commenced unrolling a fresh hide he had carried under his arm. Speck remained aloof, but Tom Worden and Price bent over and watched the skin unroll, inch by inch. It was the hide of brockle-faced dun cow brute. It had been removed in a workmanlike manner. And it was without a brand of any kind. Tom Worden straightened with a grunt of surprise. The sheriff widened his grin a little. Price puffed up like a pee lizard and exploded with a loud = “Maverick, by Gad!” He whirled | on Speck so savagely that Hannon took & step to got s2ecomichooks CO