Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

~ §0 fact that I did slap you.... Before witnesses, too.... I admit that I did wrong, but—” : “Damage suits is damage suits,” Speck remarked, idly. “I’m shore ad- mirin’ that advice you give Hannon a bit ago.” | | Price glared at the unperturbed old plainsman for a time, then jerked out a billfold and dealt out ten tens which he slapped on the table. Speck tucked the money carelessly into his shirt pocket and settled back in his chair again. “C’mon,”’ Hannon prompted, nervously. “I want to get you out of here *fore you ask for a deed to th’ courthouse—an’ get it, probably.” 3 “Oh, awright,” Speck agreed, rising with seeming reluctance. “If you geezers really don’t want me here, reckon I won’t impose my comp’ny on account of th’ measly discourtesy you’re showin’ a guest of th’ city, I ain’t gon- na stop here no more when I come to town.” “Thank Gawd,’ Hannon said fer- vently. “An’ now, step along a little, won't your I hear Tom comin’ with them hosses.” a: ART LYONS lay in the squalid old jail, listening to the sounds from with- out. He could imag- ine Speck grinning as he took his depar- ao ture, es, glowering after him, 79 ~ 2 and goed-natured I ~ Hannon grinning his own defeat. Once, whimsically over the unmistakable sounds of some sort of altercation were wafted in through the high, barred windows. Then Speck’s Slow drawl: “So long, fellers. Remem- ber, I’m puttin’ up at th’ hote, nex’ time I come in.” : : 7 somebody laughed; somebody swore with Price be ACTION-PACKED WESTERN outer door swung. Lying on his back, with his arm across his face, Bart peered beneath his sleeve and saw Han- non enter, then Price then Worden. Bart started and half rose when Tom Worden stepped aside to make room for Fox, who came frowning in, talking as he came: “You’re acting like a baby, Hannon. I just can’t imagine what made you turn that old brush- popper loose without consulting me.” Fox was nattily dressed in silk cord breeches and tweed coat. With a derby hat set rakishly on one side of his sleek head, and swinging a riding crop ~ jauntily, he would have passed easily as the master of some mossy English manor. But his handsome face was red with anger and his voice was harsh as he continued to berate the sheriff: “I made the complaint against that prairie vagrant. You should have at least con- sulted me before letting him go.” _ - “Nothin’ against him that I could see,”” Hannon defended as Tom locked the door and Price reseated himself at the table and spread his writing mate- rials out again. “He didn’t do nothin’ but shoot a maverick. Th’ law—” . “Law, hell! We're th’ law,” Fox snapped. “It seems that I never shall be able to pound that into your stupid head.”’ He turned to peer-into Lyons’ cell. “Well, anyway, here’s one that won’t get sun tanned for a while. “Get this, now Hannon—you too, Price. I’m charging this man with at- tempted murder. At that if I hadn’t been called to town to attend the meet- ing of the board of supervisors, he’d have been turned loose, too, though he fired at me a dozen times.” That was too much for Bart. Rising to a sitting posture, he answered, hotly. “Shot at you, eh? Hell, man, do you think I’m plumb mole-eyed? Emptied two sixes at yuh an’ hit them glass dinguses on th’ lamp ev’ry pop! You © mus’ think I never learnt to shoot.” “Attempted murder,” Fox repeated, — SS a Ss Gomicboo