Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

‘THE SECRET OF FOX RANGE a ignoring the irate puncher to address the sheriff. “See what he has to say for himself, Price.” “Bring him out,” the district attorney ordered. Worden fumbled out his cell key, but stopped to look questioningly at the sheriff when someone knocked - imperatively on the outer door. ‘he sheriff nodded, and Worden opened the door. Dr. Kuhn came in, Seeing him, Bart relaxed on the bunk, stretching his long limbs limply. Doc nodded right and left, then — stepped to the cell door. After Tom had unlocked it, Doc looked at the sheriff then at the attorney. “You weren't thinking of questioning that cowboy, were you?” “Yeh,” Hannon answered. ‘’Pears like he’s braced up some satisfactory, sh “Til decide that if you please.” Doc — stepped inside and set his bag on the bunk. After taking the puncher’s tem- rature and examining his bandages, he stepped out again, shaking his head. ‘As Jim Hannon found, he’s doing very well; but he has two severe scalp con- tusions and there still is a chance for other complications. As physician, I positively forbid be to annoy him with questions.”’ Fox threw back his handsome head and laughed scornfully. “Pretty rich, I’d say. First the sheriff turns one criminal loose, then a little cowtown doctor tells what we shall do and what we shall not. Go ahead, Price.” “Very weil,” Doc acquiesced, start- — ing for the door. After Tom had opened it for him, he turned to say: ““Remem- ber, though, Hannon, I’m holding you responsible. At best, it’s downright _cruelty to worry a poor devil in his condition. If he develops a fever, it will be plain murder.” “We'll risk it,” Fox sneered, as the door closed behind the surgeon. But Hannon thought otherwise. 2 - “What’s th’ rush, Fox?” he wanted to 2 know. “Seems like you have it in for — a him as deep that you don't care if he does cash in.” “T don’t—don’t care in the least, == Fox declared. “Wal, I do,’ Hannon aamnuned, stiffly. “What? You mean you won't let Price—” “No—not right now.” The sheriff’s square jaw was thrust out now, and Bart got a new estimate of the man. So did Fox, evidently, for he looked immensely surprised. His smooth face was flaming, but he controlled himself by a visible effort and said suavely. “No use for us to fall out over this, Jim. I have an idea we can settle it so that you will be relieved of all responsi- bility and I will be amply protected. Just hold everything while I step over to the courthouse for a moment.” xX STRODE out. When he came back, ten minutes later, he was ac- companied by a dried up little man with a wispy goatee, who coughed nervously, and evaded the sheriff’s questioning gaze. “Go ahead, Martain,” Fox prompted, smugiy. “As chairman of the county board, I believe you have a few words to say to Hannon.” “Needn’t say ’em if you’re gonna choke over ‘em,’ Hannon said. He jerked his star off his vest and heaved it into a far corner. “Fox has told you worm-spined, herrin-gutted geezers to fire me, an’ you done it. “Pim quittin’, prompt. But I’m tellin’ you now that they’ s gonna be a real ‘lection in this man’s country, an’ ’'m runnin’—runnin’ frum hell to breakfast an’ right on through till th’ polls close.” “You have my consent, I’m sure,” Fox told him smoothly. “Right now, I ‘suggest that you turn your keys over to Tom Worden, who has — ap- pointed to succeed you.” Hannon threw his keys on the floor and stalked out. Worden = COM AD) eb s00kS (6)