Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

THESECRETOF FOXRANGE = — 6, “Keno!” Bart applauded, as they started. “I’ll do anything for her.” — _ “Oh, it’s ‘her,’ eh?” Speck grunted as he swung into the path. “Well, at that, Son, I dunno but she’s worth it. This much ’l say: She can tell more in less words than any female woman this side of hell.” Keeping to the timber, they worked their way back to camp. When Speck rounded the first big boulder, a little in advance of his partner, he jerked to a stop and held up a hand. Easing up beside him, Bart saw that a man was sitting with his back against their boul- der, evidently napping. His big pearl hat was tilted to cover his face, but a star marked SHERIFF glittered on his vest, 3 “Th’ sneakin’ polecat,” Speck grat- ed, swinging his rifle around. Bart caught his arm, “Wait! It ain't Wurden; it’s Hannon!” speck lowered the rifle and they walked toward the sleeper. When Bart shook him by the shoulder, he looked up and drawled sleepily, “’Lo, fellers. I got kind lonesome down there in town, an’ come out to pay yuh a visit.” He saw Bart eyeing the star question- ingly. “It’s mine,” he explained, grin- ing. “I got to talkin’ to some of th’ boys, las’ night, an’ found out that they was with me. Three outa th’ five supervisors weakened when we shook ’em over th’ pits of hell an’ give 7em their orders, Then, this mornin’, T met up with Tom Worden, an’ yanked this star off ’im, ““T got it an’ I’m sheriff, but I ain’t foolin’ myself none. When Fox gits th’ news, things is gonna happen. I ain’t much man-shy, but I ain’t ready to lock horns with him. Gotta git th’ deadwood on him first. “As I see. it, we orter throw in t’gether. You two wanta git a line on _ Fox’s doin’s, an’ I gotta crimp ’is tail to hold my job long. He’ll chaw my ears off, if I don’t chaw his first. SS “That there bein’ th’ case, I thought I’d come out here an’ help you boys git th’ hones’-to-Gawd low-down dope on that geezer. It was a piece of luck that I happent to come this way an’ found your outfit here. I figgered, you was Scoutin’.”” “Good figgerin’,” Speck applauded, ; commencing to rake ashes away from the coffeepot he had bedded down in the coals. “We'll have a snack an’ a pow-wow. T’night we’ll play owl, an’ go see what we see when we see it.” “I gotta great-big ring-tailed idea ‘ that we'll see a plenty at that, mebbe a little more than we want to.” HE THREE com- early sunset, but pro- ceeded in a wide cir- cle instead of going directly to the branch where all of their interest was centered. Swinging to northward, they ih as struck the ridge and jeotieed along its crest, Bart in the lead, growing ever more wary as they neared the spot where the telltale hoofprints had turned back. “Keep back, Speck, you’re trampin’ on my heels, ” the puncher protested, as they slanted down a little way from the peak of the ridge in order to keep to the cover. “Durned if I ever seen a feller that was pinin’ for a rukus like you are. “Hold th’ cantankerous ol’ cuss here if you can, Hannon, while I go peek aroun’ a little.” After seeing Hannon and speck tuck themselves into a cluster of sagebrush, the puncher left his rifle with them and worked his way toward where he ex- pected to find a trail leading up the in- cline from the branch. He exercised every little precaution, sneaking from brush to brush and stop- ping frequently to listen. He struck the expected trail after a hundred yards, panions left camp at: ECOMIGcbOoks.co