Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

66 the stick in the other, he stepped to- ward his intended victim. = In a flash Bart realized that Stanley would fight—odds be damned—and that he was but a few seconds from eternity. The puncher rose above the level of the ridge and called evenly: _“Mebbe you better turn that there smokestick this way, feller. — _“T ain’t chain-hobbled you know.” Abelson ‘grunted, dropped the stick, spun on his heel and swung the rifle around. The killer’s rage burned in his bestial, bearded face as he tilted the piece and pulled trigger. But Bart had leaped as he spoke. As he bounded across the circle of light, he saw the muzzle of the rifle swing into line, almost as though its blue- steel barrel were a live thing, seeking him. He ducked downward and side- wise, feeling something tug at the col- Jar of his shirt as the blast of the heavy rifle shook the ledge. Roaring in rage, Abelson worked the lever and an empty shell slithered onto the ledge. But the agile puncher was close in, now. Catching the rifle- _ barrel close to the muzzle with his left hand, he pushed upward and_back- ward, at the same time jamming a six- gun at Abelson’s heaving paunch. ‘Let go that gun an’ stick ’em up, you poison lizard, ur I|l—” Across the way by the boulders a heavy rifle blared, and eld Speck’s high, nasal voice was raised in a sort of cracked war-whoop. Abelson’s grip relaxed, allowing the rifle to come free. He stood weaving for a moment, a Surprised, questioning look in his mud- dy eyes. Then he folded slowly, joint aiter joint, till he lay a sprawled, inert _ heap at the puncher’s feet. Bart whirled toward the prisoner. “Get inside, feller! Bill’ll crack down on yuh!” a _ “Like hell I will. Slip me that rifle, an’ Tll crack down on Bill! After ail, this is my fight, yuh know.” _ _ “Don’t want no more fightin’ if we can help it,” Bart said. “Fox’ll think ACTION-PACKED WESTERN two shots is enough to do what he wants done. If we raise much more smoke he’ll be gettin’ wise.’ __ Be “Let ’im,” Stanley said, as Bart gave him the gun. “I don’t know nothin’ I'd like better than to get th’ chance to—”’ : “But you ain’t th’ whole show. They’s others to be thought of,” Bart _ countered. ‘““They’s a the house that—” se “Hey yuh fellers,’ Bill’s voice whined out of the darkness. ‘Hold yur lead! I’m comin’ in! = “Yuh got it on me ev’ry which way,” girl over there at his hands upraised. “I ain’t got a chinyman’s chanct with one six ’g’inst four rifles. It means a rope necktie fur me, mebbe, but all I ast is that yuh never let Fox git ’is hands on me. If he gits th’ best of yuh— which he will, I reckon—jus’ shoot me an’ leave me lay.” GPECK came plunging up the stair, he admitted advancing into the light, ! missing his step and falling back . twice in his eagerness. Up at last, he ran to his brother, gripping his hand and slapping his broad back as he yam- mered out a series of incoherent ques- tions. Slow-minded, slow-moving Han- non reached the upper level a little later. Removing his star, he pinned it on the breast of Stanley’s undershirt. “Th’ statutes provides that a officer serves till ‘is successor has been "lected an’ qualified. Nobody ain’t done that, so yuh’re sheriff, right now. “When yuh git time, I wish yuh’d tell me what all this is about, anyway.” “Won't take long to do that, Yuh see this slash was runnin’ brimful of water, a long, long time ago. They was gold-bearin’ sand in it, an’ with th’ swift current, them pockets down on th’ bottom made it work awmost like a reg’lur gold sluice.” SS “Yuh mean they been packin’ sacks of real dust outa here fur five years?” Speck gasped. 7 “No. No water here, 20 -# 566 & €0