Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

70 bled at the door and the lock grated. Bart’s left-hand gun slapped a slug through the door, just as Fox struck at the six on the desk. _ Two guns spoke almost in unison. Fox jerked the length of his powerful body, then braced himself and raised his six again. - He stood so while another slug from the puncher’s gun tore into his massive chest and a third drilled through his belt. Again, he made a feeble, hesitant -_ effort to raise a gun that appeared to have grown too heavy for him. His fingers relaxed and the six clattered. .to the floor. He sat down slowly, then pitched forward suddenly, his hands spanking the desktop. For a time the great shoulder muscles writhed and moved no more. ? Out in the hall there was a queer shuffling, dragging sound, a groan, then silence. Over by the corrals there was a chorus of wild yells, and the roll of pistol-fire. | Bart jerked the front door open and bounded into the yard. “Hold ’em, boys!” he roared, as he turned toward the mass of dancing pinpoints that showed by the long, low building. “Hold em ten seconds till I get there! Feelin’ as I do right now, I b’lieve I can lick th’ whole durned outfit of ND THE boys did hold them—held ~ ~ them pinned close to the shed, a writhing welter of living and dead. Held them and drove them relentlessly back inside, while Bart edged to the end of the building and raked its inside systematically with a double spray of searching lead. Through the wreaths of acrid smoke that spiralled lazily upward from floor ~ to ceiling, Bart saw three still forms piled grotesquely by the open door. Back of them, a scowling bewhiskered man lay flat on the floor, firing blindly over the still forms. Paying no attention to him, the puncher turned his sixes on three others, who were starting a con- ACTION-PACKED WESTERN ~ centrated rush from the far end of the room. The first man of the three crashed down, squirming and bellowing in pain and panic. The second swerved from his line of flight, edging erratically to- ward the north wall of the building till he struck it with terrific impact. The third stopped, hesitated, then dropped his guns and raised his hands high. A fourth fellow, who had just started to back the rush of the three, saw his sup- port fizzle out suddenly. He lined up beside the one who had surrendered, and the two stood motionless, their eyes fixed fearfully on the doorway, through which lead still was horneting. 1€ corner of the build- ing and walked into the belt of light that streamed through the splintered doorway. The fire from the corral stopped, and Speck’s voice came stri- dently, “Hey, yuh chuckleheaded wam- pus, wanta git y’urself beefed?” “War’s over,” Bart called back, then reloaded his sixes and stepped inside. “Any of you leaky lead-gatherers that can still walk had better ease out there in th’ center of th’ room an’ pile your hardware,” he suggested. “Take your turns an’ don’t crowd th’ mourners. In- cidental, don’t no interprisin’ gent get itchy an’ go to scratchin’ ’is hips none, when he peels off ’is belt. These sixes — of mine is all het t up an’ rarin’ for more action, an’—”’ | “Come right on in, Stanley! Gee-— whilikens but you’re what a feller, | == GOMic ) OC (S(O)