Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

4 ACTION-PACKED WESTERN off, "perhaps Washingion can be per- 7 suaded to let us conduct a winter cam- paign.” “On hardtack?” rcmminded the cap- tain, “On grass fed horses?” “Can you even reach Bleeding Arm? — seornfully asked the colonel. “And, if you do, can out-talk that medicine man of his? Can you shake devils out of a - squash gourd? When a full chief of the Arapaho nation can’t control one med- icine man, how in hades do you expect to swing them murdering devils?” The colonel puckered his mouth to spit and Captain Keel answered. “But Bleeding Arm signed the trea- ty. His honor ...” “Damn the treaty. We’ve lived up to every word. Dismantled our forts and—double-damn those Washington politicians. Pulling us out of Powder River when we had Red Cloud under the Second Californians and the Ohio Calvary. The Sioux, under Red Cloud, are raiding again. And don’t forget, he signed the treaty too! Bleeding Arm’s honor!” The Colonel spoke the words like a curse. “But, go ahead—talk to the double dealing jackal.” “Under a truce flag,’ Captain Keel said flatly, ‘‘we’ll have a chance.” “Then take a sergeant. Take the best horses on the post. Take a vol- unteer. Every man on the post should jump at the chance to get out of this starvation hole.” Captain Keel saluted and spun about, leaving Colonel Ralph attempt- ing to cram a three pronged stick of ‘sagebrush into his soggy fire. “Oh, Captain.” Keel turned from the door. “Take a medic kit. Bard’s out there and you may find him ... before the Indians do.” CON RAD BARD was a sprawled hump on top of the rusty, egg- “shaped boulder. A streak of black _ blood scarred the hand gripping the rawhide string. His head wound had _ opened and his tanned face was hot with fever. His eyes were the slits of a sick man avoiding the sun’s glare. Stubbled whiskers, black against his face, moved as he whispered. “There’s _ another one, Jeb. stay | back and let me handle him ‘alone.” The brave was on a_ black army mule. A Pawnee, tugging at the reins, but the stubborn animal, sensing the crouched man, fought the bit and jumped through the rocks: He had tied himself onto the animal by looping a rawhide cord over his shoulders and — passing the loop under the animal’s belly. Busy with the wayward mule, the Pawnee was unaware of Bard’s huddled form until the waiting man left the rocks in a leap that landed him astraddle the startled. warrior. Bard’s thick arms looped the gar- roting string over the brave’s turned head, digging into the muscles of the straining neck. The mule fell, Bard’s body dropped loosely, rolling away from the flashing hoofs. He fought the struggling man until the looped knot was bufied in the wind- pipe and the dying breath of the war- rior whistled like a reed pipe. Bard let loose and the mule strag- gled to its feet, moved a few steps then, feeling the drag of the still Strapped Pawnee, bucked through the rocks; carrying the burden over the rough ground. Bard leaned against the boulder, brushed the mud from his shoulder, sucked in a deep breath and shouted. “See you at camp, Jeb. I’m following after that mule till I get that scalp.” Half buried in the torn and muddy earth, an oilskin-covered dispatch let- ter winked whitely. Bard moved after _ the mule, hefting his knife. And Colo- nel Ralph’s plea to Fetterman for sup- plies, lay unnoticed on the ground. APTAIN KEEL reined in his wind- ed horse and raised a gloved arm. Sergeant White moved to an even po- sition and the two men stared at the but () mm Comicbooks