Action-Packed Western, May 1957 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

LOST RANGE him roughly over to where Royce stood stroking the butt of one of his Colt’s. A little way off Gennie watched, her shoulders slumped, her face white and drawn. Momentarily Lavery caught her eyes. He tried to wink at her. Make her think this wasn’t as bad as it appeared. Her hand went up to her throat, and then she looked away. “This feller is trouble,” Geiger said to Royce. ““Hyson won’t like it.” The Deacon, thin and _hollow- cheeked, leaned forward in his saddle. A gust of wind bollowed the folds of his black coat.“Reckon the sheriff is right. We ought to finish him off.” Royce said impatiently: “I made a bargain. I kin straighten it out with Hyson.” "PHEY HELD Lavery in the shed. He could hear the sounds of work going on outside. The squeal of the cows as red-hot-iron seared their hide. The curses of the men. Sometimes the hoofs of horses as riders passed. He lay on the floor, like a sack of flour, trussed with long strips of rawhide that cut cruelly into his flesh. His shirt was matted against his shoulder with dried blood from the wound that now throbbed with a livid intensity. No one came near him throughout the remainder of the day. Only after darkness had fallen did he hear the grate of the door and then the rays of a lantern flashed in his eyes. He blinked, trying to see who had come in. “Get him up,” Royce said sharply. Boots shuffled across the dirt floor. Someone bent over him. He felt the pressure relax as a knife cut the raw- hide. Lavery twisted stiffly, finding it hard to move his cramped limbs. He managed after a bit to push himself up. The light blurred before his eyes. He could only make out the shadow of the man who had released him, but when the man spoke he recognized the shadow and the voice. “We got to work fast, Royce. If they got to 67 Hyson, he might be due any time.” Lavery’s cracked lips moved. He said: “Rondo.” Rondo seemed not to hear him. Royce had moved up close. He set the lantern down on the dirt floor. The light threw Jong shadows against the wall. “Here,” Royce said, shoving a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper at Lavery. “You write what I tell you.” Lavery took the pencil. His fingers closed around it. “Give him something to write on.” Royce suggested. Rondo searched a moment, handed Lavery a piece of pine board. “Date it two weeks from now,” Royce went on. “The twenty-seventh or something.” “You better let me handle this,” Rondo said quietly. “Put on the top, ‘Nogales, September One’. Then write, ‘Dear Gennie’ .” Lavery tried to form the letters. He was trying to figure out what this meant. “Got it. Then go on. ‘I reached the border last week. All is well. I will always love you, but I will never be back. Then sign it.’ ” Royce gave a soft hiss. “I don’t like that,” he said truculently. “It will make her remember too much.” “Write it like I said,” Rondo di- rected, his voice soft and even. Slowly Lavery formed the words. He wanted to be sure he was safe before she married Royce. This letter he was scribbling would be the assurance she would wait for. With that letter, Royce could kill him and still have it look as if he had filled his promise. He looked up into Rondo’s face. There was no emotion in it. Lavery felt a chill run over him. Rondo had teamed up with Hyson and Royce. He might have suspected something like that would happen. He had finished the message, but * now Lavery paused. This note would throw Gennie into Royce’s arms, and he was not going to that. He tore the paper into bits. (e(0) .OO (E(0) t — frei : > \ > ih Age Pils) ide , ft ‘ t% a a he ‘ ‘ ( pitta te 7 wiF TEAST Yar osly ) ‘ » * ete