Action-Packed Western, May 1958 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

FEUDIN’ GUNS fringed with white hair, keen blue eyes peering out of a deceptively inno- cent face. “Waal, waal, th’ prodigal sons,” he boomed in a sonorous voice when he saw them. “I’d given yuh both up!” He indicated two straight-backed chairs with a sweep of his hand. Puffing, he padded across the worn rug in carpet slippers and swung back the door of the big iron safe in the corner of the room. Fumbling inside he withdrew a folded document. It crackled as he opened it and spread it on his desk. | - “This here,” he announced in meas- ured tones, “is the last will and testa- ment of the late John Curran!” “Cut th’ palavar,” cut in Larry, shifting impatiently on -his seat. “‘Give us th’ lowdown, pronto!” “As you wish,” the lawyer said, ad- justing his glasses. “Here is the gist: -In the event of my death I bequeath the Bar-C and all funds on deposit at the Cattlemen’s Bank, to my _ sons Patrick and Larry, either or both, on condition that within six months of my passing, he/they reside on and manage the ranch for one year: At the end of that period, providing he/they prove law abiding citizens, title of the said ranch and all monies shall pass to the said Patrick and/or Larry Curran.” The lawyer peeréd at the two men over the rims of his glasses. ‘“Thet’s about it.” “Seems reasonable t’ me,” said Pat. “Who grabs th’ works if we pull out?” demanded Larry. ‘If neither conforms with th’ condi- tions set forth, each shall receive one dollar lawful currency of the United States, the Bar-C and all animals bear- ing thet brand shall be sold to the high- est bidder, and the net proceeds and all monies are hereby bequeathed to my brother, Michael Curran, formerly of County Clare, Ireland,” read Walsh. “Thet’s one hell ef a will,” snarled Larry, the veins knotting in his fore- 15 head. “Ain’t we his sons. We got a right to them cows an’ th’ cash!” The lawyer shook his head slowly, keen eyes darting from one to the oth- er. “You have no rights except those set out in the will. I suggest, boys, thet you go ahead and run the spread, an’ I'll gladly authorize legitimate expens- es. You forget, Larry, thet you left the Bar-C—er—a gainst your Father’s wishes.” . “We need a dozen extra hands,” in- terjected Pat, “an’ we gotta pay fightin’ wages. Th’ night-hawks been running plenty!” : Larry’s mouth opened in protest. It closed with a snap. He glared angrily at his brother. ' “By all means,” agreed Walsh. “T’ll back you to the limit.” Pat rose and extended his hand. “Thanks, Judge. I’m stickin’.” Eyes stormy, Larry moved impetuously to- ward the door, slammed it behind him and clattered down the stairway out- side. Pat caught up with him as he was. 3 forking his pony. ‘‘Headin’ for th’ spread?” | Larry backed his mount, glowering down on his brother’s uplifted face. “Nope!” -he declared harshly. “Pete Walsh ain’t roddin’ me. I’m headin’ fer th’ border.” “Yuh know what that means?” Pat’s voice, too, was steely. “It don’t mean nuthin’. I'll grab my share!” a 2m IGHTEEN good men, Curran with silent satisfaction, as he sat at the end of the long mess table in the Bar-C’s cook shack. A week had passed since his talk with “Judge”? Walsh, and he had spent the nicboo (C@ Sj reflected Pat. (E@)