Action-Packed Western, May 1958 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

FEUDIN’ GUNS 19 A ragged column of cursing riders, walking awkwardly in_ high-heeled riding boots, straggled down the gulch and streamed ow® upon the sun-baked flat. “Goddamn, Pat,” cackled Beeston as the little cavalcade jingled south- ward. “Yore paw ain’t got nuthin’ on yuh, an’ he never missed a bet. I gam- _ ble that Sam Yarrow won’t string fence agin in a hurry!” Pat grunted. His thoughts were else- where. “What was that you said about nesters?” “Two families located on Antelope Creek.” Pat swung west, toward the rolling foothills. “Might just as well chase all th’ lobos off’n Bar-C range. Let’s go get them, Bandy. You boys head back for th’ spread.” . - 7. MILE ALONG the creek stood a sturdy. two-room log cabin built years before by a prospector as a base camp for trips into the barren Tor- tulas. Its notched logs were as solid as the day they were peeled and wedged into place. Bottles set in clay formed the windows. Inside were bunks and rough, hand-made furniture, The cab- In was used as a line camp by Bar-C riders. A pole corral was built in the rear. Squawking hens scattered as- the Bar-C men moved up. A girl came quickly to the door. Unabashed, she surveyed the visitors with calm cu- riosity. . “Won’t you come in?” The invita- tion was extended with a smile, She was slim, trim-figured and wore a neat calico dress. About his own age, he judged. Raven black, her hair was ‘smoothly brushed and gathered in a knot at the back of her small, proudly- poised ‘head. Her features were well formed, but her beauty lay in the re- pose, the steadfastness of her hazel eyes and the sweetness of her ready smile. . Pat glanced appealingly at Bandy. but the wily old foreman had dismount- ed, and, his back to Pat, was busily engaged in tightening a _ cinch-strap. Pat cleared his throat. ‘‘I guess not, _ma’am. This here’s Bar-C range.” “Ts it?”’ Her voice, quiet but distinct, reflected polite interest. “I thought-we were worlds from anybody.” “We don’t abide nesters on Bar-C range. Reckon you better pack.” “But it’s so lovely here.” she protest- ed. “And Dad’s crippled!” A faint flush spread over her cheeks at the derision in the flat, clipped ex- clamation. “If you’ll step inside,” she invited coldly, “you can see for your- self.” : AT SWUNG out of leather and shouldered past her into the cabin, Beeston at his heels. The foreman whistled softly as he glanced around: The room into which they had stepped was used as a kitchen. Dainty green and white curtains fringed the win- dows. Spotless oilcloth covered the table. Pat unceremoniously stepped into the next room. The scorn in the girl’s eyes irked him, he choked down a ris- ing anger at the situation in which he found himself. The bedroom was divided in half by an Indian blanket hung from the pole - ceiling. In the bunk lay a bearded man in his fifties with gaunt, lined features. His eyes were. dull and sunken, his high forehead wrinkled. Pat swung round. “How long before you can move him?” Slender fingers intertwined. She CORNICE OOOKS.E©