Action-Packed Western, May 1958 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

20 gazed in perplexity at the wounded man. “T really don’t know.” She hesi- tated. “Maybe a week or two.” “He can lie on a wagon bed,” Pat’s voice was hard. “I’ll give yuh a couple of days to clear out.” Behind him, Bandy Beeston sniffed and eyed the fresh nies hunerily as thev jineled through the kitchen. “Would you like a slice?” asked the girl, a smile erasing the anxious lines that fretted her smooth forehead. “Dammit, ma’am, there ain’t nuthin’ better than a hunk o’ homemade pie. I shore would! Hey, Pat, did yuh hear th’ lady?” But Pat swung morosely ahead, heading for his pony. ‘Two DAYS later, Pat saddled up and again rode toward Antelope Creek. Despite his scorn at Bandy’s alleged soft-heartedness, thoughts of the nester girl and her crippled father had plagued him. In the past, the Bar- C boys had enjoyed little contact with women. The voluptuous, silk-stock- inged, hard-drinking type that fre- quented border dance halls and can- tinas had only aroused a feeling of re- pugnance. - Contact with May Hilton had dis- turbed» him to the depths. As he hit westward he cursed himself for a soft-. hearted fool. The girl and her father were nesters. They were intruders on Bar-C range. If he allowed them to re- main, news would travel fast, and he would soon have a flood of noverty- stricken. thieving hoemen on Antelope Creek. Get rid of them, and forget her, urged reason. That’s what his Pa would have done and that’s what he should do. Angrily he jabbed the row- els into the roan and the startled ani- mal snorted and broke into a furious gallop. Still debating inwardly he reached the edge of the pasture—a _ clean- limbed pony, sweat-streaked, stood ground hitched outside the cabin. Curious, he drifted close, swung out ACTION-PACKED WESTERN of the saddle, eyed the brand—an ar- row. Ed. Small rodded the Arrow out- fit on the upper end of the valley, and bred blooded horses. This was one of the best. “Take your hands off me!” May Hilton’s contemptuous voice rang out inside the cabin. Startled, Pat swung swiftly around. A man’s deep voice, the crash of a - falling chair, a muffled scream. Again, a man’s voice, throaty with passion. “T’ll tame yuh, yuh little wildcat!” Three swift strides and Pat was through the doorwav. He recoiled with quick amazement. May Hilton, dress torn from one white shoulder, was struggling desperately in the arms of Larry. His brother’s unshaven face was pressed close against the girl’s pulsing neck. Her left arm was pinned down. Her right fingers, crooked, raked her assailant’s tan cheek. Blood dripned from his lacerated flesh as he vainly tried to grab her free arm. Wild with. terror, the struggling girl’s eyes met Pat’s with a desperate, wild appeal. “Lay off, Larry!” Pat's voice was hoarse, he quivered with a strange, sav- age emotion. ie ime T PAT’S terse chal- lenge, his brother’s tense grip on _ the struggling girl reluc- tantly relaxed. Eves glaring, he swung round and faced the intruder.- here!” he grated. “This is my gal!” “Y’m not your girl, you beast!” panted May Hilton. She_ shrank away, pulling her torn dress into place. ‘““Men respect women—in Kansas.” “And in Arizona!” Muscles taut, eyes hard, Pat approached his brother. m “Git outa - (G) (GO) iGboo . <S)