Action-Packed Western, May 1958 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

_ FEUDIN’ GUNS 21 “Get out!” He spat the words con- temptuously. Larry’s reply was a snarl. His right hand slapped his gun butt. Before the weapon cleared leather, Pat’s fist swung to the side of his jaw. He staggered sideways from the impact of the blow. Pat grabbed his gun wrist, twisted. The iron flew out of his hand. thudded on. the floor. Pat stepped back, booted it beneath the table. Spitting out teeth, Larrv balanced on the balls of his feet, watching his broth- er with the ferocity of a cornered lobo. Without warning, he lowered his head, - bored in, fists flailing. Penned in by the narrow room, Pat had no room in which to sidestep. Feet avart, crouched, he met the onslaught head on, bunched fists pounding Larry’s gray-shirted middle. A hard first, a fist like hammered rawhide, pounded into his left eye. Flattened against the wall behind the stove, the girl, her fear forgotten, watched with fascinated eyes. Pat’s body quivered under the 1m- pact of his brother’s hammering, but he felt no pain. Every blow stoked the fire of his consuming rage. Blindly, remorselessly, he hunched his shoul- ders and fought back with silent fe- rocity, thrilled with bitter joy as he felt Larry’s body quake beneath his slogging onslaught. Flesh and blood couldn’t withstand that whirlwind pace—long. Suddenly Pat realized that his brother was weak- ening. Larry gulped air in sobbing easps, his thudding fists were slowing, he swayed drunkenly. Pat stenned in, swinging vicious uppercuts at the reel- ing rider’s sagging jaw. Battered by the tornado of blows, Larry finallv sank down in an exhausted, bloodied heap. Desperately he strove to rise on wobbly legs. His torn mouth and smashed nose streamed scarlet. He swayed upright—a relentless right took him under the ear. With a groan he collapsed and sprawled helplessly on the beaten. earth floor, his labored breathing a gurgling sob. Pat stood over the limp figure, chest rising and falling spasmodically as he sucked air into his heaving lungs. One eye was blackened, his nose gushed red, his shirt was splattered with blood. Painfully, Larry hauled himself to his feet. Without a word he staggered | past his brother’s vengeful form, passed out of the cabin into the bril- liant sunlight. Pat heard the rattle of the bridle, the tattoo of the galloping pony’s hooves...and he was suddenly tired. oe his aching body against the timbered wall, he wiped the blood from his bruised lips—firm fin- gers grasped his arm and led him to a chair. May Hilton’s voice, now cool and competent, made music in his. ring- ing ears. “Sit down and rest. You were wonderful!” He felt foolishly, strange- ly happy. The girl bathed his face and neck with cool creek water, wrung out the cloth and bandaged it over his black- ened eye. Her father’s querulous voice called from the next room. She hurried away. When she returned the torn: dress was replaced by a simple white blouse, fastened with a plain gold brooch at the neck. Her dark hair. was again smooth and sleek. ‘“How’s the warrior?” she smiled. Pat’s features twisted into a pain- ful grin. ‘Guess I can sit up an’ take nourishment.” : “Could you eat a slice of pie?” Amusement danced maliciously in her hazel eyes. | “Just try me!” he challenged. She bustled around the little kitchen, hum- ming cheerfully, set a plate and a slab of pie before him, placed a coffee-pot upon the stove and fed in kindling. “That’s my brother, Larry,” Pat vol- unteered ruefully. “Reckon he’s kinda wild. First time he’s bothered yuh?” “He stopped in several times,” she oO GComichooksnco