Action-Packed Western, May 1958 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

22 answered, “but he never manhandled me, the brute!” “Got a gun?” “A derringer in my trunk. I’ll cer- tainly carry it from now on.” She poured his coffee. Pat cleared his throat, hesitated. “You can keep this cabin if yuh fancy it,” he said, striving to keep his voice casual. “Reckon I’ll have one of th’ boys drop in now and again.” ‘Perhaps you could look in occa- sionally,’ she replied softly. He glanced up quickly, but she had turned to the stove. “Maybe.” His voice was guarded. “Well, reckon I'll mosey along.” Beyond the cabin the creek trail cut through a stand of scrub oak. A small spring muddied the earth. * Heading homeward Pat noted fresh tracks of a galloping horse plainly imprinted in the soggy earth, the fore feet winged out. Larry, he commented mentally, thet bronc shore paddles. At noon he rode inte the spread. Bandy crossed the yard as he slinped the bridle off the roan and led it to water. The old foreman jerked to a stop as ‘he glimosed Pat’s bloodied shirt and blackened eye. “Vuh look like yuh tangled with a wildcat,” he grunted. “Say, didn’t yuh ride fer Antelope Creek? Pat nodded shortly. “Larry marked meup!” | “Th’ hell he did,’ Bandy perked up. “He ain’t sparkin’ thet gal up there?” ‘“‘Ain’t he?” returned Pat in disgust. He told of the morning’s fracas. _“Th’ mangy coyote!” growled” Ban- dy. Hooves drummed on_ the packed earth. A pony dashed into the yard behind them and slid to a stop in a cloud of dust. The heads of both men swivelled. “Stella Yarrow!” ejaculated Bandy. << GIRL THREW herself off the ~ blowing, lathered pony. She was hard- | ACTION-PACKED WESTERN clad in a mannish plaid shirt, worn riding breeches and soft high leather boots. A dark red bandanna matched the bronze ringlets of her head, tucked beneath a grey Stetson. Her handsome tanned face was hard set. A .38 was holstered around her slim waist. As she strode impulsively toward them, eyes flashing with anger, Stella Yarrow made a striking picture. “‘Best lookin’ gal in th’ Valley,’’ an amorous _puncher had once declared, “but show me th’ puncher what kin rope her!” “So you shot-him in th’ back, you low-down skunk!” Laced with con- tempt, the accusing words whipped from her tight lips. She stopped at the - corral rail and gazed wrathfully at the two men. » “Shot who—where—Miss_ Stella?” spluttered Bandy. “My Dad; this sidewinder knows where!” Her blazing eyes were focused full on Pat. The two astonished men looked at each other. “F’r gosh sakes let’s git this straight, Miss Stella,” implored the foreman. ‘“Where wus Sam shot?” , ‘His body was found thf morning in a gulch below Willow Spring,” she re- plied stonily. “Some ‘cur dry-gulched him.’”’ Her voice broke away from its strained composure, rose to a hysteri- cal scream. “He had no enemy except you; you drove our crew away from the spring and killed poor Limpy. You threatened Dad, but you didn’t have the spunk to shoot it out with him.” Breast rising and falling, she pointed at the Bar-C boss. Paralyzed by the vehemence of her emotion and the shock of the accusation, he stood speechless. - Spasmodically, the agitated girl gripped the butt of her gun swinging at her side. With practiced skill she thumbed back the hammer as the weapon came up. The bewildered Pat made no move, but Bandy’s wiry arm shot out, knocked up her hand as the gun roared. The slug whined into the Gomichboo S, (C(0)