Action-Packed Western, May 1958 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

“Larry and his men kidnapped the girl.” In his mind’s eye the solitary rider again saw the square, seamed features of his father, the jutting stubborn jaw, the deepset dark eyes. Yeah, the old man had been tougher than raw- hide, unyielding as a lava knob. He never spared the spur on himself, his sons, or his crew. Old memories stirred the rider— riding herd at fourteen; top ramrod at sixteen; no trips to town, no dances, no fun. Well, he had fooled the old mosshorn at eighteen, whem he had saddled up by moonlight and hit for the border. Time had softened his* resentment. Perhaps the old man wouldn’t have been so tough if Ma had lived. He was just, anyway; he paid his sons top wages, like his hard-bitten crew, even if he had made them stow away every dollar. He had’ to be tough to build the slim stake he’d saved as construc- tion laborer into the Bar-C, with twen- ty punchers and. herds that grazed from the Tortulas ‘to the Apache River. Too, it seemed as if his brother Lar- ry had broken out of the home corral. Well, the kid was always somewhat wild. Maybe he was riding home, too, sorry he couldn’t grasp the old man’s calloused hand and say, “Shake, Pa, an’ let bygones be bygones!” Well it was too late now. The sharp crack of a Winchester rifle echoed faintly across the sage, jerking Pat Curran out of his reverie. Ahead, the dark, uneven mass of weathered rock marked Buffalo Wells, where he figured on spreading his blankets for the night, bulked dim in the twilight. As he searched the gathering gloom, a second shot. a third split the silence. The crashing snarl of guns and whining lead reverberated against the piled mass of grey rock as the fusil- lade grew in intensity. Every sense alert, the rider followed the progress com a HOOKS ,E@)