Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

FIFTEEN WESTERN TALES _. fluttering, burning intake of each breath. His chest and stomach were a living bed of coals that turned each breath to fire. Thacher’s eyes moved unblinking in pools of blood and he licked at the blood on his cracked, swollen lips, grateful for even that moisture. He had passed out once, back five miles, but the hate wouldn’t let hig die and he’d crawled, -only ‘barely conscious of it. And hate got him back on his feet again. Ram hadn't ‘returned. There’d been time enough for him to ‘return, but he hadn’t. And now, with the smell of trees, sage and water in his nos- - trils, he knew he had made it and he would get Ram. Thacher tripped over a clump of green and he lay face down, chewing on the tough prairie grass for the little moisture it held. Ahead of him, there was a gentle slope that gradually took on a cloak of vegeta- tion near the crest. On the other side— maybe a foot, maybe a mile—there was wa- ter. He could feel it and smell it. And somehow he also knew that Ram would be there. Because Ram would think him already dead, swelling in the sun, his tongue black and protruding. Ram would be there by the water, getting ready to ride ont alone. His coward’s heart already would © have forgotten Thacher. Thacher had been the sacrifice necessary to get him across the prairie. Ram wouldn't have had the guts to try it alone. Thacher nodded slowly. It was all true. If his horse hadn't died he might never have found it out. And he hated Ram and had to kill him. He got to his feet and. pulled the .44 from its holster. The butt was burning hot irom the sun but he didn’t even notice. He climbed the slope. And there, a hundred yards below, wind- ing down from the next cragged foothill, was a narrow, trickly stream. It curled ~ around the rocks in the ravine below. Thacher’s whole body quivered . with eagerness and he had to fight the wild im- pulse to throw himself down the hill, wal- low in the shallow, almost dried out stream. Then he saw his brother, Ram, throwing the saddle over the horse. Below and off to the left, almost hidden in a screen of boulders. : Thacher watched him aiid forgot the wa- ter. Ram’s body moved quickly now and his hair was still dripping from the stream. While I was out there, Thacher thought, Ram was lying in the water, drinking till his gut couldn't hold any more, feeling the water all over his body, maybe laughing a little at being alive. The horse snorted wearily and Thacher noted it too was glistening wet. He chuckled and the sound was a croak. Ram took bet- ter care of the horse than he did his brother. Brother! The word brought bile to his mouth and he began to run down the slope, not caring if Ram saw him, His hand was a claw around the gun, an extension of him- self and of his, hate. $ He was almost on Ram when the older man heard the slithering rocks and turned. His eyes widened and his mouth moved soundlessly. Thacher saw he was wearing his gun but it didn’t matter. Nothing mat- tered except killing Ram. “Thacher,’’ Ramsey shouted. ‘Thacher !”’ H« STOPPED at the edge of the stream and the brothers faced each other, Thacher gaunt, weaving, terrible to look at in his rage. “T was comin’ back,’ Ramsey shouted. “Don’t look at me like that—I was comin’ back.” “Liar,” Thacher croaked. “TI was—damn it, I was.”’ Some of the - old bravado appeared in, Ramsey’s face. “Don’t tell me I wasn’t, boy—you know I don't take backtalk.”’ “Tm going to kill you, Ram.” “You're crazy—god, look at you!” Ram’s voice lifted. “All right—I thought. =Eomicbooks.Go