Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

({ : | + Satan was Ard Crandell’s pard and they ruled with fire... until Clay Evers came out of the flaming -horizon—guns screaming—with revenge in his gunsmoke and hell his des- tination! Six-dgumns Say Die! By A. KENNETH BRENT looking for a place to make day camp. He knew that he should have stopped an hour ago while darkness was still on the hills, but he had not found water, and both he and his horse were thirsty. Man and beast, they were a hard-bitten pair. The man was lean; there was a week’s beard on his face, and his hair showed the signs of self-barbering. The horse ‘was gaunt and tired, and one forefoot had need- ed a new shoe for a long time. The man’s name was Clay Evers, ‘and across the territorial line, three hundred miles away, he was wanted for murder. He had been riding the out-trails for almost a year, drifting aimlessly and trav- eling mostly at night. His few attempts to get work had been spoiled by some- one’s curiosity or suspicion, and he no UY longer tried to hook on with a spread. He | lived on what game he could kill and on the occasional meal he shared with some line shack cowboy. He supposed, when he thought about it, that he was heading for California, but when he got there, or if [ THE GRAY light of dawn he drifted, Soy * rain "a : tj uy | * Pet , ?? Le | = om Ai dees i Ne - ie — “8 ‘ are ante P fh J The lean man screamed and sprawled in the dusty street. 30 2 4 ; 3 co =) a IOOKS CO