Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

--weapon up. dampened earth at his feet, and slipped slowly from the man’s grasp. Kincaid reached a hand for the bar and brought it on one knee. Tieden oe c a : GMs 53 SEUAL AY ORS "FIFTEEN WESTERN TALES ae It discharged, bursting the back, clutching, to his belly. He hunched forward, his neck arched up, his eyes round and unbelieving. He hung there, near bal- ance for a moment. The place was silent, and when he fell his body made a soft thud against the hard dirt of the floor. Hardiman dropped the Colt back in the holster. The kid was staring down at Kin- caid’s lifeless form. Dolan came up and _ leaned over the plank, shaking his head -. again. A man near the wall started to get up. The chair scraped and he returned stiffly to the seat. The kid glanced uncer- tainly at the bottle still on the plank and started to move away. Hardeman took a step closer to him. He shouted, “You wanted to be a man. Well, Ben, there’s*one lying on the floor.” He grabbed the kid by one shoulder and sent him headlong toward Kincaid’s body. The kid hit it and rolled over and came up Hardman didn’t give him time to gain his feet. He pulled him up, _ both hands wrapped in the kid’s shirt front. “You were right about one thing, son,” he said, jerking the kid’s head with a snap _-of his wrists. “You said I talk too much. Nothin’ but preaching. I’m through with ~ that.” He took one hand away, cocked it back, and slammed it full into the boy’s face. The kid drove backwards and crashed against the bar. He got up, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. He tried to bring his hands to his face, bit Hardeman knocked them down and sent another blow high to the head. The kid spun around and hit the edge of the bar with his stom- ach. He doubled up and made an effort to hook the bar with his elbows, and slipped. Hardeman caught him by the back of the neck, turning him. and this tirae the kid slumped down and_-lay aa motionless on the floor. . standing position. He hit the kid again, | Hardeman walked over to him,- rubbing the knuckles of one hand against the palm of the other. He looked at the kid’s face. “He’s had enough,” Jeff said, almost aloud, and for a moment felt sorry. But it had to be this way, he told himself. He — took the kid by the shoulder, and without speaking further, dragged him toward the door. On the sidewalk he gave the. kid one last shove with his boot so*that he rolled into the street. The jar woke the kid up. He pulled himself to a sitting position and rubbed lightly at the bleeding nose. He cast around him in the faint light from the saloon window, and finally looked up at the old man. Jeff made a move to help him and changed his mind. He said, “I asked you to come home this morning. You coming home now?” | The kid nodded his head quietly. He twisted around, finding the stirrup leathers of the stallion, and pulled himself to a Hardeman watched him struggle into the saddle. He went around to the near side of the gelding and mounted and turned out into the street with the kid riding beside him. The men in front of the feed store came out of the darkness and hurried toward the saloon. The open door threw a streamer of light into the street that was gone quick- ly. Hardeman held the dun at an easy trot. The kid rode silently, his horse beside the gelding and a stride back. Hardeman stole a look at the kid and then kept his gaze on the ears of his own pony. The kid didn’t feel like talking, he knew. He didn’t blame - him. Tomorrow, maybe, it would be dif- ferent. It might take some time, but it would be better this way. He regretted the gun, though: He was sorry he had to use it. Well,. he could put it back in the trunk agam. And there was still the Bible. He smiled. Maybe what he had told his wife was true; maybe be was bringing home a ° different boy tonight. 09 0 Gomiecbooks sco