Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

. oe. ee +4s0a0* - LAW OF HELLFIRE RANGE 67 knees straight down along cinches, guns out. There was movement to the south, in the direction of the Broken Key. Men were leading horses on foot, then’ stopping and milling; then mounting at a whispered order. : Dave Drings was a squat lump on his patch-colored range pony. His undertones were rowel-sharp, “Pick off the guards first, then the others . . . Stampede the remuda ... Ed, you and Utterho and Max cut in and snag the bullion . . . Get the women if you can, they make good hos- tages ... All set?” | HEY STARTED forward, horses’ heads held high’ on tautened bridles be- cause of the steep slope of the vale. Sam was suddenly aware that Quarles was watching him, was waiting for him to open the ball. So he filled his lungs and let go with the “Rebel yell — “Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi-!” and plunged out of the trees and crashed down through the underbrush into the flank of the raid. Trask was beside him, bounc- ing and twisting and trying to find a clear target. Guns flared through the dawnlight and the raid buckled, broke and-collapsed back into itself. Bullets whickered sicken- ingly close and a horse went down, thrash- ing, and a man shrieked wildly and there were more flashes, yellow stabs of flame sparking back and forth. There were no battle lines, only a’ weird jamboree of pir- ouetting figures and churning hoofs and colliding horses, only the deafening blasts of gunfire that chewed. across the dying dawn. Then there were other flashes, and the clump of a Spencer, and a nasal cry- Peter Meservey’s bull howl came from below; bushes broke and feet thudded up the slope. And quite suddenly, with the suddenness of a cut off nightmare, it was over, and there were nothing but sprawled forms in the stained bushes and the acridness of gun- smoke dnd the frightened running of horses. Sam found Dave Drings lying blue-faced and quiet in the trampled dirt, his glazed eyes not seeing the coming day. There were others—Ed and Max, Quarles said; and one named Utterho, who’d been handy with the torch. “And that,’’ Quarles intoned triumphant- ly, “just about finishes the Broken Key.” Trask knelt to Utterhoe and spoke ur- gently to him, even as the man was dying; - (Continued on page 110) ZI Seas |. By Lewis B. Patten They called Matt Hurst wolf-whelp, rustler, killer, renegade — and when he e into town, they had a welcoming party ‘ely for him—with a noose sized to fit his neck! Don’t miss this thrill-paeked story of a lone outcast who had to prove himself a man—against a blood-mad town! THE LEADING WESTERN MAGATINE March issue—On Sale—Now! Comicbvooks.; co