Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

ee ee ee Ss ee ee hag ee Ee en, ee me > Py a ee PES > ; mg nee ILD TRAI ; 2% * ao By WALT COBURN IGHT CLOSED in on young Dan N Wyeth, and he knew it was time to make the desperate move he and his father had talked about before the old man died. Jim*’Wyeth had died with his boots on there in the nest of granite rocks, where the Harbisons had trapped him and his ‘son two days ago. A queer sort of smile had twisted his i Fs ‘ Ly ie ae ; P. Life Fs ; . ™! a A % o "ee “ ie y F ie , “6 ; Oh ig SENAY a Their battle cry rose harshly above the war whoops of the painted redskins as they charged. grim-lipped mouth as the last rays of setting sun lighted his bloodshot eyes. His gun hand gripped that of Dan, his youngest son, and the only one left of three grown boys. Both Tug and Bill had been killed by the Harbisons. “You’re the last Wyeth left, Dan,” his father told him through pain-stiffened lips that were cracked by sun and thirst. “T’ll $3 (CO) 0\(0)(6) S ANU