Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

/ trail. And mebby they’ll even attack the wagon train if there’s any plunder rich enough to warrant their risk and trouble. “Like as not the attack will be made somewhere in the slap-dab middle of the Injun country. And the outlaws will like as not be in cahoots with some of the renegade Injuns. They'll try to kill me and every man in my outfit. And if there’s plunder enough in your wagon train, they'll wipe it out, complete—kill the men and either kill the women or take off the ones that’s young. Burn the wagons and steal the horses. And after a time the news will reach the nearest towns that the Injun war parties has wiped out another wagon train and run off another trail herd.” : The trail boss tossed down ,the butt of his cigarette. “This won’t be the first time such things has happened, son. This won’t be the first deal of its kind that Beaver Smith has had his dirty hands into the blood up to his elbows. There’s a story that might or might not be true. That somewhere hid on his . stinkin’ ‘person 4s the scalp of a white wom- an. She had long, yaller hair: He killed her after hed stolen her from a wagon train him and some renegade Injuns wiped out. That’s the story I heard at Pecos, after your wagon train pulled out. “Your job would be to keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut tighter than a sprung wolf trap. And when you hear anything, let me know. Likewise try to git on the good side of Beaver Smith. Git him to cut you into his coyete pack. He’s got half a dozen or so with him. Two-three young squirts like the one you ketched steal- in’ your bankroll. And some others, older hands, too. Mebbe you could git him to count you in, though not likely. He’s sharp, that way. And he’ll cut your throat some night if he ever ketches onto you. That’s how dangerous the job it. It takes an old hand to outfox Beaver Smith.” — “I'd be proud to tackle it,” said Dan ely: CHAPTER THREE Renegade Wagon Boss fee! CALLED it the Whiskey Wagon. And now, two weeks along the trail, the — secret of its existence became an open one. Beaver Smith, never quite sober, no longer put up an sort of pretense of trying to put a stop to the peddling of whiskey or to the gambling that was going on every night. As a matter of fact, Beaver was the real owner of the big covered wagon that hauled the barrels of whiskey. And he took a per- centage of the winnings from the gambling games. The wagon train was getting into the worst part of the Indian territory. There had been several skirmishes with small war parties. The horse guards were doubled and every man slept with his gun: The older men, men with their wives and families, were becoming more and more wer- ried and fearful. And they talked among themselves, discussing the matter. The wagon train, men, women and chil- dren, were at the mercy of Beaver Smith. He told them so, when a committee of so- ber, decent-minded men came to him with their protest against the Whiskey Wagon. “Tl pull out if you force me to, but I ain’t refundin’ your money. And I ain’t goin’ back in any way on my contract with you to pilot your wagon train up the trail to Montana. There’s nothin’ in my agreement that forbids takin’ a drink or playin’ a game of friendly cards. If there’s drinkin’ and gamblin’ goin’ on, as you claim, then I reck- on you better send for a sky pilot to show the errin’ sinners the straight and narrow trail. I’m a scout and Injun ener te a psalm-singin’ preacher. . “Tf you ain’t satisfied with the way I’m goin’, pay me off and let me go. Hell, this ain’t no damned hee for me, ridin’ herd on a pack of wimmin’ and squawkin’ brats and men that’s scared of their shadders and thinks there’s the devil’s poison in a swaller Comicbooks ? « (E@)