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By EUGENE CUNNINGHAM |
I |C| EUGENE CUNNINGHAM W.N.U. RELEASE
' THE STORY SO FAR: Con Cameron,
an honest cowboy with no desire to shoot,
is forced by circumstances to turn out
law and join the Paramore gang, head
ed by one “Dud” Paramore. He had
come into Wild Horse with the 20 Bar
outfit and had immediately gotten into
trouble with the town boss, Asa Brock,
and his friends by defending another
cattle man, Nevil Lowe, against Brock,
Dynamite Downes and "El Muchacho.”
On the trail again he had met Lee Welsh
and the Raniers. Welsh was killed by
the Raniers, and when Con rode into
Tivan, where Lowe is the new marshal,
' he was taken into custody as a murder
' and robbery suspect because of his as
sociation with the Raniers. He had
thought Lowe was his friend, but public
sentiment was against him, and Lowe
had apparently forgotten about the Wild
Horse incident. Con persuaded Lowe to
wire Buzz Upperman, his old trail boss,
and Caramba Vear at Wild Horse, but
neither man could be located. Knowing
that he hadn’t a chance of escaping any
other way. Con broke jail with Jeff AII
- and has now gone with him to Join
the Paramores.
Now continue with the story.
CHAPTER VII
! Nearly a quarter-mile from San
Marcos, Dud Paramore called a
I halt. He sent Gonzales ahead to
iscout the village and, while they
he talked to Con about the
Raniers as he had been talking at
'the cabin. Apparently, his inform
ers in Tivan knew all about official
suspicion that Con Cameron and Co
manche Linn were the same.
“Got no idee, huh, about what
was on them Raniers’ mind?” he
asked for the tenth time. “Can’t
figure which way they’d head after
they downed Welsh?”
“Nary idea,” Con answered, a lit
tle wearily. “To hear ’em talk, you’d
think nobody in the Territory
stacked up ankle-high to a short
snake. They are the hefty busca
deros, to hear ’em tell it. You and
Ellis—just country boys.”
The last he put in artfully, but
maliciously. Dud’s vanity was plain
to be seen and it amused Con to
prod him.
Gonzales came back at the gal
lop, a half-hour later. No officers
were known to be around San Mar
cos, but Quill Hogan lay in of
the houses, terribly beaten by a
stranger.
“Huh?” Dud cried incredulously.
“Quill was whipped? Who’s this
done it?”
Gonzales shrugged and shook his
head. He had seen the man, a big
swaggerer, cock of the walk in the
saloon. Turk was the name he went
by. He had been in San Marcos
when Quill Hogan rode in. Quill
had picked a row and Turk had
drawn his gun. But instead of kill
ing Quill, Turk had merely pistol
whipped him up and down the pla
zita, then knocked him senseless.
“Come on!” Dud yelled to his fol
lowers.
He hooked his horse into a rocket
ing gallop and the others jumped
their mounts after him. Into San
Marcos they charged, to slide to a
dust-wreathed halt before a long
adobe. Dud was out of the saddle
before his horse came down upon
four feet, and darted through the
door. Big Yager lumbered after
him with Gonzales catlike at his
heels. Catfish Coyle and Kinky Od
om swung down more deliberately
and Jeff and Con were last. So
when they stepped into the long,
dusky room, the others were al
ready at the bar.
Dud stood beside a dark, beard
stubbled man who reminded Con of
a gorilla, for thickness of body and
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I BLAKELY THEATRE
Thursday-Friday, June 25-26
FREDRIC MARCH—MARTHA SCOTT in
“ONE FOOT IN HEAVEN”
Saturday, June 27
JOHNNY MACK BROWN in
“THE DESPERATE TRAILS”
Saturday Late Show 10:30
FRANCES LANGFORD—KEN MURRAY in
“SWING IT, SOLDIER”
Monday, June 29
WILLIAM HOLDEN—GLENN FORD in
“TEXAS”
Tuesday, June 30
WARNER BAXTER—INGRID BERGMAN in
“ADAM HAD FOUR SONS”
Wednesday, July 1
JOE E. BROWN—ADELE MARA in
“SHUT MY BIG MOUTH”
lllllll!!!lllllllll!llllllll!llll!llTllllllll!lllllllllllllll|llllll!lllllliiiilllllllil!lllll!llll!!lllll
length 6? arms. The Mexicans urink
ing at the pine counter gave Dud
and this one room, and watched nar
rowly. But Dud only pushed a bot
tle to Turk.
Within twenty minutes the two had
five drinks. Then Dud moved the
bottle hospitably and when Turk’s
eyes went to it, Dud’s right hand
flashed to the white bone handle of
Turk’s Colt. He whipped it out,
stepped quickly back and tossed it
from right hand to left in legerde
main almost too fast for the eye to
follow. Then, with high, shrill laugh,
he stepped in again and replaced it
in Turk’s holster.
“Take your drink, fellow!” he
drawled. “You—need it!”
He spat deliberately upon Turk’s
boots and turned his back. Turk’®
arm jerked. He drew fast and Dud
turned back deliberately. Con
scowled.
Then, instead of the roar he wait
ed stiffly for, there was only a hol
low click! and another as Turk re
cocked the Colt. It was Dud’s pis
tol that bellowed as it snapped from
the holster and flipped up. Three
bullets, in all, Dud drove into the
other’s body. He leaned to knock
the Colt from Turk’s hand and slid
back, head on one side, watching.
Turk leaned heavily upon the bar,
left hand upon the bloody front of
his shirt. Then he crumpled and
began to sag to the floor. Dud
laughed shrilly.
“That’s what always happens to
folks that come a-hunting Dud Par
amore! Hey, Nicolas! Take care of
this beef. We have got some danc
ing to do, us Paramores!”
In another big house the dance
was going when the Paramores
came in. There were more women
than men and eight or nine heavily
powdered, overdressed girls looked
expectantly at the newcomers and
giggled.
Dud yelled shrilly. Big Yager and
Catfish and Kinky and Jeff joined
the wolfish chorus. They swept
down, Con trailing, upon the girls.
Automatically, Con selected one who
seemed a little younger, less per
fumed and powdered. He put out
his hands to her and she smiled
sidelong up at him. Then Gonzales
marled in hits ear and caught the
girl’s sleeve.
“Es mio! She is mine! You take
another—”
“You are his girl?” Con asked in
halting Spanish, holding her wrist.
“I am yours, if you want me—and
you can keep me!” she said.
Con whirled her deftly away from
Gonzales and out among the danc
ers. She pressed close against him
and looked wisely into his face.
Dance after dance Con kept her.
Then Gonzales disappeared. He sat
with her after the eighth or ninth
dance, beyond the little bar. Jeff
and his girl joined them for a drink
and cigarette. The two girls chat
tered—chiefly about Gonzales’ fury.
Then a shabby Mexican appeared at
Con’s side out of the crowd. Con
found his face vaguely familiar and
tried to place him.
“I am your friend,” the man whis
pered. “You gave back my money.
Now, I pay: Gonzales will kill you!
He is outside in the darkness. He
will kill you, he has said to men at
the door. So I slipped away to give
you this word.”
“I’ll fix him!” he grunted. “I’ll
give him all the trouble he can
pack!”
He shook his head at Jeff, who
was getting up from between the
two girls.
“gtav out of it,” he said grimly.
EARLY COUNTY NEWS, BLAKELY, GEORGIA
I -i
'L I
“He Is outside in the darkness; he will kill you.”
“This is my war.”
He went with Jeff trailing across
the end of the big room and to the
side door. Someone muttered out
there—a nervous sound. Then, from
the right, away from the lounging
group, there was the roar of a shot
and a blast of flame. A bullet
twitched Con’s hair like a finger.
Automatically he drew his Colt,
just as he had done a thousand times
in practice. As it came level, point
ing at the spot where that flame had
blossomed, he let down the hammer,
thumbed it back and loosed a sec
ond shot. Then he twisted inside
the room.
The music stopped. The dancers
cried out excitedly.
Then someone outside yelled that
Gonzales was dead.
Con watched them carry Gonzales
in. There was something about the
sagging figure that reminded him
of a dead rattler. A hand tugged at
his sleeve. He turned to face Jeff
—and take the tin cup Jeff held out.
He lifted it and gulped down the
drink, coughed and wiped his eyes.
“Thanks!” he gasped. “Well—
Well, I feel better!”
“You hit him both times,” Jeff
said admiringly.
Dud shrugged; shook his head.
“Nothing to stop our dancing!” he
cried, and Con could not tell, from
his high singsong, what he really
felt. “Let’s go!”
Amelia took his arm and looked
up at him with a kind of savage
adoration. He shook his head.
“No more for tonight, querida. I
will sit by the bar for a time. You
go with Jeff or another.”
She nodded and left him. He found
himself a place in a dusky corner
and watched almost without seeing
while the dance continued as if Gon
zales had not died. Then, about mid
night, a boy came yelling for Dud
and the music and stamping stopped
short.
“It is Nevil Lowe and a posse!”
the boy reported shrilly. “They come
quietly.”
Con followed Dud outside. The
intermittent moonlight presently
showed two men supporting a third,
helping him onto a horse. This,
Con learned by the talk, was the bat
tered Quill Hogan. Dud yelled for
the others.
“Come on, you nitwits! First thing
you know that shooting posse’ll be
making red dollrags out of you-all!”
Catfish Coyle reappeared and
mounted. But Big Yager and Kinky
Odom were missing.
“Hightail!” Dud commanded
shrilly. “Hear them horses? That’s
Nevil Lowe and his damn’ posse!
We can’t wait for ’em! They’ll just
get us all killed. Hightail!”
“Come on, Con!” Jeff urged him.
“We can’t buck that many!”
Con whirled Pancho with a furi
ous snarl, snatching at his car
bine. He hooked the sorrel into a
gallop and went racing to a house on
the edge of San Marcos. In the
pale moonlight he saw a dark mass
of horsemen, not fifty yards away.
“Get back!” he yelled at them,
sliding the Winchester out. “We’ve
got you surrounded! Back, you nit
wits! Back!”
As he began to shoot, holding low
at the horses’ legs, Jeff’s voice lift
ed in a bellow, picking up tire phrase
Con had used. The mass of riders
seemed fairly to blow apart as the
carbine rattled. But a horse went
down, and another. Scattered return
shots came from the sides of the
road.
“Come on,” Jeff called to him.
“Big and Kinky’s gone!”
He spun Pancho, and together
they thundered away, with other
horses pounding ahead of them. Out
of San Marcos they galloped, with
lead whining waspishly about them
but not too close. They overhauled
Big Yager and Kinky Odom; passed
them with an encouraging yell. But
a mile of alternate darkness and
moonlight had been covered before
Con saw Dud, QuiW Hogan, and Cat
fish skylined.
Jeff and Con overtook them. Dud
and Catfish seemed to have better
horses than any of the others—in
cluding Hogan. Or, Con thought,
perhaps the beaten man was not in
condition to get the most out of
his mount. He lagged farther be
hind and made some indistinct an
swer when Dud yelled at him to
keep up. The' four spurred away
from him, then became three when
Catfish’s horse slowed. As a trio,
they slackened pace to a walk in the
foothills of the Lobos and listened
and let the blown animals get
breath.
“Well, sir!” Dud drawled cheerful
ly. “Nevil Lowe, he will be a dis
appointed young sheriff, tonight.
Who was that shooting, after we
left town? Big and Kinky?”
“Like hell!” before
Con could speak. “That was Con,
stopping the posse.”
“Listen!” Con grunted suddenly.
“They’re not so far behind right
now. What do we do?”
“Why, I reckon the smart thing is
to set right here and see about
things,” Dud answered.
They sat minute after minute,
smoking, listening to the flat rattle
of shots until the sound died and
only the small night-noises of the
hills could be heard. Dud grunted
impatiently and moved his horse.
Con checked him with a word.
“Wait! Somebody’s coming. It
might be our bunch.”
“Just one horse,” Jeff announced.
It was Catfish and he was panting
as if he, not the horse, had been
running, when he came up to them.
Dud called a sharp question.
“Rubbed out! Whole bunch!” Cat
fish answered. “That damn’ Nevil
Lowe! Knocked Quill out of the hull
—right at my elbow. Swear I heard
four slugs hit Quill’s back. Then it
was Big. Me and Kinky kept ahead
—awhile. Lowe stopped again.
Opened up. Got Kinky through the
head.”
“We’ll make that son pay for it,
boy!” Dud assured him fiercely.
“Don’t you never think we won’t
make Nevil Lowe remember tonight.
Come on, now! No use crying about
it.”
They rode in silence by twisting
trails to the cabin. Nobody was in
talking mood when they reached the
place. They rolled into their blan
kets, but Catfish took his to the
point used as lookout. He said that
he was not sleepy; he would stand
guard.
They were up early, with the
grim events of the night very heavy
upon them all. Dud alone was cheer
ful—or pretended to be. He looked
at them and swore that they were
the sourest set of cowboys he had
ever put eyes upon. From some
hiding place he produced a jug of
whisky and uncorked it.
The liquor brought no lightening
of Con’s disgust with this company.
Instead, he thought of the misfor
tune which had put him here, as if
in a trap.
(To Be Continued)
ATTACK!
ATTACK!
ATTACK!
America’s attacking on both the fight
ing front and the home front today!
We’re giving the Axis a hitter taste
of what’s to come.
We’re fighting the inflationary 6th
column that blows prices sky high
here at home, too.
And every one of us who saves at
least 19% of his pay in War Bonds is
an important soldier in the attack!
Join the attack yourself!
TO CHECK A Ol
k IN 7DAYS
If It’s Something Good
to Eat ...
and if you are in doubt as to what you want
for your breakfast, dinner or supper, call us
up over the phone and let us offer you some
suggestions.
Fresh Meats—
We carry the best, and as to quality, price,
etc., we stand behind our guarantee—sat
isfaction.
Fresh Vegetables—
Tomatoes, Onions, Celery, Lettuce, Squash,
Beets, Carrots, Cabbage and Fruits.
♦♦♦♦♦♦
FRYER’S MARKET
BLAKELY, GEORGIA
HOMEWiif
FRONT
orwiCK FOR EMERGENCY MANAGEMENT *
THE RUBBER DRlVE—
(Southerners on the home front
know how to heed the trumpet’s call.
When President Roosevelt asked
the nation for a whirlwind rubber
salvage drive, they went to work.
From giant truck tires to the
baby’s mite—a rubber nipple—they
brought the precious stuff to filling
stations. In pounds, the Southern
rubber scrap pile totaled millions.
More surprising, of 5,000 tons
which the nation’s dealers stood
ready to ship early in the drive,
2,000 were from Southern towns.
Figure that out in terms of ’ pa
triotism, folks, and stick out your
chest. For every three pounds offer
ed by dealers in the North and West
and East, two pounds were offered
by Southern dealers.
FAT CAMPAIGN—
Insiders say there’ll be a new
campaign added to the drives for
scrap metal, rubber, rags and paper.
This will be a campaign to replace
the loss of fats and oils from the
Far East.
Japan has grabbed nine-tenths of
the world’s supply of rubber, and
essential oils come from these same
Nippon-conquered lands. Now WPB
hopes to make up for the shortage
by collecting a billion pounds of
cooking fats now thrown out of our
kitchens, with neighborhood stores
serving as centers for collection.
NEW OAKEN BUCKET—
A WPB order encourages the
manufacture of wooden pails and
Gala Independence Day
CELEBRATION ft
Moultrie, Go., Saturday, July 4th
a GOV. EUGENE TALMADGE
WILL OPEN 1942 CAMPAIGN
Save your gasoline, ride trains or buses,
or hitch up old Dobbin —but be there for
the thrill of your lifetime!
Program Begins At 12:00
DINNER ON THE GROUNDS *
EVERYTHING FREE !
Be At Moultrie On July 4th!
If you can’t come, tune in your radio
12:30 —1:45
Stations: WSB WMAZ WSAU WRBL WRBW WMGA
WGPC WAYX V/GOV WPAX WMOG WALB
Don’t Guess at the Weight of Your
SCRAP IRON—
ITS VALUABLE
We Weigh and Pay Highest Market Price.
We Buy and Sell Used Tires
J. W. ALLEN
NEAR DEPOT
tubs to save metal. Remember the
old oaken bucket?
Non-stop busses won’t whiz past
you when you try to flag them at
the cross roads after July 1. ODT
has ordered all “limited” bus sched
ules to operate on a local flag-stop
basis. It also asked the postpone
ment of state and county fairs for
the duration.
GOLD CROSSES—
Chalices and other religious arti
cles can’t be made of brass any
more. Chaplains in the army are
using gold-plated iron chalices.
If you want to send gift boxes
containing tooth paste or shaving
cream directly from a store to a
man in service, you don’t need to
turn in an empty tube any more.
Farm workers may follow the
harvest in the gasoline rationed
states, says OPA. They will be giv
en enough gas to travel from job to
job.
The Early County Library will be
open each day from 9 a. m. to 7 p.
m., except Thursday afternoon,
when a half-holiday will be observed.
NOTICE TO CREDITORS
A. H. Lanier has applied for ex
emption and the setting apart and
valuation of homestead, and I will
pass upon same at ten o’clock a. m.
on July 6th, 1942, at my office in
the court house at Blakely, Ga.
D. C. MORGAN, Ordinary.