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i Red Range
I By EUGENE CUNNINGHAM I
| EUGENE CUNNINGHAM W.N.LZ RELEASE
THE STORY SO FAR: Forced to run
from the law to save his life, Con Cam
eron is anxious to prove his honesty.
Arrested as a murder and robbery sus
pect because of his association with
the notorious Ranters, he was in danger
of being hanged as “Comanche Linn,” in
■plte of the fact that he had recently
saved the life of the marshal, Nevi!
Lowe. He escaped from jail with Jeff
Allmon and joined Dud Paramere’s gang,
but broke with Paramore when Dud at
tempted to kidnap Lowe’s sister, Janet.
He saved Janet and later foiled Dud’s
attempt to rob the bank at Tivan. When
he found Jeff shot by Dud, he left a note
telling the story. Still a. fugitive, he has
been joined by his pal, Caramba Vear,
who has persuaded him to stay in the
neighborhood. They have been offered a
job as detectives by a rancher named
Wiley who is a member of an associa
tion organized to break up a band of cat
tle rustlers. Nevil Lowe is also a mem
ber of the association. They are to work
for Topeka Tenison of the Broken Wheel
ranch, one of the biggest and most pow
erful outfits, and meanwhile keep their
eyes and ears open. Now they are on
their way to ask Tenison for a Job.
Now continue with the story.
CHAPTER XII
A wide veranda shaded the front;
of the rooming house. Topeka Teni
son sat with the stillness of a gray
hawk halfway along it. Con slowed
his pace a trifle, so that Caramba
preceded him.
"Mr. Tenison?” Caramba askedj
respectfully. ‘‘My name’s Vear and'
this is Twenty Johnson. We make
out to be hands and if you got jobs
we’d like to have ’em.”
Tenison drew a foot up into the
seat of the barrel chair and locked,
his arms around his knee. i
"Any warrants close behind you?”i
he inquired drawlingly. He had a
low voice: very even. "Gets tire
some, having the sheriff jerk my
busters right out of the saddle.” i
"Nary warrant any place! We;
drifted into the Territory to kind of
limber up our g’ography. Rode a'
spell for the 20 Bar on the Pecos.
Twenty, he took on with Los Ala
mos long enough to bust a few for
Taylor. I was too rich to work—
then.” .
Con had sat down upon the edge
of the veranda so that only his side
face was presented to Tenison. Head
down, he began to roll a cigarette.
When footsteps sounded inside the
house, he did not look up.
“Uncle Peek!” Janet Lowe called
from the door. "Did you hear about
that man Oxweld being killed? The
Fronteras killer?”
Con stared incredulously at tobac
co and paper and drew a long, slow
breath. Then he went on making
the cigarette, but shifted position a
little so that he could turn his back
upon the girl. ,
"Yeh. I heard about it. Slash
never was the wolf he let on to be.
Gale Goree told me, that Slash was
swelling around yesterday and he
kind of stuck a pin in Slash’s blister.
Gale didn’t take Slash serious, so he
never killed him. But a couple fool
cowboys misread him and one killed
him. Good riddance! How you fixed
with the store? Got everything?”
“I— l think so,” she said. But
there was a tone which turned Con
carefully about, to meet her wide
eyed stare. "Oh, yes! I think I
have just about the list.”
“So you don’t think Slash was a
real wolf, huh?” a grim voice de
manded. “And you think Gale Go
ree is?”
It was the tall, slim "Gloomy”
Megeath, as neat as when Con had
seen him at the bar in Fronteras.
It was plain that Tenison knew Me-
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geath. He did not alter position, nor
did his expression change. But there
was a tension about him that Con
could see.
"Yeh—to both,” he said flatly.
“Anyway, Slash is dead.”
“Slash was plenty fast! Danger
ous as a rattler!” Megeath said to
Con. "So, when I heard about you
killing him, I come to take a look
at you. I wondered if you was fast
er, or just luckier. There’ll be some
that want to know. Slash left
friends!”
Tenison’s eyes shifted quickly to
Con. From the girl came a gasping
sound. '
Deliberately, Con got to his feet
and stepped up on the veranda. Me
geath watched him, then turned to
look directly at Janet Lowe.
"Why, I do believe it’s the sheriff’s
sister!” he cried. "First chance I
ever had, young lady, to take a real
mira at you. But if I had guessed
what a pretty—”
“That’ll do!” Tenison cut in.
“Whoever and whatever this young
lady is, it’s not a thing in the world
to you. Now, or any other time.
You hear me? You better remem
ber it!”
Megeath’s thin mouth stretched.
He nodded slightly.
“Now, ain’t that just too bad!” he
whispered—then laughed. “Well, I’ll
be seeing you-all. Specially, you,
Johnson.” /
He turned away and seemed to
forget them. At the edge of the
veranda he looked up and down,
then stepped off and loafed toward
the center of Onopa.
"That’s a plumb bad actor!” Ten
ison admitted. "Goes by Gloomy
Megeath. I do’no’ as I would put
much past Megeath. But you won’t
likely see him again, honey. Don’t
you worry.”
Then he turned to Con and Ca
ramba.
“You boys might as well start on
out. Yonder’s the road. Just keep
to it for ten mile, then you’ll hit a
right-hand trail with a pile of rocks
to make the sign. Take that trail
and go straight on toward the hills.”
“You don’t think you might have
trouble with Megeath?” Caramba
asked hesitantly. "Os course, me
and Twenty don’t weigh awful
heavy, but we might kind of back
you up—”
“When I need help>— or advice—
I’ll ask for it!” Tenison snapped.
“All right! All right! But I hope
you don’t live to see the day you
need it and don’t have time to come
asking!”
They got their horses from the liv
ery corral, had a final drink at a lit
tle cantina where Mexican proprie
tor and Mexican customers watched
so steadily that Con knew he was
recognized. When they rode past the
rooming house, Tenison and Janet
were not on the veranda. But, some
how, Con felt more cheetful than
before. He stared ahead blankly
and whistled Buffalo Gals.
"She is pretty!” Caramba said
thoughtfully. “Say! I thought you
said she keeps house for her broth
er. How-come she’s down here?”
“I don’t know. Surprised me to
see her step out there and call Teni
son ‘Uncle Peek’ and talk about buy
ing for him at the store. Well, Mrs.
Tenison may be a friend of hers. Or
she may be a niece. Probably she
came visiting—l—wonder! Maybe
Nevil’s not so easy in mind about
her being on the NL while he sher
iffs around. After Dud’s crack at
the place probably he wouldn’t.”
They turned at the heap of boul
ders and rode along the ranch road.
Ahead, the hills rose, low and
EARLY COUNTY NEWS, RLAKELY, GEORGIA
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Irby came down loosely, like a dropped jumping jack.
smoky. The sunlight of late after
noon was pale upon flat and height.
Caramba shifted in the saddle to
look all around him.
“Ought to be ten-twelve miles to
the house. Be dark by the time we
iiit there—good and dark. Say! how
come the girl never let on she knew
you?”
“Because I was with you. You
wouldn’t expect a nice girl to speak
io anybody siding a -wild-eyed Texi
ran of your build. When she gets
tne off to myself, she’ll read me a
lermon about associating with bad
tompanions.”
He swung off on the little hilltop
ind stretched himself. Caramba dis
mounted and reached into his al
lorja for the quart brought from On
>pa. He sprawled comfortably to
nake a cigarette and smoke. Con
lat beside him and played mumble
peg wjth his heavy knife.
"You know, I told you about that
rang at Fronteras,” he said pres
ently. “Well, this Gloomy Megeath
was drinking at the bar witltin a
fard of me. I don’t think he recog
aized me today and made out that
ie didn’t. But I made enough noise
around Fronteras for him to notice
ne and remember me.”
“Does look funny. Looky!”
But Con had already seen the rid
er topping over a ridge a quarter
mile or so away, coming toward
:hem. Caramba stared calculatingly
at the man and shook his head.
The rider came on toward the
aill and when he was within fifty
yards they saw that he rode with
nand on his pistol. He pulled in, a
thick, dark man with wide, flat face,
to look sullenly and arrogantly at
them.
“Wheelers?” he grunted. "Hell!
don’t gawp so. I ain’t aiming to
eat you—maybe.”
"That’ll please your teeth,” Ca
ramba said dryly. “Yeh. We’re
Wheelers. So that makes it polite
for us, being on Wheel range, to
ask where you’re from. Even, which
way you’re heading . . .”
“I’m Monk Irby! Reckon you
heard that name. And I’m from
Helligo Canyon. And I’m heading
for Onopa to kill me a couple pups!”
"Well, I’ve heard of Onopa, any
way,” Con drawled solemnly.
Irby’s smoky eyes shuttled suspi
ciously from one to the other. Out
at a pocket of his old coat he drew
a flat flask, held it up to the low
sun, uncorked it and drank gulping
ly until the half-pint of liquor had
disappeared. Then he tossed the
empty flask away and got heavily
out of the saddle.
“Gi’ me a cigarette,” he ordered
them generally. “I run out of to
bacco awhile ago.” ,
“Le’ me!” Caramba begged Con
plaintively. “You know I’m tender
er in the gizzard than you are.”
He held out tobacco and papers
and when he had smoked for a mo
ment, Irby seemed not so belliger
ent.
“I got a couple pups to kill,” he
said raspingly. “You fellows been
in town today? Slash Oxweld was
murdered plumb murdered! —by
two tramp cowboys. If you was in
town—talk up!”
“Goodness me! We got nothing to
hide!” Caramba cried. “We
watched the whole business and
w-e’re willing to talk. Not because
you say to, sabe? You want to watch
that habit of yours, Mis-ter Irby, be
ing so crowdsome and handing out
powders so gay! But it did happen
that we saw our wagon boss, Gale
Goree, push Slash around allasame
liT boy steering a pig with a
switch.”
He shook his head in the way of
one meditating.
“I bet you that made Slash mad
at Goree. Goree wanted him to pull
his big pistol, you see. But Slash
set out to fool him: he wouldn’t do
it!”
“So” Con picked up the tale
drawlingly—“ Slash had to try some
thing to blow up his balloon again.
As soon as he was certain that Go
ree and the other Wheelers had got
a long way out of Onopa, he hunted
a safe man to kill—any old way. He
picked the youngest, tenderest cow
boy he could find. He thought it
whs a good pick, a safe pick. But|
it turned out that it was a sharp
pick. Another false alarm was with:
Slash and he got out with his hide—
but that hide had a hole in it.”
His hand twitched smoothly and
Irby stiffened before the cocked pis
tol.
“I wouldn’t try slapping leather,
Irby!” Con said evenly. “Reach up
and take hold of your big, ugly
ears!” Con lifted his Colt and aimed
at Irby’s belt.
Irby’s hands went up as if jerked
by a string. He blinked incredu
lously, swallowed, began to stam
mer thickly. Caramba went hum
ming to jerk the gun from Irby’s
holster. There was a shorter pistol
in a shoulder holster under the pris
oner’s coat, a long bowie knife
sheathed between his shoulder
blades, a derringer in the watch
pocket of his pants. Con watched
the disarming with brooding calm.
Then he handed Caramba his pistol
and went three steps to stand be
fore Irby.
“The more I look at you,” he said
between his teeth, "the more I don’t
like a thing about you! So—”
His hand shot out to rake down
Irby’s face from forehead to chin.
Irby swore furiously and struck at
him. Con swayed to the side and
twisted. He drove his left to Irby’s
belly and jerked the taller man
down, hooked right and left slashing
ly to Irby’s neck under the ears,
then stepped back. Irby slipped to
his knees, but scrambled up and
came in a clumsy rush at him.
Irby was staggering, mouth open,
too winded even to curse. As coldly
as an executioner, Con moved to the
precise position he wanted, then
smashed him exactly on the box
er’s “button.” Irby came down
loosely, like a dropped jumping jack.
Con turned to find Caramba staring
at him with an odd, narrow-eyed in
tentness.
“Por dios!” the red-headed punch
er said explosively. “I do "believe
Topeka Tenison stumbled onto some
body ex-act-ly the kind they been
saying the Busted Wheelers run to!
You never looked so—so damn’
deadly, Con, even when you bucked
Slash Oxweld!”
“They get under my skin!” Con
snarled furiously. “Dud Paramore!
Gloomy Megeath! Slash Oxweld!
This! And the like of that thieving
outfit at Wild Horse—Nobby, for
one! They swagger it and you’d
think nobody around amounted to a
hoot but their kind. And most of
’em are cowards of one kind or an
other, if they’re pushed. Buzz Up
perman, or Nevil Lowe, or a lot of
other men who don’t blow and strut
—plenty of plain cowboys—have got
more guts than a pastureful of these
two-by-four thieves—Now, I reckon
we might’s well pull out for the
house. We’ll be late—No! Let’s give
people a chance to see him the
right way. Here!”
(To Be Continued)
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Events on military fronts indicate
the grim lengthy task ahead for
the home front. American casualties
already amount to 44,143 killed,
wounded or missing. Victory will
cost more lives and call for much
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Every bit of material *we can
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The Berlin radio recently told
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