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By EUGENE CUNNINGHAM ■
© EUGENE CUNNINGHAM W.N.U. RELEASE
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THE STORY SO FAR: Forced to run
•rom the law to save his life when he is
uwspected of being the notorious “Co
manche Linn,” Con Cameron is trying to
p.-ove his honesty. With his pal, Caramba
Vw, he is working for Topeka Tenison,
owu«r of the Broken Wheel ranch. Nevil
Lowe, marshal of the neighboring town
of Tivan, is after him but doesn’t yet
know that the “Twenty Johnson” of the
Broken Wheel is the man he suspects of
being Comanche Linn. Lowe’s sister,
Janet, is staying with the Tenisons. They
are deeply attached to her, having lost
their only child, a boy, when he was kid
naped many years before. On their way
out to the ranch after persuading Tenison
to give them the Job, Con and Caramba
met Monk Irby, one of the Megeath
crowd. Megeath and Dud Paramore,
leader of another band of outlaws, hate
both Nevil Lowe and the Broken Wheel
outfit. In the fight which followed their
meeting with Irby, Con knocked out Irby.
Then he and Caramba fought off more
of Megeath’s men to protect Janet Lowe.
Con finds the Graceys, a family of “nest
ers,” shot and suspects Monk Irby. To
peka sends him into town for a doctor,
with instructions to tell the constable,
Janton, and no one else, about his sus
picions. Janton doesn’t say much, but
clearly implies that he doesn't want to
have anything to do with it. He refuses
to arrest Irby or even to tell where he
is. Con decides to look for Irby himself
and is attacked by the Latlmers, who
are also enemies of the Broken Wheel.
Now continue with the story.
CHAPTER XVI
The boys got back to the house in
time for a late supper and after
ward, loafing in the bunkhouse,
Perch blew smoke from the side of
his battered mouth and squinted at
Con.
“None of my business, of course,”
he drawled, “but the doctor told To
peka some about you tangling with
the Latimers. From what he says,
they was both onto you at once, all
same hounds on a coon. Now, me,
I only bucked Latimer. Which was
just plenty! He’s hell’s handful, I
would say. But, did he slip like the
doctor thinks, or did you really lay
him out?”
Con looked at him suspiciously,
but there was nothing except friend
ly curiosity in Perch’s face.
“I laid him out—cold,” Con told
them evenly.
Tonelessly and briefly he told of
drawing against Latimer; of the
fight and its outcome. Perch and
the cook said nothing. Con took the
Colt from his holster and slipped it
into his waistband, as it had been
in Onopa. He demonstrated his draw
with his gunhand moving snaky-fast.
“Oh!” Perch said softly, nodding.
“Now, I can see it—and see some
thing else: I had been listening to
Gale and Topeka and when they fig
ured it out you had a kid’s luck with
Slash Oxwcld, I reckon I took it
that way. But, Gale and Topeka,
they never watched you slap leath
er, huh? No, I thought not. But if
you don’t want folks boogering, don’t
make a draw where they can see it.
You like that waistband hideout bet
ter’n a shoulder holster?”
“My old uncle had a yard of scar
across his chest and belly, from a
shoulder holster draw that slipped.
He sort of soured on ’em and I
reckon he scared me of ’em. So
I’ve always packed my gun some
where else.”
“He a Texas man?” the cook
asked. “Runs in my mind I seen
some fellow scarred all across his
front from a gun that slipped. Years
back, that was. I worked so many
places I disremember a lot. But—”
Caramba and Skeets and Johnny
Dutch came in with the horses from
Red Mesa near noon. They ate with
Con and Perch and afterward Con
drew Caramba aside to tell him that;
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he was staying as a sort o? guard.
Caramba shook his head.
“Didn’t you know that Gale Goree
cut back to meet us? He told us a
li’l’ bit about you tangling with some
hard case and What was the
straight of that?”
Con described the fight with Lati
mer in the cantina and Caramba
swore irritably.
“This is a damn’ whiskers outfit!
Goree and Topeka, they count you
nothing but a kid that was lucky
something happened to Slash Ox
weld and you downed him accidental.
But Goree would have took you on
this cow-work, account you’re a rop
er he can’t help admitting there ain’t
the like of on the place. He even
figured by the time roundup was
over you’d be the top hand on the
place—account of him showing you
how, of course. But Topeka just
looked at you and put you to wran
gling stovewood!”
Con stared grimly at him, with
face reddening: “He did, did he!
Well, I can still put a sizable spoke
in his Busted Wheel. I’m going to
roll my bed and hit Lit Taylor at
Los Alamos for a job.”
Caramba watched him over the
cigarette he was making.
“I wouldn’t, if I was you,” he ad
vised softly. “All this tom-foolery
of Topeka’s made me so hot I was
fit to tie. But I have been talking a
good deal to Skeets and Johnny
Dutch, Con. My notion is, from what
you told me about Paramore and
what I know about Megeath, leaving
that pretty Janet Lowe here, with
all the outfit gone, is just the same
as hammering the old tire and yell
ing to ’em to come and get it!”
“I don’t know,” Con said sulkily,
wishing that he had said less. “I—l
haven’t thought about it, yet.”
“Fine! Now that we got it all set
tled—you and Perch can help us a
li’l’ bit along the road.”
In mid-afternoon, Perch and Con
rode with Skeets and Caramba for a
few miles. Perch reined in before
dusk and sat comfortably with leg
around the saddle horn, to make a
cigarette and beam paternally upon
Skeets.
“Now, son,” he said genially,
“you-all will be safe. Just keep ’em
a-going the way you seen me do.
Some of them horses I seen come
along as colts and branded and rode.
Just follow ’em and remember
they’ll be doing what they think I’d
want ’em to be doing.”
“You take care of Old Folks,”
Skeets called as he whirled his
horse. “Be seeing you!”
“Be seeing you!” Caramba ech
oed, grinning at Con. “You take
care of yourself, boy!”
He spurred after Skeets and from
the edge of a ridge his high yell car
ried to Perch and Con: »
“Aiiih-aiiih-aaaaiiiah! Yeee-pah! ”
“Happy jigger,” Perch comment
ed, grinning. “Well, once I was a
young sprout like that, full of vine
gar; interesting to myself and other
folks. Most cowboys don’t get old—
don’t live long enough! But the ones
that do, they ought to look ahead
and figure on owning his own outfit,
yes, sir! No use and no sense of
ending up like me or old Step—”
“Who’s Step?” Con asked idly.
“Ain’t you seen him around the
place?, He keeps to hisself a lot.
Got him a li’l’ adobe alongside some
of the Mex’ help. Putters around.
He’s crippled in one leg account of
some horse rolling on him, one time.
‘Step’ mostly. Gafford’s his go-by.
I wouldn’t be surprised if old Step
one time rode morb high lines than
he rode range. But old as he is. I
wouldn’t sav it loud!”
EARLY COUNTY NEWS. BLAKELY, GEORGIA
< £ JO-V
He rode a little forward, lifting his hand.
They ate the steak and eggs and
fried-apple pies for supper and
played a few hands of mild stud
poker afterward. The next morn
ing the doctor went back to Onopa.
Con harnessed the doctor’s heavy
black horse to his buggy and asked
about Mrs. Gracey and the boy.
“The kid’s all right. Keep him in
bed for a day or two and he’ll be
pawing the air to get out. But his
mother—it’s a matter of her consti
tution. If she should happen to take
a turn for the worse, Mrs. Tenison
will send one of you in for me. I’ll
come as soon as I can.”
When the doctor’s buggy had dis
appeared, Perch suggested that Con
ride to White Rock Pasture for a
routine look at the horses there. Con
saddled the black he had ridden
once before. As he shoved his car
bine into the scabbard, Janet spoke
behind him.
“If you’ll catch me that sorrel,”
she said, “I’ll side you. I’ve just
got to get out of the house for a
while!”
The horses went nose-to-nose
across the yard and Con opened a
gate in the wire fence, let Janet
pass and closed it behind them.
Then they foxtrotted out over rolling
range with the hills far ahead of
them. Con looked stonily before him.
“What’s to be done about hunting
down Gracey’s murderer, do you
know?” Janet asked him suddenly.
“Unless word was sent to your
brother, and he does something—not
a thing!”
“From what that amazing little
boy said, you have an idea about
the murderers; who they are.”
“Monk Irby. Friend of Slash Ox
weld’s. But nothing will be done
from Onopa. Gracey and Constable
Janton were on the outs. He’s glad
that somebody did what he didn’t
have the nerve to do. He told me
so.”
“I never have thanked you for
what you did the other night,” she
told him abruptly, so that he twisted
his head to stare. “You know how
much I thank you for that other
time, at our house, for saving me
from Dud. That was the bravest
thing! Nevil said the same.”
“I never thought about it as being
brave. It just seemed like one of
those things that’ll cause a lot of
trouble, but—need to be done. That
must be one of the manadas ahead.”
The bay stallion and his harem
were crossing a flat below them.
He saw the riders and threw up his
head defiantly.
“Are those the cowboys from the
line camp?” she asked.
“Don’t think so,” Con replied,
staring at the tight little knot of men
coming over a rise toward the
mares. “I wish I had a pair of
glasses.”
He rode a little forward and lifted
his hand. They saw him, but came
on. One man got a carbine out. The
others made significant motions to
ward their belts.
“Get back over the ridge!” he
snapped at her. “I think I’ve got
the best of this. Get back! Fast!”
He was hardly conscious of the sor
rel’s thundering hoofs behind him.
The rifleman was bringing his sad
dle gun to bear and the other men
brandished pistols. Con squeezed
trigger and saw the bullet kick up
dust beyond the horses a hundred
yards away. Then he corrected his
aim and fired three fast shots at the
man with the rifle.
With the shots the other riders
fired quickly at him and ducked, to
dart to the side so that ten yards
separated each from his neighbor.
Their lead fell short. The rifleman
had not loosed his slug. He dropped
the carbine and swayed, holding his
body with both hands as if cold—or
suffering a stomach-ache. But he
stayed with the horse and it slowed
to a trot, then a walk. Con fired
grimly at the others in turn. But
they jerked on the reins and went
farther right and left.
The rifleman was now clinging to
his saddle horn. All fight seemed
gone from him. He got the horse
turned and spurred him to a run.
Then the horse of the man nearest
him came down with suddenness
that catapulted his rider straight
ahead. The cowboy seemed to twist
purposefully in air and struck the
ground on his feet. He ran Two long
paces forward before he stumbled.
Con was reloading as fast as his
fingers could jerk shells from his
belt and ram them into the loading
gate. He took three long shots at
the departing men and saw dust
jump from one jumper. Then the
three of them disappeared and he
looked at the man on the ground,
forty yards away. He was sitting,
now, shaking his head violently.
“Dear me!” Con said aloud.
“First they wanted to play, then
they wanted to go home. So they
picked up their marbles and went
away from here. Changeablest peo
ple, Blackie! Let’s go down and look
at this one ...”
The cowboy, a slender, dark
youngster, had a nose bleed. But his
head seemed to have cleared. Over
the sleeve he held to his nose his
narrow eyes regarded Con steadily.
“You damn’ fool!” he cried.
“What’s the idee, whanging away
at us? Can’t nobody ride across this
range of yours without you got to
shoot off that Winchester at ’em?”
Two yards from him, Con halted
the black horse and studied him.
“Chunk me that pretty, big pistol
you’re wearing,” he ordered. “I
just shoved some more persuaders
into this . . .”
Calmly, the cowboy took out his
pistol and tossed it from him. Con’s
face hardened.
“Thought it was easy picking, did
you, when the wagon rolled off? All
you had to do was stroll down and
pick out what you wanted, huh?
We’ve been waiting for you. If
more than four of you had come,
two of us would’ve been here.”
He looked briefly at the Colt on
the ground, then let his carbine
rest across the saddle while he
fished tobacco and papers from his
pocket.
“Do’ no’ what you’re driving at,”
the cowboy drawled. “Me and my
friends was heading for the Bug-on
a-Stick west of here. Cigarette?”
He caught the sack and papers
and rolled a cigarette while Con
watched him. Then he got up stiffly,
put his hand down in a natural mo
tion as for a match and—it van
ished behind him, to twitch back
with a Colt, apparently drawn from
the rear of his waistband.
Con had not picked up his car
bine. But he had not let the ham
mer down, either. Now, he pulled
trigger without raising it. He
missed, but the bullet went so near
to the cowboy that he flinched and
his own slug buzzed waspishly past
Con’s head. Then Con fired with
lifted carbine, flicked down the lev
' er and fired again. Both shots were
hits; both struck over the heart. The
hideout dropped from the cowboy’s
fingers. He turned completely
around and lifted one foot as if to
walk off. But it seemed no more
than reflex movement. He sagged,
rather than fell, to the grass.
(To Be Continued)
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ARB YOU
putting Ten hr Cent of
your Income into U.S.
War Bonds f, Stomps?
Our Phone No.
Is 180
Call us for the best in
Meats and Groceries.
We carry at all times a complete
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It is our purpose to keep what the
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The place where quality counts—
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SHERIFF’S TAX SALE
GEORGIA—EarIy County:
There will be sold by the under
signed on the First Tuesday in Sep
tember, 1942, at public outcry to the
highest bidder for cash, before the
courthouse door of Early County,
Georgia, in the City of Blakely,
within the legal hours of sale, the
east one-half of the southeast quar
ter of lot of land number 223 in the
26th Land District of Early County,
Georgia, containing 31 1-4 acres,
more or less.
Said real estate levied upon and
to be sold under a certain tax exe
cution issued against it in rem by J.
L. Houston, Tax Commissioner of
Early County, Georgia, on June Ist,
1942, for its unpaid State, County
and School taxes for the year 1935.
Said property not having been re
turned for taxation by anyone since
prior to January Ist, 1935, and its
owner being unknown, and it being
impossible to rent or hire such prop
erty for enough to bring the requi
site amount to pay such taxes. The
r Towers of Truth'
I
Chinese, Finnish, Tagalog, Dutch, Spanish—programs in more than a
dozen tongues go out from the towers of General Electric stations
WGEA and WGEO, Schenectady, and KGEI, San Francisco.
iWf
1. They provide authentic war in
formation for news-starved peoples
around the globe, entertainment for
U.S. forces abroad. TheseG-E short
wave stations ... _,
nt it z****^^***^jMMM’ ■
3. They provided the only U.S. pro
grams that reached Bataan. People
in conquered lands risk their lives to
listen. Smuggled letters say they
bring hope of release. ,
General Electric believes that its first duty as a
’■ good citizen is to be a good soldier.
General Electric Company, Schenectady, N. Y.
Mt-tr-m
JENERA! ®BLECt»IC
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BRING YOUR COWS AND HOGS TO US!
Our pens are located at
the old Early County |n|
Club yards near Bryant's
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Telephones: Office 256; Residence 186
Mosely Livestock Yards
W. L. Mosely, - Blakely, Ga.
undersigned also has in his hands six
additional tax executions issued
against said property by said Tax
Commissioner on June Ist, 1942, for
said property’s unpaid State, County
and School taxes for the years
1936, 1937, 1938, 1939, 1940 and
1941 respectively.
This June Ist, 1942.
C. E. MARTIN, Sheriff.
NOTICE TO DEBTORS AND
CREDITORS
GEORGIA—EarIy County:
All creditors of - the estate of
Vernon Lee Collins, late of Early
county, deceased, are hereby notified
to render in their demands to the
undersigned according to law, and all
persons indebted to said estate are
required to make immediate pay
ment. This August 17, 1942.
MRS. ANNETTA HIGHTOW-
ER COLLINS, as Adminis
tratrix of the Estate of Ver
non Lee Collins, deceased.
2. ... have special antennas
“pointed” at Australia, South
America, China, Europe—making
reception there almost as strong as
from local stations. r
ip
4. Some announcers are regular
G-E production employees, working
on war work. They tell people in
their native lands that America is
determined on victory.