The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1942-05-07
WN.U. RELEASE

buscadero Comanche Linn interfere
in buds plan? Two men down the
bar joined the talk; they thought
that it was jealousy on Comanche's
part.
While they talked and Con and Ca
ramba listened as two drifting cow
boys should have listened, heavy
shouldered young towhead with
SCARED face came in.
"Slash Oxweld," the bartender
nnuttered. plumb poison! Out Of
Fronteras. SlaSh's all swou' up,
right now, account some of them
tough Busted Wheelers is in town
and they amt paying him the at
tention other folks does" the bar
tender went on, watching Oxweld
from an eye-corner. Huh! That
outfit from old Topeka Tension on
down, they don't give boot about
nobody, much! They-Ah-ah! Comes
Gale Goree! He's wagon boss on
the Wheel. Texas man and-Watch
him! He sees Slash, but acts like
he don't!"
Con thought that the tall, wealth
cred man of middle age, coming into
the cantina, would have been one to
mark in any cow-country company.
There was nothing unusual about
his battered and dusty black Stet-
son, his old vest hanging buttonless,
his faded overalls and rusty boots
to attract attention. But there was
something about all of him togeth-
er that fairly shouted, Here is a
Mani"
When he came abreast Slash Ok
weld he stopped to turn his head
and stare as if he had never seen
him-or anything like HMM his
life. He shook his head and pushed
back his hat and rubbed his stub
bled chin.
'I swear" he said generally to
the room, in soft, draggy voice, "if
it amt bust loose in new place.
You could almost think it was the
Noon Whistle like they have got in
workshops back East. Only, some
things kind of fierce and boogery
about it, too. Why, I bet you I'd
be scared half to death-if he was to
have some more like him with him
"a hundred, maybe ;"
Slash Oxweld's heavy, sullen face
was set like a furious mask. The
long scar that gave him his nick
name showed tallow-white. But Gale
Goree seemed to be done with him.
He turned toward the bar, humming
softly.
Something wet and hot" he
called to the bartender. "That is, if
you-all made up new lot of that
Real Kentucky today"
"You! You" Slash Oxweld be-
gan in a stifled voice.
"Goree has certainly got the Sign
on him." Caramba muttered to Con.
''He wants to pull, but he's just
grabbing air :"
But Oxweld's hand was brushing
the butt of his low-swung Colt and
Goree spun at the bar, made a
long step and seemed to do no more
than lean to the towhead. His lanky
arm snapped out and his big hand
clamped on Oxweld's wrist. Then
he laughed.
"You trifiing son of dog!" he
drawled. ''You amt nothing =
around grown folks. Less than MOTH
ing! Why"
Oxweld was straining against that
grip, perspiration beading his face,
his eyes CLASSY. He hardly moved
Goree's arm. Then Goree dropped
his own free hand, twisted, to his
own pistol. Oxweld's gasp was plain
throughout that tense, quiet room.
The long Smith and Wesson came
out deity. Goree showed Oxweld
violently.
"It amt my tender heart" Goree
drawled. Account I amt specially
tender. Damn if know what it is
keeps me from killing you. Unless
it Just seems wrong to rub out some
thing your puny size with big
slug. But don't let that fool you!
Next time you see me coming, you
cross over to the other side of the
road-you heah me?"
Goree had his drink and went
hurnming toward the door. Two men
trailed him from the bar, with hard,
darling chances to left and right.
Con understood, then, that Goree
had not been so foolhardy; those
were Wheel cowboys and they were
ready for trouble. Apparently, ev.
cry other drinker understood, also!
ITO BE CONTINUED)