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FAMOUS

FUN HIES

Tttblicjtion

"BACKFIRE"

FORT COPPERHEAD, deep in the wilderness
of the Ouachita Mountains, was one of the few
Government settlements in that part of the
Louisiana Territory which is now Oklahoma.

It was actually a stockade, and not a fort, manned
by a detachment of twenty-five soldiers and some
fifty or sixty civilians. It possessed not one cannon
to its name, and how this small group of men,
armed only with flint-lock rifles and muskets, had
managed to repulse the Indian raids for so long a
time was a shining testimonial to the courage and
tenacity of these early American frontiersmen.

Lieutenant Foxhart dropped the spy glass to his
side and shook his head sadly. He said to the soldier
on lookout duty, "If Colonel Watson doesn't arrive
soon with the reinforcements and supplies, I'm
afraid we're done for. We don't have enough
powder and shot to withstand another raid."

"Maybe them devils have called it quits, sir. We
ain't seed hide nor hair of 'em fer days now."

Bill Armstrong, hunter and Indian fighter,
climbed up on the lookout platform. "How's she
look, Lieutenant?"

"Too good to be true. But I won't breathe easy
until the Colonel arrives."

Bill nodded as he scanned the distant hills, a
calloused palm shading his eyes. "Ain't like them
Apalachis to stay quiet this long," he observed.

"Yes," said the Lieutenant, starting down the
ladder, "I'm afraid they're up to something."

Had Lieutenant Foxhart actually known what
Chief Thunder Head and his Apalachi braves were
up to at that moment, he undoubtedly would have
decided to abandon the stockade altogether, for the
Indians had made a remarkable discovery in one of
the mountain ravines. They had stumbled upon an
old Spanish gun emplacement in which stood the
most tremendous cannon that any one of them had
ever seen before.

It was an eighteen-pounder siege gun, probably
abandoned by Mexicans some twenty or thirty years
before, but it was cast of solid bronze, not iron, and
time and the elements had affected it not at all. Only
the wheels showed signs of corrosion, but when the
rust was scraped from the axel hubs, the wheels
turned, and did not break under the weight of the
gun. It measured twelve feet in length, two feet in
diameter at the breech and a foot at the muzzle.
Stacked up in pyramids around the metal monster
were a number of eighteen-pound cannon balls red
with rust, and huge piles of grape shot, and kegs
of powder.

Chief Thunder Head ran his fingers over the
bronze. "The Great Spirit has indeed rewarded us,"
he said, a suggestion of a smile on his hawk-like,
copper-colored face. "With this we can splinter the
white man's stockade as lightning splinters a tree."

Twenty of their strongest mustangs were har-
nessed to the gun, and then the great job of trans-
porting the three ton monster up the mountainside
began. The horses pulled, the Indians pushed, but
it was a tedious, exhausting job, for there was no
road, and a path had to be cut as they ascended.
Only the ruthless determination of their chief kept
the Indians from abandoning the thing, and many
days later, they reached a plateau overlooking the
stockade, and aimed the gigantic gun. . . .

In the stockade, a soldier called down from the
lookout tower, "Lieutenant Foxhart, Indians on the
ridge !"

The Lieutenant came quickly up the ladder. He
took the spy glass and surveyed the scene. "I see
them. What is that they've got up there?"

"Can't make it out, sir. I saw them move some-
thing into the brush. Looked like it had wheels on
it. A wagon, maybe." He removed the brass horn
hanging from the post. "Should I sound the alarm,
sir?"

"No, not yet. Wait until they start down. There's
only one man outside the stockade anyway, Bill
Armstrong, and it would take more than an Indian
to catch him unaware."

Meanwhile on the mountain plateau, Chief
Thunder Head found himself with another obstacle
to surmount now that he and his braves had finally
succeeded in bringing up the cannon, and that was
how to fire the thing.

They had had little experience with firearms and
would have had difficulty shooting a musket let alone
a siege gun. After a lengthy conference, which in-
cluded a war dance around the cannon, it was de-
cided that the only answer was to capture a white
man to show them how to operate the weapon.

Six braves were detailed for the mission. They
crawled stealthily down the hillside, through the
concealment of the trees and thick brush.

Bill Armstrong was fishing by the stream. He
contemplated the string of trout he had caught, and
thought happily of how delicious they would taste
when Martha, daughter of a stockade trader and his
bride of a week, would fry them for him. The
smile on his face turned into a frown as he reflected
on how precarious their position was, and he won-

BUSTER CKABBE No. 5 July 1952 Published bi-monthly by Famous Funnies Publications, 500 Fifrh Ave,, New York 18,
N. Y. Copyright 1952, by " Busier Lrabbe Enterprises, Inc." Yearly subscriprion. United Stares, 60{, plus 15« (or mailing, total 7$$.
Single copy: 10^ in United States. Editorial and circulation offices, 500 Fifth Ave, New York 18, N. Y. Advertising representatives,
Gilman. Nicoll Jv -Ruchn-.in. 19 Wet -t-ith St., New York IS. N. Y. Branches— Bosron, Philadelphia. Chicago, Detroit, San Francisco.
General Office: 2J Commercial Street, P.O. Box #1630. Watc-rbury 20, Conn., U.S.A. William J, Pape, President; James H. Darcey,
Treasurer Printed by The Eastern Color Printing Co., Watc-rbury 20, Conn, Covers printed and migazines bound by The Curtiss Way
Corp.. Meriden, Conn. PRINTED IN U.S.A.
Tha incidental characters in rliis magazine are fictitious. If the name of any living person or institution is used, it is a coincidence.

BUSTER CRABBE AND HIS SIDEKICK
WHISKERS, PROSPECTING TOR URANIUM
|J IN THE REMOTE, ALMOST INACCESSIBLE
RIDGES OF THE ROCKy MOUNTAINS. FIND
MORE THAN THEY BARGAINED FOR WHEN
THEY FALL INTO THE CLUTCHES OF
EXPLORERS FROM SPACE . BUT A
WOMAN IS STILL A WOMAN... EVEN
THOUGH SHE MAY BE A/VM/P OF MARS!

Several hours later, Buster and Whiskers
regain consciousness...

f WE DID NOT INTEND TO CAPTURE
V_^W°Zf ST THIS TIME.

/ YOU MEAN YOU INTENDED
[ TO CAPTURE PEOPLE SOME
V. OTHER TIME ? IS THIS
f INTEREST IN US OF PURELY
V SCIENTIFIC NATURE?

AND THANKS FOR MAKING
IT SO EASY FOR US BY_
jNOT BEING ARMED.
. SO OUR PRISONERS ^"~IT WON'T BE
|HAVE CONQUERED S SO FUNNY IF YOU '
MARS... IT'S ALMOST J TRY ANY TRICKS .'
UNNYf ./I'" HOLDING THESE

MEN UNTIL MY TERMS
ARE METfSO GET
BUSY f

WE HAVE NO NEED FOR}
WEAPONS- EXCEPT IN -
OUR SPACE SHIPS. OR
DIDN'T, UNTIL YOU 1

ARRIVED. .

k^fet j

)

wm

IH THE MOUTH

Wt^M/ op r&MCSMK

The barking guns of the
vigilantes sounded like
an ominous warning to
the terrorized town,
again and again a corpse
would be found swinging
from a tree as a reminder
of their power. but when
buster crabbe, the shoot-
ing buckaroo of the west
came riding across their
path, he found himself
face to face with anew
kind of menace-- a
menace that began
with the ouestion-

"WHO KILLED BUSTER
CRABBE?"

HOLD UP, WHISKERS. SEEMS
LIKE THOSE FOLKS JUST GOT
THROUGH PUTTING SOMEBODY
IN BOOT HILL. LET'S SEE
WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT.

Rambling along the prairie,
Buster Crabbe and his side-
kick, Whiskers.come to the
town of Drago...

SURE THEY KEPT IT ^1
HERE. BY STRINSINO UP*
ANYBOOY THEY DIDN'T ;
LIKE WITHOUT A TRIAL/

P^ I'D BUTTON MY 1

1 LIP IPX WERE YOU,
\ JASON. IP BENSON
\HEARS YOU...f/

IrV TOT

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IT'S TRUE, ISN'T IT J DIDN'T THEY,,

STRINB UP MY OLD FRIEND, JACK,

DAVIS * DID THEY 9IVE HIM A

TRIAL? YOU AND I KNOW JACK j

WAS INNOCENT. BUT BENSON

OWNS HIS SPREAD NOW.

THAT BLOWHARO YM THEY'RE ALL OF

W WHATB ^

RUBBED ME THE ^tfj THAT, ALL

RIGHT...

F BEEN

WRONG WAY. SO ^f AND MORE

BUT j

3 GOING ON

THEY CALL THEM- \ YOU COULD

HAVE"^

j\ HERE?/

SELVES VIGILANTES. ) BEEN IN A HEAP

J%ilf^'-j

FAUGH... LOOK MORE S. OF TROUBLE STAND-

LIKE BUSHWHACKERS) ING UP TO BENSON

^TO ME >/ THAT WAY.

.HE DON'T 1 1/ JPB

" ?\ V X "\LIKE INTERFERANCE,/ fj

jA ^FffiM '^** m — -^\

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'Mii J9RBT .££&■■»... ^^BVkfl

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BENSON AND HIS CROWD HAVE
BEEN RIDING ROUGHSHOD OVER

THIS TERRITORY. NOW THEY'RE
LOOKING FOR SOMEBODY TO PIN

THE MURDER OF BUSTER
CRABBE ON.

THAT S A LAUGH. SINCE THE SHERIFF
WAS PLUGGED... BENSON IS THE LAW HERE]

NOW. MAYBE YOU BOYS BETTER KEEP
RIDING. IT WON'T BE HEALTHY FOR
STRANGERS AROUND HERE

ooor/

V I SAIO V

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/ BECAUSE I X
HAPPEN TO BE )

BUSTER CBABBE.' <

A NO I FEEL PRETTyY

1. MUCH ALIVE/ J

rou* J

IF

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Quickly taking out his identification pa pers.
Buster shows it to the viailantes... I he's

THEN HE. ..HE'S T / NOBODY \ A FAKE,
REALLr BUSTER I ( ELSE BUT, ) BENSON?
CRABBE. J V PARDNER

BUT IM GOING TO BE READY FOR
THOSE CRITTERS WHEN THEY 00

SHOW UP. IN THE MEANTIME, I
WANT YOU TO ROUND UP EVERY

HONEST RANCHER IN THESE PARTS
AND TELL THEM TO GET HERE
RIGHT OUICK PACKING THEIR
HARDWARE. THIS IS THE
SHOWDOWN .

The following day, after Benson and his
gang have been locked up... I S qrry ( men

NOW START TALKING. ~
YOU AND YOUR MEN KILLED
DAVIS AND THE SHERIFF,
DIDN'T YOU ? YOU ALSO'*
PLUGGED THAT HOMBRE J
YOU BURIED FOR ^MB
>wRIJSTER CRABBE-i^M

^M YES.-.YES...!^
■■ DON'T HIT ME 1
flL ANYMORE ! JM

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w'Am^.ISS

/tKlIEmf

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mm9^<

BUT I GOT A LOT OF
TERRITORY TO COVER.^
BUT WHOMEVER YOU~
ELECT, YOU CAN TELL

HIM THAT HE CAN .
CALL ON ME ANY-
TIME. ADIOS '. A

ONE MORE REMARK LIKE "^
THAT, YUH LOW-DOWN

POLECAT, AN' I'LL SHOOT
OFF YORE

GOODY '. THEN X WON't)
BE ABLE TO HEAR YUH
SHOOT OFF YOREI

I BEEN MADE AN HONORARY T SOf YOU'VE
INJUN. SO I GOTTA CHASE I JOINED FORCES

YOU PALE-FACE POLECATS J WITH THE EAIEMKi
OFFA MY LANDS. )_ -f-^TunT'c TREASON,
YOU TRAITOR? I'LL
HAVE YOU SHOT KTDAWN.K

TUP... THEM WUZ TH'
WHEN A FEARLESS-
FISTED, BRAVE <__

HEARTED MAN LIKE\

MYSELF COULD 1

REALLY ENJOY J

s LIFE... ^^/

DAYS. \

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WHAH...HAH...HAH/ SIT
A LOAD OF TH' BIS. BRAVE \

INJUN FIGHTER? HAH...
HAH. HAH/ 1

TVB SEEN A PeSEBTRATINTHiS
ARE/,- -TURN RiQHt POKTH0T7V
opp yew?,- -turn LEPtr-.THir

HoMBRE. F6RPI6, START6P H>f WA5
~ ASA HIGHWAY $N<SIN£EfZ

THE NE/r RIPGE,--TW£NT/OPG>
YEARS *«©, FERPiS FECMK plVERTEP

.Ttt^S?"* 56 op "W E Hee-haw river.

-■ I>l^6Rr6P it IN SUCH A way THAT //TOJB T& HOMERlT p»6P('tf»W r

U&JS^&^itf A ^!k OR CUWWA' 'MSN,

^PO^NE ENTRANCE "TO m C*v£7/W-

SLIGHT PUCKINS/^^, IP ^ZLZJl

UCT, FERWB -

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i'll gjet Xsu

, FORTWS'lFn

(TAKES A /aoa

yeARy/

IT

'■sx/make\

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impatient",

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YUH GOIN' TO LET "W" THAT'S HIS LOOK
BRAHMA SO? TOUOH J OUT? WE COT A JOB
AS HE IS, HE AIN'tV TO DO, AND WE'LL DO
NO MATCH FOR ^B^B£TT£/f WITHOUT HIM
CRABBE '. Jisj Ik^Ma^. AROUND TO

NAG ANO
1 f^llll ' |^ GRIPE?

WHEWf SOT HER
STOPPED JUST IN
TIME? NOTHING
TO DO NOW, 8'

f ALL RIGHT <

WE KNOW WHEN

WE'RE LICKED...

BUT YOU'LL NEVER

GET AWAY WITH

THIS '

dered when, if ever, Colonel Watson and his troop:;
would arrive. . . .

Then three things happened all at once. He had
a bite, he heard a warning blast of the bugle and
he saw the Indians in the brush. He dropped the
fishing pole, grabbed his rifle and dropped behind
the bank of the stream. He fired. The five remain-
ing Indians didn't wait for him to reload, but rushed
out of the foliage and were upon him before he
could re nove the ram rod from his rifle. He cast
the flint lock into the stream and met their attack
with the blade of his hunting knife. He slashed at
them with all the strength and fury of a wild man,
and disposed of two more before he was disarmed
and overpowered.

Lieutenant Foxhart threw all caution to the winds
and sent a dozen soldiers out to help him, but the
three Indians disappeared into the thick brush of the
hillside with their captive before they could reach
the scene. Fearing an ambush, they turned back.

BUI strained at his rawhide bonds, and kicked,
butted and bit at them as they dragged him up the
hill. "Why don't ya scalp me now, an' git it done
with, ya ycllowdivcred, murderin' red varmints!" he
shouted at them, and then, when they didn't answer,
repeated the same question in their language.

"No scalp," answered one Indian.

"Want to torture me a bit first, eh?"

They reached the plateau, and the Chief, who had
donned his caglc-feather headdress for the occasion,
greeted him wf*h nn outstretched hand. "How," he
said. Then to

"Say, what i.
removed.

Chief Thum
'"Look," he sai

Bill looked,
Jackrabbits!" 1
dig that up?"

The Indian
said, "Me. CI
face, to fire bi^

"Oh, so thai
Chief Blunder

The Chief;
polished bits ■
burned alive a

Bill glanced
of Apalachif,

possible He ,„„.* ^ li.c pig Dronze gun ana at

the cannon balls strewn over the ground and the
kegs of powder. "All right," he decided. "Me do."

"Good." Chief Thunder Head nodded with ap-
proval, then frowned and warned, "If Pale Face
try trick, he die. We watch you."

Bill wet his lips and stepped to the rear of the
gun. He turned the latch on the breech and pulled
it open. The inside of the bore was caked with the
dust of decades, but aside from that, nothing was
wrong. The touch hole was clogged, but a few jabs
with a twig would clear that. If the stockade owned
this cannon, he reflected, all the savages in the coun-

ty wouldn't dare. come within miles of the place.
It was a magnificent weapon.

He picked up one of the eighteen-pound cannon
balls. The rust peeled off in his hands. "Too much
of the shot has rusted away," he told the Indian
Chief. "Wo' 11 have to wrap them in something to
make 'em fit the bore."

Chief Thunder Head nodded, and had blankets
brought over. Bill rolled one of the cannon balls
inside the blanket, then thrust the bulky sphere into
the breech. He used a tree-limb to force the ball as
far as it would go towards the muzzle of the gun.
He smiled to himself. The gun would explode in
a million peices before that oversized cannon ball
would leave the muzzle!

It would mean his life, of course, but the Indians
would never use this gun against the stockade.

He emptied half a keg of powder into the breech
and poured a handful through the touch hole. The
Indians moved cautiously to the rear of the siege
gun, and suddenly Bill was inspired with an idea.
He pushed the gunpowder farther into the bore,
then reached down for another cannon ball.

"Wait!" interrupted Chief Thunder Head sus-
piciously. "Why two?"

"Two will do more damage than one," explained
Bill, and this simple logic seemed to satisfy the
Indian. He rolled the ball into the breech, then
threw several handfuls of grape shot in after it.
Then he closed the breech door, but left it unlatched.

Damaged

Area

Cut out of back

cover

What had happened was simple. The first cannon
ball, enlarged by the blanket, had plugged up the
barrel, so the explosive charge behind it had pro-
jected the second cannon ball out the rear of the
gun, an unorthodox way to shoot a cannon perhaps,
but effective when the enemy is in the rear.

Bill laughed, and started down the hill. The In-
dian menace was gone, and the great gun was intact
and undamaged. It didn't matter now if Colonel
Watson and his troops never arrived.

He stopped at the stream to retrieve his 'rifle and
his string of trout before making his unexpected
entry into the stockade.

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OF THE BUSTER CRABBE
WESTEBN CLUB

GREAT WESTERN
TELEVISION STAR

and. (hjdtoqJvaph&d, (phoh>

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coin and you will re-
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photo and an Official
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of the WESTERN
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ENCLOSED IS 25c IN COIN.

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