• ‘ JfJSS

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M TAKING A CHANCE
STREET, BUT IT'S
LONG TOM IS

BUSINESS WIT!
THE MAVERICK
r BEFORE.'

''here/ TAKE

v OF CREDIT ■
/ POST AND C

C JUST THIS/ IVE GOT TO LAV J

'LOW UNTIL THINGS COOL OFF
-\A BIT/ IF YOU GRUBSTAKE ME
/ AND MY BOYS, WE'LL TRAP "
BEAVERS FOR YOU WHILE WE'R
\HIDING OUT/ HOW ABOUT IT?

ySOUNDS ,
\MIGHTY FINE/
] WHAT'S THE ;
'PROPOSITION/

LIKE ALL THE
BEAVER PELTS
YOU CAN USE-

AT HALF

\$L P * ,C£ lt

'WITH BEAVER PELTS GETTING
. SCARCER EVERY DAY- >
IT'S A DEAL/ jr^

MAKES SENSE/

RECKON YOU'RE

That night, outside the supply store..

LET'S GET WHAT WE
NEED AND HIT THE <
7 TRAIL WHILE THE
GETTING IS GOOD/

RIGHT' BUT I AIM
TO TRAIL HIM WHEf
HE'S HEADING/AND
BUSHWACK HIMTHI
FIRST CHANCE >
s —r I GET/

THERE' I RECKON \ROD G

I'VE GOT EVERYTHING) I'LL i

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) mile,

the range.

HEADING TOWARD ROD A-»
CAMERON AND THE REST
OF THEM.' THEY'LL COME
SWARMING UP THE TRAIL
ANY MINUTE AND WIPE 1
US OUT FOR THIS

.them- in AMBUSHJ

LOOK OUTl
y FALLING i

BRCNC.’

*@AN ANY POWER
ON EARTH STAY HIS
CERTAIN DOOM?

Ynll Red meet death
at the hands of a
Cowardly assassin "
Read CHAPTER TWO

cf Ukt BEAVER
BANDITS!

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LOOK OUT,
WAR PAINT/

THIS'LL TAKE
CAKE OF TOP
CAMERON
FOR NOW.'

WE GOT
HIM!

f SIGHT.' BESIPES,^

ROP CAMERON MIGHT
GET PLUGGED IP WE
OPEN FIRE ON THOSE
COYOTES/ WE NEED
MORE MEN'

SHEADPOK
COVER AND
OPEN FIRE!

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1 HIT BACK TO THE
SID UP THE REST OP
D PLUMB SURROUND
THE COYOTES' j

WE'LL BE BACK FOR /
BUNCH OF POLECATS J
BETTER BE ALIVE /3

TIE HIM MIGHTY ) DON'T

| TIGHT! THIS <BOSS.
' ROD CAMERON )NEVER
IS POWERFUL /OUT OF
. SLIPPERY/ ./ KNOTS!

(shooting iron/ rv

'GOT BETTER PLANS!

ROD CAMERON CAN
.WAIT/ TIE HIM U PL

WHEW! MV HEAD...^/WHAT'S YOUR

I’VE GOT TO CLEAR PLAN, BOSS?
IT PRONTO AND

JUST THIS/ WE CAME OUT 31

HERE FOR BEAVER PELTS AND

T WE'RE GETTING THEM}

K^SAvvyr — -sr?

YOU MEAN BY
BLOWING UP THE
BEAVER PAMS?

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4h. will ROD CAMBRO ,

face his dilemma?

It looKs as if he's plumb
caught between the d.evi
and the deep-blue
beaver dam.'

y^nufJLC/ in

gOiXMCS

axm-erai

Blown up and thj
RANGE CRITTERS '

BULL'S-EVEl

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, I reckon VU start this letter by telling you
how much I enjoyed reading all the letters that
have been coming my way from, all over the
country. I wish I could answer each one of
^sMhem separately, but if 1 did, 1 reckon

_ hgfi l wouldn't have time for anything else. That's

" v Vf $ why we have this page so that I can write to
_ all you buckeroos at the same time.

f 'War Paint and I went rambling down, one of the
_ . ... . M oldest trails in the West - the Camino Real- the
other day, to see some of the missions the Spanish
padres built along the trail they blazed. Those old-
padres were mighty kind and helpful folks as well as
being mighty brave. They didn't just think of themselves, ^
but of everybody - even the folks who'd becoming along / /■
long after they were gone. m&MSbX ($

They put bells in the towers of all their missions, /,

so that folks going West in the years ahead could get their I fd&h i.

bearings by following the sound of those mission bells.

That was a right smart thing those Spanish padres did-
and mighty helpful, too, I reckon. They did all this
hundreds of years ago, long before the Mayflower hoisted
anchor to sail to America, but it's a still mighty important
thing to look out for the welfare of other folks.

Well, folks, it's been mighty nice riding part of the
trail with you this way. I'll come riding your way again
soon on this same page, but meanwhile put a point on
your pencil and drop War Paint and me a line or two
real pronto. We sure look forward to hearing
from everyone of you! v v

Your rand.

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ffjnJN DE R SUSPICION

By Clement Good

C OLONEL CRAGGS hired William Ber-
stam. Stock, the foreman, didn’t much
like it. He didn’t like it on general principles.
As foreman, it was his job to hire the cow¬
hands, and work with them, and make sure
they earned their pay. It was his job to size

And he didn't like it for a couple of other
reasons. He didn’t like the look in William
Berstam’s eyes. Those eyes were keen, search¬
ing. They looked right through you—maybe
beyond you. To Ken Stock, the foreman, they
seemed to be looking around for what they
could steal.

Ken Stock disliked William Berstam for
still a third reason. He could not trust a man
who was called William. It just seemed wrong.
It seemed like putting on airs. Ken would
have hated, just as strongly, anyone called
“Kenneth,” which was his own name. Why
didn't William Berstam call himself “Bill”?
No. Ken Stock definitely did not like his new
hired hand.

The foreman awaited his chance, and when
he got Colonel Craggs alone, he spoke to him
about it. “I don’t like the looks of this man
Berstam,” he said.

"Why?” asked the Colonel, looking up with
round eyes.

Oddly enough, Ken Stock wasn't prepared
for this simple one-word question. He
fumbled. He looked at the ceiling. He looked

“Why?” repeated Colonel Craggs.

“I dunno. I just got a feeling,” said the
foreman, at last finding voice. “He jest doesn’t
set right with me, somehow!”

The ranch owner chuckled. “Not much rea¬
son there, my boy!” The Colonel stretched his
legs out and warmed his toes before the
crackling fire in the fireplace.

& Ken sounded a little desperate as he said,
“I’m warning you. Colonel! I’ve got a hunch
about this hombre. The way he looks at you!
; He’s up to no good! You know how much
h, rustling’s been going on in these parts!”

a good judge of human critters. I looked this
hombre right in the eye, and I picked him. I

“But . . .” The embarrassed foreman’s one
word was cut short.

“Remember,” said Colonel Craggs, “that I
picked me out a foreman when all the world
said he was a boss thief. I’ve never regretted
that—up to now!”

Blushing, Ken Stock retired.

It was true that Colonel Craggs had saved
Ken Stock from being branded a horse thief.
He had, in fact, probably saved him from
lynching. When Ken was arrested, several
years ago, things’ looked very black for 'the
young man! Circumstantial evidence was
against him. He was friendless in a strange
town. As by a miracle. Colonel Craggs had
come to the jail, looked the young man over, ■
talked to him, and become convinced of his
innocence. The Colonel had gone right down
the line to free the young man and clear his
name, even to hiring the best lawyer in the
territory.

A fierce loyalty to the Colonel burned in
the soul of Ken Stock. He determined that
this new man, William Berstam would not get
away with anything. “If he does, it’ll be over
my dead body!” thought Ken, grimly.

T HE bunkhouse was not quite pitch dark.

A fading moon sent just enough light
through the windows to make the interior
grey-black. Some of the men slept peacefully
and soundlessly after a hard day in the saddle.
Others, sleeping just as hard, gave forth with
raucous snores, snores to rival the sounds of

Foreman Ken Stock was snoring, too, but
his snore was a fake. His half-closed eyes were
firmly riveted on the black form of the new
man, Berstam, just two bunks away. Ken was
lying on his left side in order to keep Berstam
fully in view. He did not see or hear the three

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men behind him, who quietly crept off their
bunks and noiselessly exited through the open
window at the far end of the bunkhpuse.

Ken saw Berstam rise. He could tell, even
in the grey light, that Berstam was fully
clothed, even to the pair of .45’s strapped by
his sides. Catlike he moved along the line of
bunks, past the sleepers to the open window.
He slid through and moved into the shadows.

• Cautiously the foreman followed.

“I knew that sidewinder was up to no
good!" thought Ken. ‘‘I can’t savvy how
Colonel Craggs was taken in so! But whatever
his dirty business is, I won’t let him get away

Ken could hear the muffled hoofbeats of
Berstam’s horse moving at an easy even pace
toward the arroyo. Far ahead he could hear
the lowing of cattle. He held his own mount
in check, careful not to overtake the other,
as he tried to plan his own action. His mind
summed up the situation.

H E knew there were two capable, trusted
men riding herd, good men with guns
and hard fists. However, if Berstam got the
jump on them, surprised them, took them out
one at a time, their two-to-one advantage
would be lost. Besides, there was always the
chance that Berstam had confederates waiting
out here for some signal.

The twisting trail and deep shadows kept
Berstam’s mount well out of sight, but Ken
could hear its even cloppity-clop tread. He
decided to wait until they were almost upon
the herd before showing his hand. A low
hanging tree loomed ahead across the trail.
Ken ducked low to go under the tree.

Without warning, something hit him and
pulled him off his horse. His attempted cry
was muffled to nothingness by a steel-like
hand across his mouth. A bandana replaced
the hand, cut at his lips, and kept him silent.
Before he could put up a struggle, his hands

In silent, frustrated rage, he watched the
tall familiar figure of Berstam step away from
him. mount Ken’s own horse, and ride off
toward the sound of lowing cattl$.

Ken struggled desperately with his bonds,
. till his wrists were bleeding and his ankles
sore. He couldn’t budge. He chewed on his
gag till he nearly choked, b.ut he had no luck.

In the distance, he heard the gentle lowing
of the cattle change to frightened bellowing,
he 'heard shots and shouts. His ears were so
keenly strained toward the shots and the herd
that it wasn’t till the last minute he heard
hoofbeats approaching on the trail from the
ranch house.

Colonel Craggs dismounted. “Well, Ken,
what’s all this?” exclaimed the Colonel, as he
sliced the gag with his hunting knife, then
set to work on Ken’s other bonds.

“That man Berstam! William Berstam! He’s
a rustler!” cried Ken.

“I deny it!” drawled a voice behind him.

Ken whirled. He saw Berstam, mounted,
and behind him, tied to a long rope, were
three walking figures—the thr^e men who had
first sneaked out of the bunkhouse.

A fresh fire crackled merrily in the big
open fireplace of the ranch house. The first
light of dawn was beginning to glow beyond
the mountains. Ken Stock thoughtfully sipped
his black coffee, and William Berstam
thoughtfully sipped his; Colonel Craggs lean¬
ed back, puffing on his black panatella, and
chuckled.

“Ken,” he said, “I reckon maybe I should;
have told you right off that William Berstam
here wasn’t just an ordinary cowpuncher but
a special agent from the U. S. Marshal’s anti¬
rustling division. However, he made me
promise not to tell anybody. See, he got a tip
that some men on our spread were tied up

anybody to see his hand.”

“Matter of fact, I suspected you, Stock,”
said Berstam. “Something about the way you
looked at me. No hard feelings, I hope.” \

K EN emitted a wry chuckle. “No hard
feelings. To tell the truth, I reckon I
sized you up mostly on account of your name.-
Why do you use that handle, William ?”

It was Berstam’s turn to chuckle drily.
“My father’s name is William, too, but they
call him Bill. If I hadn’t chosen the name
William, they’d be calling me Junior. Do you
still blame me?”

Colonel Craggs.got such a fit of laughing
he spilled brown coffee all over his white vest.
THE END

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PH

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