Boy's Cinema (1930-31)

ilanics were leaping to t'lie sky. Old Martin Speiirinan, vvliitc of beard and nearly seventy, hurriedly packed his most treasured possessions, assisted by his wife, then rushed to get out the buck- board. By this time the buildings and stacks were on fire. "Don't cry, mother!' he urged, as he helped her up into the scat of the vehicle. "We'll get anotlier home, some place. Them jaspers will pay for this before we're througli. Look ! They've turned away from here—ihey'rc headed for the Clayton ranch novi" ! We'll have lo varn 'cm before it's too late! Uiddiap !" Mrs. Spearman uas weeping at the loss of a liome and a livelihood, but she came of a stock that had faced with courage even worse dangers when the West was young. "Hold tight, Mart!" she suid. "And gimme that whip. If we're goin' to liead Taylor's gang off, we've got to move lively !" Mart drove with amazing recklessness for his years in the direction of the Clay- ton ranch-house, avoiding the beaten trail, taking all manner of risks. But Helen Clayton and her father had already made preparations of a sort. They had called the men into the pleasant ranch-house, and in the living- room Helen, slimly beautiful, but full of spirit, had addressed thenr collec- tively. Her father was the owner of thcranch and he dealt with details, but in most things she had been its manageress since her mother died. "Well, what are we going to do?" ilie asked, her deep brown eyes Hashing, her voice a trifle shrill. "Make our stand, or run like a lot Of sheep?" "We're in the right," responded Bob Ncvady promptly, "and we've got the law behind us." "Behind us is correct," growled Biij Oarnham, a long, lean fellow with a remarkably ugly face and a tremendous walrus moustache, who was invariably known as "Ilighpockets." "So durned fur behind us it don't lielp any !" "You've said a mouthful,' agreed Tubby Bolt, the burly foreman of the outfit. ' What ehaiice have we got against Matt Taylor and his gunmen?" de- manded a more timorous cowman. .James Clayton, sitting uneasily in an easy chair, glanced up at his high- .spirited daughter aiid shook his grey head. He had fought against all manner of odds in his younger days, but now he was old enough to desire peace at almost any price. So far he had resisted the overtures of Matt Taylor, but against (.'unfire an<l flame he felt unwilling to cxpos(! his daughter. " I'erhups, after all " ho began. But just then there came an urgent banging at the front door, and one of the men opened it, admitting Martin Spearman. "The Taylor gang smoked me out, Miss Helen," he cried, "an<l they're headed this way." Inuiiedintcly the men who had re- sponded .so half-heartedly to Helen Clay- ton's apiieal changed their attitude completely. "Oh, they are, aie Ihey?'' howled Highpocketf, drawing his guns. " I>('i 'em come!" chimed in Nevady; and there was a chorus of approval. "Wait a miiuite!" commanded Helen crisply. "Arc we going to fight—or jnly talk about it ?" "We're gonna light, and we're gonna bi at 'em, too!" shouted Tubby Bolt. Mart Spearman ran back to his wife, who was .still on the buckboard. "Ma," he urged, "you get away with September lOtb, 1931. BOY'S CINEMA the things^I'm stayin' to see this thing through." "AH right. Mart, and Heaven bless you!" replied his wife. "If I was twenty years young " " Look '." e.xclaiined Helen, and pointed to a string of lights and flares moving down under a belt of trees. "Come on, boys, let's get ready for them. Hurry awuy, Mrs. Spearman. Turn out the lights, Tubby!" Mrs. . Spearman lashed at the horses and drove off, and her husband followed the others into the living-room. He was carrying- a rifle, and was grimly determined to use it at the first opportunity. All the lights in the ranchhousc were extinguished; the front door was barricaded. " The back <]oor—quick !" directed Helen. And tables and chairs were piled against the back door, and beside and beneath the windows of the ground floor the men crouched ready to shoot. Matt Taylor and his gang swept down into the farmyard and rode round and round the ranchhouse, Indian fashion, firing as they rode. Broken glass fell from the window- frames in showers; six-shooters spat vicious jets of flame and bullets, and old Mart Spearman sent at least two of the night-riders to the dust with his rifle. But Matt Taylor was taking no more chances than he could avoid. While he and most of his men circled the build- ing the remainder were told ofT to fire the ricks, the bunkhouse, and the sheds, and after a while flames lit up the scene. A wagon piled high with hay became a flaming furnace and was drawn by ropes to the porch of the ranchhouse, while all the time besieged and besiegers continued to fire. The porch was in flames when Matt Taylor himself rode close to a window and fired almost point- blank at the grey head of James Clayton. The gun the old rancher was about to use fell from his hand, and he collapsed ui a heap at Helen's feet. Tubby sent three bullets after Matt Taylor, but that schemer escaped without a wound, and, pulling up beyond revolver range, he shouted to his men: "It's smoking now, boys. Let's go!" They went, flinging their torches at the building, leaving behind three wounded incn. Helen, who had been feeling feverishly at a heart which had cciised to beat, rose up and thrust her head out of a broken window. "You'll pay for this, Matt Taylor!" she cried at the top of her voice. " Yoti'll ■ pay for this till your dying day!" One Thousand Dollars Reward. AT eight o'clock in the evening of a dull day in March, eight months after this outrage, Kanger Jim Logan stepped smartly into headquarters of the Texas Rangers (Division "A") in Sterling City, entered the captain's office, and saluted that stern-faced oilicer. " Ranger Logan reports, sir," he said. Ca])tain Jackson looked up from a mass of pajiers on his desk at the tall, broad shouldered young man who stood before him. Jim was not specially handsome, but his clean-shaven face \yas a strong one, his grey eyes were quick and keen, and hmnour lurked arotmd the cornci'B of his mouth. A dare-devil by nature, a good friend, an implacable foe, and one of the most resourceful men in the .service. That was why the captain had sent for him. "Jim," he said, "you'll be relieved of patrol duty, for the present. I've got some special work for you to do." Every Tuesday " Very good, sir." "I suppose you've heard of that Clayton woinan and her gang ?" "Yeah," Jim nodded. "Most every- body has. In the past few months she's become mighty popular." The captain stared. "And mighty unpopular," he said, "especially with those big ranchers in Lorado Valley. She's got 'em oti the am, raid after raid, and nobody's becu able to do anything about it. I hfard something about those ranchers, but thai was last year, and nothing came of it. Naturally, I know the story about this Clayton woman, and I've held my hand up to now out of .sympathy—I had no absolute case against her. But now she's committed murder! One of the ranchers in that district was shot down in cold blood. Ed Lanning. Do you know him ?" " Seems I've heard of him." "Well, pinned on his body was a note: ' With Helen Clayton's compliments.' Your orders are to bring in Miss Helen Clayton." Jim looked as though he found the task little to his taste, and the captain interpreted his frown correctly. " Sometimes the law compels us to do some mighty unpleasant things, Jim,'' he said, " but " "I understand, sir." "All right—handle it your own way, and good luck.'' "Right, sir." Jim saluted again, went out and sought his quarters. An hour later he rode out of .Sterling City on his white hoise Silver, and any stranger who had met him would have imagined him to be a typical cowboy, for he had 'ex- changed his unifonn for cowboy rig, and was wearing a ten-gallon hat on his head and was carrying a lariat on his saddle- bow. From Sterling City to the Lorado Valley is a matter of thirty miles, but in Texas thirty miles is considered quit? an ordinary ride. Towards noon on the following day he dismounted outside the Syndicate Saloon in Bellington—and stumbled as he reached the ground. He fastened Silver to a hitching-rail and went into the saloon, which was crowded with ranchers and cow-hands. A few men were at the bar drinking, three dancing-girls were displaying their agility to the noise of a cracked piano and a banjo, but the majority of the patrons were grouped round a notice attached to one of the wooden walls. Captain Edwards had taken action before he sent for Jim. Two rangers had visited the district the day before, and the notice on the wall was precisely similar to notices which decorated other buildings in the town and a considerabia number of tree-trunks in the neighbour- hood. It ran: $1,000 REWARD for the capture of HELEN CLAYTON. Dead or Alive. " Boy, that's a lot of money for one woman," remarked a little fellow whose cow-hat looked almost like a.T extinguisher on his head. " Yeah—an expensive female," agreed another. '-'I'd like to know what part of the country she's in," declared a third avaricioutily. Jim heaid and watched witbout appearing to watch. He luirhed over to the bar, ordered some whisky, and gulped it down. He appeared to be alre-Tdy dnmk, and his face was un- shavers an<l his hat was awry. With a second drink in iiis hand he approached tlie group, pushed his way forward, and blinked at the notice.