TEXAS GUNS By L. P. Holmes FIRST INSTALMENT Silas Spelle gripped his blacl stogie more firmly between his yel low teeth and, leaning across E( Starbuck’s desk, pounded a hug< fist upon the oaken top to ad< emphasis to his words. "By God, yuh’ve got . to d< something, Starbuck,” he snappei harshly. "You know and I knov and everybody else knows yor damned bank is on the verge o: going under. Yuh couldn’t pa] off yore depositors now, not four bits on the dollars. I’m offerin yuh a fair proposition. As I toll yuh before I’ll buy up the mortg ages yuh hold and I’ll pay ever] cent yuh loaned on them plus in terest to date. That’s a damr good offer—yuh know it is.” "Perhaps,” replied Starbucl quietly. “But it ain’t enough Spelle. Those mortgages represem more than just collateral to me They represent faith—faith in mi and my bank by the men who gavi them. In time they’ll all be taker up. Present conditions won’t Iasi forever. The price of beef is be ginning to climb. The draught i: broken. No Spelle, yuh or no othei man has got enough money t< tempt me to double-cross m] friends.” "Faith—faith hell,” s nortec Spelle. "Yuhil starve to deatl while yuh’re rantin’ about faith Yuh’re a hell of an excuse of ; business man. Yuh better considei my proposition, Starbuck. If ] have a tip off the bank examinei in Westhaven he’ll put the skids under yuh pronto. But I don’t want to do that. My offer stands. I’ll give yuh until this time next week to think it over. I’ll be back for an answer then.” Spelle stood up, a big, thick-set man whose loose, thick lips and close set eyes mirrored plain the consuming passion of his life. Greed! Greed and selfishness. "Remember,” he bit out, step ping to the door of Starbuck’s of fice. "By this time next week I’ll expect yuh to get back to common sense. If yuh won’t talk turkey then why—” He finished with a significant gesture, which oonsistec of holding out one grimy, hairy hand then closing it slowly as though to crush whatever lay within it. "Wait!” Ed Starbuck was now on his feet, a tall gaunt, leathery faced man, whose drooping tawny must ache bracketel a pair of grim, tight lips. Beneath his faded, bushy eye brows his eyes looked out clear and blue and cold. His left sleeve hung empty for the arm was off at the shoulder, a reminder of an old rustling war when he himself lean right hand was sound and with it he lifted a heavy, worn Colt re volver from the drawer of his desk and laid it on the scarred sur face before him. "Yuh’ve had yore say, Spelle,” he drawled, his words dripping con tempt and scorn. Now I’ll have mine. What I just told yuh stands, this week, next week or any other week. Yore damned money ain’t worth hell item in this bank. Faith —no, yuh don’t know the meaning of the word. Greed is yore war cry.” Thick blood congested Spelle’s beefy features. His lips parted in a snarl. He tried to match looks, but failed. Those icy blue eyes of the valiant old banker seered like live flames and the implacable courage behind them was unmis takable. Spelle cursed venemously and left. Ed Starbuck stood for a long time after Spelle had gone. The fire in his eyes slowly faded and hopelessness took its place. He sank back into his chair like an old man who was suddenly very weary. Ed Starbuck had always been a man who faced facts squarely, re ; gardless of what those facts might . be. He faced them now. Spelle l had told the truth. The Cattle : man’s Bank of Carillion was on the [! narrow edge. True, Starbusk held mortgages that would more than » put him on his feet should he sell l them out. But this, according to - Starbuck’s standards, would be breaking faith with men he had known all his life and who trusted r him. Still he had to have money— ■ cash. There was only one thing to ’ do- He would ride around to the i different cattle outfits and put his ■ problem squarely up to the owners. ■ They all stood to stand or fall to • gether. If they could somehow i help his bank to weather through they would have Spelle whipped. ; If they didn’t—Starbuck sighed, , reached for his hat and went out : into the street. The little cowtown of Carillion ‘ was drowsing in the heat of mid ; afternoon. The single, dusty street lay white and glaring in the sun, and was deserted save for a bare foot Mexican or two and a pair of 1 cow-ponies slouching at the hitch ing rail before Jake Butterfield’s 1 Emporium. Starbuck angled across the street towards the livery stable and corral at the northern end of ■ town. 1 A few moments later he emerged jfrom the livery stable, leading a saddle horse. He swung into the 'saddle and heated south along the street. Ae he did so two punchers clanked out of Butterfield’s and forked the two cow-poines. They also headed south. The horses of the two strangers looked somewhat jaded and Starbuck soon overtobk them. The elder of the riders looked up. He was a wiry, leathery faced man, past middle age; clean shaven and with innumerable wrinkles about the corners of his miouth and eyes. The mouth seem ed harsh yet a humorous quirk lingered about it somehow. The eyes were clear, fleckles gray, cap able of either warmth or abysmal chill. The wide, weather beaten sombrero rested on a mane of silv ery hair. One of the real old tim ers, decided Starbuck. The Other rider was young, some where in his early twenties. Well set up, with flat muscled, power iul shoulders, JHis iace was smooth and tanned, his eyes blue, his hair curly and brown. Gay, sparkling youth lay over him like a mantle. A clean lusty, carefree kid, in love with life and hungering for all its wonders. Their clothes were thtose of the range, worn but substantial. Both carried a heavy gun, slung at! the right hip. The elder of the two nodded to Starbuck. "Howdy,” he drawled. "Wonder could yuh show us the trail to the Box D outfit? Gent back in the store told us mebbe they could use a couple of hands out there.” "Sure,” replied Starbuck. "Glad to. Fact is I’m riding out there myself. Glad to have company.” "You ain’t San Juan Delevan by any dunce?” "No. I’m Ed Starbuck. I own the Cattleman’s Bank, back in town.” Shore I’m glad to know yuh. I m Tex Whipple. This chuckle haided cub is Johnny Clehoe. Kid, shake hands with Mister Starbuck.”1 Introductions over, the three' jogged steadily south. Teut the most beautiful piece of equipment in your place business. 1ft* Ibis new KeWnator today. Yqu’11 be amazed at its price and the easy terms which can be arranged for buying it. DUKE POWER CO. See this cooler in service at Ket ner’s new store. ^S!^V' jfir No appliance Is better than __1110 service behind It.