Death Waits at Sundown by L. Ron Hubbard Page A

brazen idea.
    Without any volition of his own he
found himself leading Pat across the road and to the ’dobe fort’s gate.
    Petey was without any fear of
anything. He was five times bigger than the sentry.
    Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was
starvation. Maybe it was the thought of losing his only friend.
    But Petey snapped at the
leather-faced sentry, “Where’s Shannon?”
    He did not recognize his own voice.
    The sentry jerked his thumb toward
another archway within. Petey, leading Pat, went toward it.
    He could see a man beyond. That must
be Shannon. A granite boulder behind a desk.
    Half of Petey was suddenly scared to
death. But the other half of him would not stop walking. He dropped Pat’s reins
and stalked into the office with a careless, impudent swagger.
    Captain Shannon looked up, annoyed,
starting to stamp the caller by his dusty, torn clothing.
    But Petey was without fear now.
Nothing could stop Petey. Not even himself.
    â€œM’name’s McGuire,” said Petey in a
challenging tone. “Petey McGuire. You’ve heard of me.”
    Shannon started to make a biting
remark, but Petey rushed on without any help from Petey.
    â€œPetey McGuire. From Kansas City to N’Orleans,
what I say goes. I’m so tough I’d give a rattler nightmares. You’re Shannon and
I hear you need tough guys. Well, you ain’t got anybody around here that’d
stand up to me.”
    â€œI don’t think . . .” began Shannon
sarcastically.
    â€œHell! You trying to tell me you
never heard of Petey McGuire? G’wan, I ain’t in no mood for telling funny
stories. Where’s my badge and where’s my bunk? And don’t take all day about it!”
    Petey was scared down. He was so
scared he expected Shannon to leap at him across that battered desk.
    But Shannon looked at a dusty,
hard-faced, reckless fellow with a twisted grin on his mouth and a swagger in
the way he stood.
    Shannon was taken not a little aback.
He knew his own reputation and now that he was getting old he was guarding it.
He had reasons. He had made enemies in his day. And this tough-talking kid had
more brass than anybody Shannon had seen for many a year. Shannon’s reputation
was such as to demand respect. And here was a young whippersnapper . . .
    Shannon got up and came around the
desk. He was taller than Petey by half a foot and heavier by fifty pounds.
    With malice, Shannon said, “So you’re
tough, are you, sonny?”
    Petey startled himself by bristling, “The
name’s McGuire. Petey McGuire, and if you ain’t heard of me you don’t know
nothin’. Where’s the badge and the bunk?”
    Shannon scratched his jaw and
squinted up a cold, gray eye. He was amused. But now was not the time. Oh, no.
He could read this kid like a book. Youngster putting on a front and nothing
more and when the guns began to go . . .
    Shannon had a sense of humor.
    â€œHunter will show you the bunk. We’ll
see about you later.”
    To find out more about The Toughest Ranger and
how you can obtain your copy, go to www.goldenagestories.com .

L. Ron Hubbard in the
Golden Age of
Pulp Fiction

I n writing an adventure story
a writer has to know that he is adventuring
for a lot of people who cannot.
The writer has to take them here and there
about the globe and show them
excitement and love and realism.
As long as that writer is living the part of an
adventurer when he is hammering
the keys, he is succeeding with his story.
    Adventuring is a state of mind.
If you adventure through life, you have a
good chance to be a success on paper.
    Adventure doesn’t mean globe-trotting,
exactly, and it doesn’t mean great deeds.
Adventuring is like art.
You have to live it to make it real.
    â€” L. Ron Hubbard

L. Ron Hubbard
and American
Pulp Fiction
    B ORN March 13, 1911, L. Ron Hubbard lived a life at least as expansive as the stories with which he enthralled a hundred