Blazing Guns by N. Wesley Firth (UK: Hamilton & Co.)

N. Wesley Firth’s western novel Blazing Guns published by Hamilton & Co. has been on my wants list for a very long time. It features a wonderful action illustration by Oliver Brabbins (aka “Brab”) who is one of my favorite artists from the postwar period. Scarcely a decade later, the hunt for Blazing Guns had come to an end. And a screeching halt.

Blazing Guns is not a novel. In fact, it contains 1 short story and two short novelettes, none of which feature the cover title. And the publication itself is neither a side-stapled booklet nor a digest paperback. It’s actually the same size as the publisher’s side-stapled science fiction magazines, Strange Adventures and Futuristic Stories, measuring 7¼″ x 9¾ inches. Why the publishers decided to go with such a large format rather than their standard stapled booklet format is beyond me.

The lead story is Injun Trouble, spanning pages 3 to 9. The title is misleading. The actual trouble is Scanlon, a frontier scout who signed up with the frontier soldiers thinking he’d maintain a free hand in how he operated. Prior to his enlistment, he was known as King of the Prairie and often hunted and killed Indians. However, upon enlisting and sent to a far west fort, he’s forced to adhere to orders and discipline and not exercise his own (better) judgment. He’s finally locked in a cell after refusing to travel East to another regiment slowly headed West. The fort desperately requires reinforcements after discovering their two closest neighboring forts have fallen and all the troops are dead. This discovery comes about when one loan bloody soldier escapes and managed to make the fifty-mile journey on foot to where Scanlon is stationed. Refusing his orders to seek rapid help, which they are certain will never arrive in time, he’s locked away for insubordination. The colonel himself dons frontier scout clothes and isn’t seen again until many hours later when his severed head is tossed into the fort. Scanlon is freed to assist to go scout. The fort desperately needs to know what they are up against and when the Indians plan the raid. Slipping out, Scanlon comes face-to-face with a warpaint visage. They grapple and Scanlon shoves his Bowie into the man’s neck. The Indian doesn’t make a noise. Doesn’t scream. Silence towards approaching and wiping out the White Face is necessary, and he maintains this even in death. Realizing the fort is doomed, Scanlon decides to hell with them but is forced back into the fort. Fighting on the wall, most of their men are wiped out or badly injured. It’s clear that one more rushed assault and the fort will fall. The Indians come carrying battering rams and improvised ladders to scale the walls. Scanlon has seen enough and abandons his post, only to be shot in the back for desertion. Bullet lodged near his spine, he continues on his slow trod to the armory, and waits. Everyone is wiped out and screams issue as Indians begin taking scalps. The armory door bursts in and Scanlon lights a match. An arrow imbeds itself in his chest. The lit match drops and the whole world erupts. Next day, the fort is a charred ruin, no walls standing, no one alive. The American flag remarkably still flies high, though. Scanlon wasn’t abandoning his post. He was acting independently, using his own best judgment. Knowing they were beaten, rather than die and surrender the fully stocked armory to the Indians, he blew the hundreds of warpainted faces straight to hell.

Next up is The Insects of Death Valley, a short novelette spanning pages 10 to 20. This story is actually a “lost world” Old West fantasy of sorts. The one genre Firth was not capable of writing with any degree of quality (by postwar standards) was both science fiction and fantasy. This tale was possibly originally created for the Strange Adventures magazines. In it, two young men are fishing when a message-in-a-bottle appears. Opening it, they discover it is written by a prospector who had vanished. The letter details that he found a secret cache of gold and a map how to get in, but advises that whoever finds the letter, to please bring climbing gear to get out. Why? Because he is stuck and can’t escape. An unusual request, but the pair finally decide to investigate whether the letter and map are genuine or a just a practical joke. Enlisting the aid of a tame Indian, the trio obtain all necessary supplies, food, lantern, tent, etc., and climbing into their canoe, hit the river and subsequent rapids. None of skilled at the rapids but manage to survive. Following the map, they are surprised to learn that the narrowing river does indeed travel under the mountain; but does it come out the other side or will they be trapped and die? The canoe crashes into a large rock and the canoe is smashed to smithereens. They manage to swim to safety but one member is concussed. Dragging him along, the trio discover the river indeed does penetrate the mountain into a lush paradise. It’s also populated by insanely large insects and other land dwellers. Squirrels and skunks are distinctly larger than normal, but the man-eating spider chasing them is gargantuan. Gold or not, they realize these insane creatures are worth a fortune themselves but meaningless unless they can escape. They’ve lost their gear overnight because they erroneously camped out on top of a hill that turned out to be an ant hill. The ants are massive and haul their gear underground. Worse yet, a maniacal laughter is present and they fear the prospector has gone insane. However, when they discover the veins of exposed gold upon the rocky cliffs, they also discover the prospector, his blood and gore exposed upon the ground. He’s very dead, shot by a gun. Thinking it suicide, the Indian corrects them. No powder burns to the face, and no weapon. It was done by another person within the lost valley! Someone shoots at them, but misses, taking off their hat instead. Turns out the other person had found the lost valley ahead of the prospector and is a Wanted Man. He escaped the law and accidentally located the lost world via discovery of a hidden cave. Cave? What? That means he didn’t access the world via the river, and, this means the trio can escape sans the lost climbing gear. But the killer has other ideas and while planning to kill the trio in the cave, makes the fatal mistake of stealing their lantern and striking a match to fire it up. A massive moth drops upon him. Distracted by the behemoth moth, the trio subdue him. Naturally, they escape, file papers securing rights to the world, gold, etc., and the two young men decide that the Indian was part of the whole adventure and split the gold three ways.

The final story is Pudding Wins His Spurs, filling the remaining pages, 21 to 32. Twenty boys win a contest for having written the best original Wild West essay for their school. The prize? They and an adult are sent to a remote Wyoming ranch to see what real Wild West life is like. One of the twenty is nicknamed Pudding, for he is immensely fat. An insatiable appetite and a mouth that won’t cease lying and a braggart chest that won’t stop puffing itself up, Pudding is in for loads of hilarities and embarrassment at his own expense and stupidity. He makes glaring grammatical and spelling mistakes concerning Western terms such as pommel and stirrup, which become pummel and syrup. The boys harangue and rib him. Arriving at the town he brags he can handle anything but when gunshots sound, he dives under the boardwalk. Two robbers run out of the bank while a third holds the horses and they effect their escape. Later, a buckboard arrives with an aged rider who brings them to the ranch. They are given Western clothes. Pudding can’t fit. The boys assist in pushing and shoving him into the chaps, much to their mirthful delight. Next they are to learn how to handle a revolver, as they discover their guns actually contain live ammunition. They aren’t to be worn as ornaments. Explanation comes by way of they might be out riding and find themselves up against snakes or the trio of wanted men! Pudding can’t shut up and is brought forward to prove his bragging shooting prowess. After numerous attempts to fire his revolver, the old hand informs him the safety catch is on. (I’ll pretend the author didn’t actually state that a true revolver has a safety catch). Matters worsen when the old hand states the gun is now on hair-trigger mode. (Sigh; yes, I realize this story by now is supposed to be 100% a comedy and a parody…). The gun “goes off” and Pudding in fright drops it on his foot, whereupon he screams he’s shot his own foot. Later, launching his fat ass onto a horse causes more mirth after he brags he’s a solid horseman. They end up putting the braying ass on a donkey. (See what I did there? Hee Haw! Hee Haw!). Long story short, at night he’s starving, sneaks from the room, pops open a barrel of syrup, and begins dipping uneaten stale pancakes in and eats. Unknown to him, earlier, the trio of criminals rode up. With the one watching the horses, the pair of brothers use the immense syrup barrel to climb up to the second story window, and break in. They are there stealing the payroll. Meanwhile, Pudding has taken off the barrel’s lid. Back at the boy’s rooms, two of the boys had padded out to see where Pudding went. Guns strapped on, they come up against the man watching the horses. In the dark he mistakes their identities and they draw on him. He hollers for help, and his comrades jump out the window to his rescue…and both land inside the barrel. (Seriously?) Pudding jumps up and tosses the lid on top and sits on it. They eventually push him off but the noises have woken the ranch hands and everyone comes up, guns drawn. The trio are captured and the boys all attain the reward. The story is juvenile and would be more at home in Gerald G. Swan’s numerous Schoolboys Albums or Cute Fun papers to which Firth also contributed fiction. One would think that perhaps this was a rejected manuscript but I can’t see Swan rejecting this one at all.

In the end, the first story to Blazing Guns was excellent as the conclusion was wholly unexpected. The second story was a bit silly but the fantasy elements caught me by surprise. The third story as a work of juvenile humour throughout had me wryly smiling at the absurdities, but it was amusing nonetheless. The English across many decades had hundreds of these type of schoolboy stories that involve a Fatty, Tubby, Porky, etc. type of character as the butt of jokes. Blazing Guns might not be an award-winning selection, but it’s worth owning (to me) for the all-action Oliver Brabbins cover art.