10 Short Novels Magazine — page 107: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

the white thicket in pursuit of Lou Dillard. “Some runner,” he wheezed. a darned gazelle, or somethin’ like at Robinson said something but the wind whisked the sounds away. Jinx Herbert turned and headed into the storm. Three paces behind, Phil Robinson followed, his dark eyes fixed apprehensively on that gray wilderness with dimmed borders which hemmed them in on all sides. It was snowing so hard that the wall of wind-driven fluff filled eyes, nose, ears and mouth so that they could scarcely breathe. The white trail less than a rod ahead was a blur of feathery white. That wide trail which had been cut through the swamp led right up to the front door of Halfway House. Both po- licemen deciphered the scrawled sign at the same moment, They exchanged ques- tioning glances. Both had heard much about Halfway House but neither had ever before visited this out-of-the-way - spot. Ying Herbert put his shoulder to the heavy log door and pushed inside. Phil Robinson was on his heels as he stopped - and blinked about the big smoke-filled room. “Howdy!” Herbert greeted. . Jinx Herbert’s ready grin vanished abruptly. Although there were several men in that room, none had answered his friendly greeting. The big yellow-haired man with the purple birthmark, who officiated behind the bar, inclined his shaggy head ever so slightly; his green- ish eyes squinting between half-closed lids coldly catalogued every feature of the two snow-covered policemen. Jinx Herbert scowled as he stripped off his wet outer garments. That scowl deepened as his eyes became accustomed to the dimness and he saw the four hard- faced men lounging before the fire. He turned to the big man behind the bar. “Where's the boss?” he asked. Harl Pancoast’s thick lips sneered. He tap his barrel-chest with a forefinger. “You, eh?” Herbert grunted. “Fair te Rustle us some grub. And step on it!” Pancoast’s sneer broadened. “Sorry,” he said. “We ain’t got no grub to spare.” Jinx Herbert’s big body tensed as though he had been struck in the face. “What's that?” he snapped. “You heard me, redcoat,” Pancoast snarled. “No grub. No room, Nothin’, In other words, mug, you and your pretty friend ain’t wanted here. That clear?” Jinx Herbert spat deliberately on the floor between his outspread feet. When he finally spoke it was in a voice ominously calm. “I’m afraid you ain’t been around The Frozen Empire we & 105 much, Blondy,” he said. “My friend an’ me is members of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. We’re here on business. We want somethin’ to eat. And we want it damned quick! I ain’t askin’ you, under- Stand? I’m tellin’ you!” Har! Pancoast moistened his thick lips. The birthmark stood out in livid relief against his white cheek. His green eyes gleamed. With difficulty he manufactured a twisted grin. “And what if I refuse?” he queried. Jinx Herbert laughed. “Try it,” he sug- gested. “Just try it.” Just for an instant Harl Pancoast’s ugly eyes wavered. Perhaps he had gone | just a bit too far? But his men were watching him. Too late now to back down. “You’d frame a Pinch, I suppose,” he sneered. Jinx Herbert shook his head. “Not s0’s you’d notice it, tough guy,” he said. “I’d take my nice red coat off—like this. Then I'd give this little badge of mine to my friend—so. Then—” In three long strides Jinx Herbert reached the bar. Harl Pancoast’s right hand streaked toward the gun in his belt. But he did not move quickly enough. Herbert’s long right arm shot out. His fingers caught Pancoast by the hair of the head. He jerked forward savagely, then down. Harl Pancoast was a big man and a powerful one but he was like a child in Jinx Herbert’s hands. His face crashed the top of the bar. A split-second later a slapping blow alongside the head spun him clear about. His big body crashed back against’ the bottle-filled shelves. With a snarling cry he turned, his gun half-drawn. He looked into the black muzzle of Jinx Herbert’s service pistol. Jinx Herbert’s lips smiled, but his eyes were steely hard. “You asked for it, half- wit,” he said. “Now you got it what you goin’ to do with it?” Pancoast’s flat nose was already begin- ning to swell. He spat blood and a broken tooth. There was fear in his watering eyes. “Johnny!” he called. One of the four men, a jaunty little cockney, jumped to his feet. The little man’s faded blue eyes avoided Herbert’s. “Fix up something to eat for these mugs,” Pancoast ordered. “An—an’ make it snappy,” he amended hastily. Johnny Boston saluted with military precision and headed for the kitchen. Jinx Herbert’s smile was almost real as he held his left hand out palm upward over the bar. “Give me that gun of yourn,” he suggested. “Your eyes is be- ginnin’ to swell. Soon, you won’t be able to see so well. I’d hate like hell to have a GCOmMiICcbOOoKS.c