10-Story Detective Magazine, April 1946 — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

74—_——__—_—_—__—_—_———-10-STORY DETECTIVE— punching the headlight button, A jungle blackness descended abruptly over the little. peninsula surrounded by swamp land. The gun in Dale’s hand barked vicious- ly, jarring Joe’s eardrums. He felt the whispering breath of death fan one up- flung wrist. Then he landed hard on both shoulders. He somersaulted and scram- bled erect like a cat. He blinked frantically about him, He could see nothing but the shadowy sil- houettes of tall trees against dark moon- less sky. So Dale couldn’t see him, he thought tensely. But Joe had killed a Jap once by the light of a buddy’s gun- flash, There was nothing to stop Dale from firing once to locate him, and again to kill him. He’d have to run for it. There was, of course, the swamp to contend with, but he’d rather take his chances with lizards and quicksand than rush Dale’s gun, Joe had learned his respect for bullets the hard way, from his Army teachers, He craved a foxhole right now. Failing that, he knew his best ally was distance. He turned his back on the car and lurched forward in panic, unsure of his _ footing. Once he fell headlong, but con- tinued scrambling ahead on all fours. It would not take Dale long to find that headlight button. -. And then it came, the sledgehammer impact, the darting pains in his neck. He crashed headlong against some un- yielding object. It was a stubby tree | trunk. He felt its sides briefly with the fingers of his left hand, but was power- less to avoid it. Pinpoints of light darted in crazy- quilt patterns before his dazed eyes. He felt a rush of blood touch his forehead with throbbing pain. Then swiftly, mer- cifully, consciousness left him. GRADUALLY the inky blackness was suffused with pale light. Then a dazzling brilliance bathed him and pried his eyes open, His head felt like an overinflated bal- loon, throbbing with pain as each pulse of blood reached the lump on his fore- head. He saw that Dale had swung the coupé’s headlight upon him, The man was standing not ten feet away, scowling down at him. Underneath Dale’s brown topcoat, Joe saw the striped trousers of a runaway convict. He cursed himself, roundly, for not having been more on his guard against him, Dale’s cropped head looked G. I, The stubble of beard on his left chin didn’t, nor did the crafty, piglike eyes. He said, “Lucky for you that stump stopped you before you reached the swamp.” His sardonic mouth twisted. “I’d ’ve killed you, sure, if you’d messed up that nice suit of clothes, pal. I need ’em.” Joe said thickly, “The next time I! pick up a hitchhiker at night, I—” “Quit beefin’. You’re gonna get 4 chance to save your skin. I got plans for you, pal.” “Yeah?” . The small eyes glimmered, “Ever do any running, pal? Say, like cross-coun- try?” As a matter of fact, Joe had run the mile, during his one year at college, He said, “What’s—” “Back where you picked me _ up, there’s a posse. They got hounds, pal. Bloodhounds and mastiffs. You know how it is with mastiffs. Them purps don’t fool, if they ever catch up with the sucker they’re sicked on.” He grinned. “T’m changin’ clothes with you, pal. i’m takin’ you back where they’ll pick up the scent. You’re gonna give them dogs a good exercisin’.” Joe licked his dry lips. He said with © logic dictated by panic, “It’s nice, Dale. It’s cute. Only you can’t afford to waste the time it’d take to—” “T’ll be gainin’ time, pal. You'll be doin’ me that little fayor, by runnin’ them dogs on a goose chase.” “Maybe I won’t run. I’ll go up a tree.” He fingered the bump on his head. “I’m too weak to run far, and you know it. You’re making a bad play, Dale. Plantin’ me back there to wise up the posse—” “You won't wise up nobody, pal. Go up a tree and they'll gun you down from a distance. They’re not takin’ chances. They know I’m armed. No matter how hard you try to convince ’em you’re not Harry Dale, they’ll plug you the minute they throw a light on you, In my clothes you'll be it, pal. I killed a guard, see? I figure you'll give ’em a run for their money. Give me a head start, that’s all I’m askin’.” Now the hand that clutched the stubby pistol jerked forward. “Peel them clothes off!’ Joe stared at the gaping muzzle a "cOMIGOOOKS (E@)