10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

64—_—__—_—_________————-10-STORY DETECTIVE————— had to go through with it. The yard he came to had a high rough hedge around it. Buck pushed open the flimsy gate and slipped into the dark yard; a yard that had nothing grow- ing in it, but was swept clean, Mex- ican fashion, The rough board shack im the far corner was like a smudge tn the shadows. A giant cactus half concealed the door. Buck knocked sharply. The door opened. The black eyes of a small aging Mexican blinked up at Buck anxiously. “T’ve come for Freddie Garcia,” Buck said. “Freddie no es a qut,” said the Mex- ican rapidly. “Don’t give me that, Pedro,” said Buck. “I know Freddie came here sonight because I just checked up at Gonzalez’ store and found out you bought some stuff, extra, this eve- ning. If Freddie won’t come out, I’ll have to come in after him!” The old Mexican protested excited- ‘y. Buck shrugged and started to push vast him. A noise outside, along the side of the shack, halted him. He curned rapidly and ran. He was just ‘n time to see a figure slip from a window to the ground. Buck had his revolver out. “Sorry, freddie,” he said. “I’ve got you cov- ered.” The young Mexican turned and Zaced him. Freddie Garcia looked old- er now, and less hopeful, than when, just a few years ago, he and Buck had gone through hich school togeth- er. Freddie had been something of a school hero, then, especially good at sports. The handsome Mexican lad nad been popular. But after gradua- tion there hadn’t been much open for Freddie, except to sink back into the rut of his fellows. Just an orange- picker—and a shack-dweller. “You'd do this to me, Buck!” Fred- die said bitterly. “T’ve got to, Freddie. Orders!” A sudden stinging blow snapped down on Buck’s wrist. dropped from his numbed fingers. Old His gun. Pedro had dealt the blow with a short club. Buck turned to grapple with him, but he vanished into the dark- | ness. Buck swung back toward Fred- die. Now there was a gun in Freddie’s hand, “J’m sorry, Buck,” Freddie said softly. “But I’ve got to go. I didn’t kill Dick Hooper, but I know nobody will believe me. You stay here—”’ “Freddie,” said Buck, “I’m taking you!” Freddie was six paces away. The automatic in his hand was aimed straight at Buck’s stomach. Freddie said: ‘“‘T’ll shoot! You’ll die, Buck! You'll die!” “T’ve got to take you, Freddie!” Buck moved toward Freddie, to- ward the gun, slowly, but not looking at the gun. Freddie bent forward, the gun pointing rigid. Unhurried, Buck’s steps destroyed the distance; he made no effort to reach out, and Freddie could have emptied his gun into him. With a sigh, Freddie hurled the gun far into the shadows of the yard. “Okay, Buck,” he said. “You knew I couldn’t do it.” HIEF BEDFORD was waiting at the San Leona jail. With him was Captain Reccord of the sheriff’s of- fice, who had come out from Los An- geles to see about the murder of Dick Hooper. Captain Reccord was to take Freddie Garcia in to the city in a day or two—and that would be the last San Leona would see of Freddie. Freddie was put in a cell. Chief Becford, a man of huge girth and pudgy face, was pleased; he saw glory for himself in this arrest, Cap- tain Reccord, his lank form sprawled lazily in the chief’s chair, was mildly happy. This was routine to him and he was glad to get through with it So easily. “You did all right,” Bedford told Buck generously. “‘Tomorrow we'll complete the case against Freddie.” “T’d like a free hand on that, chief,” Buck said. Chief Bedford stared. “What do GOMIG OOO (Cc) im