10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

pias Pea UCR HAE eet) ts FE Bde SS Boat A ¥ we thy Alig iv) j Tom turned and strode up a flight of steps, opened a narrow door and stepped into a well lighted room. There was a long bar at the further end. Tom walked between the tables without casting so much as a quick ‘glance at the occupants. “Beer,” he ordered and the bar- tender balked only a second. There was something in Tom’s eyes that didn’t behoove any good for those who might aet contrary to his wishes. A sudden silence settled over the place; a sullen quiet barely broken by the whispers of the men who watched Tom narrowly. “We oughta plug that guy right now,” some one whispered to a com- panion. “He made me roost four years extra in the can. Said I was no damned good, he did.” “Shh — take: it easy,” another warned. “I know Tom Fargo. He’s fast with his fists and faster with a gat. He ain’t so bad anyway. Hell, he yanked me outa solitary onee when [ was sick. He ain’t after us. We got off parole long ago.” Tom, trained by long years of prison supervision, heard every word and smiled a little. Suddenly his smile died away. There was a round shouldered, wizen-faced man at his side drinking glass after glass of straight whisky. He kept his face averted from Tom’s gaze. With a quick motion of his hand, he drew a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and threw it on the bar. It was this bill that made Tom breathe a little faster. Before the bartender could pick it up, Tom’s big hand covered it. “Hello, Snowy,” he nodded to the wizen-faced one. ““You’ve been out of prison just a year. I never knew you to work. How come you can throw twenty-dollar bills around like this?” As he spoke, Tom thrust one hand into his own pocket, fingered his own thin roll of bills and extracted a twenty. He was able to do this easily because he had only one and it formed the core of the roll. With a swift move- ment, he picked up the bill Snowy had TRIGGER TRIBUNAL——————_—————103 dropped and replaced it with his own note. “What’s the matter, Snowy?” Tom queried. “Lost your hearing? I asked you a question.” “You go to hell,” came the quick retort. “You’re no dick. You can’t pinch me. I was off parole six months ago. Lemme alone.” “Sure, you’re all right.” Tom stuffed the twenty-dollar bill into his coat pocket. “Seen much of your pal, Tony Balch, lately ?” Tom expected some kind of a re- action, but he was hardly prepared for what followed. Snowy, Tom had ob- served in a glance, was off the needle. He was nervous and deadly as a cobra. When he drew back a step, snarled to reveal yellow, uneven teeth, he did remind Tom of some variety of snake. Snowy’s hand darted behind him. When it reappeared, it clutched a gun. But Tom had anticipated this. Before Snowy could bring the gun to bear, Tom leaped for him. Using both arms, he slammed the little crook hard against the bar and sent his hands whacking upon the bar. Tom fastened a grip on the gun hand; twisted it slowly until Snowy began to whimper. “Drop that gun, you rat,” Tom grated. “Drop it before I break your wrist.” The gun fell to the bar top. With a grin, Tom yanked his prisoner toward him and prepared to search the man. There was a dull crack and the lights winked out. A shot had come from the room behind the bar. Some one had shattered the fuse box with a bullet. Tom pulled his prisoner floorward. Snowy struggled futilely. He opened his mouth and raised a shout. “Over here!” he yelled. “In front of the bar.” Tom cracked him smartly on the point of the jaw, picked him up and carried him a dozen feet away. His own gun was in his hand. The crooks were no longer passive. Those who hated Tom were ready to slay him on sight. The blanket of darkness was co ecomicbooks