10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

- 50———____—_10-STORY DETECTIVE With an animal-like snarl Norton swung the rifie to his hip and fired. The crashing report of the police .45 boomed upon the cold air as Norton’s bullet whistled inches away from the trooper’s head, As the rifle, smashed by the impact of the big revolver bul- let, dropped from his hand, Norton leaped forward with a shrill ery, a long-bladed hunting knife springing like magic into his hand. Robberts , was plunging at him, grimly shoving his gun back into the holster. A shot cracked from the cabin door, missing Norton’s head narrowly. “Stop it, you fool!’ the trooper yelled over his shoulder. “I’ll handle this!” Then the trapper closed in, eyes gleaming with maniacal rage. He slashed once, downward, as the troop- er ducked, The blade sliced the sleeve of the sheepskin coat from shoulder to elbow, then Robberts had the knife wrist in a grasp of iron. For a moment the two men were locked in a motionless embrace of straining muscles. Norton’s strength was enormous for a man of his age, and for a moment Robberts was hard put to hold his own. Then with a lightning twist Robberts slid his free hand behind Norton’s neck, clamping it with his left upon the upraised knife hand. Exerting every ounce of muscle he possessed the trooper jerked, Norton fell heavily; the offi- cer’s body dropped on top. A moment of furious scuffling in the snow and Robberts arose, dragging the man- acled trapper with him. “Bad business, Norton, shooting at an officer, and robbing wrecked air- planes!’ “You dirty, interferin’ state cop!” Norton mouthed, spitting snow and invective from his snarling mouth. “I’m sorry I missed ye last night!” “So you admit shooting at me, and robbing the mail plane?’ Robberts snapped. “What? What’s that about robbin’ a mail plane?” Well-feigned astonish- ment spread over the trapper’s dirty face, “Sure I shot at ye, and I’m sorry I missed! But I don’t know what you’re talking about when ye speak of a plane. I ain’t seen no plane!” Robberts held the packet of money before se “Ever see that be- fore?” HE look of bewilderment van- ished from Norton’s crafty fea- tures, to be replaced by fear. Abrupt- ly he shut his traplike mouth and refused to speak again. “No use in staying here any long- - er,” Robberts grunted to Dorgan. “Bring his gun and come on; we'll stay tonight at your cabin and [ll take him in in the morning.” At Dorgan’s cabin Robberts se- cured his captive firmly to the bunk, then turned to watch Dorgan as the big man built a fire in the rusty stove and started preparations for supper. When the simple meal was over, Rob- berts leaned his chair against the door and smoked for a moment lazily. “Hope you don’t have any trouble taking Norton in tomorrow,” Dorgan said finally. “You just let me know when you want me to testify, and [ll be on hand.” “No,” the trooper drawled, “I don’t expect any trouble. Of course, han- dling a pair of prisoners isn’t a kid’s job, but I guess I can swing it.” “A pair of prisoners!” Dorgan wheeled in surprise. “Why, where’s your other one?” Robberts rose slowly to his feet, his right hand hooked carelessly in the wide cartridge belt. “Showdown, mister,” he shot back, all the softness gone from his voice. “IT arrest you, Walter Amsden, for the murder of Fred Dorgan and Frank Monroe!’ For a pregnant moment the silence of death hung over the stuffy little room. Dorgan wheeled slowly from the stove, his face for a moment a malignant mask. Then his features relaxed. “What’re you talking about, troop- er? You’re telling me that I’m Ams- ~comicbook