Pulp Fiction, 1938 · page 105 of 116
10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 105: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is **story prose** from page 103 of a pulp fiction magazine titled "Sharpshooter—Without Bullets." The text depicts a climactic confrontation between characters named Norvale and Weston in what appears to be a room with mounted animal specimens. Weston, revealed as a murderer who killed someone named Loring, shoots at Norvale multiple times. After a violent struggle involving gunfire, Norvale subdues Weston and is discovered wounded by state troopers entering the room. The passage combines action, gunplay, and dialogue typical of early-20th-century crime or adventure pulp fiction. An illustration below shows two figures in conflict.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
—————————_SHARPSHOOTER—WITHOUT BULLETS——————l03 You were going to use her money to play the market again. And you killed Loring because he found out!’ Weston’s voice carried a tinge of self-satisfaction. “You are very astute for a young man who has lived in the jungle most of his life. You see, I could never bear to have all these specimens sold at auction. What is a silly girls life compared to these treasures ?” Norvale said tensely, ‘Hell, I wish I were back in the jungle, where things are clean!” He saw Weston move forward slightly, and he spoke quickly, preparing, meanwhile, to leap at Weston and die fighting : “And now you plan to kill me, too, and blame it all on Parker. He certainly played into your hands by getting panicky _ When he saw Loring’s body. They’ll never suspect you now.” ORVALE elamped his jaws shut. He ducked behind the mounted deer. Weston’s gun barked, and a bul- let smashed into the stuffed animal. Two more followed it. But Norvale had gotten out of the glare of the flashlight. He swung be- hind a second deer. With the glare out of his eyes, he could discern Weston’s figure. He stood up and hurled his gun just as Weston fired a fourth time. He felt a tugging at his side, then a burning pain. But he saw Wes- ton stagger. He had hit Weston squarely on the face with the gun. He gave the millionaire no time to recover, but lunged out at him. Weston fired blindly. The bullet went wild. Norvale had forgotten the low rope around the enclosure. He tripped over it just as Weston’s fin- ger, clamped tightly on the gun, sent two more slugs past his head. Norvale landed outside the enclos- ure on his hands and knees and lunged _ out in a flying tackle that caught Wes- ton above the knees and floored him. Weston clubbed his gun and struck at Norvale’s head, but Norvale brought his fist down in a powerful swing. It caught Weston on the side of the head, and he sucked in his breath sharply and slumped down, dropping the flashlight. There was a tumult and a shouting in the corridor, and a dozen men breke into the room, headed by the state trooper. Some one put on the lights. The trooper shouted: “What’ve you done to Mr. Weston?” Norvale stood up unsteadily. He felt his side and brought his hand away bloody. 3 “Nothing much,” he said.