10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

22 Falkner turned and moved up the grade with Scotty at his heels. A guard challenged them and they an- swered in muffled tones. Below, the roar from the gravel washer and the constant pound of the air drills made a steady beat which almost drowned their words. They climbed on up the brush-lined slope, and suddenly Falkner’s quick ears caught sound which jerked him to a stop. A rock had rattled by them on the trail. That might mean nothing or it might mean that someone was coming down the grade toward them. Both he and Scotty stepped off the trail and crouched in the shadow of the-brush. Someone was coming, there could be no mistake about that now. Above them the sky was black with the threat of an approaching storm. It was impossible to see more than a dozen feet in the reflection of the lights from the canyon below. In this reflection they saw a figure suddenly, indistinct, vague, as it moved forward. Falkner took no chances. He waited until the new- comer was almost directly opposite, then he jumped forward and jammed his gun against the shadow’s side. Her startled exclamation was the first warning that his prisoner was a girl. “Ellen!” Her breath caught in her throat. “Guy, I was afraid that I wouldn’t find you.” His tone was rougher than he in- tended. “What are you doing, wander- - ing around at night? Don’t you know that we have guards, that you might have been shot?” She said: “I tried to telephone you, but there was no answer.” “We cut the telephone lines,” he told her. “We didn’t want anyone to be able to get word to the dam until our work was finished.” She said: “But I had to warn you. They’ve got a posse together and brought police in from two other counties. They’re going to move 10-STORY DETECTIVE— against you in the early morning. You’ve got to get out of the state, Guy, out of the country. This time there won’t be any chance of letting you off.” He said grimly: “Thanks, you took a chance, coming here. Why?” “Does it matter?” He told her: “It matters a lot, El- len. It matters more to me than this dam—than anything I can name.” She said: “I had to come.” He was holding her shoulders. ‘‘Be- cause you know that I’m innocent, — that I’m being framed.” He couldn’t see her clearly enough to be sure, but he thought that she shook her head. “I don’t seem to care about that, Guy. All that’s important is for you to get away.” He laughed suddenly in the dark- ness and Scotty seized his arm. “Fool. Stop it.” The laugh died, but Falkner was ‘still chuckling. “Then we win, Ellen. Nothing else matters. Listen, you'll have to come on with us. There’re guards on the trail below, and I don’t dare let you go back to town.” “But where are you heading?” He told her: “Never mind. Just keep close to me, and when I give the word, drop down into the brush and stay there. He took her arm and guided her as best he could along the trail. N EIGHTH of a mile above they turned off the trail to the right and wound through the brush, follow- ing a narrow path which was little more than a trace. After fifteen min- utes a building loomed suddenly out of the darkness and the girl caught her breath. “The refrigerating plant.” “Sh-h-h,” Scotty warned her. Her fingers tightened on Falkner’s arm. “What are you going to do?” Falkner told her. “Just stay here and keep quiet.” She didn’t release her grip on his arm. “Father told me what you said Conn (C NOOK (©