10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

DETOUR TO THE MORGUE Sam stepped on the ground, groan- ing and doubled up like a jackknife. They stood just out of earshot of the boy. ‘To you think it’s all right, Jake?” “Sure. It’s a cinch. The doc will come running to fix up the kid’s moth- er and he ean take that slug out of you. There’s no telephone. This is the break we’ve been needing. Just go in the house and lay low till I get back with the doc.” He watched Sam inner toward the farmhouse, clutching his stomach, then stepped into the car. “Isn’t the other man coming?” the boy asked. He had stopped crying now, seemed suddenly relieved that responsibility had been shouldered by a grownup. “No,” Jake answered as he put the car in gear. “He'll look after things while we’re gone.” He drove in silence for a few min- utes, then he took his eyes from the road to look at the boy. “How far off does Doc Haskins live?” “Not far. About five miles down the road, I was going to walk it when I heard you coming.” “T didn’t know there was a village so near,” Jake said. “Doc Haskins doesn’t live in the village,” the boy said as though sur- prised that the man didn’t know this. “He runs the state stock farm.” Jake smiled when he heard this, but he made no comment. He had been a little worried about driving into a -village. The voice on the radio hadn't given any description of him and Sam, but the police might have it. In a few minutes the boy spoke again. “Right around the next bend is Doe’s farm.” The car came onto a level stretch and Jake saw a rambling, white farm- house set back from the road. To one side was a huge, red barn with a silo standing beside it. Jake stopped the car on the road. “We won’t bother to go up the drive- way,” he explained. “Save time this way.” No harm in playing ae he =———9T thought, as he pushed the horn on the steering post. GRAY-HAIRED, chunkily built man appeared on the veranda, shading his eyes and looking toward them. A black spaniel scampered at his heels, wigwagging his friendli- ness. The boy got out of the car and started running up the little hill to the house. “Doc,” he shouted. “Doc Haskins.” The old man walked slowly down the steps and held the boy who had flung his arms around his waist. He patted the boy’s head reassuringly while the youngster bubbled out his story. Then he took him in his arms and carried him back to the car. The dog kept leaping at the boy, barking his welcome. “Little Jimmy here seemed to be upset for a minute.” There was a friendly smile on his weather-beaten face as he let the boy down and watched him roll in the grass with the dog. Jake glanced sideways from be- neath his bushy brows at the genial- faced old doctor. “Don’t blame him. She’s in pretty bad shape.” “What do you figure happened to her?” Doctor Haskins asked casually. From his tone he might have been dis- cussing the sudden lameness of a plow horse. “T don’t know,” Jake said sharply. “T’m no doctor.” The old man’s lack of concern irritated him. “But you'd better come with us right away.” “Can’t go now,” Doc Doe Haskins drawled. “Taking care of a sick cow. Besides, I don’t think it’s that seri- ous. Just a case of cramps maybe. She’ll get over it.” “Tt’s more than cramps, Doc.” He tried to make his voice sound worried. Damn these country docters. Nothing - ever bothers them, Taking care of a sick cow! “Her pulse was very rapid. I’d say she had a stroke.” “Yeah,” he said. Eomicboo =~ sc ey " —— 3 . << = Sn ‘5 — ~4 = ~—- ) 7 ae >