Pulp Fiction, 1955 · page 64 of 101
15 Western Short Stories — page 64: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This page contains story prose from a Western pulp fiction magazine titled "Western Short Stories" (page 64). The text depicts a scene in which a character named Casey, pretending to be drunk, is ejected from a gambling establishment called the Alamo, then uses a key obtained from a woman named Rose to enter Room 10 upstairs. His plan goes awry when another girl, frightened by his presence, screams and flees down the hallway despite his attempts to silence her. The narrative appears to be a crime or adventure story set in the Old West, likely involving some form of undercover operation or deception.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
64 WESTERN SHORT STORIES lips parted; blue eyes widening in the shock of surprise. And Dan Casey, close now to these lips he had kissed, knew that no matter what Rose O’Hearn had done, she was slim and lithe and lovely in her black velvet gown. She recovered her equilibrium im- mediately. “Make your bet,” she called. “Keep the ball rolling, gentle- men.” Casey was close to her now, close enough to whisper, “Masters sent me,’ and staggered away. There was no sign on her face that she had heard. Casey couldn’t tell if Tilton or Ricker was watching. Next time he pawed at her he had to catch her message. They wouldn't let him have another chance. - ASEY BET and lost. Bet again and lost. He cursed, lips slack, and clutched the table to keep from falling. He reeled back to Rose now, mumbling he wanted a kiss for luck. Rose gripped him, a hand slipping into his coat pocket. “Back stairs. Room 10.” She shoved him away then, and he sprawled loose-jointed on the floor. “He’s drunk,’ John Tilton said harshly, pushing his way through the milling crowd to the wheel. “He hurt you, Rose?” “No. He’s just drunk. Let him go.” “A drunk doesn’t bother my girls.” Tilton motioned to a floorman. Casey gained his feet, muttering, “Crooked damned wheel,” and took three uncertain steps. The floorman grabbed him by the seat of his pants and his coat collar and propelled him to the door. Casey tried to squirm free, tried to hit the man, and found he could do neither. He was through the doorway, then, plunging head over feet and scooting face down like a sled through the dust of the street. “Stay out or P11 work you over,” the floorman bawled. Casey came to his feet and shook his fist at the floorman. “Damn you,” he cried in cold rage. “You don’t work me over. I’ll...’’ His voice trailed off as he remembered he was supposed to be drunk. The floorman jeered a laugh. “Sure. You'll play rough. Just stay out.” Wheeling, he went back in. Still swaying uncertainly, Casey pained the alley, and discarding his drunken pose, raced along the side of the Alamo. Room 10. She must be going off the wheel before long. But her room would be locked and he couldn’t stay in the hall. Then re- membering he’d felt her hand in his pocket, he searched it and found a key. It was black dark behind the Alamo and the alley was cluttered with ref- use. He moved slowly, feeling along the dark wall until he came to the stairs. He climbed them, reached the door at the head of the stairs and paused, eyes piercing the tunnel-lhke gloom of the hall. There was only the one lamp at the far end where the front stairs came from the saloon, but there was enough light for him to see that the hall was empty. Noise flowed up the open stairway from the lower floor, a strange medley of screechy music, gamblers’ calls, and clink of glasses, enough noise, Casey thought, to cover the sound of his footsteps. He catfooted along the hall wall until he reached Number 10. He slid the key into place and turned it. Then his luck soured. The door across the hall opened and a girl screamed, a shrill sound stabbing the racket from the saloon. Wheeling, Casey shouted, “Shut up,” and knew she wouldn't. Casey shoved a gold piece at her. “Forget you saw me.” But the girl was too scared to take the money. Another scream broke out of her without mental direction. She ducked past him. He grabbed her and knowing immediately it was the wrong thing to do, let her go. She fled along the hall, still screaming, and disappeared down the stairs. This was fine. There’d be a floor- man up here now. Maybe Tilton him- self. Casey took a look into the room the girl had left. A lamp on the bu- reau was burning. There was no place to hide, and he couldn't duck into Rose’s room. That would be the first place they'd look. He ran back along the hall. He tried the knob of the end door. It turned and the door swung open. He slid into it just as the girl came back up the stairs with two of Tilton’s men, cCoOmiclbooks.€©