All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

Bodies By Night waiting to be sworn in as extra deputies. Every light in the place was ablaze. “T’m gonna swear you in all at once, men,” Blane rasped. He ceased whittling on the pine stick and snapped shut his staghorn knife, slipping it in a vest pocket. “It’s too damn hot in here. Now hold up your hands. Hey! he pointed at Milt. “Get outa that line. I wanta see you about Abbot when this is over. I’ve been to the house and had a look around—sent some of the boys to take away the body.” “You get around fast, don’t you?” Milt said stonily. His light blue eyes didn’t waver. “Just like that ape-man.” Blane stiffened. “What’s that?” “T don’t think Joe Abbot was mur- dered by no ape. What do you think?” Blane leaned forward, planting both hands on his desk. Maybe I don’t. You were there—so they tell me. Keep talkin’, Clark.” “Well Joe was lyin’ on the floor drunk when the lights went out. Whatever it was, jumped me first—I had a knife from the kitchen drawer, and I stabbed out—ripped into some clothes, then my head hit the wall and I didn’t know any- thing for a while. Why didn’t it finish me? Instead, it hunts up old Joe. Doesn't make sense does it? And is this escaped ape wearing a lot of clothes ?”’ Blane’s eyes bored into Milt’s. “So that’s your story? I don’t like it. Get outa that line. I’m holding you for question- ing.” Milt’s face reddened, his fists clenched. Some of the men looked at him, shifted impatiently on their feet. Milt slipped back against the wall, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, to conceal their trembling—fight- ing the urge to go over that desk after the sheriff. Blane stood up straight, the rolls of fat on his stomach bulged the dirty grey shirt out in front. “All right, boys— You swear to uphold the law in ev’ry 101 respect, and do what I tell yuh to do?” There was a concerted chorus of “I do’s” interspersed with “sure ’nuff” and “reckon so.” Blane pushed back his bag hat, gazing up and down the line. “Yer all residents of Cyprus Creek here, and this here ape- man that’s gone on a rampage is dan- gerous. With two men dead already, what’s he gonna do next? He may stay in the swamp, start traveling clear across Florida—or he may hang around here and show up again tonight. We ain’t hankerin’ fer any more bodies. Bliss Hal- eck says he’s a killer an’ we sure enough got proof of that. I say if we gotta shoot him—why shoot. The damn thing ain’t human anyway.” “Just a minute, sheriff. Guess most of you know me—I’m Bliss Haleck. If you can possibly take Moe alive, it would suit me better. But I’m offering a thou- sand dollar reward—dead or alive!” Excited exclamations came from the men. Blane nodded. ‘‘That’s fine, Mr. Hal- eck. However I ain’t takin’ unnecessary chances with the lives of our citizens.” He looked at the men. “You boys heard what I said. Now you've all got rifles and revolvers.” He turned toward a gun cabinet on the wall. Milt let his glance drift to the window. Johnny Lee was there. He motioned, hold- ing up a revolver, pointing at it mean- ingfully. ILT’S face remained expressionless, but one eyelid drooped. He edged along the wall, slipped out into the dark- ness and a shadow joined him. “Gee—you almost got to be a deputy, huh, Milt?” He looked at the skinny lad and nodded. “What'd ya want to be a deputy fer?” “T wanted a gun.” “Here—I thought you could use one, after I overheard a few things the sheriff COMmiclboo (C (CO