The Black Mask — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

70 Jim Dickinson’s Head Pulling down the blanket on the battered bed, she laid the trap on the mattress, and laid the covering over it again. Then, she dived hastily under the bed, just as she heard the priest’s step outside the door. Father O’Laughlin, receiving no answer to his repeated rappings, turned sadly and wended his way back again down the mountain path. With fear and trembling, Creole May listened to the padre’s retreat- ing footsteps. Then, as they died away in the distance, she arose and, seating herself in one of the two broken chairs the cabin afforded, she gave way to meditation and tears, sharing her troubles with black Michael, her only friend. Dickinson, returning earlier than usual, found the cabin in darkness and May in tears. The moon, shining brightly on the front of the shack, showed him that the trap had been removed, ere he reached the spot. With a bellow of rage, he leaped through the open doorway. He stood for a second, his single, bloodshot eye accustoming itself to the darkness of the interior. Then, with a snarl, he turned upon the woman, “Where is he?” he demanded, shaking her as a terrier shakes a rat. “Damn you, tell me! Where’s the man you had in here?” She attempted to” answer—to ex- plain. He refused to listen. The words were choked off in her throat by the pressure of his huge muscular fingers. Then, holding her at arm’s length with his left hand, he smashed blow after blow into her face with his right until, tiring, he hurled her into the corner, a dying, battered, unconscious heap. The cat, true to its nature, spit angrily at the invader. Roaring like a maddened bull, Dickinson aimed a kick at the animal. Michael, at- tempting to dodge out of the crazed man’s way, became tangled between his legs. In the darkness, Dickinson stumbled and fell, sprawling, across the bed. e His huge head struck the trigger of the bear trap hidden beneath the blanket, squarely, and with the force of a battering ram. The jaws flew together with a snap, closing about the thick neck with a grip that had been made to hold a grizzly king. Dickinson threshed about spasmod- ically for a second, his eye bulging out of its socket. . . . His finger worked convulsively...then, twitch- ing slightly, he lay quiet. On the foot of the bed Michael, his greenish-yellow eyes gleaming like twin fires, humped his back and spit in accordance with the prophecy .of Cheeta, while Jim Dickinson’s worthless soul entered into Hell. Two nights later I helped Doc. Wright claim the head he had won, and which Jim Dickinson was ready to pay. ™ —— a ee OT OE ee