Читать книгу Six-Gun Gorilla - Anonymous - Страница 10

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The gorilla had slept for a while after its victory by the river. When it wakened, it was dawn, and the blood from its chest wounds had caked in its hair. It was stiff and sore when it stirred, and that made it snarl in anger. The pain reminded the monster of its mission.

The men who had killed its master had tried to kill it. One of them had been punished, but that was not enough. O'Neil decided to go on with the chase.

He knew that guns and cartridges were no use if they got wet. He had seen his master keep them clear of the water on many occasions, so now as he forded the river he did the same.

He reached the other bank safely, shook himself, and tried to pick up the trail of the other three horsemen.

This was not difficult for O'Neil. He had his power of scent as well as of sight.

Once he had made out the tracks, he set off at top speed, sometimes going on all fours, which was the quicker way of travelling, sometimes tottering on his hand legs like some grotesque man-monster.

Finally, he reached the spot from which the Strawhan gang had first seen Post 78. He studied the place intently.

He could see no movement in the early morning light, but he knew that his enemies were there. He could scent them even at that distance.

But O'Neil's natural instincts caused him to be suspicious. He did not like the silence of the place. He could see that the door was closed. There seemed to be no signs of life about the place.

Crouching low behind bushes, the Six-Gun Gorilla circled the buildings, never once allowing himself to be seen. More than once a low growl escaped him, but he knew that if he meant to take those men by surprise he must not make too much noise.

Once he drew his gun and leveled it at the walls of the post house, the growled to himself as he put it away. Bart Masters had taught him that he must always see his target before shooting.

Then, away to the east, far down the trail, he saw a cloud of moving dust. It was the morning coach coming through from the railroad. In a short time it would be at Post 78.

More men!

O'Neil growled angrily. He wanted no interference. He wanted these three ruffians to himself. No one else must interfere. He would have to hurry or he might be interrupted.

Stealthily he began to creep forward from cover to cover. In this way he was able to get within thirty yards of the buildings, but no nearer. The coaching employees had seen to that. They had pulled up every bush, and rolled away every boulder which might give attackers cover at close range.

Lying flat on the ground, the great beast sniffed the air carefully. The scents that it hated were stronger now. O'Neil heard the low mumble of voices. The men were behind those walls waiting for him. It was a trap!

His teeth bared savagely. He knew it was a trap of some kind, but that was not going to hold him back.

To those men crouching behind the loopholes, rifles at their shoulders, there came no warning of what was to follow. One moment everything was silent, the next there was a bulky, reddish-brown figure hurtling through the air.

O'Neil had taken a running leap for the roof o the post house, and he covered the distance in less time that it takes to tell.

Crack!

Tutt Strawhan had fired desperately, but he missed. Few men could have hit that bounding gorilla, especially when it had appeared so unexpectedly.

The startled ruffians felt the roof creak over their heads as O'Neil landed on it with a crash. El Valdo gave a screech of dismay.

"He on da roof! He up there!"

"'Course he is, you fool!" snarled Strawhan, dropping the rifle and snatching out his six shooter. "Now we can't use the dynamite until we shift him from up there. Drive him off! We've got to get him on the ground outside."

Stark and the half-breed were nearly deafened by the roar of their leader's gun as he emptied shot after shot at the roof.

But the roof was thick and protected by those stones. The bullets did not pierce them. O'Neil was not hit, although he was angered by the noise and the smell of gunpowder.

He did not use his own gun. He was waiting until he could see the men he sought. Up and down the roof he crawled, causing the stout beams to creak and groan. He was seeking a way in. He wanted to get to grips.

Terror seized the three killers inside. They had been fully confident that they were going to make an end of this monster. They had expected to stop O'Neil with a bullet as he approached, then to have thrown dynamite which would have blown him to pieces.

Now it was impossible to use the dynamite on the Six-Gun Gorilla without blowing themselves to pieces.

They heard stones and slaps of rock being shifted. O'Neil was pulling them up in his hairy hands and throwing them to the ground.

Pete Stark's face was green with fright. He crouched back in one corner and blazed away as fast as he could reload. He was hoping that one bullet at least might find its mark.

Tutt Strawhan was the only one of the three who kept his head. He roared at the others not to waste cartridges but to wait until they could see the gorilla. Three express rifles at that range should stop any beast from getting inside the building.

Crash!

O'Neil was getting impatient. His hand had found one of the crossbeams. Exerting all his tremendous strength, he heaved.

The beam trembled, groaned in its sockets, and finally came away at one end. There was a splintering of timber as the long nails tore through. Planking, wooden shingles and a great slab of stone went crashing down through the hold which was made.

The three occupants of the post house retreated from the miniature avalanche. Even Strawhan was white to the lips. Dust filled the killers' eyes. They fired their rifles blindly, and the bullets whistled around the gorilla as it bent over the hold to peer inside.

O'Neil recoiled at once. He was not foolish enough to expose himself to such a hail of death. He could tell that those whistling high velocity bullets were different to those from the revolvers. He remembered the things that had stung his chest, and snarled.

Crack-crack!

He had fired twice down through the roof, and the bullets ricocheted from the walls. The killers moaned with fright as they sought cover.

But, the gorilla knew a better way than shooting by which to dislodge them. There were plenty of slabs of stone over the remainder of the roof. It was easy to snatch up these and hurl them through the hole in the roof into the room below.

The stones crashed on the floor, splintered against the walls, and smashed the furniture. The danger from scattering fragments made the three men crouch further and further in the background. They no longer thought of killing O'Neil. Their one idea now was to keep themselves alive. It was only a question of minutes now before the gorilla made a hole big enough to drop through.

Stones crashed down on the three terrified members of the Strawhan gang.

Once it was in that room with the three men who had killed its master, there could be only one conclusion to the fight that would follow.

Panting, sweating, frantic with fear, the three ruffians suddenly heard a sound in the distance, the clatter of hoofs and the crack of a whip.

Tutt Strawhan glanced through one of the observation slits, and shouted with relief:

"A coach! It's the westbound coach. It's going to pull up here. It's our one chance. Get ready to run for it!"

The other two men watched Strawhan hopefully as he unbolted the door. It was their only chance of escape.

The coach rattled nearer. The coachman had seen something was wrong at the post house and he was already slowing.

The two passengers who sat on top were startled to see a gigantic gorilla with a gunbelt and bandolier full of cartridges sitting on the roof of the depot where they had expected to stop! They saw that it was tearing the roof beneath it to pieces. They heard its savage snarls. There was little wonder that they shouted to the driver:

"Don't stop! Keep going! It'll kill the lot of us."

The coachman needed to second bidding. His companion, the guard, nodded agreement. The coachmen cracked his long whip, and the six horses lunged forward at increased speed.

O'Neil eyed them sideways. He did not mind what they did as long as they did not interfere with him.

Inside the doorway the three scoundrels waited tensely. The coach drew level with the post house, gathering speed every moment.

Then the door of Post 78 was flung open, and three wild-eyed men sprinted wildly for the passing vehicle.

"Stop a minute! Stop!" they cried.

The driver did not stop, but in their desperation the three killers managed to snatch a hold. All of them swung on the coach before it was out of reach, and clung there like drowning men clinging to a raft.

A roar of rage escaped O'Neil, and he came down from the roof in one terrific leap. He had realized that the three holdup men were again escaping him.

But this time they were going without the gold for which they had murdered his master!