Читать книгу Six-Gun Gorilla - Anonymous - Страница 5

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"What do you want?" croaked old Bart Masters, though he already knew.

"Your gold!" snarled Strawhan. "Don't try to stall us, Masters. We've seen you bring gold in here. Where is it hidden? If you want to save your skin hand it over."

Instinctively the miner's eyes flickered to the table where the blanket loosely covered the bags of good. His lips moved, but no words came from them. He was trying to think of a way out of this terrible position, and he could see none. Even O'Neil was out of action, if not dead.

A moment later the old miner wished he had not glanced that way, for Pete Stark guessing the meaning of that glance, sprang towards the table.

"Holy smoke!" he gasped, jerking back the corner of the blanket. "Here's all his hoard. We're rich men. This must be all the gold he's dug out in the years!"

All the gang turned that way, and again Bart Masters snatched for the gunbelt over his head. He succeeded in gripping it, and jerked it from the nail, but before he could draw the gun from its holster he was again menaced by Strawhan's gun.

"Didn't I tell you to keep your hands off that gunbelt?" roared the leader of the gang, and he pulled the trigger of his gun three times.

Three bullets thudded into Bart Master's body. Two of them found his heart. He fell back limp and lifeless on the bunk.

As the smoke cleared away the ruffians crowded round the gold.

"The old fool must have been meaning to clear out," grinned one of them. "We came just in time. If we'd waited another night it might have been too late."

Quickly they divided the store of gold for carrying, and when they staggered from the shack some five minutes later they were all heavily laden.

That there was plenty more gold in the mine did not worry them. They were not interested in mining. Robbery with violence was more in their line.

Time passed, and the old clock on the shelf ticked away steadily. No movement came from the bunk, where the blankets were stained deeply with blood.

Presently a board creaked under the gorilla. The great beast was stirring. Its lips moved, then its eyes. Fiercely it gazed at the roof of the shack, unable to recollect where it was. There was a blinding pain in its head, and it moaned slightly as it stirred.

Blood had trickled under one ear, and caked there in the hair. The second of the bullets fired at the gorilla had 'creased' it, bringing unconsciousness, but not death.

The gorilla sat up, and its chain creaked. There was a strange scent in its nostrils, the scent of warm blood. A low growl came from its parted lips.

The moon shone upon its hideous face, now twisted with rage and fear. The growl changed to a plaintive whine. It was calling to its master.

In the past years, whenever unwise eating had given it pains in its stomach, this whine had brought Bart Masters to its side with effective remedies. Something was wrong now, but O'Neil did not know what it was. He decided to call his master.

There was no reply. From where the gorilla crouched it could see the miner sprawled on the bunk. One of his hands hung down over the side in unnatural fashion. The gorilla began to sense that something was wrong.

What had happened to its beloved master? It rose to its feet, its head almost touching the roof of the room, and shuffled forward.

There was a jerk at its neck as the chain pullet it up, and the growl changed to one of anger. The smell of blood was angering and alarming the great beast. It gave a tremendous tug at the chain and the shack shook.

Bart Masters had chained the beast up each night, but had forgotten how it had increased in strength since those early days when it had been necessary. No such chain could hold it now.

Enraged still further by the resistance, O'Neil leaned forward, grasped the chain with both hands behind his head and heaved.

There was a splintering crash. The roof began to sink at one end. The gorilla had pulled the corner post completely out of the ground, and now towed it forward across the room, in spite of the fact that several logs and planks were still fixed to it.

A moment later it was beside the bunk, bending over its master, sniffing him, nuzzling him, moaning and crying with terror when it found what had happened.

No child could have sorrowed more. The gorilla pushed Masters and poked him, hoping that he would come back to life, but that was impossible.

Then the gorilla's sorrow changed to rage. It bellowed and roared in a way which would have roused the beasts in an African jungle.

Again and again it roared, beating its chest with clenched hands, snatching at articles of furniture and tearing them to matchwood.

As it thrashed about the room the chain and the logs attached to it went with the gorilla. The noise behind it maddened it still further.

But every now and again it would go to its master's side and sprawl over him, whimpering and moaning. Only the coming of daylight through the window quieted it. It ceased to howl and roar, and went down on all fours, sniffing the floor.

To and fro it went, like a dog picking up the scent. Once it snatched up some articles, an old empty tobacco pouch, a dirty handkerchief, a piece of a rag. All these things had been discarded by the four killers when they had been making room in their pockets for the sacks of gold.

O'Neil seemed to know that these articles, and the scents attached to them, belonged to those men who had slain his master. His hair bristled, his eyes flamed with fury, and his clenched fingers dug into his huge palms.

Again and again he raised his head and growled. He was vowing vengeance. In his savage way he was connecting these scents with his master's death. He knew that these men had killed his master.

Once he went outside the door, and followed the telltale scent across the clearing as far as the beginning of the trail to the west. But he did not go very far. Waddling with ungainly strides, he returned to the shack, and his keen eyes noticed something on which his dead master was half lying.

It was the revolver belt and gun holster. The six shooter was as yet undrawn.

A strange expression came to O'Neil's eyes. He pulled the gun out and examined it. It was not the first time he had handled it. He knew all about this strange toy of his master.

Furthermore, he knew how to use it. In his spare time Bart Masters had delighted in teaching O'Neil unusual tricks. He had shown him how to hold the gun, point it and fire. He had even shown him how to load it with those little metal things called cartridges.

To the brokenhearted O'Neil this gun and belt seemed part of his master, and he decided to take it with him.

He tried to put the belt around this massive waist, but it was too tight. Bart Masters had been a bulky man, but not as bulky as the gorilla.

Even then O'Neil was not beaten. He seated himself on his haunches and fiddled with the belt. Once or twice his master had strapped it about his strange friend. There must be some way of making it larger.

At last O'Neil found the buckle, and opened the belt out to its fullest length. Then it buckled round the gorilla's waist easily, so that the heavy six-gun hung on his right side.

O'Neil had never been more proud than when his master had dressed him up like this. Even now the gorilla could not resist swaggering up and down the clearing outside.

Then O'Neil remembered something else. When he and the miner had gone into the woods on shooting expeditions, his master had worn a bandolier. It was on the shelf beside the clock, filled with cartridges.

O'Neil fetched it, and with an effort, got it over his own shoulder. It fitted too high under the armpit, but that did not matter to O'Neil. The bandolier was part of his master, smelled like his master, and the gorilla knew that the little shiny metal things in it were for the gun.

Thus equipped, O'Neil prowled up and down the clearing until the sun was high. The sun gleamed on something amongst the bushes at the other end of the open space, and the gorilla remembered what it was.

The miner had set up a tin as a target for practice. He had encouraged O'Neil to shoot at that tin from a distance.

Clumsily, for his fingers were too big for a gun that size, O'Neil drew the revolver from the holster, and aimed at the tin on the bush.

His forefinger fumbled some seconds for the trigger. Only the merest tip of his finger could go under the trigger guard, but that was enough to enable him to pull the trigger.

Bang!

The bullet went wide. The gorilla could fire a revolver, and had been trained not to jump at the noise, but the beast was no crack shot.

O'Neil's eyes gleamed. His lower lips pouted with determination, and he fired again and again.

At the fourth shot there was a clatter, and the tin jumped in the air. He had scored a hit at last.

Then the gorilla hooted with joy, bouncing up and down on its hind legs as though it had gone mad. Always when it had scored a hit there had been a special dainty given it by its master. Instinctively it turned, expecting the tit bit, only to be faced with the bloodstained figure on the bunk.

The joy died from O'Neil's eyes. The growl in his throat sounded more fearsome than ever.

He squatted on the doorstep, fumbled with the bandolier, and drew out cartridges. He knew how to open the gun and empty out the old cases. Now he proceeded to reload.

It was a long process for O'Neil. Sometimes he tried to push the wrong end of the bullets into the chambers, but at last he had the gun fully loaded and he restored it to the holster.

A strange grimness seemed to possess him. Tucked in his belt was the soiled handkerchief that he had picked up from the floor of the cabin. His nostrils dilated as he sniffed at it, then he turned suddenly towards the west, and hurried up the trail which the four killers had taken.

The Six-Gun Gorilla had started on its journey of vengeance. A new terror was loose!