Читать книгу Six-Gun Gorilla - Anonymous - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Tutt Strawhan's cry was drowned in the uproar that followed. A dozen chairs and tables went over as the occupants of the saloon stampeded back from the side of the building nearest the window.

The strange thing was that nobody drew a gun. They were too astonished and bewildered for that. Any ordinary gunman would have been riddled before this, but this monster, nightmare face had surprised them so much that they were too dazed even to go for their guns.

Crack!

One of the lamps hanging from the middle of the room fell shattered to the floor. The Six-Gun Gorilla had fired again, just as wildly. He had only one shot left in his gun, but the men in the saloon were not to know that. The stampede away from the window became a rout. The terrified men fled for the door which led to the open.

Their position near the counter made Tutt Strawhan and his companion amongst the last to pass across the floor on their way to the only exit. O'Neil saw them passing within a dozen feet of him, and seemed to go mad.

He jerked his head outside again, thrust the gun back into its holster, and gripped the window sill with both hands.

The saloon was solidly built, as far as western buildings went, but it was not solid enough to stand the terrific strain put upon it by the maddened gorilla. The window sill came away in the creature's hands, and some of the logs beneath it followed.

With much splintering of woodwork the monster got into the saloon through this improvised door. Tutt Strawhan had just reached the door. The Six-Gun Gorilla leapt down the room after him, and in the doorway the gunman turned to fire at his pursuer.

Such was his nervousness that he missed even at that easy range.

The gorilla came on relentlessly. Even the flash of the revolver did not daunt it. Its terrible eyes were fixed on the face of the man who had killed its master. Tutt Strawhan gave a strangled gasp, wheeled about, and ran for the nearest horse.

Pete Stark was already away down the train on the first horse he had been able to grab. Some of the other men who had been in the saloon were following his example.

Tutt Strawhan would never have got astride his horse if the door of the saloon had not been too narrow for O'Neil's shoulders. That pulled the gorilla up for a moment.

A mighty shrug, a heave, and the doorposts fell outwards, allowing O'Neil to bound down the steps to where Strawhan had just mounted.

"Get going!" hissed the frightened man, beating the horse with his clenched fist.

O'Neil missed the gangster only by inches. A deafening roar escaped the gorilla as the horse went away after the rest of the panic stricken riders. For a moment the monster danced with rage.

Suddenly it calmed. Bart Masters' training was coming to the fore. Again it drew the six shooter, straightened up to its full height, and fired after the fleeing figures.

Crack!

The gorilla pulled the trigger five or six times, but only that the one shot rang out. There were no more cartridges in the chambers. The gorilla had forgotten to reload.

Puzzled, growling softly to itself, it turned the revolver the other way and looked down the barrel, as though expecting to see some explanation of its failure. The Six-Gun Gorilla was not yet used to firearms. Only time would teach him that he could only fire as many shots as he loaded.

By the time O'Neil had solved this problem, and groped for fresh cartridges in the bandolier, Tutt Strawhan and Pete Stark had reached their waiting comrades in the nearby woods, and were gasping out their amazing story of the gorilla with the gun.

As for the storekeeper, and the rest of the inhabitants of Muddy Creek, they were still riding for their lives, or hiding in the trees outside the settlement. Terror had come to this meeting place of gunmen. They had known killers and gunmen of all kinds during the brief history of the place, but never one like Bart Masters' gorilla.

O'Neil seated himself on the step of the store to reload his precious gun. First of all he blew mightily down the barrel, clearing out much of the soot and caked powder. Proper cleaning was beyond his capabilities.

The gun reloaded, and back in the holster, O'Neil went two or three paces down the trail towards the woods before the gnawing pangs of hunger reminded him that he had eaten nothing since the night before.

Back into the store he went. There he had smelt food, and cooking. Sniffing about amongst the fallen chairs and tables, he found a few scraps of food which had fallen to the floor, but that was not a meal for a six hundred pound gorilla.

He climbed over the counter, and found a sack of potatoes. These were very welcome. Sitting on the edge of the counter, the Six-Gun Gorilla munched away contentedly, eating raw potatoes as a boy might eat apples. There had been forty pounds of potatoes in the sack when O'Neil had started. When he had finished there was not a single one.

But that satisfied his longing for potatoes. He craved for something sweet. He searched amongst the shelves and boxes at the back of the store, pulling down fittings, turning out sacks and boxes in search of sugar.

He did not find any. It was in a bin which protected it from ants, and O'Neil did not notice this bin.

In his rage he grabbed a tin from the shelf and dashed it to the floor with so much force that it burst open. Juice ran out, and the odor of pineapples drifted to the gorilla's distended nostrils. The tin had contained pineapple chunks.

With his powerful fingers the great beast pried the broken tin apart and ate the contents. That only whetted his appetite for more. He searched for more tins of that kind. There were plenty of them. The storekeeper had brought in a case only a few days previously. Canned pineapples had only recently become known in the West, and, in a district where luxuries were few and far between, they were well liked.

O'Neil did not need a tin-opener to get at the contents of the

tins of fruit. He simply squashed the tins flat with his big hands.

O'Neil certainly liked them. He picked up tin after tin, crushed them between his mighty hands, and flattened the sides inwards, squeezing out the sweet cubes of fruit, which he immediately ate.

Juice poured down his shaggy chest and on to the floor. In all, O'Neil must have eaten about twenty tins of pineapples, but when by accident he burst open tins containing corned beef, he threw these away. O'Neil was not meat eater.

It was almost dark when at last he was satisfied and shambled back into the open. His appetite no longer worried him, but he had not forgotten why he had come there.

He was after the killers of his beloved master. They had escaped him again, but he was not going to give up. He would follow them, to the other side of America if need be, but sooner or later he would come up with them.

Striding clumsily on his hind legs, the gun swinging, the broken chain dangling, he took the trail which Tutt Strawhan had taken, snuffling the air as though expecting to pick up the scent of his enemies.

Once he heard a creak amongst the branches of a tree, and turned with a growl. A white face peered at him from above. The storekeeper had taken refuse there.

It was too dark to see clearly, and as the man was above the beast, the gorilla did not get his scent. But O'Neil knew that someone was up there. One bound carried him to the foot of the tree, and the storekeeper above shrieked when he saw that he had been discovered.

The storekeeper was clinging to a branch about ten feet from the ground. That did not save him from the gorilla. O'Neil rose to his full height and gave a slight jump. With one hand he clutched the branch, and his weight caused it to snap.

There was a terrible scream from the storekeeper when he felt himself falling, and an even greater scream when he found himself caught in the gorilla's arms.

"Don't! Don't! Mercy!" gasped the terrified man.

O'Neil had him upside down by one leg. He held him at arm's length and sniffed him, comparing the scent of this wriggling, struggling creature with that of the men who had killed his master.

The scent was not one of those he sought. With a deep grunt of disappointment, O'Neil hurled the man from him. The storekeeper landed in some bushes a dozen yards away and lay there sobbing, scarcely able to believe that he was still alive.

Then the Six-Gun Gorilla resumed his trek up the trail. Darkness had closed in on all sides, but that did not check him. Around him the small beasts and birds of the forest were going to sleep, but for O'Neil there was going to be no sleep that night. He was driven forward by that burning longing for vengeance.

The dangling chain clanked on his shoulder. The heavy gun bumped against his shaggy side.

O'Neil heeded neither of these things. His fierce eyes were staring straight ahead. His massive chest heaved faster than usual before he reached the top of the hill, and then he stopped, bending forward, with the knuckles of his hands resting on the ground to steady himself.

Long and earnestly he stared into the darkness.

About a mile ahead he could see a flicker of light. It was a campfire. Campfires meant mean, and men might mean the men he sought.

With a low snarl of satisfaction the Six-Gun Gorilla broke into a run. Once again he steadied the revolver with his huge hairy hand.

When the dreaded Strawhan Gang had robbed and murdered Bart Masters, they had never guessed that such a terrible pursuer would follow unceasingly on their trail!