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diff --git a/old/61013.txt b/old/61013.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3d1895b..0000000 --- a/old/61013.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,947 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fastest Gun Dead, by Julian F. Grow - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Fastest Gun Dead - -Author: Julian F. Grow - -Release Date: December 24, 2019 [EBook #61013] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FASTEST GUN DEAD *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - The Fastest Gun Dead - - BY JULIAN F. GROW - - The skeleton had the fastest - draw west of the Pecos. Too - bad he was such a lousy shot. - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -He was a big man, broad of shoulder, slim of hip. His Stetson was -crimped Texas-style, over slate-gray eyes that impassively had seen -much good and more evil in their twenty-six years. - -He stood in the saloon door with the dust of the streets of Dos -Cervezas Pequenas still swirling about scuffed, range-rider's chaps. -His left hand held open the weatherbeaten swinging door. The right -hovered over the worn peachwood butt of the Colt holstered on his right -thigh. - -The slate-gray eyes, emotionless, swept the crowd bellied up to the -bar, and stopped at one man. When he spoke it was flat, but with the -ring of tempered steel, and every man but that one drew back out of -range. "I want you, Dirty Jake," the big man said. "Now." - -Dirty Jake shot him into doll rags, naturally. - - * * * * * - -Dirty Jake Niedelmeier was, you might say, the most feared ribbon clerk -in the Territory. Easily the most. - -I remember him from the early days, from the first day he came to town, -in fact. I remember because he got off the stage just as I was leaning -out the window nailing up my brand-new shingle, and my office was and -still is upstairs next to the stage depot. I was down on the boardwalk -admiring it, all shiny gold leaf on black like the correspondence -school promised: - - Hiram Pertwee, M.D. - -His voice broke in on me, all squeaky. "Beg your pardon," he said, -"where's the YMCA?" - -Well, that isn't the usual sort of question for here. I turned around. -There he was, a scrawny little runt about knee-high to short, wearing a -panama hat, a wrinkled linen duster and Congress gaiters. - -He wasn't especially dirty then, of course, only about average for a -stage passenger. He kind of begrudged his face, with little squint -eyes and a long thin nose, a mustache like a hank of Spanish moss and -just about chin enough to bother shaving. Under his duster he wore a -clawhammer coat, the only alpaca one I ever saw, and I never from that -day out saw him wear any other. He stood there looking like he'd never -been anyplace he really cottoned to, but this might just be the worst. - -I was just a young squirt then and not above funning a dude. I told him -the YMCA was around the corner, two doors down and up the back stairs -at the Owl Hoot Palace. He nodded and went the way I told him. - -That was, and still is, Kate's Four Bit Crib. The girls there wear -candy-striped stockings and skirts halfway to the knee, and their -shirtwaists are open at the neck. Dirty Jake didn't speak to me for -three years. - -He wasn't Dirty Jake then, though, just Jacob Niedelmeier, fresh from -selling ribbons and yard goods in Perth Amboy, New Jersey and hot to -find a fortune in the hills. He'd been a failure all his natural life. -This was a new beginning, for a man 34 who was already at the bitter -end and looking for the path back. Gold was the way, he figured. He was -going to get it. - -But he didn't. He was back flat broke and starving in four months. - -He spent the next seventeen years behind the notions counter at -Martin's Mercantile, selling ribbon and yard goods and growing old two -years at a time. I think it tainted his mind. - -Leastways, from the time I got to know him, some fourteen years gone, -he's been what you might say, a queer actor. At first, when the store -closed at sundown he'd take off for the near hills with a pick and a -sack, still seeking for color somebody might have missed. After a while -he didn't bother with the gear. He just moseyed around all that rock -mostly, I suppose, to be away from people. - -Truth to tell, people were beginning to avoid him anyway. He was -getting kind of gamy over the years, and cantankerous generally. - - * * * * * - -Maybe it's kind of funny we got more or less friendly but doctors and -ribbon clerks aren't so all-fired far apart. They both have to do with -people and their ways, and like to get shut of both now and then. Every -couple of months I'd go along with him up in the hills, to get the sick -smell out of my nose. Night air and a night sky can be pretty fine if -you've been looking at tongues and such long enough. - -Going out like that, we didn't say much. I preferred it that way since -Jake Niedelmeier was a boob. - -A smart man can get on tolerably well with an idiot if both just have -sense enough to keep their mouths shut. One time he didn't was when he -brought along a bottle of rye. He got started and was going on to beat -the band, yapping about how life was a cheat and someday everybody'd -respect Jacob Niedelmeier, until finally I lost patience and told him -that while I treasured our association beyond pearls I'd chuck him off -a cliff if he didn't shut the hell up. I was nice about it, and after -that it was like I said, tolerable. - -Well, sir, about two years ago he came into my office while I was -darning up some fool borax miner that'd got himself kicked square in -the bottle on his hip. Jake stood in the corner picking his teeth while -I finished. After the borax miner limped out he spoke up. - -"Comin'?" That was all the invitation he ever gave. - -"I guess," I said. I sloshed the suture needle in a basin, gave it a -couple of swipes on the hone stone and threw it in my satchel. That -miner had a tough rind. - -Jake went out first. I closed the door behind us, not locking it, -of course, because our night marshal was kind of my relief surgeon -whenever I was on calls. He was a Secesh hospital orderly during the -Rebellion. He was better with a saw than with sewing, but he could tie -up most wounds well enough to do till I got back. - -Jake and I set out south up the mountain trail, but pretty soon it hit -me he was heading someplace considerable more directly than we usually -did. - -Sure enough, he took off at an angle from the trail after a bit. We -struck up into some fairly woolly country. He wasn't following any -sign I could see, at least not by moonlight, but he kept going faster -until I was plumb out of wind. - -We were in the hills overlooking Crater Lake when we came to kind of an -amphitheater in the rocks, some twenty feet across. He stopped at the -edge of it and stood staring in, silent and breathing catchy. - -Me, I just chased my own breath for a while, then looked too and -saw what he was aiming at. Right in the middle, shining pale in the -moonshine like nothing else does, was a pile of old, old bones. Jake, I -saw, had seen it before. It was scaring him yet. - - * * * * * - -Old bones, sir, are still bones. I've seen and set my fill. But after I -got a good look at these they scared me too. - -There were four skeletons altogether, all nicely preserved, and only -three of them were men. Indians, I mean. You could tell that from the -shreds of buckskin. Two of them still had weapons near their right -hands: one a stone knife, the other a lance. And the top of each of the -three skulls had been shot clean away. - -At least, half of the top had, and the same half on all three. Almost -the entire os frontale and ossa parietalia on the left side was gone -on each one. I hunkered down to see closer, while Jake stood back and -shook. - -I struck a sulphur match and saw something else about those three -redskin skulls. The edges where the bone was gone weren't fractured -clean like a bullet or a club would do. They were charred. - -The three were sprawled around the fourth skeleton and that was the -one gave me the vapors. It was more or less man-shaped. But it wasn't -a man, that I know. I don't believe I care to find out what it was. -Instead of ribs there was a cylinder of thin bone, and it had only one -bone in the lower leg. What there was for a pelvis I've never seen -the like, and the skull was straight out of a Dore Bible. There was a -hatchet buried in that skull. - -The bones of the right arm were good and hefty, and it had two elbows. -The left arm was about half the size--not crippled, but smaller scale. -Like it was good for delicate work and not much else. - -About ten inches from the widespread six fingers of its right hand -was what you knew right off was a weapon even if it did look like an -umbrella handle. - -I was just reaching down to touch it when that fool Jake made his move. - -He'd been standing behind me, closer I bet than he'd ever got before, -staring down at that fourth skeleton and making odd noises. I tell -you, it was something for a medical man to see. Suddenly he grunted -like he was going to be sick. He snatched up a femur from one of the -Indians and swung it up to smash that fourth skeleton to smithereens. - -Well, sir, quicker than the eye could see the umbrella handle smacked -itself into the palm of that bony hand, sending fingers flying in six -directions. It hung there in the air against what was left, trained -dead on Jake's head, and it hummed. - -The femur dropped from Jake's right hand like he'd been shot. He -hadn't, though, because he was still wearing his skull and by that time -running. Soon as he did, the umbrella handle flopped over and just lay -there, the hum dying away. - -When it stopped the place was pretty quiet, because Jake was off in -the rocks and I was going over some things I wanted to say to him -immediately I was able to talk again. That fourth skeleton had the -fastest draw I'd ever seen. - -Jake stuck his head up from behind a boulder. "Doc," he said, "why -didn't he shoot?" - - * * * * * - -The question wasn't as all-fired pip-witted as Jake was capable of. It -took me upwards of three weeks to work out why a weapon that could -draw and aim itself didn't shoot too. - -I'd heard a little clink when the weapon flew into the skeleton's hand. -It came from a metal disk that lay in its palm, toward the heel of the -hand. - -The disk was thin and only about as big as a two-cent piece. A mate to -it was set in the butt of the umbrella handle, convex where the other -was concave. - -Going at it kind of gingerly, I slid the disk in my vest behind my -watch and put the umbrella handle in my right coat pocket. - -It was a key-wind repeater with a gold hunting case, that watch, and -I worried about it every step down the mountain. I walked a good four -hundred yards behind Jake all the way back into town, just to be on the -safe side. We didn't linger, either. We wanted lights. - -By the time I got the two objects locked in my rolltop my heartbeat in -anybody else would have had me telling the sexton to start his hole. I -prescribed bed for me, told Jake, who hadn't hardly even drawn breath -the whole time, to go to hell and retired. - - * * * * * - -Next day a squabble came up over some borax rights upcountry. I didn't -get to open that rolltop for a time. Then one early morning coming back -in the buggy from a house-call in Pockmark, forty-odd miles north, I -got to worrying again at the umbrella handle and those dead Indians. - -Seems like four, five times a week some chunkhead hunkers down hard -with his spurs on. When I got to the office that night there was one -waiting--a bad one, Spanish rowels--and Jake was sprawled in my chair, -picking his teeth with my spare scalpel. I patched up the chunkhead, -took the scalpel from Jake and rinsed it off and watched him suck his -teeth for a while. It began to look like he was going to be stubborn. -So finally I said: "Say, Jake." - -He grunted. "Jake," I said, "I think I've got that dingus figured." He -snuck a glance over at the desk so I knew he knew what I meant, but he -was busy pretending that wasn't what he came to talk about. - -"I think it's a gun that can read minds like a gypsy," I said. Jake -still looked bored, so I took the umbrella handle out of the rolltop -and waved it at him. He dove off the chair and started rolling for the -door. - -"You damn fool," I said, "it won't go off." I was reasonably certain -it wouldn't, but I laid it back down by the disk gently anyhow and sat -in the chair. I've only got the one chair, on the theory that anybody -who isn't bad enough to lie on the table is well enough to stand. Jake -edged over and stood like a short-legged bird on a bobwire fence. "It -kin whut?" he said. - -"It can read minds," I said. "You were going to bash those bones. The -gun knew it and trained square on your head. You remember?" - -He remembered. "And those Indians," I went on. "You remember them? The -left side of the head on each of them was blown off." - -I hauled down a roller chart of the human skeleton, first time I'd done -that since I don't know when. - -"This up here is the brain," I said. "We don't know a hell of a lot -about it, but we do know it's like a whole roomful of telegraphers, -sending messages to different parts of the body along the nerves. -They're like the wires. This left hemisphere--right here--sends to the -right side of the body. Don't fret about why, the nerves twist going -into the spinal cord. - -"Okay. We know, too, that the part of the brain that sends to the arm -is right here, in the parietal lobe. Right under the chunk of skull -that was shot off on those three Indians." - -"Shaw," Jake said, perching on the table. The old billy-goat was -beginning to get impressed, even if he didn't have any notion of what I -was talking about. - - * * * * * - -I didn't have exactly much notion either, but I kept on. "The brain -works by a kind of electricity, same kind as in the telegraph batteries -at the depot. This gun," I tapped the umbrella handle and Jake started -off again, but caught himself, "has some sort of detector, a galvanic -thermometer that senses electrical messages to the nerves." - -From here on in it was pure dark and wild hazard. "Obviously," I said, -"whenever one of those signals goes from this cerebral motor area here -in the left hemisphere down to make the weapon hand move, it must be a -special signal this gun was built to catch. Just like a lock is made -for one particular key. - -"And near as I can figure, the gun has to be able to tell when that -move coming up is going to be dangerous to the man holding it. Stands -to reason if it can tell when a brain's signalling a hand, it can tell -too if that brain is killing-mad. Some people can do that, and most -dogs. - -"So, if it senses murderous intent and a message to the weapon hand to -move, it moves too, and faster. - -"It homes on this disk like a magnet right into the hand of the gent -that owns it, and aims itself plumb at the place the signal is coming -from." I tapped the chart. "Right here." - -I poked the gunk out of a corncob, packed it and lit up before going -on. Jake stared at the umbrella handle like a stuffed owl. - -"Now, that fourth skeleton we saw sure as hell isn't human. He isn't -from anywhere on this green earth, or I miss my guess. Might even have -something to do with Crater Lake there, years ago. But we aren't likely -to find out. - -"But we do know that he fought three Indians that probably jumped him -all at once. And he killed every one of them with this gun before he -fell." - -That brought Jake up short. - -The Territory is kind of violent generally, and anybody or anything -good along that line would be bound to have the sober respect of a -ninny like Jake. - -I dug up an old glove, and used spirit gum to stick in its palm the -little disk from the skeleton's hand. I pulled the glove on my right -hand, and stood up with my hand about a foot over the umbrella handle. - -"Okay," I said, "kill me." - - * * * * * - -He was so orry-eyed by then he damn near did it just to be obliging. -But then the recollection of the night on the mountain, and the three -Indians with their heads shot off, sifted through and he shied off. -"Hell no," he hollered, "I seen that thing go before! I ain't about to -get my head blowed to bits!" And he went on. - -Well, it took me the best of two hours. I showed him the two studs on -the underside that most likely were a safety device. I explained how -probably the gun wouldn't go off unless somebody was holding it with -a finger between those studs, which was why it didn't shoot when it -went into the skeleton's hand that night. I finally got him by telling -him if I was right, we'd wire the fourth skeleton together, take it -back East and earn a mint of money on the vaudeville stage showing the -fastest cadaver in the West. - -"Mr. Bones: Faster than Billy the Kid and Twice as Dead," I said we'd -bill it. Jake, he thought that was a lovely idea, and decided to go -along. - -Fourteen times that eternal jackass raised his right arm at me, while -I held my own gloved right hand over the weapon. But he didn't have -any real heart for it, and fourteen times the gun just lay there. Then -I got a mite impatient, and kicked him in the kneecap. That fifteenth -time he was truly trying. - -Skinny as he was he'd have driven me clear through the floor, except -that umbrella handle jumped into my glove and aimed dead at his -forehead, snarling like a cougar. More correctly, the left side of his -forehead. If I hadn't braced my index finger out stiff, that fifteenth -time would've had him a dead man. - -Jake froze like a statue and hung in the air staring at the gun, -snarling away in my hand. Finally I pulled the glove off with the gun -still stuck to it, and flung it on the desk. - -Then Jake gave me the sixteenth, and by the time I got up again he was -gone and the gun and the glove with him. - - * * * * * - -Next morning the borax squabble blew up again. What with miners getting -stomped I didn't get to bed for a week, much less have a chance to find -out where Jake and that damned weapon had lit out for. By the time -I did, it was too late. Jacob Niedelmeier, the ribbon clerk, after -seventeen years was on his way to glory as the legendary Dirty Jake. - -I got the start of the story from a drifter, name of Hubert Comus. He'd -got into kind of a heated discussion in a saloon south a ways that -ended with him and this other man going for their hardware. Hubert -got his Merwin & Bray .42 out and, being a fool, tried fanning it. Of -course it jammed and he laid the heel of his hand open clear to the -bone. - -Twasn't the hand bothering Hubert, though. Like most, the other man -missed him clean, but when the barkeep threw them both out Hubert lit -sitting on the boardwalk and took a six-inch splinter clear through his -corduroys. - -While I was working on him he told me about Jake. - -A man, it seems, had turned up in a little settlement called Blister, -about two days down the line. Nobody noticed him come in, except that -he was wearing one glove, a shiny clawhammer coat and Congress gaiters. -The general run in the mining camps doesn't wear Congress gaiters. - -He got noticed, though, when he showed up in a barroom wearing a -pearl-gray derby with an ostrich plume in the band, and carrying a -rolled-up umbrella under his arm. The little devil had stuck the shaft -of a regular umbrella in the muzzle of the skeleton's weapon. - -It turned out he'd bought the derby that the storekeeper there had -planned to be buried in. Where the ostrich plume came from I never did -find out. - -"He come right in the swingin' door an' stood there," Hubert said over -his shoulder, "lookin' at the crowd. Purty quick they was all lookin' -right back, I kin tell you. That feather fetched 'em up sharp. Take -it easy back there, will you, Doc? Then Homer Cavanaugh, the one they -called Ham Head, he bust out laughing. He laughed so hard he bent over -double, and the rest of the boys was just beginnin' t'laugh too when -the little feller picked up a spitoon and dumped it down Ham Head's -neck. - -"The boys got mighty quiet then. Hey, easy, Doc, will you? Ham Head -straightened up and his face went from red as flannels to white, just -like that. He stood glarin' at the little feller for a couple of ticks, -openin' and closin his fists, and then that big right hand went for the -Smith & Wesson in his belt. - -"Well, it was a double-action pistol and had a couple notches in the -grip, but Ham Head never cleared it. I never even seen the little -feller draw, but there was Ham Head fallin' with half his noggin shot -away. Gently, will you, Doc, gently! - -"The little feller stood leaning on his umbrella, lookin' down at him. -'What was that man's name?' he says. 'Ham Head Cavanaugh,' somebody -says back. 'Ham Head Cavanaugh,' the little feller says, 'he's the -first.' Then he shoves the umbreller back under his arm and goes out. -We never saw him again. - -"Some say it was a bootleg pistol he used, or a derringer in his -sleeve. And some say he had a pardner with a rifle in the street, but -there wasn't nobody there. I was standin' as close to him as I am to -you, Doc, and I swear--it--was--that--um--breller--OW!" - - * * * * * - -Ham Head Cavanaugh was the first. I had kind of a personal interest in -Jake and his weapon, so I kept track. There was Curly Sam Thompson, Big -John Ballentine, Redmeat Carson, Uriah Singletree and twelve others -known of, all dead within eighteen months. Any man Jake could hoorah -into a fight. With never a chance to get his right hand on iron before -his head gave the signal and got blown off. He took them all on. And he -never lost--because he couldn't. - -Jake was king-o'-the-hill now, all right. He had the success he yearned -for. - -Yet when he came back to see me last April it wasn't to brag. He was -in trouble. I looked up from a customer, a damn fool that'd sat on a -gila monster, and there he was, sneaking in the door bare-headed like a -whipped hound, not the cock of the walk in the whole Territory. He slid -into the back room like a shadow, and the man I was working on never -even knew he'd come. - -When I went in afterward the lamp was out, the shade was down and he -was in a corner, nervous as a jackrabbit an eagle just dropped in a -wolf den. "Buried my derby under a pile of rock up in the mountains," -he whispered. "Look," and he held out his glove. - -It was plumb worn out. The little metal disc was hanging on by a -strand of spirit gum, and the fabric of the palm was in shreds. - -I looked at him for a minute without saying anything. He was still -wearing the clawhammer coat, over B.V.D. tops, but it looked like he'd -been buried weeks in it and dug up clumsy. He had on greasy rawhide -breeches and battered cowhand boots for shoes. He had a month's beard -on his lip and he stunk. - -This here was legendary Dirty Jake, no question about it. - -"Get a new glove," I said. - -"Nope," he answered, "no good. Last week in Ojo Rojizo I took the -glove off to scratch and right then a man braced me. He threw me in a -horse-trough when I wouldn't fight. I want you to fix me up good. - -"I want you to open my hand up and set the dingus just under the skin, -and sew it up again. Knew a feller did that with five-dollar gold -pieces cuz he didn't like banks. Worked fine till he got a counterfeit, -and it killed him. - -"I'll lay low in the hills till the hand heals. No problems after that." - -No problems? Maybe so, but I'd been doing some thinking. Still, I kept -my mouth shut and did what he wanted, and he slunk off with no thanks. -Don't guess I really had any coming. - -After he left I got out my tallybook and ticked off the men Dirty -Jake had killed: One Eye Jack Sundstrom, Fat Charlie Ticknor, Pilander -Quantrell, Lobo Stephens, Alec the Frenchman Dubois, some jackass Texas -nobody even knew and the rest, all men whose brains had telegraphed a -special signal to Jake's gun before it reached their own right hand. -Well, there was a new pistolero in town. - -A month and a half later I was craned around, trying to lance a boil of -my own, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Dirty Jake go by under -my window. He'd dug that hat with the ostrich plume out from under the -rocks, his hand was healed, he was swinging his umbrella and he didn't -so much as look up. He was headed for the Owl Hoot Palace. I decided -the boil'd wait. - -Less than five minutes later I heard the shots, two of them. A second -later Jubal Bean, swamper at the Owl Hoot, came pounding up the -boardwalk and hollered in the door: - -"Doc, better come quick. Dirty Jake just took a couple slugs in the -chest and he never even got to draw!" - -I took my time. "It was just a matter of odds," I said. "Who got him?" - -"The new one," Jubal said, "the man they call Lefty." - - * * * * * - -Well, a couple more weeks to bleach, a little wiring, and I'll be -heading East. Look for the billboards: - - MR. BONES - The Fastest Draw in the West - "Faster than Billy the Kid - and Twice as Dead" - presented by - HIRAM PERTWEE, - M.D. - -All I've got to do is figure how to keep getting mad at Jake. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fastest Gun Dead, by Julian F. 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