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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77343 ***
+
+
+
+
+                            MOUNTAIN KILLERS
+
+
+        Lying in wait for his brother’s murderer, Olaf Swensen
+        planned to execute mountain justice--but fate crouched
+        in the background.
+
+                       By Thomas Barclay Thomson
+
+
+The rifle barrel peered malignantly, implacably, over the edge of
+the huge rock. Behind it, his eyes fixed upon the sun-drenched
+mountain trail below, lay Olaf Swensen.
+
+A full two hours had passed since Olaf first took up his vigil; yet
+no sign of impatience did he show. For six months, now, he had
+awaited this chance to kill Sim Satterlee. What did a few minutes,
+one way or another, matter to him?
+
+Back of Olaf, above him, in the fork of the giant pine, the thing
+crouched, jaws slavering, tail twitching. Hunger urged it to leap,
+but man was not to be thus lightly attacked. The cougar, old, slow
+on the game trails, had learned the slower speed of man and his puny
+strength, but animal instinct demanded caution. This man below was
+armed, himself a killer who lay in ambush.
+
+From far down the cañon, came the ring of iron on stone, followed by
+heavy oaths, as the driver urged his string of pack-mules up the
+steep trail.
+
+Yesterday Sim Satterlee, Shifty Sim, had been tried and acquitted of
+the murder of Lars Swensen, Olaf’s brother. Olaf knew that nothing
+would prevent Sim’s hurried flight to the sanctity of his mountain
+retreat in the fastnesses of Dead Man’s Gulch. So, overlooking the
+trail over which Sim must pass on his way to his mountain aerie,
+Olaf grimly awaited his coming.
+
+Man and gun were welded in one weapon, grim, purposeful, vengeful.
+The lion, too, ceased all motion; the twitching tail was stilled.
+
+With effortless stride, the lanky, black-visaged mountaineer
+slouched along below, trailing the plodding, scuffing feet of the
+mules. His shifty, darting eyes, afurtive with the uneasiness of
+guilt, searched vainly for a possible ambush.
+
+Stoical, diabolically cool, Olaf continued to wait until Sim slunk
+along directly beneath him. He had no chance, now, to dodge back to
+a sheltering bush, or dart ahead to a friendly turn in the trail.
+
+Shifty Sim’s keen, penetrating eyes located that grim, gaping
+gun-barrel at the very moment Olaf halted him. Sim stood in a
+tableau not unknown to him; but the roles were reversed, and fear
+shook him like a palsy; his vicious black soul turned sick within
+him.
+
+No doubts had he of the identity of his Nemesis. Many times, lying
+on his prison cot, awaiting trial, he had regretted his failure to
+remove Lars Swensen’s brother when opportunity offered. His plea of
+self-defense, so carefully planned, could easily have covered the
+two cases. The witnesses, in deathly fear of his vengeful methods,
+would as readily have sworn to a double lie. But perhaps there was
+still a chance.
+
+Slowly Sim’s hand crept toward the bib of his greasy overalls, his
+piercing glance seeking the outline of his hidden enemy.
+
+“Yust leave your gun be!” Olaf called. The rifle barrel concentrated
+on a point slightly to the left of, and above Sim’s breastbone. Its
+unwinking stare caused his flesh to crawl at that spot; his heart
+did queer things. His hand dropped limply to his side. Clammy sweat
+exuded from every pore of him, but his eyes still searched the
+covert above.
+
+“Say your prayers, murderer, for now you die!”
+
+             *       *       *       *       *
+
+There came a long, tense silence. Sim stood without motion,
+helpless, doomed. In that moment he distinguished the form of Olaf,
+prone upon the rock, behind the unwavering rifle. And, hopelessly,
+he cursed an oath-laden prayer, a blasphemous petition for a chance
+to die fighting. Once more, his hand crept toward the resting place
+of his well-oiled old .45; slowly, so slowly.
+
+Taunts from the hidden Olaf; more taunts. Revenge is admittedly
+sweet, and long had Olaf awaited this moment. Again he ordered the
+creeping hand down.
+
+Shifty Sim was on the brink of collapse. Like so many of his
+kind--those who kill on slight provocation, and with insatiable
+bloodthirstiness--he was weak and cowardly at heart.
+
+He sensed a stir overhead; slight, almost imperceptible. The
+nervous, twitching tail of the crouching Death in the great pine
+caught the fear-glazed eyes of Sim Satterlee. He traced the lion’s
+tense outline. Would it leap in time, drop upon the prostrate Olaf,
+thereby liberating Sim and sending his enemy to a tragic death? Or
+would Olaf, unhindered, press the trigger and snuff out his life?
+
+And then Olaf, the stoical, who thrice had taken upon himself the
+execution of his mortal foe, broke under the strain. He sprang to
+his feet, arms upraised; fists clenched, eyes gazing skyward. The
+loosened rifle clattered unnoticed down the stony slope. Bitterly he
+cried out:
+
+“Ay can’t do it! Ay can’t do it! Lars, you hear me? Ay tried, but Ay
+can’t!”
+
+Nerves, drawn taut as steel wires, snapped into dynamic action. The
+huge cougar, with a snarling cry, catapulted itself straight toward
+the spot so lately occupied by the recumbent Olaf, a huge,
+rapier-armed paw swishing viciously down in vain effort to crush
+him. A frenzied shriek of warning, defiance, and relief came from
+Sim, as his hand leaped to his breast and out again, bearing the
+death-dealing forty-five. The bullet from its muzzle met the lion in
+mid-air.
+
+Olaf reeled away from this unexpected menace. The wounded lion
+landed on the edge of the rock directly above Sim Satterlee. His
+next leap was instantaneous and purposeful. Again Sim’s gun crashed
+its message of death, but in vain. The great cat struck squarely,
+and the two killers, man and brute, went down in a sickening
+scramble. The beast’s claws raked convulsively and were still. Sim’s
+bullets had done their work too late.
+
+Crushed beneath the body of the dying beast lay Shifty Sim, clawed
+and mauled almost beyond recognition, his lifeblood spurting from
+his mangled body.
+
+Overcome with shock and horror, Olaf, on hands and knees, crawled
+down to his stricken foes, idiotically gibbering a mixture of
+Swedish and English, attempting to express his gratitude to Sim, his
+late enemy.
+
+Sim raised himself on an elbow, made a convulsive attempt to reach
+the revolver lying beside him--and sank back, eyes glazing.
+
+“Hell!” he mumbled thickly. “Missed ya with--my--last shot.”
+
+Stark incredulity--then the horror of belief--dawned in the eye of
+Swede Olaf, as the import of the words struck home. Shifty Sim saw.
+A sardonic, triumphant gleam fitfully lit the hardened countenance,
+and as he had lived, so Sim died--unregenerate, spurning all
+gratitude, profanely denying that even for one brief moment he had
+been a man.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the March 23, 1929 issue
+of _Argosy All Story Weekly_ magazine.]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77343 ***
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+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+  <meta charset="utf-8">
+  <title>Mountain Killers | Project Gutenberg</title>
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+    p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em;
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77343 ***</div>
+
+<h1>MOUNTAIN KILLERS</h1>
+<div class='ml20 mr20 tac mt07 mb07 it'>
+Lying in wait for his brother’s murderer, Olaf Swensen planned
+to execute mountain justice&mdash;but fate crouched in the background.
+</div>
+<div class='mb15 tac fs12'>By Thomas Barclay Thomson</div>
+
+<p>The rifle barrel peered malignantly, implacably, over the edge of the
+huge rock. Behind it, his eyes fixed upon the sun-drenched mountain
+trail below, lay Olaf Swensen.</p>
+
+<p>A full two hours had passed since Olaf first took up his vigil; yet no
+sign of impatience did he show. For six months, now, he had awaited this
+chance to kill Sim Satterlee. What did a few minutes, one way or
+another, matter to him?</p>
+
+<p>Back of Olaf, above him, in the fork of the giant pine, the thing
+crouched, jaws slavering, tail twitching. Hunger urged it to leap, but
+man was not to be thus lightly attacked. The cougar, old, slow on the
+game trails, had learned the slower speed of man and his puny strength,
+but animal instinct demanded caution. This man below was armed, himself
+a killer who lay in ambush.</p>
+
+<p>From far down the cañon, came the ring of iron on stone, followed by
+heavy oaths, as the driver urged his string of pack-mules up the steep
+trail.</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday Sim Satterlee, Shifty Sim, had been tried and acquitted of the
+murder of Lars Swensen, Olaf’s brother. Olaf knew that nothing would
+prevent Sim’s hurried flight to the sanctity of his mountain retreat in
+the fastnesses of Dead Man’s Gulch. So, overlooking the trail over which
+Sim must pass on his way to his mountain aerie, Olaf grimly awaited his
+coming.</p>
+
+<p>Man and gun were welded in one weapon, grim, purposeful, vengeful. The
+lion, too, ceased all motion; the twitching tail was stilled.</p>
+
+<p>With effortless stride, the lanky, black-visaged mountaineer slouched
+along below, trailing the plodding, scuffing feet of the mules. His
+shifty, darting eyes, afurtive with the uneasiness of guilt, searched
+vainly for a possible ambush.</p>
+
+<p>Stoical, diabolically cool, Olaf continued to wait until Sim slunk along
+directly beneath him. He had no chance, now, to dodge back to a
+sheltering bush, or dart ahead to a friendly turn in the trail.</p>
+
+<p>Shifty Sim’s keen, penetrating eyes located that grim, gaping gun-barrel
+at the very moment Olaf halted him. Sim stood in a tableau not unknown
+to him; but the roles were reversed, and fear shook him like a palsy;
+his vicious black soul turned sick within him.</p>
+
+<p>No doubts had he of the identity of his Nemesis. Many times, lying on
+his prison cot, awaiting trial, he had regretted his failure to remove
+Lars Swensen’s brother when opportunity offered. His plea of
+self-defense, so carefully planned, could easily have covered the two
+cases. The witnesses, in deathly fear of his vengeful methods, would as
+readily have sworn to a double lie. But perhaps there was still a
+chance.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly Sim’s hand crept toward the bib of his greasy overalls, his
+piercing glance seeking the outline of his hidden enemy.</p>
+
+<p>“Yust leave your gun be!” Olaf called. The rifle barrel concentrated on
+a point slightly to the left of, and above Sim’s breastbone. Its
+unwinking stare caused his flesh to crawl at that spot; his heart did
+queer things. His hand dropped limply to his side. Clammy sweat exuded
+from every pore of him, but his eyes still searched the covert above.</p>
+
+<p>“Say your prayers, murderer, for now you die!”</p>
+
+<hr class='tb'>
+
+<p>There came a long, tense silence. Sim stood without motion, helpless,
+doomed. In that moment he distinguished the form of Olaf, prone upon the
+rock, behind the unwavering rifle. And, hopelessly, he cursed an
+oath-laden prayer, a blasphemous petition for a chance to die fighting.
+Once more, his hand crept toward the resting place of his well-oiled
+old .45; slowly, so slowly.</p>
+
+<p>Taunts from the hidden Olaf; more taunts. Revenge is admittedly sweet,
+and long had Olaf awaited this moment. Again he ordered the creeping
+hand down.</p>
+
+<p>Shifty Sim was on the brink of collapse. Like so many of his kind&mdash;those
+who kill on slight provocation, and with insatiable bloodthirstiness&mdash;he
+was weak and cowardly at heart.</p>
+
+<p>He sensed a stir overhead; slight, almost imperceptible. The nervous,
+twitching tail of the crouching Death in the great pine caught the
+fear-glazed eyes of Sim Satterlee. He traced the lion’s tense outline.
+Would it leap in time, drop upon the prostrate Olaf, thereby liberating
+Sim and sending his enemy to a tragic death? Or would Olaf, unhindered,
+press the trigger and snuff out his life?</p>
+
+<p>And then Olaf, the stoical, who thrice had taken upon himself the
+execution of his mortal foe, broke under the strain. He sprang to his
+feet, arms upraised; fists clenched, eyes gazing skyward. The loosened
+rifle clattered unnoticed down the stony slope. Bitterly he cried out:</p>
+
+<p>“Ay can’t do it! Ay can’t do it! Lars, you hear me? Ay tried, but Ay
+can’t!”</p>
+
+<p>Nerves, drawn taut as steel wires, snapped into dynamic action. The huge
+cougar, with a snarling cry, catapulted itself straight toward the spot
+so lately occupied by the recumbent Olaf, a huge, rapier-armed paw
+swishing viciously down in vain effort to crush him. A frenzied shriek
+of warning, defiance, and relief came from Sim, as his hand leaped to
+his breast and out again, bearing the death-dealing forty-five. The
+bullet from its muzzle met the lion in mid-air.</p>
+
+<p>Olaf reeled away from this unexpected menace. The wounded lion landed on
+the edge of the rock directly above Sim Satterlee. His next leap was
+instantaneous and purposeful. Again Sim’s gun crashed its message of
+death, but in vain. The great cat struck squarely, and the two killers,
+man and brute, went down in a sickening scramble. The beast’s claws
+raked convulsively and were still. Sim’s bullets had done their work too
+late.</p>
+
+<p>Crushed beneath the body of the dying beast lay Shifty Sim, clawed and
+mauled almost beyond recognition, his lifeblood spurting from his
+mangled body.</p>
+
+<p>Overcome with shock and horror, Olaf, on hands and knees, crawled down
+to his stricken foes, idiotically gibbering a mixture of Swedish and
+English, attempting to express his gratitude to Sim, his late enemy.</p>
+
+<p>Sim raised himself on an elbow, made a convulsive attempt to reach the
+revolver lying beside him&mdash;and sank back, eyes glazing.</p>
+
+<p>“Hell!” he mumbled thickly. “Missed ya with&mdash;my&mdash;last shot.”</p>
+
+<p>Stark incredulity&mdash;then the horror of belief&mdash;dawned in the
+eye of Swede Olaf, as the import of the words struck home. Shifty Sim
+saw. A sardonic, triumphant gleam fitfully lit the hardened countenance,
+and as he had lived, so Sim died&mdash;unregenerate, spurning all
+gratitude, profanely denying that even for one brief moment he had been
+a man.</p>
+
+<div class='tn'>
+Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the March 23, 1929 issue
+of <i>Argosy All Story Weekly</i> magazine.
+</div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77343 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77343
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77343)