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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2025-11-26 19:39:44 -0800 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2025-11-26 19:39:44 -0800 |
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diff --git a/77343-h/77343-h.htm b/77343-h/77343-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6a5446 --- /dev/null +++ b/77343-h/77343-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,175 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="utf-8"> + <title>Mountain Killers | Project Gutenberg</title> + <style> + body { line-height: 1.1; margin: 0 auto; padding: 40px 8%; } + p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; + text-align:justify; } + h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em; + margin: 1em auto 0em auto; } + hr.tb { border: none; height: 0.7em; } + .fs12 { font-size: 1.2em; } + .it { font-style: italic; } + .mb07 { margin-bottom: 0.7em; } + .mb15 { margin-bottom: 1.5em; } + .ml20 { margin-left: 2.0em; } + .mr20 { margin-right: 2.0em; } + .mt07 { margin-top: 0.7em; } + .tac { text-align: center; } + .tn p { text-indent:0; } + .tn { font-size:0.9em; border:1px solid silver; margin-top:1.8em; + margin-left:8%; width:80%; padding:0.4em 2%; background-color: + #DDDDEE; } + </style> +</head> +<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—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—those +who kill on slight provocation, and with insatiable bloodthirstiness—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—and sank back, eyes glazing.</p> + +<p>“Hell!” he mumbled thickly. “Missed ya with—my—last shot.”</p> + +<p>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.</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> diff --git a/77343-h/images/cover.jpg b/77343-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1811d00 --- /dev/null +++ b/77343-h/images/cover.jpg |
