Corkscrew and Other Stories by Dashiell Hammett Page A

doctor came, I took him up the hall to my room, where he patched my neck. The wound wasn’t much, but my neck is fleshy, and it bled a lot—all over me, in fact.
    After he had finished, I got fresh clothes from my bag and undressed. But when I went to wash, I found the doctor had used all my water. Getting into coat, pants and shoes, I went down to the kitchen for more.
    The hall was empty when I came upstairs again, except for Clio Landes.
    She went past me without looking at me—deliberately not looking at me.
    I washed, dressed, and strapped on my gun. One more angle to be cleaned up, and I would be through. I didn’t think I’d need the .32 toys any more, so I put them away. One more angle, and I was done. I was pleased with the idea of getting away from Corkscrew. I didn’t like the place, had never liked it, liked it less than ever since Milk River’s break.
    I was thinking about him when I stepped out of the hotel—to see him standing across the street.
    I didn’t give him a tumble, but turned toward the lower end of the street.
    One step. A bullet kicked up dirt at my feet.
    I stopped.
    â€œGo for it, fat boy!” Milk River yelled. “It’s me or you!”
    I turned slowly to face him, looking for an out. But there wasn’t any.
    His eyes were insane-lighted slits. His face was a ghastly savage mask. He was beyond reasoning with.
    â€œPut it away!” I ordered, though I knew the words were wasted.
    â€œIt’s me or you!” he repeated, and put another bullet into the ground in front of me. “Warm your iron!”
    I stopped looking for an out. Blood thickened in my head, and things began to look queer. I could feel my neck thickening. I hoped I wasn’t going to get too mad to shoot straight.
    I went for my gun.
    He gave me an even break.
    His gun swung down to me as mine straightened to him.
    We pulled triggers together.
    Flame jumped at me.
    I smacked the ground—my right side all numb.
    He was staring at me—bewildered. I stopped staring at him, and looked at my gun—the gun that had only clicked when I pulled the trigger!
    When I looked up again, he was coming toward me, slowly, his gun hanging at his side.
    â€œPlayed it safe, huh?” I raised my gun so he could see the broken firing-pin. “Serves me right for leaving it on the bed when I went downstairs for water.”
    Milk River dropped his gun—grabbed mine.
    Clio Landes came running from the hotel to him.
    â€œYou’re not—?”
    Milk River stuck my gun in her face.
    â€œYou done that?”
    â€œI was afraid he—” she began.
    â€œYou — —!”
    With the back of an open hand, Milk River struck the girl’s mouth.
    He dropped down beside me, his face a boy’s face. A tear fell hot on my hand.
    â€œChief, I didn’t—”
    â€œThat’s all right,” I assured him, and I meant it.
    I missed whatever else he said. The numbness was leaving my side, and the feeling that came in its place wasn’t pleasant. Everything stirred inside me. …
    XVII
    I was in bed when I came to. Dr. Haley was doing disagreeable things to my side. Behind him, Milk River held a basin in unsteady hands.
    â€œMilk River,” I whispered, because that was the best I could do in the way of talk.
    He bent his ear to me.
    â€œGet the Jew. He killed Vogel. Careful—gun on him. Talk self-defense—maybe confess. Lock him up with others.”
    Sweet sleep again.
    Night, dim lamplight was in the room when I opened my eyes again. Clio Landes sat beside my bed, staring at the floor, woebegone.
    â€œGood evening,” I managed.
    I was sorry I had said anything.
    She cried all over me and kept me busy assuring her she had been forgiven for the trickery with my gun. I don’t know how many times I forgave her. It got to be a damned nuisance. No sooner would I say that everything was all right than she’d begin