The Golden Horseshoe and Other Stories by Dashiell Hammett Page B
Authors: Dashiell Hammett
Ads: Link
Porky Grout!
Porky Grout standing facing me in the middle of the road, the dull metal of an automatic in each hand.
The guns in his hands seemed to glow dimly red and then go dark in the glare of my headlightsâglow and then go dark, like two bulbs in an automatic electric sign.
The windshield fell apart around me.
Porky Groutâthe informant whose name was a synonym for cowardice the full length of the Pacific Coastâstood in the center of the road shooting at a metal comet that rushed down upon him. â¦
I didnât see the end.
I confess frankly that I shut my eyes when his set white face showed close over my radiator. The metal monster under me trembledânot very muchâand the road ahead was empty except for the fleeing red light. My windshield was gone. The wind tore at my uncovered hair and brought tears to my squinted-up eyes.
Presently I found that I was talking to myself, saying, âThat was Porky. That was Porky.â It was an amazing fact. It was no surprise that he had double-crossed me. That was to be expected. And for him to have crept up the stairs behind me and turned off the lights wasnât astonishing. But for him to have stood straight up and diedâ
An orange streak from the car ahead cut off my wonderment. The bullet didnât come near meâit isnât easy to shoot accurately from one moving car into anotherâbut at the pace I was going it wouldnât be long before I was close enough for good shooting.
I turned on the searchlight above the dashboard. It didnât quite reach the car ahead, but it enabled me to see that the girl was driving, while Kilcourse sat screwed around beside her, facing me. The car was a yellow roadster.
I eased up a little. In a duel with Kilcourse here I would have been at a disadvantage, since I would have had to drive as well as shoot. My best play seemed to be to hold my distance until we reached a town, as we inevitably must. It wasnât midnight yet. There would be people on the streets of any town, and policemen. Then I could close in with a better chance of coming off on top.
A few miles of this and my prey tumbled to my plan. The yellow roadster slowed down, wavered, and came to rest with its length across the road. Kilcourse and the girl were out immediately and crouching in the road on the far side of their barricade.
I was tempted to dive pell-mell into them, but it was a weak temptation, and when its short life had passed I put on the brakes and stopped. Then I fiddled with my searchlight until it bore full upon the roadster.
A flash came from somewhere near the roadsterâs wheels, and the searchlight shook violently, but the glass wasnât touched. It would be their first target, of course, and â¦
Crouching in my car, waiting for the bullet that would smash the lense, I took off my shoes and overcoat.
The third bullet ruined the light.
I switched off the other lights, jumped to the road, and when I stopped running I was squatting down against the near side of the yellow roadster. As easy and safe a trick as can be imagined.
The girl and Kilcourse had been looking into the glare of a powerful light. When that light suddenly died, and the weaker ones around it went, too, they were left in pitch unseeing blackness, which must last for the minute or longer that their eyes would need to readjust themselves to the gray-black of the night. My stockinged feet had made no sound on the macadam road, and now there was only a roadster between us; and I knew it and they didnât.
From near the radiator Kilcourse spoke softly:
âIâm going to try to knock him off from the ditch. Take a shot at him now and then to keep him busy.â
âI canât see him,â the girl protested.
âYour eyesâll be all right in a second. Take a shot at the car anyway.â
I moved toward the radiator as the girlâs pistol barked at the empty touring car.
Kilcourse, on hands and
Porky Grout standing facing me in the middle of the road, the dull metal of an automatic in each hand.
The guns in his hands seemed to glow dimly red and then go dark in the glare of my headlightsâglow and then go dark, like two bulbs in an automatic electric sign.
The windshield fell apart around me.
Porky Groutâthe informant whose name was a synonym for cowardice the full length of the Pacific Coastâstood in the center of the road shooting at a metal comet that rushed down upon him. â¦
I didnât see the end.
I confess frankly that I shut my eyes when his set white face showed close over my radiator. The metal monster under me trembledânot very muchâand the road ahead was empty except for the fleeing red light. My windshield was gone. The wind tore at my uncovered hair and brought tears to my squinted-up eyes.
Presently I found that I was talking to myself, saying, âThat was Porky. That was Porky.â It was an amazing fact. It was no surprise that he had double-crossed me. That was to be expected. And for him to have crept up the stairs behind me and turned off the lights wasnât astonishing. But for him to have stood straight up and diedâ
An orange streak from the car ahead cut off my wonderment. The bullet didnât come near meâit isnât easy to shoot accurately from one moving car into anotherâbut at the pace I was going it wouldnât be long before I was close enough for good shooting.
I turned on the searchlight above the dashboard. It didnât quite reach the car ahead, but it enabled me to see that the girl was driving, while Kilcourse sat screwed around beside her, facing me. The car was a yellow roadster.
I eased up a little. In a duel with Kilcourse here I would have been at a disadvantage, since I would have had to drive as well as shoot. My best play seemed to be to hold my distance until we reached a town, as we inevitably must. It wasnât midnight yet. There would be people on the streets of any town, and policemen. Then I could close in with a better chance of coming off on top.
A few miles of this and my prey tumbled to my plan. The yellow roadster slowed down, wavered, and came to rest with its length across the road. Kilcourse and the girl were out immediately and crouching in the road on the far side of their barricade.
I was tempted to dive pell-mell into them, but it was a weak temptation, and when its short life had passed I put on the brakes and stopped. Then I fiddled with my searchlight until it bore full upon the roadster.
A flash came from somewhere near the roadsterâs wheels, and the searchlight shook violently, but the glass wasnât touched. It would be their first target, of course, and â¦
Crouching in my car, waiting for the bullet that would smash the lense, I took off my shoes and overcoat.
The third bullet ruined the light.
I switched off the other lights, jumped to the road, and when I stopped running I was squatting down against the near side of the yellow roadster. As easy and safe a trick as can be imagined.
The girl and Kilcourse had been looking into the glare of a powerful light. When that light suddenly died, and the weaker ones around it went, too, they were left in pitch unseeing blackness, which must last for the minute or longer that their eyes would need to readjust themselves to the gray-black of the night. My stockinged feet had made no sound on the macadam road, and now there was only a roadster between us; and I knew it and they didnât.
From near the radiator Kilcourse spoke softly:
âIâm going to try to knock him off from the ditch. Take a shot at him now and then to keep him busy.â
âI canât see him,â the girl protested.
âYour eyesâll be all right in a second. Take a shot at the car anyway.â
I moved toward the radiator as the girlâs pistol barked at the empty touring car.
Kilcourse, on hands and
Similar Books
