"Odds Against the Outlaws" by Bert N. Dean

One Eye Clausen and Long Tom Gorman reined their horses to a slow canter as they cut off from the prairie and headed down the dusty road leading to the small cowtown.

"Just as well if none of the stay-at-homes sees us," One Eye muttered. "Floyd may put up a fight, an' we don't want any interference."

"Don't worry," Long Tom chuckled. "We picked the right day to stick up Floyd. Every man, woman and kid who kin ride, walk or hobble has gone out tuh the Fanned A spread tuh watch the ropin' contest. Floyd ain't out there because the Fanned A boss has been tryin' tuh squeeze him out of the cattle buyin' business."

They rode down the main street of the deserted town and slip hitched their horses to a rail outside a saloon. Floyd's office was three doors down the street. They slinked toward it with their right hands hovering over their belted guns.

Floyd heard the screen door squeak and swung around in his swivel chair as the gunmen came in. Floyd knew by their hard smiles what they'd come for even before their six-guns cleared leather.

A muscle twitched along Floyd's jaw, but otherwise his lean, tanned face betrayed no emotion. Floyd had peered into the muzzles of bandit guns before. In his years on the range he had killed three outlaws and taken alive seven more. He hadn't been afraid then and not an ounce of fear stirred within him now.

Long Tom Gorman pointed his Colt toward a fair sized safe that stood on iron casters on the pine plank floor by the side wall. "Open it!" Gorman growled. "We know you got cash waitin' fer the steers Andy Howe's boys is drivin' up the old trail."

But Floyd shook his head. "Sorry, gents, but I don't know the combination. All the threats in the world wouldn't make it possible fer me to open that steel box."

One Eye spat an oath as he stepped menacingly toward the cattle buyer. "Git up," he snarled, "an' stand with yore back tuh the wall. I'm gonna go through yore desk tuh see if yuh got the combination written down on any of yore books or papers."

Floyd obeyed the order, but when he had backed against the wall he said: "Save yore time, gents. If I'd scribbled down the combination anywheres, I'd tell yuh rather than let yuh mess up my papers."

Long Tom Gorman's eyes shifted nervously from the door to the cattle buyer. Was Floyd stalling for time, knowing that someone would be coming along and see his predicament? Gorman was standing at an angle so that he could see through the screen door and up the street some fifty yards. But nothing moved and no sound reached his ears so he felt certain Floyd couldn't expect any immediate assistance.

One Eye shuffled hurriedly through the paper-choked desk, tossing bills, invoices and letters aside in his haste to find a slip with the safe's combination. Finally he swung away from the futile task and threw a bitter scowl at Floyd. "Git down by that safe an' start spinnin' the knob! Pronto!" One Eye lowered the sights of his Colt so the gun was aimed directly at Floyd's heart.

Floyd shuffled slowly across the small room, turned with his back toward the safe to face the outlaws. "It's no use," he whispered huskily. "I don't know the combination, an' there's nothin' I kin do short of dynamitin' to git that door open."

"Yo're lyin'!" Long Tom snarled, thumbing the hammer of his colt. "I'm gonna start countin'. If yuh ain't got the door open by the time I reach twenty, you're gittin' a bullet in the head! One — two — three — four — five —"

Floyd held up a hand and cut in: "Wait a minute. Figger this out fer yoreselves. What's the sense of killin' me if yuh ain't gonna get a cent by it? Yuh'll have every law badge in Texas on yore trail if the folks come back from the ropin' contest an' find me lyin' here dead. But if yuh walk out now an' hit the trail, I won't even bother tuh tell no one yuh wuz here. No point in my sayin' nuthin' about yuh. Small chance either of yuh will ever show yore faces 'round here again."

Long Tom and One Eye exchanged questioning glances. Then a sly smile crept over Long Tom's gaut face. "I got a couple of sticks of dynamite in my saddle bag," he said. "The townfolks won't start driftin' back fer another hour. But we won't blast the box here. We'll take it across the ford an' through the cottonwoods 'bout two miles from the drive trail."

One Eye rubbed his jaw as he glanced back at the safe. "How we gonna lug that?" he demanded. "Must weigh 'bout three hundred pounds."

"We passed a big stable down the street. I'll go an' hitch up a team to a buckboard. Nobody's around tuh stop me. You jes' keep yore good eye peeled on Floyd."

About twenty minutes the clatter of hoofs and the squeek of dry axles drifted through the screen door of Floyd's office. Floyd dropped his right hand to the top of the safe and rubbed the black enameled metal. "This office will sure look empty when the safe is gone," he told One Eye Clausen. "I'm gonna miss it."

"Yo're an onery cuss!" One Eye growled. "Ten tuh one yuh got the cash covered by insurance. Wouldn't of hurt yuh none tuh opened the safe an' let us have it."

Floyd shook his head. "That's where yo're wrong, mister. I don't carry insurance. The rates are too high hereabouts. It's cheaper tuh gamble on the chance that yore kind won't pull such a robbery. If the townfolks hadn't gone out to the ropin' contests today —"

Long Tom's appearance in the door cut Floyd short. "I'll keep him covered," Long Tom said, "while you hog-tie him good. Make it fast. We've got to git rollin'."

One Eye made quick work of tying Floyd to a chair, and then the two bandits started throwing their weight against the safe. The iron casters squeeled in protest as they jockeyed the safe toward the door. Long Tom ran out to the buckboard and brought two planks which he laid from the threshold to the edge of the street. They let the safe slip down the planks, then by using the timbers as levers, they lifted the safe onto the buckboard. Within seconds the wagon moved out of Floyd's vision and the street beyond the screen door was again empty.

Floyd strained at his bonds, but One Eye had done a good job. It might be another hour before people were moving on the street again, and someone noticed Floyd's predicament. Floyd sighed heavily and settled himself to wait.

But no one showed up some three quarters of an hour later when Floyd heard a distant explosion. The pair had blasted his safe, and Floyd wondered if the dynamite had torn it open. Whether they had succeeded or not, Floyd knew for sure that the bandits wouldn't linger long in the vicinity because the men of the town were probably heading back from the Fanned A spread by now.

Ben Curtis, the sheriff, came in a few moments later and as he slashed the ropes that held the cattle buyer he was given a brief account of the robbery. But Floyd stopped him when he started to go out and make up a posse.

"No great loss," Floyd grinned, pulling a thick roll of bills from the leg of his right boot. "Jake Eames always said he'd come back an' cart off that safe some day, but it's been standing here ever since I rented this office from him. Jake used to cuss every time he mentioned there was nuthin' inside the safe. Nuthin', that is, except a slip of paper with the combination written on it!"

"Chang Yan's Blazing Sword" by Bert N. Dean

The ragged sailor stopped, breathing hard, and croaked through cracked lips: "Have you seen him today?"

"Not today," replied the dealer in a pearl shell, kicking at a green beetle that scurried through the dust outside the small, evil-smelling shop. "Perhaps the son of Sindbad can be found in the house of the Caliph. Have you looked for him there?"

Fear leaped into the sailor's bloodshot eyes. "No, for I look no better than the most miserable beggar. I could not get my toe inside the Caliph's gate while I am wrapped in these rags."

"What have you to lose — beside your unlucky life," the dealer in pearl shell asked, "by beating at the Caliph's gate and demanding to be led before the son of Sindbad? If you have much to gain by finding him, surely you would not flinch at risking your life!"

The sailor was a study in despair as he looked over the rooftops to the great white palace on the hill overlooking the sea. His limbs were little more than skin and bones, and his beard failed to hide gaunt, hollow cheeks below red-rimmed feverish eyes. "I will go," he muttered, "for I have lost everything but my life, and unless I can reclaim my fortune, my life is as worthless as the mud that clings to my feet."

But luck followed the sailor's weary footsteps up the hill to the Caliph's palace, for as he approached the pike-studded gate a guard sprang forth with a hand outstretched in welcome. The sailor halted suddenly, but his bewilderment vanished when the guard spoke.

"Captain! Captain Jinnahh!" the guard cried in joy. "Fate has been cruel to you since out voyage to the Indies."

The sailor's cracked lips parted in a weak smile as his bloodshot eyes studied the guard's face. "Yussef! You were but a skinny boy when you sailed into the sunrise with me. Ah, but now you are tall and strong, and in service of a great nobleman. Pray, Yussef, can the son of Sindbad be found within your master's gates?"

"Aye, my captain!" replied the guard as he turned quickly about. "I shall summon him to the gate that you may speak with him."

Young Sindbad was armed with a broadsword and carried a large leather pouch such as those used by navigators of his time to carry charts and instruments. He preceded Yussef through the gate, and stopped to stare at the ragged seafarer who was leaning against the wall. In a moment young Sindbad's frown disappeared, and disbelief shadowed his face. "Jinnahh?" he asked. "Captain of the Red Sea Fleet?"

"Aye," replied the ragged sailor, reaching for young Sindbad's hand. "But I am in a sorry state, and bring nothing but bad tidings."

Young Sindbad held the seafarer's hand as he turned to walk with him away from the gate. "Many times my father was worse off than you, Jinnahh, but he never gave up hope. Tell me your troubles."

"I was commissioned to lead a trading convoy across the sea to Africa," Jinnahh began. "One dark night as our ships were seeking the channel between the islands beyond the shores of Madagascar we saw what we believed to be shepherds' fires burning along the coast. But alas, whhen we changed our course and drew near the fires, we were fallen upon by a most coldblooded band of pirates who swarmed from small boats onto our rails and immediately set about to kill the crew of each vessel. Being unarmed, I fled into the sea and swam to the nearby shore."

"None but you survived?" the son of Sindbad asked.

"Yes," Jinnah replied sadly, "Chang Yan's band let none escape their brutal swords and daggers. By day I hid in the tangled forest, and by night I would walk by the sea and observe the comings and goings of Chang Yan and his cutthroats. They dwell in caves by the sea, and one dark night I dared to slip into Chang's private cave. There I found vast stores of treasure. Silk, gold, ivory and spices. Rare jades, carvings in teak and many works of art."

Young Sindbad's eyes were narrowed in deep thought. Muscles twitched along his tightly-clamped jaw, and his sinewy right hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

"Two fine ships are at my disposal," the son of Sindbad said. "Let us man them with stout crews, take on arms and provisions and sail to the lair of this pirate!"

Jinnahh's bloodshot eyes glowed with excitement. "I knew you would leap at the chance!" he shouted. "Let us make haste to depart before treacherous tongues carry word of our attack to Chang Yan!"

Manned with the finest fighting men of the port, and with great white sails billowing in an off shore wind, two of the fastest ships of the Caliph's fleet set forth two days later with young Sindbad in full command. Jinnahh captained the second vessel, and with fair breezes and favorable tides they reached the Madagascar coast on the full moon.

Entering the pirate-infested waters, Jinnahh put off in a small boat and boarded the "Arabian Star," young Sindbad's vessel where the two conferred at length.

"Why is it," young Sindbad inquired, "that the mysterious shepherd fires do not burn tonight?"

"Because the moon is full, and we can clearly see the coast without beacons shining from the shore," Jinnahh reasoned. Then, pointing to a shallow cove along the tropical forest which was separated from the sea by a band of white beach, he drew young Sindbad's attention to a jetty of square-hewn stones. "The hulls of their dhows are hidden behind that wall of stone. But look now! They stream forth from the caves to man their fast boats. Are we ready for them?"

"We are!" cried young Sindbad. "To arms, men! To arms!"

Young Sindbad took the helm as his crew clambered over the decks, swords waving in their eagerness for battle. Then they were crouched behind the rails, ready for Chang Yan's onslaught.

Like a wolf pack the pirate dhows ran from the cove and bore down on the two ships. But when Chang Yan's cutthroats leaped for the rails of the larger vessels, they were met by flashing swords that cut a crimson swath through their screaming ranks. Standing amidships in his dhow, Chang Yan bellowed commands to his badly depleted band; then, as he realized his force could not hope to assault the two ships, he shouted for a swift retreat.

Young Sindbad who had left the helm and taken a goodly toll of Chang's men, drew Jinnahh aside. "The tide is not yet full. Would it be wise to beach our ships and give chase to the infidels before daylight?"

Jinnahh nodded wisely. "Aye, Sindbad. There is no better time than now!"

Beaching his ship, young Sindbad leaped to the wet sand with his courageous crew at his heels. Swords unsheathed, they advanced in battle formation to the edge of the forest before Chang Yan's pirates rushed forth in a counter-attack. Sword met sword in dozens of fierce duels, but with few exceptions young Sindbad's men were the victors and swept onward toward the caves.

Suddenly Sindbad found himself alone, ahead of his hard-fighting crew. And rushing toward him, flanked by a pair of huge Madagascan native warriors, was the dreaded pirate Chang Yan. The pirate chief was armed with the strangest sword young Sindbad had ever seen or heard of, for from its tip flashed a smoking tongue of flame!

Sindbad stood in a crouch, his sword at arm's length before him. With a nimble twist of his wrist he fenced off the first warrior, then struck him a stunning blow the back of his blade. The second warrior charged, holding his sword like a lance. Sindbad pivoted on one foot, then laid the warrior's chest open with a chopping stroke. Chang Yan fell upon Sindbad then, the flame from his blazing sword searing Sindbad's flesh. But Sindbad parried Chang's next blow, more by feel then by sight for the flame from the pirate's sword was blinding.

Chang yelled in unholy glee as his terrible sword arced downward, straight for Sindbad's neck. Instead of backing away, Sindbad plunged forward, sword level from his hip. The two bodies struck with a resounding thud, and as Chang fell back, Sindbad was catapulted over him.

Regaining his feet, Sindbad plucked his sword from the still body of his vanquished foe, and picked up Chang's mysterious sword. By the time Jinnahh and his victorious crew joined him, Sindbad had discovered the secret of Chang's weapon. There was a tiny channel through the blade in which oil, from a reservoir in the hilt, flowed to the burning tip.

"Shall we now go to Chang's cave and claim the treasures he seized from unwary mariners?" Jinnahh asked.

"Yes. Go," Sindbad directed. "I will return to my ship and await the tide, for you see that I have won an amazing reward for my trouble." Sindbad waved the flaming sword for all to see as he strode back to the beach, singing an ancient sea chant that he had learned at the knees of his daring father.

"Crazy With the Heat" by Bert N. Dean

Ten seconds after the deed was done the cops were closing in on Henry from all angles. Things looked very black for Henry and his face turned white. If you think that was a paradox, hold on! The worse, for Henry at least, was yet to come.

Henry surrendered without a fight. That was the sensible thing to do, because he weighed only one hundred and ten while each of the cops was a two-hundred pounder. They didn't draw their guns, but Henry drew his own conclusions as to where they would take him.

The arrest attracted a crowd of lunch hour loafers in City Hall Park. It was a blistering hot day, but every person in the crowd knew that the cops were going to make it even hotter for Henry.

The doors of the patrol wagon yawned wide and Henry narrowly escaped a boot in the pants by jumping inside. He was followed by two burly officers, then the wire grilled doors were slammed with a clang that sent shivers down Henry's spine in spite of the heat.

Siren screaming, the paddy wagon careened down the avenue. Through the rear door Henry could see the courthouse, the county jail and the railroad station. He dreaded the thought that all three buildings would eventually play a hand in his fate.

The arresting officer gave the charge to the desk sergeant at the precinct house while Henry stared hopelessly at the floor, biting his lower lip.

The desk sergeant roared: "Shot the police commissioner, huh? What's yer name, punk? And address and occupation. Make it snappy!"

Henry raised his frightened eyes. "Er, my name is Henry Hawkins. Er, I'm a bookkeeper, an' I live at Seventeen Elm Place. Er, I didn't know it was loaded. Honest! You've got to believe me!"

A heavy hand from behind grasped Henry's collar, and a gruff voice said: "Save your alibis fer the judge. We're throwing you in the lock-up!"

"But, but please let me phone a lawyer!" Henry pleaded. "The best lawyer in town will be none too good for me under these circumstances."

"You can say that again!" the cop growled, pushing Henry toward a coin telephone on the wall.

The lawyer didn't hold out much hope for Henry, but Henry gave him a list of friends whom the lawyer agreed to contact. Henry figured his friends would rally to his aid and if necessary raise a defense fund to help him beat the rap.

After the call, Henry was thrown into a small, dark cell. He slumped in exhaustion to the narrow bunk, and fell asleep to dream of scowling jurors, sneering witnesses and a judge whose thunderous voice made the courtroom windows rattle.

But as Henry snoozed away the afternoon in a succession of nightmares, his buddies and fellow-hobbyists rallied to his cause. Ollie Timmins, the head bookkeeper in Henry's office told the staff: "He shot the police commissioner, huh? So what? Probably Henry didn't even know who the guy was!"

Jess Maguire, leaning against the water cooler, shook his fist angrily. "Henry didn't do it deliberately! It must have been an accident. All of us have to help Henry, even if we have to go into court and perjure ourselves as witnesses for the defense!"

Tod Peters knocked his pipe on the corner of a desk and joined the discussion. "I heard of a similar case upstate," he said, "in which the defendant was released and the jury hanged."

Jess Maguire protested: "Got the chair, you mean. They don't hang 'em any more in this state."

"You're both cockeyed," Ollie Timmins chuckled. "The jury wasn't hanged. They were hung, which means simply that they couldn't agree on a verdict so the defendant was automatically released."

Tod Peters through Ollie a dubious look. "Maybe that was it," he said. "Anyway, I hope they release Henry. He's the nicest guy I ever borrowed five dollars from."

"The hearing is scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow morning in district court," Ollie said. "The boss says we should go along with Henry's other pals and pack the courtroom."

"Yes," Tod agreed. "Henry needs our moral support. And for once the boss was big hearted."

"Huh!" Jess Maguire snorted. "You mean the boss hopes Henry will be freed. Bookkeepers don't come a dime a dozen these days, and where would the boss get another guy to fill Henry's job for thirty per week?"

The following morning when Henry was led into court and put in the prisoner's dock, he was cheered by the sight of row upon row of his friends, co-workers, neighbors and fellow hobbyists.

Everyone stood up as the judge appeared on the bench and the clerk called the court to order. But a murmur arose among the spectators when the police commissioner strode briskly down the aisle and sat down at the prosecutor's table.

"He's alive!" Jess Maguire whispered loudly. "Doesn't even look like Henry wounded him. No bandages, no crutches or anything!"

The murmuring rose to a clamor as Henry's pals speculated on whether he'd been framed. The judge rapped his gavel for order, threatening to clear the courtroom unless the spectators quieted down.

Henry was sworn in, and took the stand like a man walking in his sleep. The prosecutor stood up and paced back and forth like a caged lion before he thrust an accusing finger at Henry and demanded: "Why did you do it? Answer me yes or no!"

"No!" Henry croaked.

"No what?" the prosecutor snarled. "Were you crazy with the heat yesterday noon or what?"

"What." Henry replied.

"Oh, so that's it!" his accusor roared. "You were what, were you? Then you can't plead insanity. You'll have to stand trial."

Henry's lawyer leaped to his feet. "I object, your honor!" he shouted. "My client can't stand trial if there's been a technical error."

The judge cocked his head, muttered: "Just what do you mean by that?"

"My client didn't know it was loaded. He just pointed the thing and his finger must have slipped and the deed was done!"

"First witness!" cried the prosecutor, ignoring Henry's attorney.

Henry got down from the chair as a burly cop was sworn in.

"Explain in your own words," the prosecutor began, "just what happened in City Hall Park shortly after twelve-thirty yesterday."

"It was like this," the cop growled. "Me and McCarthy saw the defendant coming down a path toward the fountain. He looked suspicious, so we followed him. When he got to the fountain he spied the commissioner sitting on the edge of the fountain pool with his shoes and stockings off, cooling his feet in the pool. Then, without a word of warning, the defendant raised exhibit "A" which you see there on the table, and shot him!"

All eyes in the courtroom focused on the exhibit table which was bare except for an expensive, foreign-made reflex camera.

The judge's face turned purple, the prosecutor's face turned white and Henry's face was flushed with a deep crimson. The judge rapped his gavel like a quarry worker breaking stone with a sledge. "Order! Order!" he cried as laughter rocked the courtroom.

The prosecutor threw up his hands, and Henry's attorney threw the camera. It struck the prosecutor full in the face. "You rat!" Henry's lawyer cried. "Trying to railroad my client on a trumped up charge! You ought to be disbarred and feathered!"

"Case dismissed!" the judge roared.

"Next case!" called the clerk.

Outside on the courthouse steps, Henry posed for the news photographers as his many friends crowded around, cheering.

"My only regret," Henry said, when questioned by a reporter, "is that my attorney threw my brand new two hundred dollar camera at the prosecutor. I wish I could have thrown it at him myself!"

"Mission of Mercy" by Bert N. Dean

Under his sealskin parka Inspector Don Norton, ace manhunter of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, wore the tunic of a special constable so as not to arouse suspicion when he reached the Mackenzie delta by dog sled.

His lone companion on the perilous trek into the Arctic was a young surgeon who had only recently been assigned to duty with the police. Doc Gibson, the young medic, had plied Norton with questions about the typhoid epidemic along the delta, but the inspector made it clear that he did not want to discuss a number of matters concerning the epidemic and their trek into the delta.

Reaching the first Eskimo settlement, they found that three persons had already died of the plague, and seven more were seriously ill.

Doc Gibson busied himself with the stricken Eskimos and inoculated all those who had not fallen ill. He could not gather any information from the people, for their knowledge of English was scanty and the doctor knew not a word of the Eskimo tongue.

But Inspector Norton, who introduced himself as Constable Jones to the head man of the settlement, could speak the Eskimo dialect fluently. Wise in the ways of the North, Norton put forth no direct questions. He used clever suggestion to make the hardy trappers talk about the things he had come to find out.

Uvalak, a sturdy, bronze-skinned man, showed Norton a great store of white fox and otter pelts in a shed fashioned from sealskins stretched between poles of driftwood. The inspector knew that the Eskimos had made a record breaking catch of fur, and this strengthened his suspicion as to the origin of the epidemic.

Not until the second day did Uvalak, grinning with pride, show Norton a shiny new Winchester rifle. Norton still didn't ask questions, but he was soon rewarded for his tact when Uvalak told him that the rifle had been given him by one of the two white men who had passed down the delta a fortnight before. They had, of course, given skinning knives and tobacco to all the villagers on the promise that none would make known that they had come through the settlement.

That night when all were inside the huts, Inspector Norton put the sled dogs in their harnesses and told Doc Gibson that they were leaving. He cautioned the surgeon not to arouse any attention.

Making fast time on the hard-packed snow, the inspector drove the dog sled across the frozen delta and reached a settlement on the opposite shore three days later. He told the surgeon to go about his business immediately, for they would be heading back to the nearest police post before darkness fell.

Norton unhitched the sled dogs, chained them to stakes and went about as though he were planning to stop there several days. The Eskimos came in small groups to greet him, for like all Eskimos they recognized a Mountie as a friend. Norton greeted them cheerfully, but asked no questions. He knew that the epidemic had already struck them.

An hour passed before two white men came forth from a tent at the edge of the settlement. They told Norton that they were brothers, and were searching for a friend who had inherited a fortune after going into the wilderness for the trapping season. Norton, the manhunter, knew they were lying. In a flash, he drew his revolver and ordered the men to turn around and throw up their hands. He disarmed them quickly.

"Which of you is the typhoid carrier?" Norton demanded gruffly.

The pair knew the jig was up. The taller of the two nodded toward his companion. "Neal's the carrier, Constable."

"Don't be fooled by my chevrons," Norton snapped. "I'm an inspector, and you don't need three guesses to hit on why I was sent up here. You figured that by wiping out the villages with typhoid, you could make off with this year's catch of fur. I'm arresting you both for conspiracy and murder!"

Son of Sinbad #1