The Bismarck tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, N.D.) 1916-current, 1929-07-13
GOLD BULLETS
By CHARLES G. U

sought for some means Of overcoming
him, when q thought struck me. Dill
Ion was outside, listening. waiting,
and it offered me the barest chance OF
success, but I'd try 1t.
"Furie," I said casually. here Is
your eyepiece. Don't you want 1T"
His eyes became almost sane In
their expression; his pistol hand
dropped to his side, and he reached
for the lens.
It was then that I caught him neat
ly under the point of the chin. He
doubled up at the knees and as he
toppled forward I caught him and
laid him out on the floor.
Scooping up my automatic, I spun
around. expecting Dillon to come
pouring into the room, preceded by q
fusilade Of shots. But he didn't, al
though I knew he was standing out
there. waiting, listening. He evidently
didn't know what had happened.
Well, I knew what Dillon was waiting
for! I had saved my life, but ! want
ed him to commit the overt act. I
wanted him to attack me.
MY eyes fell on the dummies and
all at once I knew what I was going
to do. Initiating Furie's high-pitched
voice, I shrilled:
Eyer head Or yer belly-whur1l We
have it?"
I was peeling off Furie's incredible
shirt.
mo, no! For Gods sake, mol" I
cried in an agonized voice, Don't
shoot! Don't"
The shirt wa off. I was slipping
1t over Napoleon's head.
"Furie!" I pleaded. They'll get you.
They'll crack your neck!"
The shirt was on. So was the as
tonishing hat. I toppled Sitting Bull
into the shadows against the north
wall, lowered the light, scooped up
the pistol.
"Furie!" I screamed. Don't shoot!
Dillon lied to you'll"
fired once, twice at the ceiling.
As I staggered back and sank In a
heap against the south wall, the door
flew open and Dillon rushed in. pistol
In hand. A glance at my limp body.
and he fired once, twice, thrice, at
the wax figure in the absurd straw
hat. Then q long. throaty cry Of rage
broke from his lips and he lunged
toward the s~traw-hatted figure.
had risen silently.
Hands up, Dillon"
He was whirling on his heel, his
still smoking pistol leaping up at
me. I shot him once, twice, through
the heart and his own weapon blew
a hole in the floor. My last shot had
spun him around so that he faced the
door through which he had burst to
enact his pretense of avenging my
supposed death. I shall never forget
the almost comic look Of bewilder-
ment frozen on his swarthy face. He
crumpled at the knees, and pitched
through the door into the blackness
of the gallery.
My legs gave way beneath me and
I dropped to the floor; the pistol slid
from my hand. I could not have
moved or uttered q word to save my
life.
The blare Of motor horns broke the
desert stiffness. There was some
shouting and my name was called, but
I took no notice. Feet pounded on
the floor. Lights flashed, exclama.
tions of horror arose, and q body of
people poured in upon me. Deacon
and Lucy and Jerry, Nathan Hyde
and Roy Hammond, and Thompson,
the police detective.
Uncle John, Uncle John, Uncle
joint" Lucy sobbed. She had drawn
my head to her breast and was bath
ing my bald spot with her tears.
"That-that man out there!" Dea-
con shouted unsteadily.
Dillon" I murnbled.
"Dillon!" he roared, as II he were
beside himself. Il tell you It's Luther
MacNairl"