J. Allan Dunn

High-Grade (1920)

Summary

J. Allan Dunn High-Grade (1920)

Came a shriek that died to a whimper of agonized fear as the muzzle of Steele’s pistol sharply rapped the elbow on what satirists call the funny bone. The knife described a shining parabola to the pool, cutting into it with a sharp splash, as if a fish had leaped.
“Tell Burton to come up. Sabe? Call him up to look at something.”
Hate still lingered in those black eyes, bruised with pain, but deadly fear was in the brain back of them. The Chinaman had seen death before, had dealt it, now he read his own in the hard gray eyes of this man who had risen out of the creek.
Source: Wikisource

J. Allan Dunn High-Grade (1920)

The raillery in Steele’s steady voice was undershot with grim earnestness.
“Git up, both of you, grab for the ceilin’. Never mind your hand, Jim. Your own fault. I never bluff with a gun. Now stand still.”
They stood while he appropriated both his own weapons, putting away the third in his hip pocket, handling the guns with the dexterity of a juggler while they eyed every movement.
“Now, you Pete, tie up his hand with one of them napkins. I’m not going to bale you up this time. Pete, step back of Jim, hand on each shoulder. Lock step to the door, not too fast.”
Source: Wikisource

J. Allan Dunn High-Grade (1920)

Jim stood by a chair, pipe in mouth. Pete waved a knife over a smoking platter. Steele gently tried the latch of the door. He was sure it was not bolted. Jim and Pete were not past masters of their profession. Steele shifted the gun in his holster, tried the door slowly, opening it a fraction at a time, ready to swing it wide. He wanted to hear, if he could, what the pair would say before he disturbed them. If only they were busy with the food? They should be hungry, and, with men of their calibre, the appetites always dulled the mental faculties, he reasoned.
Source: Wikisource

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