The Hunter and Other Stories

by Dashiell Hammett

  The girl is trying, unsuccessfully, to square herself with the Kid when Cooley gets the dive keeper’s summons, and calls the Kid down to go with him. They go in one of Cooley’s cars, Cooley driving, the Kid beside him.

  When Willis and Slim have gone, Agnes calls Cooley’s number, and tells the girl, who answers the phone: “Tell Tom not to go out. It’s a trap of Jack’s and Slim’s.” The girl says: “They’ve gone.” Agnes then goes to the police. The girl, knowing where her step-father and the Kid have gone, sets out to overtake them in another car. She arrives just as the trap is sprung—in a street that is half torn up by a sewer ditch. The girl gets there in time to jam her car between Cooley’s and the attacking car, partially upsetting the latter. The Kid yanks her out of her car into his, shoots Slim—who was trying to take a crack at her—and has Willis and the others covered by the time they straighten up from the bump the girl’s car gave them.

  Cooley spots the police coming, from both sides. There’s no getaway open. Cooley takes charge, giving orders. The Kid shoots the street light out, giving them darkness. The girl scrambles out and sticks the Kid’s and Cooley’s guns out of sight in the loose dirt along the ditch edge. They’re all out of their cars when the first of the police arrive. Cooley pretends he’s glad to see them, saying some men tried to stick them up. Asked which direction they went, he says, “That-away,” making an almost complete circle with his arm. One of the police gets up from examining Slim, who is lying in the street. “Is this one of them?” he asks. “Is he dead?” Cooley asks, and is told that he is. “He’s one of them,” Cooley says.

  Agnes comes up with the rest of the police, and laughs at Willis, boasting of having spoiled his plan. The police question Cooley. “Why, she must be goofy,” he says, embracing Willis. “He’s the best friend I got. He saved my life. If it hadn’t been for him they’d of got me sure.” Agnes, enraged at Cooley’s attempt to rob her of her revenge, denounces him as the murderer of Blackie. A couple of policemen take hold of him. Then Willis suavely tells the police Agnes sent him and his friends into this trap where Cooley, the Kid, and the girl tried to shoot him down, just as Cooley and the girl had shot Blackie down five years ago.

  The Kid grabs the girl and jumps backward into the ditch. The buried guns are close to his hands then. He gets them out and holds off the police for a moment, telling the girl to beat it down the ditch. Everyone’s attention is on him. Agnes picks up Slim’s gun from the street and shoots Willis. The Kid and the girl take advantage of this break to get a running start down the ditch. Around a bend in it they find the opening of a small tunnel, boarded above to keep loose dirt from blocking the entrance. They go in. The Kid knocks the board loose. Earth has settled over the entrance by the time the pursuing police arrive.

  Huddled in their sewer, the girl doesn’t have much trouble squaring herself with the Kid, getting his forgiveness. At a little before daybreak they sneak out, brush off their clothes, and set out for the edge of town. When they are on the bridge where, five years ago, she had been picked up with Cooley’s gun, she asks the Kid for his guns, kisses them good-bye and tosses them into the river.

  Later in the morning they board a train at a small station some miles from the city, with a ticket reading still farther away. They’re happy together. The Kid slumps comfortably down in the seat beside her, no longer holding himself rigid; nor has he a poker face now; and when he gives up his ticket he looks into the conductor’s eyes with a friendly smile.

  DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND

  Guy Wayne, American soldier of fortune, is instructor in the army of the tuchun, or military governor, of a western Chinese province, holding a colonel’s commission. With him are two white noncoms—Hank, a small, dried-up, heavily mustached, bowlegged oldish man, and Bingo Kelly, a big, slow-moving, good-natured husky.

  Early one evening while Wayne is lying with his head in the lap of the tuchun’s favorite wife, Hank climbs through the window to tell him a peeping servant has carried the news to the tuchun. Wayne tells the woman she will have to run away with them, but she has her own idea of how to take care of herself. She tears her clothes, disarranges her hair, and begins to scream rape. Hank wants to cut her throat, but Wayne, half-amused, says no. Hank throws her down on the floor, rolls her up in rug, and they stow her away, upside-down, out of sight. Wayne blows a kiss at her as he and Hank drop out the window.

  Strolling through the streets, returning the salutes of Chinese soldiers, apparently chatting casually, with only the side to side shifting of their eyes denoting watchfulness, they go to where Wayne has left his car. Wayne gets into the car while Hank goes off afoot. Wayne rides outside the town, to where Bingo is drilling a machine-gun detachment. After a low-voiced conversation between the two white men Bingo marches his detachment over a hill, out of sight of the town, and spreads them out facing the town, their guns tilted high in the air.

  By the time Bingo has his men placed, Hank appears around the hill, riding a horse, leading two saddled horses and a small pack train. Wayne nods to Bingo, who roars a command at his men. They begin firing, their bullets going high in the air over the hill and down on the sand between it and the town. Wayne and Bingo, slowly at first, then swiftly, move to join Hank, mount, and ride away without attracting the machine-gunners’ attention.

  When the tuchun’s men, hurrying from town in pursuit of Wayne, see the barrage the machine-gunners are laying down, they halt in confusion. The machine-gunners cannot of course see them over the hill. By the time officers have made a wide detour and have stopped the machine-gun fire, the three white men are far away and night is falling.

  For days Wayne and his companions travel northward through Mongolia, intent on reaching the Yenisei River and traveling down it to the Siberian Railroad. Their way lies through wild, windswept country; they have friendly encounters with native herdsmen, less friendly ones with roving bands of Chinese, Russian, Mongol horsemen, but Hank has brought along a couple of machine guns and plenty of ammunition, so they hold their own.

  At length they come to the outskirts of a fairly large town. They bury their machine guns and most of their ammunition before entering it. As they approach the town they are overtaken by a large limousine, which bears down upon them with screaming siren and no slackening of speed, compelling them to scramble off the narrow road. As the limousine goes past, Wayne catches a glimpse of a beautiful woman’s face looking haughtily out at him.

  In the town, they have no sooner found lodgings than they are taken before the local authorities to explain their presence. Hank, acting as spokesman and interpreter, tells a straight story of their leaving the tuchun’s service, and the authorities apparently are satisfied. The three men are allowed to go back to their lodgings.

  There is a note brought to Wayne. Curtly worded, it summons him immediately to the house of a W. Ruric, by whom the note is signed. He resents the tone of the note, crumples it into a ball, tosses it into a corner of the room, and tells the messenger that is the only answer. Half an hour later the three men are arrested and thrown into a cell, where they spend the night. Hank, engaging one of their guards in conversation, learns that they have been arrested as deserters from the Chinese army and will probably be sent back to the tuchun.

  Late in the morning, the woman they saw in the limousine visits them. She is accompanied by a dandified man whom she introduces as Mr. Verner. Speaking unaccented English, she says she is Wanda Ruric, and asks Wayne why he did not answer her note. He explains that he thought it was from a man and resented its tone. She apologizes for the note’s curtness and explains what she wanted.

  She has some mining concessions in the interior, inherited from her father, and some months ago had sent a Dutch engineer with laborers to begin operating the mines. Since then she has heard nothing of them. The country in which the mines are located is wild and peopled by fanatic natives who might easily resent strangers’ presences there and refuse to recognize the authority of the government granting the concessi
ons. She wants to know what happened to the engineer and his force. From what she has heard of Wayne and his companions she thinks them the men to find out for her. She will pay well. Will they take the job?

  Wayne says, “Sure,” but they are in jail and will probably be sent back to China. She assures them that is easily fixed, thanks them sweetly, and goes away. In a very few minutes the three men are released and go back to their lodgings. Wayne sends Hank out to learn what he can about Wanda Ruric.

  Meanwhile, in her luxurious residence, Wanda is listening to Verner, who is arguing that she is making a mistake in trusting the three adventurers. She replies that there is nothing else she can do, since she can find no natives able to do the job and he—Verner—is too definitely a city man, as well as too ignorant of Mongolia, to be of much use. Verner persists in his objections until finally she says: “All right, I’ll go too—to keep my eyes on them.” Verner protests, but she is stubborn, so he says then he will go too, to which she agrees.

  Hank returns to his companions with the information that Wanda Ruric inherited tremendous wealth from her father, a Russian engineer, and has been managing his various enterprises since his death; that she is through her wealth and influence practically the ruler of the town and surrounding country; and that Verner is a recent arrival from either London or New York, where he seems to have been her father’s financial representative.

  Wayne nods, says: “Uh-huh! I guessed that. When we didn’t pay any attention to her note she had us thrown in jail, and only let us out when we promised to be good and to do what she told us. Now we’ll go back to her and tell her what she can do with her job and let her throw us in the can again if she wants.” The others are dubious, but they follow Wayne back to the girl’s house.

  There, before they can speak, she tells them she and Verner are going with them. Hank and Bingo are all against this, but Wayne, still angry at the means she had used to make them accept her offer, and knowing how tough the expedition will be, sees in it a chance to pay her back, and agrees readily. The three adventurers leave and begin to prepare their caravan, which will now be quite a large one, since Wanda must take along a maid and all sorts of things.

  Verner leaves Wanda’s house furtively and, speaking the native language with evident familiarity, sends some thugs he can depend on to join the expedition. Wayne and his companions, confident of their ability to handle men, are willing to hire any who seem tough and experienced enough, so Verner succeeds in packing the caravan fairly well with his own men.

  The expedition gets under way. Hank and Bingo complain about its size and the slowness with which they travel, but Wayne seems content. The first night out, after they have pitched camp, he makes a play for Wanda, in a very casual and off-hand way. She repulses him haughtily, reminding him that he must keep his place as hired man. He shrugs indifferently and transfers his attention to her maid, with whom he has better luck until Wanda angrily separates them.

  As they get into wilder country things begin to go wrong. Pack animals—assisted by Verner’s crew—die, stray off, stampede, and are only recovered after hours’ work. Hank, who knows something of the country, tells the others he thinks the guides are leading them astray. There are fights between Verner’s men and the other natives in the caravan, and the others are driven into deserting. The country becomes wilder and wilder, the natives they encounter more and more hostile, often stirred up by Verner or his messengers. Verner conceals from Wanda and the three adventurers his intimacy with the country through which they are passing and sticks to his city-man-in-the-wilderness role.

  The three ex-soldiers have continual trouble with their men, can keep their guides on the right route only by constant threats, and have to take turns standing guard at night. One night Bingo discovers Verner in friendly conversation—in the native tongue—with the unfriendly lama of a temple near which they are camping. Before he can tell the others, Verner has him killed, then sending away the last of their guides.

  They go on. Wayne continues to play with the maid to infuriate Wanda. She tries to even things up by making a play for Verner, but quickly stops him when he gets too enthusiastic in private. Verner knows then that she is falling for Wayne. There is growing antagonism between him and Wayne, and between her and Wayne. Wayne pretends serene indifference to this, as to the rest of their troubles.

  Few pack animals remain now, but Wayne insists that no matter what else is discarded, they must hang on to their machine guns and ammunition. He throws out most of Wanda’s luggage, cuts Verner short when he protests. She is too proud to protest, too hell-bent on not letting him see how hard the journey is for her, and insists on leaving her maid behind in one of the villages they pass.

  They come at length—travel-worn and bedraggled—to Wanda’s mine and see that it is being worked. White men appear—not Wanda’s engineer. Before Wayne can stop her, she rides up to the men and haughtily asks them what they are doing on her property. Verner rides after her, and then Wayne and Hank—some distance behind, since they had dismounted to set up their machine guns—but none succeeds in heading her off. When the men at the mine see Verner, one of them calls him a double-crossing so-and-so, and shoots him down. A battle starts. Wayne succeeds in getting the girl back, though Hank is shot while covering their retreat. Hank and Wayne set up their guns and finally clear out the mine, though Hank dies as soon as the battle is won. Wayne’s remaining men have fled, as have all the enemy. He and Wanda are alone. He blames her for Hank’s death, telling her if she had let them get their guns placed before stirring up the enemy they need have suffered no casualties. She breaks down, goes completely to pieces. Wayne relents then and soothes her tenderly.

  They remain at the mine several days, recovering their strength. Then they begin the homeward journey, carrying as much provisions as they can, since there are no pack animals—theirs fled or were ridden away during the battle—and automobiles—of which there are several—are useless in the country through which they must pass. In spite of the hardships encountered, both find the return trip quite endurable, since they are now admittedly in love with each other. Presently they reach a village where they can buy horses and further provisions, and finish their journey without more trouble.

  Home, the girl resumes the management of her business affairs; her lost haughtiness, imperiousness, begins to return. She and Wayne quarrel. He says this life isn’t for him—he’s going to run along and catch that Siberian train for Moscow and America. She angrily tells him to go if he wants, that he’ll always be a tramp, etc., etc. He goes.

  Next morning she comes to him—contrite—while he is loading his pack animals, begs him to stay. He says no; her life isn’t his; she was swell when they were tramping, but he can’t stand her manner when she is in her normal setting. She says all right, she’ll go with him, tramping, just as she is. He looks quizzically at her, nods, saddles a mount for her. She gets on it and they head north. They ride along in silence a little while, he phlegmatic, she defiant, determined, then gradually begin to talk, recovering their former relationship. Presently, riding side by side, he puts an arm around her, kisses her. Their horses halt. He rubs his chin, looks back towards the town, looks sharply at her, grins, says: “Well, after all, if you’d promise honestly to behave—to stop being the Queen of Sheba—maybe we would be more comfortable back there.” She laughs and promises. They turn and go back.

  ON THE MAKE

  Close-up of a railroad station newsstand. Gene Richmond, his back to the camera, is leaning over the counter talking to the girl in charge. His voice is blotted out by the combined sounds of hurrying feet, puffing locomotives, rattling trucks, clanging gates, distant cries of newsboys and taxi-drivers, and a loudspeaker announcing unintelligibly the names of cities for which a train is about to leave.

  Widen shot to show two burly men standing on either side of Richmond a little behind him. They are typical police detectives. One looks at his watch, then taps Richmond’s shoulder. “Come on, Rich
mond,” he says, “your go-away’s leaving.”

  Richmond straightens and turns, putting a couple of packages of cigarettes in his pocket. He smiles mockingly at the police detectives and says: “Boys, this is breaking my heart.” He picks up his Gladstone bag.

  One of them growls somewhat bitterly: “It’d’ve broke your heart a lot more if you hadn’t had dough enough to fix it so you could leave town this way instead of going up the river with cuffs on you.”

  The other one says impatiently: “Come on. What are you trying to do? Miss the train so you can give the twist”—he jerks his head a little toward the girl behind the counter—“a play?”

  Richmond chuckles. “That might be nice, too,” he says. He turns his head over his shoulder to say, “By-by, baby,” to the girl, then walks away from the newsstand between the two police detectives.

  At the gate, Richmond produces his ticket, one of the detectives shows his badge, and they go through with him, the gateman looking curiously after them. They walk down the platform beside a train, past Pullman cars where porters are already swinging aboard. A few passengers are hurrying down past them. Train-hands are shouting, “All aboard.” Richmond seems in no hurry and undisturbed by his companions’ scowls.

  Finally they reach the day coaches. One of the detectives jerks his thumb at the entrance to the first coach and growls: “And don’t forget—the orders are ‘out of town and stay out!’”