Stop Look and Dig

Stop Look and Dig by George O.
Smith

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Smith
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Title: Stop Look and Dig
Author: George O. Smith
Release Date: November 29, 2006 [Ebook #19963]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO 8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STOP LOOK
AND DIG***

Stop Look and Dig
by George O. Smith

Edition 1, (November 29, 2006)

STOP LOOK AND DIG
BY GEORGE O. SMITH
ILLUSTRATED BY SMITH
The enlightened days of mental telepathy and ESP should have made
the world a better place, But the minute the Rhine Institute opened up,
all the crooks decided it was time to go collegiate!
Someone behind me in the dark was toting a needle-ray. The
impression came through so strong that I could almost read the filed-off
serial number of the thing, but the guy himself I couldn't dig at all. I
stopped to look back but the only sign of life I could see was the fast
flick of taxicab lights as they crossed an intersection about a half mile
back. I stepped into a doorway so that I could think and stay out of the
line of fire at the same time.
The impression of the needle-ray did not get any stronger, and that
tipped me off. The bird was following me. He was no peace-loving
citizen because honest men do not cart weapons with the serial numbers
filed off. Therefore the character tailing me was a hot papa with a
burner charge labelled "Steve Hammond" in his needler.
I concentrated, but the only impression I could get would have
specified ninety-eight men out of a hundred anywhere. He was shorter
than my six-feet-two and lighter than my one-ninety. I could guess that
he was better looking. I'd had my features arranged by a blocked drop
kick the year before the National Football League ruled the Rhine
Institute out because of our use of mentals and perceptives. I gave up
trying--I wanted details and not an overall picture of a hotbird carrying
a burner.
I wondered if I could make a run for it.

I let my sense of perception dig the street ahead, casing every bump
and irregularity. I passed places where I could zig out to take cover in
front of telephone poles, and other places where I could zag in to take
cover beyond front steps and the like. I let my perception run up the
block and by the time I got to the end of my range, I knew that block
just as well as if I'd made a practise run in the daytime.
At this point I got a shock. The hot papa was coming up the sidewalk
hell bent for destruction. He was a mental sensitive, and he had been
following my thoughts while my sense of perception made its trial run
up the street. He was running like the devil to catch up with my mind
and burn it down per schedule. It must have come as quite a shock to
him when he realized that while the mind he was reading was running
like hell up the street, the hard old body was standing in the doorway
waiting for him.
I dove out of my hiding place as he came close. I wanted to tackle him
hard and ask some pointed questions. He saw me as I saw him skidding
to an unbalanced stop, and there was the dull glint of metal in his right
hand. His needle-ray came swinging up and I went for my armpit. I
found time to curse my own stupidity for not having hardware in my
own fist at the moment. But then I had my rod in my fist. I felt the hot
scorch of the needle going off just over my shoulder, and then came the
godawful racket of my ancient forty-five. The big slug caught him high
in the belly and tossed him back. It folded him over and dropped him in
the gutter while the echoes of my cannon were still racketing back and
forth up and down the quiet street.

I had just enough time to dig his wallet, pockets, and billfold before the
whole neighborhood was up and out. Sirens howled in the distance and
from above I could hear the thin wail of a jetcopter. Someone opened a
window and called: "What's going on out there? Cut it out!"
[Illustration]
"Tea party," I called back. "Go invite the cops, Tommy."

The window slammed