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Spaceteer, issue 1, August 1947

Page 9

SPACETEER Page 9
"THE SHOOTING OF HANGDOG JONES"
by Joe Kennedy

Three-Eye McGoon stalked slowly through the swinging doors of the Emerald Bar. A copy of PLANET STORIES was clutched firmly between his hairy arms. Suspiciously, McGoon shot his third eye around the joint. In the corner, a few drunken Martians huddled over their poker game. Far to the rear, a cluster of Plutonians, their purple faces gleaming in the light of the solitary bulb, hunched at a table, sipping fiery xufriol.

McGoon stepped carefully to the bar, lifting his foot with caution to avoid the motley crowd of yellow-faced Neptunians, green-countenanced Venusians, and totally blue-skilled Earthmen.

The barkeep glared him, distrust flaming in his pig-eyes. "Whut yuh want, stranger?" he drawled, wiping a greasy rag across the marble bar.

McGoon fixed his extra eye firmly on the man's face. Silently he plunked down the copy of PLANET, so that the rampaging grulzak on the cover seemed to leap straight toward the hapless barkeep. The shuddering saloon-tender staggered back with a gasp.

"Ever see this sort of stuff before?" McGoon demanded, his teeth clenched into a tight, hard line of quid-stained ivory.

It took a long time for the other to regain his speech. "Gawd, yes!" he gulped. His stubby index finger jabbed in the opposite direction. "That guy there," he whispered in a voice edged with horror. "He reads magazines like them."

McGoon swiveled his gaze along the smooth line of the marble bar-ledge. Not two yards off, a sad, roundshouldered, heavily spectacled character was gulping xufriol and spewing the bubbles out his nose.

Retrieving the PLANET, McGoon ambled down the rail toward the stranger. He made his voice seem casual, disinterested, when he spoke.

"Kin I have a word with yuh, mister?"

The stranger turned slowly, painfully. His eyes swiveled up and down, finally lighting on the copy of PS. He threw his arm up over his face, as if to block off the sight. Unnoticed, his drink crashed from his hand, made it a little brown pool which began to seeth through the floor.

"No", he said hollowly. "NO!"

"Come, come, old timer," McGoon seethed, "here's a bucket for your perspiration. Don't take on like that! What's the matter?"

continued on the next page

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SPACETEER Page 9 "THE SHOOTING OF HANGDOG JONES" by Joe Kennedy Three-Eye McGoon stalked slowly through the swinging doors of the Emerald Bar. A copy of PLANET STORIES was clutched firmly between his hairy arms. Suspiciously, McGoon shot his third eye around the joint. In the corner, a few drunken Martians huddled over their poker game. Far to the rear, a cluster of Plutonians, their purple faces gleaming in the light of the solitary bulb, hunched at a table, sipping fiery xufriol. McGoon stepped carefully to the bar, lifting his foot with caution to avoid the motley crowd of yellow-faced Neptunians, green-countenanced Venusians, and totally blue-skilled Earthmen. The barkeep glared him, distrust flaming in his pig-eyes. "Whut yuh want, stranger?" he drawled, wiping a greasy rag across the marble bar. McGoon fixed his extra eye firmly on the man's face. Silently he plunked down the copy of PLANET, so that the rampaging grulzak on the cover seemed to leap straight toward the hapless barkeep. The shuddering saloon-tender staggered back with a gasp. "Ever see this sort of stuff before?" McGoon demanded, his teeth clenched into a tight, hard line of quid-stained ivory. It took a long time for the other to regain his speech. "Gawd, yes!" he gulped. His stubby index finger jabbed in the opposite direction. "That guy there," he whispered in a voice edged with horror. "He reads magazines like them." McGoon swiveled his gaze along the smooth line of the marble bar-ledge. Not two yards off, a sad, roundshouldered, heavily spectacled character was gulping xufriol and spewing the bubbles out his nose. Retrieving the PLANET, McGoon ambled down the rail toward the stranger. He made his voice seem casual, disinterested, when he spoke. "Kin I have a word with yuh, mister?" The stranger turned slowly, painfully. His eyes swiveled up and down, finally lighting on the copy of PS. He threw his arm up over his face, as if to block off the sight. Unnoticed, his drink crashed from his hand, made it a little brown pool which began to seeth through the floor. "No", he said hollowly. "NO!" "Come, come, old timer," McGoon seethed, "here's a bucket for your perspiration. Don't take on like that! What's the matter?" continued on the next page