Black Mask (Vol. 23, No. 4 — August 1940)

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“Director of Physical Education” — that was what the C.C.C. authorities had hired Bryant to be for the summer session of that cow-country camp. But “One-Man Crime Prevention Bureau” would have been a more accurate title. That was what he had to turn himself into when someone began potting at him with a high-powered rifle and slaughtering wholesale the boys under his charge.

Just as I swam out even with the tip of the point something spatted the water by my head, then I heard a noise like the cracking of a whip. The actual sound of the rifle hadn’t reached me for a second — but by the time it did I was heading for shore as fast as I could swim.

I landed on the little beach where I’d left my clothes and Fred Ardella stepped out of the underbrush and said: “Hey! Mr. Bryant! I was watching you swim.”

I said: “It’s good exercise, Fred, and a lot fun. We’ll get up a class as soon as the water warms up more — it’s still like ice.”

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