A NUELOW Christmas: Day FiveRobert E Howard--A True Christmas Visionary!

Short story writer and poet Robert E. Howard is best known for creating Conan and Solomon Kane and thus laying the foundation for the Sword & Sorcery genre, but his creative vision was of a far greater scope!

In 1927, in a letter to his friend Clyde Tevis, Robert E. Howard created the Elf on the Shelf, something that would go onto becoming a pop culture Christmas sensation some 70 decades after his premature death!


THE WICKED OLD ELF (By Robert E. Howard)
There once was a wicked old elf
Who sat a girl up on a shelf,
In spite of her aunties,
He took down her panties—
But finish this rhyme for yourself.

For more poetry by Robert E. Howard (mostly of the serious variety), check out this collection from NUELOW Games.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen & A Christmas Western by R.E. Howard

Enjoy some Christmas music and an early short story by Robert E. Howard (written and published when he was still in high school). It's a Very Western Christmas today at NUELOW Games!

GOLDEN HOPE CHRISTMAS

By Robert E. Howard

Chapter 1

Red Ghallinan was a gunman. Not a trade to be proud of, perhaps, but Red was proud of it. Proud of his skill with a gun, proud of the notches on the long blue barrel of his heavy .45s. Red was a wiry, medium-sized man with a cruel, thin lipped mouth and close-set, shifty eyes. He was bow-legged from much riding, and, with his slouching walk and hard face he was, indeed, an unprepossessing figure. Red’s mind and soul were as warped as his exterior. His insister reputation caused men to strive to avoid offending him but at the same tome to cut him off from the fellowship of people. No man, good or bad, cares to chum with a killer. Even the outlaws hated him and feared him too much to admit him to their gang, so he was a lone wolf. But a lone wolf may sometimes be more feared than the whole pack.

   Let us not blame Red too much. He was born and reared in an environment of evil. His father and his father’s father had been rustlers and gun-fighters. Until he was a grown man, Red knew nothing but crime as a legitimate way of making a living and by the time he learned that a man may earn a sufficient livelihood and still remain within the law he was too set in his ways to change. So it was not altogether his fault that he was a gunfighter. Rather, it was the fault of those unscrupulous politicians and mine-owners who hired him to kill their enemies. For that was the way Red lived. He was a born gun-fighter. The killer instinct burned strongly in him—the heritage of Cain. He had never seen the man who surpassed him or even equalled him in the speed of the draw or in swift, straight shooting. These qualities together with the cold nerve and reckless bravery that goes with red hair, made him much in demand with rich men who had enemies. So he did a large business.
    But the forefront of the law began to come into Idaho and Red saw with hate the first sign of that organization which had driven him out of Texas a few years before—the vigilantes. Red’s jobs became fewer and fewer for he feared to kill unless he could make it appear self-defense.
    At last it reached a point where Red was faced with the alternative of moving on or going to work. So he rode over to miner’s cabin and announced his intention of buying the miner’s claim. The miner, after one skittish glance at Red’s guns, sold his claim for fifty dollars, signed the deed and left the country precipitately.
    Red worked the claim for a few days and then quit in disgust. He had not gotten one ounce of gold dust. This was due, partly to his distaste for work, partly to his ignorance of placer mining and mostly to the poorness of the claim.
     He was standing in the front door of the saloon of the mining town, when the stage-coach drove in and a passenger alit.
    He was a well built, frank-appearing young fellow and Red hated him instinctively. Hated him for his cleanliness, for his open, honest, pleasant face, because he was everything that Red was not.
    The newcomer was very friendly and very soon the whole town knew his antecedents. His name was Hal Sharon, a tenderfoot from the east, who had come to Idaho with the hopes of striking a bonanza and going home wealthy. Of course there was a girl in the case, though Hal said little on that point. He had a few hundred dollars and wanted to buy a good claim. At this Red took a new interest in the young man.
    Red bought drinks and lauded his claim. Sharon proved singularly trustful. He did not ask to see the claim but took Red’s word for it. A trustfulness that would have touched a less hardened man than Red.
    One or two men, angered at the deliberate swindle, tried to warn Hal but a cold glance from Red caused them to change their minds. Hal bought Red’s claim for five hundred dollars.
    He toiled unceasingly all fall and early winter, barely making enough to keep him in food and clothes, while Red lived in the little town and sneered at his uncomplaining efforts. As winter deepened, everywhere the miners stopped work and came to town to live until the snow should have melted and the ground thawed out in the spring. Only Hal Sharon stayed at his claim, working on in the cold and snow, spurred on by the thought of riches—and a girl.

--

It was a little over three weeks until Christmas when, one cold night Red Ghallinan sat by the stove in the saloon and listened to the blizzard outside. He though to Sharon, doubtless shivering in his cabin up on the slopes, and he sneered. He listened idly to the talk of the miners and cow-punchers who were discussing the coming festivals, a dance and so on.
    Christmas meant nothing to Red. Though the one bright spot I his life had been one Christmas years ago when Red was a ragged waif, shivering on the snow covered streets of Kansas City.
    He had passed a great church and, attracted by the warmth, had entered timidly. The people had sung, “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing!” and when the congregation exited, an old, white haired woman had seen the boy and had taken him home and fed him and clothed him. Red had lived in her home as one of the family until spring, but when the wild geese began to fly north and the trees began to bud, the wanderlust got into the boy’s blood and he ran away and came back to his native Texas prairies. But that was years ago and Red never thought of it now.
    The door flew open and a furred and muffled figure strode in. It was Sharon—his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.
    Instantly Red was on his feet, hand twisting just above a gun. But Hal took no notice of him. He pushed his way to the bar.
    “Boys,” he said: “I named my claim the Golden Hope, and it was a true name! Boys, I’ve struck it rich!”
    And he threw a double handful of nuggets and gold-dust on the bar.

--

Christmas Eve Red stood in the door of an eating house and watched Sharon coming down the slope, whistling merrily. He had a right to be merry. He was already worth twelve thousand dollars and had not exhausted his claim by half. Red watched with hate in his eyes. Ever since the night that Sharon had thrown his first gold on the bar, his hatred of the man had grown. Hal’s fortune seemed a personal injury to Red. Had he not worked like a slave on that claim without getting a pound of gold? And here this stranger had come and gotten rich off the same claim! Thousands to him, a measly five hundred to Red. To Red’s warped mind this assumed monstrous proportions—an outrage. He hated Sharon as he had never hated a man before. And since with him to hate was to kill, he determined to kill Hal Sharon. With a curse he reached for a gun when a thought stayed his hand. The Vigilantes! They would get him sure if he killed Sharon openly. A cunning light came to his eyes and he turned and strode away toward the unpretentious boarding house where he stayed.
    Hal Sharon walked into a saloon.
    “Seen Ghallinan lately?” he asked.
    The bartender shook his head.
    Hal tossed a bulging buck-sack on the bar, and said: “Give that to him when you see him. It’s got about a thousand dollars worth of gold-dust in it.”
    The bartender gasped. “What! You giving Red a thousand bucks after he tried to swindle you? Yes, it is safe here. Ain’t a galoot in camp touch anything belonging to a gun-fighter. But say—“
    “Well,” answered Hal, “I don’t think he got enough for his claim; he practically gave it to me. And anyway, “ he laughed over his shoulder, “It’s Christmas!”

Chapter 2

Morning in the mountains. The highest peaks touched with a delicate pink. The stars paling as the darkness grew grey. Light on the peaks, shadow still in the valleys, as if the paint brush of the Master had but passed lightly over the land, coloring openly the highest places, the places nearest to Him. Now the light-legions began to invade the valleys, driving before them the darkness; the light on the peaks grew stronger, the snow beginning to cast back the light. But as yet no sun. The king had sent his courtiers before him but he himself had not appeared.
    In a certain valley, smoke curled from the chimney of a rude log cabin. High on the hillside, a man gave a grunt of satisfaction. The man lay in a hollow, from which he had scraped the drifted snow. Ever since the first hint of dawn, he had lain there, watching the cabin. A heavy rifle lay beneath his arm.
    Down in the valley, the cabin door swung wide and a man stepped out. The watcher on the hill saw that it was the man he had come to kill.

    Hal Sharon threw his arms wide and laughed aloud in the sheer joy of living. Up on the hill, Red Ghallinan watched the man over the sights of a Sharpe .50 rifle. For the first time he noticed what a magnificent figure the young man was. Tall, strong, handsome, with the glow of health on his cheek.
    For some reason Red was not getting the enjoyment he thought he would. He shook his shoulders impatiently. His finger tightened on the trigger—suddenly Hal broke into song; the words floated clearly to Red.
    “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing!”
    Where had he heard that song before? Suddenly a mist floated across Red Ghallinan’s eyes; the rifle slipped unnoticed from his hands, He drew his hand across his eyes and looked toward the east. There, alone hung one great star and as he looked, over the shoulder of a great mountain came the great sun.
    “Gawd!” gulped Red, why—it is Christmas!”

--
If you enjoyed that story, written by Robert E. Howard when he was just a teenager, you'll love the westerns he wrote when his skills were at their sharpest. Check out The Last Ride from NUELOW Games.

Join us for the last ride with Robert E. Howard

When NUELOW Games came back to full life in 2011, one of the long-term projects we formulated involved a series of anthologies throwing the spotlight on the under-appreciated and widely ignored non-fantasy writings of Robert E. Howard. Initially, it was just going to be his historical fiction and the best of his horror stories. However, as we dug deeper into his body of work, we decided to add collections of the Sailor Steve Costigan and Breckinridge Elkins stories to line-up.

The final entry in our series of anthologies was always planned to be The Last Ride, a collection of two novellas that saw print in the months after Howard's suicide in June of 1936. They, together with the El Borak stories we collected in Oriental Stories Vol 3: A Texan in Afghanistan, and the horror stories in Shadows over Texas, show readers the direction in which he was headed creatively. All signs point to Howard moving in a direction of more mainstream literature, a direction that would have seen him leave the pulps behind. If he had lived, maybe we'd be discussing Howard as one of the great Regional or Southern Gothic writers instead of "the creator of Conan." Heck, maybe we'd be talking about the Southwestern Gothic literary subgenre?

Art by Rocco Mastroserio 

Regardless of what could have been, The Last Ride represents the end for Howard, and the end of our anthology series. It brings our project to an end on a high note, with stories that Howard probably would have far preferred to be remembered for than the Conan and Solomon Kane tales. We hope that some of you reading this found some new favorite Howard stories over the past few years... and we hope you'll come with us as we reach the end of the trail.

Click here to see previews of The Last Ride, or to get your own copy.

By the way, while this may be the end of the Robert E. Howard Collection Project, it doesn't mean that NUELOW Games is completely done with Howard's writings and characters; we love them too much for that. There are numerous smaller projects (similar to, for example, The Sheik, The Conquests of Wild Bill Clanton, and the Talk Like a Pirate Day Special) that we are planning to do. Our hope to call attention to the fact that Robert E. Howard's body of work is so much greater than Conan doesn't end just because the project has.

It's that time of year again!

What time of year, do you ask? Well. the Holy Month of Ramadan!

The Holy Month of Ramadan is about half gone at this point--it ends at sundown on July 17--so we're bringing back the RAMADAN COLLECTION! After all, ROLF! and ROLF! supplements are great ways to get together and spend time with friends! And the historical fiction from Robert E. Howard is a nice way to take a break from studying the Koran. That goes double for the comics starring the first-ever Muslim superhero.

The bundle includes the ROLF! basic game, two collections of Robert E. Howard novellas, the complete adventures of Kismet the Man of Fate, and four rollicking ROLF! battle scenarios. And you'll get it all at more than half off what it would cost you to buy each book separately.

Everyone at NUELOW Games (all two of us) wish all Muslims a happy, introspective, and peaceful Ramadan with their friends and family. Except those who support or say nice things about ISIS, al-Qeada, and  Al-Shabbab. We hope those people get porcupines shoved up the ass sideways and die.

But to everyone else--happy Ramadan! And please click here to get your NUELOW Games Ramadan Collection Bundle!

A fundraiser for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

On June 11, 1936, short-story author and poet Robert E. Howard took a gun from the glove box of his car and shot himself to death. His suicide came as he was reaching new creative heights, and his career was shifting in a more literary-oriented direction. We'll never know what great stories and characters evaporated at that tragic moment. Roy Thomas and Sandy Plunkett dramatized the tragedy in this illustrated story.

NUELOW Games is currently engaged in an effort to raise funds for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention by offering all of the Robert E. Howard-related products in a single discounted package--that also includes a great Howard-inspired RPG from Bedrock Games--and donating all of its proceeds. Click here to check out the bundle, or read on for more information.

A page from Shadows of Dream, featuring poetry by Robert E. Howard.
It's one of 25 different books in the Suicide Prevention Fundraiser bundle.

THE WHY & THE WHAT
If you've been paying even the slightest bit of attention to NUELOW Games in recent years, you've noticed that the works of Robert E. Howard have been an important part of many of our releases. Steve Miller loves Howard mostly for his action/adventure and horror fiction, and L.L. Hundal loves Howard primarily for his comedy stories. Both think his non-fantasy work is his best work.

But the vast majority of readers only know him for being the creator of Conan, and many never move beyond those stories--if they even get that far, given all the comic books and movies and pastiches by other authors that are most likely encountered first. To share our love for Howard's other writings--writings he himself stated he wanted to be remembered for rather than Conan or even Kull and Kane--we produced a number of anthologies collecting his non-fantasy short stories. Given that NUELOW Games is, well, a game publisher, we've also released a number of ROLF! battle scenarios making use of characters that Howard created (even Conan)--battle scenarios that are compatible with "The Violent Worlds of Robert E. Howard," a complete RPG which was included in the Fists of Foolishness short story collection.

Every year, we've one a special sales event to mark the anniversary of the tragic end to Howard's life, hoping to attract more attention to the fantastic stories he left us. This year, we have gone a step further.

The 24 Howard-related books and game products featured in this large bundle are the majority of the Howard-related releases we've produced over the few years. They can be had for just $20-- a savings of over 50 percent off the cost of purchasing them individually. You can get dozens of great short stories and more battle scenarios than you can shake a bucket of dice at for every little money. What makes this deal even more attractive is that NUELOW Games (in conjunction with partner Bedrock Games) will donate all of its proceeds [$13.50 after distributors and contributors have gotten their cut] to the American Suicide Prevention Foundation.

The Suicide Prevention Fundraiser bundle will be available until the end of June, and NUELOW will makes its donation to the AFSP by the middle of July. Click here to see what is in the bundle, or to get your copy right now. Be a small part in helping modern-day Robert E. Howards get the support and help they need before it's too late.

HIGHLIGHTS OF THE BUNDLE
* The complete Sertorius rolelaying game

* Stories and novellas Howard wrote that he would have been preferred to be remembered for, collection in Oriental Stories, Oriental Stories Vol. 2, and Oriental Stories Vol 3: A Texan in Afghanistan. These books feature some of his best writing.
* Samplings of Howard's "Southern Gothic" horror/action tales in Shadows of Texas and Names in the Black Book.
* The complete collection of Howard's comedic tales of boxer Steve Costigan in Fists of Foolishness and Shanghaied Mitts.
* The complete collection of Howard's comedic western tales featuring dimwitted mountain man Breckinridge Elkins in Bath-time on Bear Creek, The Misadventures of Breckinridge Elkins, and Breckinridge Elkins Rides Again.
* A sampling of Howard's poetry in Shadows of Dreams.
* NUELOW Games designer favorite ROLF! battle scenarios based on Howard's writings, such as ROLF!: The Hopping Vampires of Yao Ping, ROLF!: The Tornado vs. Steve Costigan, and ROLF!: The Sheik.

And ten more short story collections and game products that celebrate the creations of Robert E. Howard--all at a steep discount, and all currently on sale to support a great cause.

Get your copy of the Suicide Prevention Fundraiser from NUELOW Games from DriveThruFiction, DriveThruRPG, or RPGNow.

Wild Bill Clanton vs. Steve Costigan

In our latest release, The Conquests of Wild Bill Clanton, we present the best of Robert E. Howard's "adult" short stories featuring the nasty character mentioned in the title. The book also contains game material for the OGL d20 System, some of it new, some of it revised from some of our previous releases, but all of it geared toward capturing the feel of Howard's "spicy" Wild Bill stories.

Art by Warren King

Wild Bill Clanton is like a dark reflection of Howard's Steve Costigan. They are both sailors with a knack for getting into trouble, they both are hard drinkers, they both have strong sexual appetites... but Clanton is a self-centered brute and a rapist while Costigan, for all his rough edges, is ultimately motivated by chivalrous and gentlemanly impulses when it comes to the "fairer sex."

While we included OGL d20 material in The Conquests of Wild Bill Clanton, we used the ROLF! game system to bring Steve Costigan to the gaming table in Fists of Foolishness, Shanghaied Mitts, ROLF!: Hammerin' Tongs, and ROLF!: The Tornado vs. Steve Costigan. However, since Wild Bill is the sort of person that Steve Costigan is likely to beat the living hell out of if the two ever cross paths, L.L Hundal & Steve Miller present this ROLF! battle scenario featuring both of Robert E. Howard's battling sailors.

The following text is Copyright 2015 by Steve Miller, but permission is granted to copy and print for personal use if you want to play the battle scenario.

WHEN STEVE MET BILL

Writing by Steve Miller * Editing by L.L. Hundal

(A ROLF! Battle Scenario featuring characters created by Robert E. Howard)

From the Adventures of Steve Costigan, as transcribed by R.E. Howard:

  I was on my way back to the Sea Gal after Lo Tan's wedding when I came across this little white gal, curled up in a ball at the mouth of a filthy alley, crying. It stabbed me in the heart to see such a pretty little thing, with beautiful red hair and freckled white skin, in such a state. Especially after I'd just spent the day surrounded by such happiness. I asked her what'd happened and when she looked at me, I saw that her face was swollen and bruised. I helped her to feet and saw that her dress was so shredded that it barely qualified as clothes anymore.

   I let her wrap herself in my jacket, and my sympathetic feelings turned to anger as she described how she'd been robbed and abused by a lout who'd promised to get her on a ship out of Shanghai. He'd beaten her--and worse--and then thrown her into the alley like so much garbage.

   I demanded to know where this felon could be found, and she pointed me to a door down the alley. "But he's dangerous," she said. "You've heard of Wild Bill Clanton, right? He kills people who cross him."

   "Not me," I told her. "I've never heard of him, and he won't have a chance to kill me, because I knock the blocks off of folks like him. I'll get you your money back, and I'll get you out of Shanghai."
   I marched down the alley to the door indicated with the shivering little woman following a few feet behind. "Be careful! Please be careful," she was saying. I paid her no mind and kicked down the door she'd indicated. Inside, in a small room, was one of the ugliest cusses I'd ever laid eyes on. But he was big, almost as big as any man I'd fought. And he he leapt to his feet and took a stance that told me he was a fighting man. He gritted his teeth and glared at me with fiery eyes. He was aiming a pistol at me. I can't say I blame him; I had just kicked down his door.
   "Are you Clanton," I demanded.
   "I am!" said he,  "Who the !#$% are you?!"
   "They call me Costigan," I told him and asked, "Did you hit a young lady and take advantage of her in her time of need?"
   "Probably, but I don't meet many ladies around here."
   I felt my blood getting hotter. Here was a guy that needed some serious whopping. But I've learned the hard way not to jump to conclusions just because some pretty girl says she's in trouble. I probably will never be able to go back to Okinawa due to a situation just like this one. But this Clanton fellow seemed like he was on the up-and-up--or, more accurately, like he was a low-down creep.
    So I said, "Did you hurt a little redheaded girl today? Did you rob her?"
    Clanton roared with laughter. "That slag? She's no lady! I don't know what she told you, but she had it coming. And I tell you, she enjoyed every--"
   That's when I lost my temper and charged him. Gun or no gun, I was going to knock some decency into him. No matter what a man thinks a woman may have done, he never he never has any justification for laying a hand on her. And he sure as hell doesn't force himself on her in any way whatsoever.

The Battle Scenario
The scenario is for two players and it uses the pre-generated characters detailed below. One player controls Steve Costigan, the other Wild Bill Clanton. The fight starts at Ranged distance and continues until either Costigan and Yvette or Clanton is defeated.
   If Costigan is defeated, Yvette leaps into the fray the following round, attacking Clanton. If she is also defeated... well, then we know why NUELOW Games isn't releasing anymore books or ROLF! supplements starring Steve Costigan.
   If Clanton is beaten, either Yvette or Costigan goes through his pockets and takes all his money. Costigan, if defeated, regains consciousness and takes Yvette to his ship, the Sea Gal, where she gets passage to its next port of call. Happy endings all around, except for Wild Bill Clanton.
 

   

Pre-Generated Characters
STEVE COSTIGAN (Male)
Brawn 33; Body 11; Brains 5
   Traits: Egomaniac, Short-tempered, Too Sexy for My Shirt.
   Combat Maneuvers: Basic Attack, Disarm, Dodge, Knock Out, Murderous Mitts.
   Important Stuff Wielded/Worn: His Best Suit (Clothes).
   Special Note: Costigan is almost always in the company of Mike the White Bulldog. On the second round of a fight involving Costigan anywhere but in a boxing ring, Mike attacks the opponent with the lowest Body score, dealing 2 points of damage. Mike’s attacks are reduced by Armor or can be avoided with the Dodge Combat Maneuver. Mike attacks once each subsequent round, always targeting the character with the lowest Body score (other than Costigan). Mike fights for two rounds after Costigan goes down.

WILD BILL CLANTON (Male)
Brawn 30, Body 12, Brains 5
   Traits: Coldhearted, Egomaniac, Short-tempered
   Combat Maneuvers: Basic Attack, Disembowel, Knock Out, Murderous Mitts, Run Away,
   Important Stuff Worn/Wielded: Pistol (Small Ranged Weapon, deals 2 points of damage that ignore armor). Knife ( Small Melee Weapon, deals 2 points of damage).

YVETTE FREISE (Female)
Brawn 21, Body 15, Brains 5
   Traits: Improv Master, Nimble, Too Sexy for My Shirt
   Combat Maneuvers: Basic Attack, Castrate, Dodge, Double Strike, Strike Pose,
   Important Stuff Worn/Wielded: Tattered Dress (Clothes, barely covers nakedness)

NUELOW Games is observing Ramadan

It has come to our attention that we've done Christmas Specials, Barak Obama Birthday Specials, and Chinese New Year Specials, but we've never done anything to mark a time honored by billions and billions of people.

Well, before we re publicly shamed for our lack of inclusiveness, we're fixing that by offering the Ramadan Collection!

The NUELOW Games Ramadan Collection contains historical fiction set during the Crusades; comics featuring Kismet ( the Nazi-busting first Muslim superhero), and lots and lots of ROLF! rollplaying game material--including the core rulebook! It's a total of eight products--including four of our best-sellers!--for just $5 (55% off full retail price).

Click here to check out the content of the Ramadan Collection, or to get your very own copy. It's available through July 30 (or until GB joins the just-declared Califate).

It's the First Day of Summer AND Free RPG Day!

To celebrate the first day of summer and Free RPG Day, we're offering three of our roleplaying games for free!

Until Midnight when June 21st turns into June 22nd, you can download Fists of Foolishness, which contains The Violent Worlds of Robert E. Howard RPG and a dozen short stories to get you the proper mood to run adventures with it; You vs. Me, a  crazy two-player, GM-less RPG by L.L. Hundal;; and Dyvil: First Edition by the legendary game designer and author Jeff Grubb, free of charge!

Additionally, the NUELOW Games Summer Special is still on sale at a reduced price. In addition to half a dozen summer-themed comics, it features a scenario compatible with both The Violent Worlds of Robert E. Howard and You vs. Me.

Check out the free games and summer deals before they are gone!

'The Werewolf Hunter #2' arrives in time to scare away 2013!

The second issue of NUELOW Games' horror anthology, The Werewolf Hunter, is now available for download. Like the first issue, it's got great horror comics rarities from the Golden Age (two adventures starring Prof. Armand Broussard, the Werewolf Hunter himself; one starring the mysterious Lade Satan; and one re-introducing "girl photographer" Gail Porter to the world), fiction (an all-new story from Angela Beegle, author of the Werewolves of Washington series; and a Robert E. Howard story with revisions by yours truly), and more systemless RPG content to bring variety to standard monsters in campaigns.

Click here to see previews and to get your own copy of The Werewolf Hunter #2.

Help NUELOW Games donate to Oklahoma disaster relief

NUELOW Games's editor L.L. Hundal was greatly saddened by the devastation visited upon Oklahoma this week when the unstoppable forces of Nature tore through communities there. She prompted me to design a ROLF! scenario expressly intended to raise some funds to donate to the relief efforts.

The result was ROLF!: The Tornado vs. Steve Costigan. It is available for sale now, and I urge everyone who plays ROLF! to get a copy. All of NUELOW Games's proceeds from sales on this booklet through the end of September 2013 will be donated to Feed the Children's tornado relief fund. Click here to see previews and to get a copy of your own.

The Tornado vs. Steve Costigan is also one 11 items that are included in a bundle of products we've collected and discounted as part of this fund-raising effort.

If you've never checked out ROLF!, or if you've never bothered to see why I hold Robert E. Howard's humor stories in higher regard than his famous Conan and Solomon Kane tales, now is your chance to discover both at a 45% discount on the total price of the individual items. All proceeds of sales on this bundle will be donated to Feed the Children's Oklahoma tornado relief, and it will be available through at least June 1. If it proves to be a successful fund-raising tool, I'll extend its shelf-life.

When Howard Met ROLF! includes the following products:

Fists of Foolishness -- The first ten stories about sea-faring boxing champ Steve Costigan--a man with fists of steel, a heart of gold, and a head of wood. This book also includes the complete ROLF!-powered roleplaying game The Violent Worlds of Robert E. Howard. Fiction by Robert E. Howard (with one story featuring revisions by Steve Miller), game design by Steve Miller and L/L. Hundal.

Shanghaied Mitts -- Eleven more tales of the boxing exploits and misadventures of Steve Costigan. Includes a game adventure that can be played solo or used with The Violent Worlds of Robert E. Howard or ROLF!. Fiction by Howard (with one story featuring revisions by Miller), game design by Miller.

The Sheik: A Literary (?) Spoof and Battle Scenario: An Arab prince bites off more than he can chew in this spoof of cheesy bodice rippers. Features one of Howard's earliest publications. Fiction by Howard, game design by Hundal.

Bathtime at Bear Creek: Breckenridge Elkins takes a bath once a year whether he needs it or not... but this year's bathtime is interrupted by the nefarious Black Phantom Gang. Includes the very first story featuring Howard's dimwitted cowboy hero, and an additiional little story plus game scenario where he crosses paths with Frank Bolle's Black Phantom. Fiction by Howard and Miller, game design by Miller.

Hammerin' Tongs: Steve Costigan teams crosses paths with Steve Harrison, Howard's hardboiled detective with a habit of catching horrific cases. Game design by Miller.

Cap'n Jack on the Isle of Pirate's Doom: Three Cap'n Jacks join forces with Howard's Caribbean Pirate Queen Helen Taverel in a fight for survival against ninjas and the mysterious Mustache. Game design by Miller

Conan vs. Conan: A joke-slinging late-night talk show host meets a sword-swinging barbarian--will the mouth prove mightier than the sword? Game design by Miller & Hundal.

Pirates vs. Fairies: Howard's legendary pirate Black Vulmea meets the NUELOW Fairies. Game design by Miller & Hundal.

R.L. McSterlingthong and Nikola Tesla vs. the Daughter of Skull-Face: Partly inspired by Howard's "Yellow Meance" character. Fiction by Miller, game design by Miller and Lisa Harding

The Tornado vs. Steve Costigan: The sea-faring boxing champ makes landfall to save a friend's farm by winning a prize fight against Tornado Thommerson... but things don't go quite as planned. Fiction and game design by Miller.

In addition to all of that, we're also donating proceeds on sales on a bundle of our best-selling Oriental Stories anthologies to Feed the Children's tornado relief effort through June 1. Click here for details on the four books featured, and to contribute to a good cause.

V is for Vulmea's Cutlass

Still working our way through the alphabet in hopes of running out of letters before April runs out of days. Here's another item for use in OGL d20 System games. It's being released under the Open Gaming License, so please acknowledge and give copyright credit to NUELOW Games and Steve Miller if you choose to reproduce it.

Vulmea's Cutless (By Steve Miller; Black Vulmea created by Robert E. Howard)
The original maker of this famous sword, which was the last weapon known to be wielded by the infamous pirate Black Vulmea during the late 16th century during his final adventures in the New World before returning home to Ireland and disappearing into what is assumed to be a life of leisure and anonymity bought with his stolen treasure.
     Of German make, with a wickedly serrated cutting edge and a baskethilt engraved with indecipherable symbols and vaguely demonic-looking faces, the weapon reportedly cuts through skin and bone as if it were soft butter and grants its wielder combat prowess of which the mighty hero Siegfried would be envious.Legend holds that, after miraculously escaping certain death during the raid that led to the destruction of Hoodoo Jim's stronghold on the Colombian coast, he gifted the sword to Mason Brightsmith, the son of a former shipmate who had been abducted and held prisoner by Hoodoo Jim. The young Brightsmith felt he had experienced enough adventure of an entire lifetime, so the sword was relegated to being a conversation piece as it hung on display in the family home.

d20 System Statistics
Vulmea's Cutlass appears to be a +2 sword (base slashing damage 1d8; crit 19-20/x2) with the following unique properties:
   1. As the wielder becomes fatigued in combat, the sword's more powerful enchantments are activated. When the wielder is reduced to 50% or less of his starting hit points, the sword's magical bonus is increased to +4.
   2. If the wielder is reduced to 0 or fewer hit points, he immediately regains 2d6 hit points. The sword returns to its +2 base attack and damage bonus.
   3. If owner of the sword is ever killed while carrying or wielding the sword, he is instantly transported to a safe location 2d6 miles from the place of his "death," restored to full health and free of any conditions or attribute damage that he may have suffered during the events that led to his demise. He has a strong urge to pass the sword onto someone else who might benefit from it. In fact, the sword no longer grants any bonus to that particular character ever again.

OpenD6 System Statistics

Vulmea's Cutlass is an enchanted sword(slashing damage STR+1+1D) with the following properties:
   1. As the wielder becomes fatigued in combat, the sword's more powerful enchantments are activated. When the wielder is Wounded Twice, the sword grants the wielder a +1D bonus to his Melee Combat skill, while the sword's damage  magical bonus is increased to 1+D2.).
   2. If the wielder is Incapacitated, he is immediately healed to Wounded. He loses the bonus to his Melee Combat skill and the sword returns to its base damage of STR+1+1D.
   3. If owner of the sword is ever killed while carrying or wielding the sword, he is instantly transported to a safe location 2d6 miles from the place of his "death," restored to full health and free of any conditions or attribute damage that he may have suffered during the events that led to his demise. He has a strong urge to pass the sword onto someone else who might benefit from it. In fact, the sword no longer grants any bonus to that particular character ever again.

(Re)Introducting 'Hawkshaw the Detective'

Every great artist, writer, or circus clown starts their career somewhere. In the case of Robert E. Howard, creator of the iconic fantasy character Conan and other great adventure fiction characters like Steve Costigan, Breckinridge Elkins, and El Borak (all of which are featured in e-books published by NUELOW Games), the start came with fan fiction.

In 1923, the young Robert E. Howard published two fan fictions inspired by Gus Mager's Hawkshaw the Detective comic strip in his high school newspaper. Mager, working under the penname Watso, had initiated the character as a Sherlock Holmes spoof named Sherlocko. The name-change to Hawkshaw came when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle threatened to sue Mager and his syndicate for copyright infringement. ("Hawkshaw" was a once-widespread American slang-term for "private detective" that fell out of vogue during the 1930s.)

"Hawkshaw the Detective" was published on and off from 1913 through 1947 when it met its final demise and faded into comic strip history. Modern readers will relate to Howard's Hawkshaw stories as spoofs of Sherlock Holmes rather than the fan fiction inspired by a Sherlock Holmes spoof that they are.

In another display of our deep love for writings of Robert E. Howard--Steve Miller for everything but a number of his Conan stories, L.L. Hundal for his humor stories--NUELOW Games offers one of those early fan stories, along with ROLF! game stats for the Great Hawkshaw and his sidekick Colonel Watso.

ROLF!: HAWKSHAW THE DETECTIVE

By L.L. Hundal

Hawkshaw the Detective (Male)

Brawn 14, Body 13, Brains 6

Traits: Nimble

Combat Maneuvers:  Basic Attack, Debate Philosophy, Disarm, Dodge, Run Away, Walk and Chew Gum

Important Items Worn/Wielded: Tweed Coat and Matching Deerstalker Hat (Clothes), Magnifying Glass (grants -1 modifier to Brain checks while searching for clews). Revolver (Small Ranged Weapon. Four Shots. Deals 3 points of damage that ignore armor).

Colonel Watso (Male)

Brawn 12, Body 10, Brains 4

Traits:  Honorable

Combat Maneuvers: Basic Attack, Disarm, Dodge, Strike Pose

Important Items Worn/Wielded: Howitzer (Large Ranged Weapon. One Shot. Deals 5 points of damage that ignore armor).

* - *

THE MYSTERY OF THE QUEEN'S NECKLACE

By Robert Ervin Howard

First published in The Tattler, the Brownwood High School paper, March 1, 1923.

Inspired by Gus Mager's Hawkshaw the Detective.

Hawkshaw, the great detective, was smoking a stogy reflectively when the Colonel burst into the room.

"Have you heard—" he began excitedly, but Hawkshaw raised his hand depreciatingly.

  "My dear Colonel," he said. "You excite yourself unduly: you were about to tell me that the Queen's necklace, valued at fifteen million shillings, was stolen from her boudoir and that so far Scotland Yard has found no trace of the thief although they have ransacked London."

  "You are a wonder, Hawkshaw," exclaimed the Colonel admirlingly. "How did you know that?"

  "Deduction, my dear Colonel," replied Hawkshaw, surreptitiously concealing the newspaper in which was a full account of the robbery.

  "Have you been to the palace?" he asked.

  "I have," was the reply. "And I brought the only clew to be found. This cigar stub was found just beneath the palace window.

  Hawkshaw seized the stub and examined it carefully. He stated, "The man who stole the necklace was a very tall, lank, gangling person, with very large feet and cross-eyed. He wears a number 5 hat."

  "Wonderful!" exclaimed the Colonel, "and how may I ask do you deduce that? How do you even know that a person who smoked that cigar stole the necklace?"

  "The stub is flattened on one side. That proves that its smoker had a large foot. He stepped on it and it would take a great deal of weight to even dent a cigar like that. I know that its smoker is the thief because it is a long stub and anyone who could stand one whiff of that cigar would smoke it entirely up. He would be that kind of man. He evidently dropped it in his haste to make his getaway."

  "But that hat? And his tallness and cross-eyes?"

  "Any man that would smoke a cigar like that would wear about a number 5 hat. As for the tallness and cross-eyes I will explain later."

  Just then there came a tap at the door. The Colonel opened it and an old man entered. He wore large green glasses, was a great deal stooped and had white hair and a long white beard.

  "You are the famous detective?" he addressed Hawkshaw. "I believe I have a clew to this theft. I passed along the opposite side of the street about the time the robbery was supposed to have taken place. A man jumped out of the palace window and walked rapidly up the street."

  "Umhum," remarked Hawkshaw, "what kind of man was this?"

  "He was about five feet tall and weighed perhaps three hundred lbs.," was the reply.

  "Umhum," commented Hawkshaw, "would you mind listening to my theory?"

  "I would be delighted," answered the old man as he seated himself in the best chair.

  "Well, then!" began Hawkshaw, rising and walking to the middle of the room so that he could gesture without knocking the table over. "At the time of robbery was committed a man was returning home from a fishing trip on the Thames. He carried a fishing pole on his shoulder and as he walked along he looked into the windows of houses he had passed while seemingly gazing straight ahead for he was very cross-eyed."

  Here the visitor started, but Hawkshaw went on, apparently oblivous. "The gentleman at last arrived in Windsor and passing the palace saw the necklace lying on the mahogany table. The window was open and though it was high off the ground he saw a way to get it. He was (and is) a very tall man and he had a long rod and line. Standing on tiptoes he made a cast through the window as if casting for trout. He hooked the necklace at the first throw and fled, dropping his cigar in his flight. He also stepped on the cigar. He eluded the police easily and thought to elude me by coming to me in disguise and seeking to divert suspicion in another direction."

  And with that Hawkshaw leaped upon the old man and gripped him by the beard and gave a terrific jerk. The old man gave a yell as he was jerked erect and yanked across the floor. Hawkshaw turned pale. He had made a mistake in identity? He placed a foot against the old gentleman's face and grasping the beard firmly in both hands gave another jerk. Something gave way and Hawkshaw and his victim sprawled on the floor, Hawkshaw holding in his hands the false beard and wig. While the impostor was trying to rise, encumbered by his long coat the detective sprang nimbly up and with great dexterity kicked the huge green glasses from his face.

  The "old man" was revealed as a tall, gangling man with huge feet and cross-eyes!

  “You're under arrest,” Hawkshaw said, advancing toward him with a pair of handcuffs.

  The man sprang to his feet and drew a glittering butter knife from his pocket. "I am a desperate man! Beware!"

  At that moment the Colonel recovered from his amazement enough to push the muzzle of a howitzer against the villain and he was soon handcuffed.

  "Call the police, Colonel," directed Hawkshaw, taking the necklace out of the fellow's pocket.

  "Curses!" hissed the villain, "tricked, foiled, baffled! Curses!"

"But, Hawkshaw," asked the Colonel a few hours later, after they had collected the enormous reward that had been offered for the recovery of the necklace. "But Hawkshaw, how did you know that was the man?"

"My dear Colonel," answered Hawkshaw as with a smile he lighted a stogy, "I smelt the fish on his hands."

The End

It's a Halloween Horror Sale!

Celebrate Halloween with NUELOW Games and some of the greatest horror classics you may never even have heard of!

All our PDF e-book horror fiction collections are just $1 between now and the Big Night of Monsters! (Sales ends at Midnight Pacific Time on October 31, 2012.)

Get one or get them all! Click on the titles for more information.

From the Dark Corners (Tales about ghosts, madmen, and more by Howard, Smith, Stoker, and Wells)

Horror for the Holidays (Tales of Christmas ghosts and Christmas killers by Harte, Hume, Lovecraft, Locke, Poe, and Wallace)

Names in the Black Book (Tales about murderers and dark magic by Howard and Miller)

Shadows of Dreams (Dark and darkly humorous poetry by Howard)

Shadows Over Texas ( Tales about ghosts and vampires by Howard)

White Fell (Tales about werewolves by Housman, Howard, and Miller)

Fiction: The Devil in the Dark, Part Two

We now continue our fiction serial. If you missed Part One, click here before reading this post.

And if you like what you read here, maybe you'd like White Fell and Other Stories, a collection of werewolf tales from NUELOW Games featuring the work of Housman, Howard, and Miller.

We hope you enjoy this offering. Please let us know what you think.

THE DEVIL IN THE DARK: A CASE FOR STEVE HARRISON 

 By Robert E. Howard & Steve Miller 

(Copyright ©2012 Steve Miller. All Rights Reserved.)

Part Two: The Cabin in the Woods

Jim Hong was lying face down in a pool of his own blood, his red-dabbled limbs sprawling drunkenly. He was dead.
Harrison rose from his crouch, shaking out and discarding the match. He thought that Jim hadn’t deserved a death like that—he had been a petty crook, but he had never made anyone suffer like he had suffered in his final moments. The detective gritted his teeth, looking at the surrounding forest that hid the thing that had killed him. That it was a man he knew; the outline, in the brief light of the muzzle flashes, had been vague, but unmistakably human. He also knew that it had been too slender of build to be Ku Chang eventhough Harrison wouldn’t put it past the diseased and psychopathic imagination of Chang to conceive of a weapon that could make a wound like the merciless champing of great bestial teeth. It meant there wasn’t just one killer lurking in these woods, but two.
Harrison weighed his choices. Should he risk his life further by continuing to Shen’s cottage, or should he return to the outer world and bring in men and dogs, to carry out poor Jim’s corpse, and hunt down his murderer? It only took moments for him to reach a decision. He had set out to perform a task, and if a murderous criminal besides Ku Chang were abroad in the piney woods, there was all the more reason for warning the men in that lonely cabin and all the more likelihood that it might serve as a lure to one or both of them. As for his own danger, he was already more than halfway to the cabin. It would scarcely be more dangerous to advance than to retreat.
So he left Jim Hong’s body there in the trail, and went on, gun in hand, and nerves sharpened by the new peril. Where he had been moving through the darkness  by choice before, he now did so without option. The flashlight’s malfunction might have been temporary, but when he had failed to locate it on the ground. After using five matches in the search, he decided to save the rest in the box and just brave the night. His reasoning for not keeping his flashlight on still remained—he didn’t want the light alerting his quarry. Either one of them.
His nerves on edge and all his senses heightened in their anticipation of danger, Harrison kept his calm by reviewing what he knew about the situation. Jim Hong had definitely not been killed by Ku Chang. Harrison had the dead man’s word for it that the attacker was a mysterious white man; the glimpse he had had of the figure had confirmed the fact that he wasn’t Chang. This man who had come at Harrison was tall and spare, while Chang was squat and muscular. And the face? Harrison couldn’t remember the face except for a possible falsh of white. It might have been bandaged as Jim had said, or might Harrison have seen a glimpse of monstrous fangs?
He swore under his breath as an involuntary shudder ran through him, causing his wounded shoulder to throb. Walking along a black forest trail with only the stars glinting through the dense branches, with the knowledge that any one of two ruthless murderers by be lurking within arm’s length in the concealing darkness, was bad enough without needing to spook himself further.
He dismissed all thoughts of monstrous fangs, but the recollection of the butchered Chinaman and his tortured screams burned vividily in his mind. Sweat beaded on his face and hands, and he wheeled a score of times, glaring into the blackness where his ears had caught the rustle of leaves or the breaking of a twig—how could he know whether the sounds were but the natural noises of the forest, or the stealthy movements of a killer?
Harrison stopped dead. Some distane away, through the black trees, he glimpsed a faint, lurid glow. It was not stationary; it moved, but it was too far away for him to make out the source. With his hair prickling unpleasantly he watched as the mysterious glow bobbed up and down and vanished.
“You damned idiot,” Harrison growled at himself. That light had been someone walking with a pine-knot torch, but he had let irrational fear seize him again, and he had stood there like a little child afraid of the dark and ghosts. That was probably Ku Chang that he had just let slip away.
Steeled by self-disgust, Harrison moved on, a little quicker that before. He was out of his element, and that was rattling his nerves, but this fear that kept seizing him was going to get him killed if he didn’t control it.
He saw the light of Kai Shen’s cottage gleaming through the pines. While he sighed with relief, he did not relax his vigilance. Many a man, danger-dogged, had been struck down at the very threshold of safety—because what appeared to be safety might be a trap; either one of the killers in the woods could have gotten here first. Knocking on the door, Harrison stood sidewise, shifting his gaze from the door to the shadows that ringed the tiny clearing and seemed to repel the faint light from the shuttered windows and back again.
“Who’s there?” came a deep harsh voice from within. “Is that you, Ashley?”
Harrison knew Ashley was Kai Shen’s man-servant. “No; it’s Steve Harrison—I’m a detective from the River Street Precinct. We met a couple of years ago. Open the door.”
The upper half of the door swung inward, and Kai Shen’s head and shoulders were framed in the opening. The light behind him left most of his face in shadow, but could not obscure the harsh gaunt lines of his features nor the gleam of the bleak black eyes.
“What do you want, at this time of night?” he demanded, his bruqueness seemingly heightened by his perfect and proper British accent.
“I came to tell you that it’s very likely that a dangerous criminal is nearby. He’s a Tong enforcer by the name of Ku Chang. This morning he killed two police officers and a shopkeeper I think you know, Ming Lee. He fled into the forest, and since he’s a superstitious sort, so I think he’s headed here so you can maie him a good luck charm. I thought you ought to be warned and—”
“Well, you’ve warned me,” he said, cutting Harrison off. “Now be off.”
“I have no intention of going back through those woods tonight,” Harrison answered coldly. “I came in here to warn you, but also because I think I can lay a trap for Chang here. If I stay the night—“
“That is out of the question,” Shen snapped. “I never admit strangers into my home, and if this Ku Chang shows up here, I assure you that I have the means to defend myself.”
Shen shifted behind his weight on his feet and Harrison realized that he couldn’t see the other man’s hands. “I’m not a stranger,” Harrison reminded him. “I’m also an officer of the law. I’m going to take out my badge and show you, so relax. See?”
Shen scowled at the small shield in Harrison’s hand. “Just because I’ve met you doesn’t mean I know you. And I don’t care that you’re a policeman. I know my rights as an American citizen, and I don’t have to let you into my house unless you have a warrant.”
“Fine. But— Can I at least ask you to help me clean and dress my shoulder?”
Shen lifted one of his hands to peel back Harrison’s torn jacket. From his shoulders, the detective guessed the other held something heavy—a weapon of some sort. Shen scowled again. “It is not that bad, but— Fine. I will help you, but then you will leave.”
“Sure. Whatever we can work out.” Harrison thought that once he was inside, he could speak with Shen’s servant, Ashley, and get an ally to help make his case in favor of him remaining here, at least for the night. “But let’s hurry. Ku Chang isn’t the only killer out there tonight.”
At that Shen halted in his fumbling at the lower door, and glared at Harrison. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a dead man a mile or so up the trail. The person who killed him tried to kill me. He may be after you, for all I know. The man he killed was guiding him here.”
Shen started violently and his face went livid. “Who—what man?”
“The dead man is Jim Hong; I doubt you knew him.”
“No! The killer!”
“I don’t know. A fellow who manages to rip his victims like a hound—”
“A hound!” The words burst out in a scream. “Ashley! Did you see Ashley out there?!”
“Ashley? No—isn’t he in the house with you?”
“No, you fool! He went to the city for supplies!” The change in Shen was hideous. His eyes seemed starting from his head and his skin was the hue of ashes. His lips drew back from his teeth in a grin of sheer terror. He gagged and then found voice. “You must have passed him in the forest!”
“Not if he was traveling by motor,” Harrison noted, gesturing to indicate the forest behind the cottage, and the road that lay somewhere beyond that.
“Find him! Bring him back here, or I will not admit you!” Shen shrieked.
“Now listen—“
“No!” Shen screamed. He brought his hands above the lower half of the door and Harrison was staring into the gaping muzzles of a sawed-off shotgun. “I know why you wanted to get into my house! You bloody devil! He sent you! You’re his spy! Get out of here!”
“You’re threatening an officer of the law, Shen,” Harrison growled. “This won’t end well for you.”
“Go before I kill you!” Shen shrieked, thrusting the shotgun forward.
“Be careful with that thing,” Harrison grumbled and stepped back off the stoop. He was well aware of what a close-range blast from that murderous implement of destruction could bring, and the livid, convulsed face behind those black muzzles promised sudden demolition. “I’m going. But don’t think you’ve heard the end of this, Shen. I’ll be back. Meanwhile, keep your doors and windows locked—I don’t want you getting killed before the judge has his way with you.”
Shen made no reply; panting and shivering like a man smitten with ague, he crouched over his shotgun and watched Harrison as the detective walked backwards across the clearing. Where the trees began, Harrison could have drawn his gun wheeled and shot Shen without much danger, for his .45 would out-range the old man’s shortened scatter-gun. But Harrison had come there to warn the fool, not to kill him. There was also the issue of the sound of gunfire scaring Ku Chang off—and it really would be more satisfying to see that idiot Shen up on some charges rather than dead.
When Harrison was close to the trees, he turned to the piney dark. As he did, the upper door slammed, and the stream of light was cut abruptly off. He walked a few paces into the forest, drew his gun, and leaned against a tree.
What now? He had beaten Chang here, so his hope of staging an ambush still stood. But was it still the best move? There was someone else in the area, someone who had asked to be led to Kai Shen’s cottage. Whoever it was, he was a killer even more brutal than Chang and someone who had filled Shen with a fear that bordered on insanity. He must have exiled himself to this lonely stretch of pinelands to escape this person. A person who he knew ripped victims to shreds like a savage dog.
But Shen hadn’t come into the woods alone. He had brought Ashley. Ashley might have the answers Shen was unwilling to give. Ashley might also be in danger, because if Shen’s reaction was anything to go by, whoever this person was, he was just as much after Ashley has he was Shen.
With a grunt, Harrison, righted himself and circled around the edge of the clearing, looking for the rutted path that connected the cottage with the highway. When he located it, he again strode into the darkness. As the faint light shining from the cabin’s shuttered windows vanished among the black trees, a curious, chill, sinking feeling obsessed me, as if the disappearance of that light, hostile as was its source, had severed the only link that connected this nightmarish adventure with the world of sanity and humanity.
Grimly taking hold of his nerves, he strode steadily on up the trail, trying to keep as close to its center as he could, trying to pierce the darkness with his eyes and his ears pricking with every sound. At that point the branches interlaced over the trail, forming a black arch through which not even the stars gleamed. As he passed through this even deeper darkness, he heard a branch snap to his left.
Without conscious thought, he whippd his gun toward the sound and fired. The momentary burst of light from the gun’s muzzle revealed nothing but the rutted dirt road and the trees that lined it—and in its aftermath, Harrison saw phantom lights before his dazzled eyes and had the rapport ringing in his ears. But he was sure he heard no other sounds of movement; it must have been his imagination or a sound more remote than it had seemed.
Reminding himself that the gunfire could draw both Chang and the mysterious killer to his location, Harrison started moving again, a little quicker this time.
He reached the highway. There wasn’t much more light out of the forest as there had been in it, but Harrison found the clear view of the stars overhead and the dull sheen of the blacktop that stretched like a lifeline back to the city very, very comforting.
“Next time you get a bright idea like heading into the forest at night,” he grunted, “damn well stop and get a second opinion. At least don’t do it when your partner’s recovering from a bullet to the shoulder.”
Harrison began walking in the direction of the city, again keeping to the middle of the road. It seemed to him that his shoes were clicking on the blacktop with each step, but he knew that had to be his imagination—his relentless foe this night. But he felt fairly safe with his feet on the pavement that was his natural environment… and he knew that he would easily spot and shoot anyone who tried to charge at him from the woods.
He crested a small rise after which the road started a gradual decline to a bend that took it out of view. But in the distance he saw the lights of the city and the ships in the bay. His heart soared at that sight, and he promised himself that he would take his girlfriend Joan to every play, nightclub act and movie she wanted to see; every resteraunt she wantd to try; every art exhibit she wanted “experience” for the next year. Hell, he might even join her at one of those meetings or whateer it was that she had been going to in order to get more in touch with the Chinese side of her background. Likewise, whenever one of the detectives wanted to go for a drink after work, Harrison would not turn down the invitation. However this night ended, he knew that he was going to spent the foreseeable future appreciating everything glorious citylife had to offer. Even the bums, drunks, and grifters.
As he was making these vows to himself, Harrison heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine drawing closer, out of site as it climbed the hill from the city. Soon, twin shafts of light pierced the darkness, first illuminating treetops and then shifting and angling and vanishing moments moments later a pair of headlights appeared from around the bend in the road.
Harrison holstered his weapon and drew out his badge. He planted himself firmly in the vehicle’s path and held it out before him. As the car drew nearer, he shouted: “Police! Pull over!”
The vehicle slowed, and came to a stop. Harrison went to the driver’s side of the sedan and looked in. A square-faced, elderly white man in a dark fedora looked back. he recognized him to be Ashley. In the front seat next to him, much to Harrison’s surprise, was a young Chinese woman. Her dark eyes glittered by the dashboard lights under the broad brim of a hat not unlike one Joan only wore on special occasions.
“Ashley... Miss,” he said. “I am Steve Harrison, a detective with the River Street Precinct.”
“Another checkpoint?” asked the young woman, putting a slim, gloved hand on Ashley’s arm.
. “No, Miss. I came out here to warn Ashley’s employer about Ku Chang possibly heading for his cabin. There’s been a development, so I thought it best to stop you here on the road.”
“Is Mr. Sheng all right?” Ashley asked, his voice carrying a tone of apprehension rather than concern. Harrison also saw the inquisitiveness ebb from his countenance and horror grow there. It was clear to Harrison that he wouldn’t have to go into too many details; Ashley was obviously already concerned about danger to his master.
“Mr. Shen is fine for the moment,” Harrison said. “But I need to ride with you back to the cabin. And, pardon me, but who is the young lady with you?”
“She’s Mr. Shen’s niece.” The answer came tonelessly through dry lips. “Please, get in the car.”
Harrison opened the back door and slid into the car. He grunted at a painful twinge in his shoulder.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Harrison. I am Sarah Shen,” the young woman said, turning in her seat as Ashley set the car moving again. She continued in a cultured accent, “I’ve come down from—oh! You’re hurt!”
Harrison pulled his coat tighter, trying to cover the red that stained his white shirt. “It looks worse than it is. You’ve no reason to worry, Miss Shen.”
“My uncle will take care of you,” she said confidently and sweetly; it was a real struggle for Harrison to not make a bitterly sarcastic reply.
“Whatn was it you were saying about coming down from somewhere?” Harrison asked.
“I’ve come down from New York, because Uncle Kai wired for me to come to him at once—”
“I’ve seen the wire,” Ashley muttered. Harrison got the feeling that an argument was about to restart. “You showed it to me. But I don’t know how he sent it. He hasn’t been to the city, to my knowledge, in months.”
“And I can’t understand why the telegram was sent to me, instead of to somebody else in the family—”
“You were always your uncle’s favorite, Miss,” said Ashley. He turned the car onto the unpaved road leading to Shen’s cabin.
“We should all be blessed with such close relations,” Harrison said, hoping to disrupt the repeat. “But if Ashley wasn’t expecting you, it was awfully lucky that you should arrive on the very day Ashley was picking up supplies—and even luckier that you should happen upon each other."
“Oh, it wasn’t luck. Uncle’s telegram was quite specific in the train I should take. I was leaving the station and abot to hire a car when I saw Ashley coming out of the shipping office.”
“I always check to see if there are packages from the Master’s business interests abroad that I need to collect when I’m in the city,” Ashley muttered. “It’s always my last stop.”
“And you’re always very precise.” Sarah said cheerfully, patting his arm. “Uncle Kai knows that you’re like a Swiss clock when it comes to your routines.” She turned to Harrison and said: “Tell him there is nothing fantastic about me being in the train station at just the time to meet him.”
“I’d need to know a little more about the circumstances, Miss,” Harrison said distractedly, glancing out the window at the black forest, then back to the girl, to look past her at the dirt road being illuminated by the headlights. A large pine to the left stood out from his brothers, leaning drunkenly in the direction of the road; Harrison gathered that is what had blotted out the stars for a stretch as he was heading to the highway. Shen’s cabin was’t far .
“My uncle is a very clever man,” she continued. “He and Ashley have been together longer than  I’ve been alive, so it wouldn’t be difficult for him to arrange it so our paths crossed. He—”
Harrison noticed the sudden rush of movement to the car’s right. Ashley let out a startled cry. Something massive, like the fist of God Himself, shot out of the shadows and slammed onto the car’s hood. The windscreen blasted inward, showering the car’s inhabitants with glass.
The silence that followed was absolute.

To Be Continued...?