Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 058 - The Golden Peril

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THE GOLDEN PERIL
A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? Chapter I. THE AMBUSH
? Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
? Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
? Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
? Chapter V. A WARNING
? Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
? Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
? Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
? Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
? Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
? Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
? Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
? Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES
? Chapter XIV. A VOICE FROM THE SKY
? Chapter XV. SHOT DOWN
? Chapter XVI. A NET CLOSES
? Chapter XVII. A KNIFE FALLS
? Chapter XVIII. THE ATTACK
? Chapter XIX. A TRAIL OF GOLD
? Chapter XX. WHEN PLANS MISFIRE
? Chapter XXI. FRIENDS PART
Scanned and Proofed by Tom Stephens
Chapter I. THE AMBUSH
THE vultures knew a feast awaited them. They hung almost motionless in the gray, ominous
sky. Their beady eyes stared greedily down into the deep canyon that lay beneath them.
The canyon was gloomy as a grave. Its walls rose sheer and straight for an interminable
distance. Boulders and runty trees lined its sides. A small stream droned a mournful dirge in
the center. Except for the dirge of that stream there was no sound.
But death waited there!
Only the vultures from above could have seen the men-vultures below. They were huddled
behind boulders. The half darkness of the canyon combined with the khaki they wore to
make them almost invisible. Fully two-score men were there.
They were of almost every race and nationality. But they were alike in the greed that shone
in their eyes—and in the modern instruments of murder they carried.
A faint sound came from the far end of the canyon. The dim figure of a man appeared in the
distance, stood motionless for a moment, then vanished.
There was a sudden tenseness among the hidden men. Weapons were moved cautiously.
"Be quiet. Do not move until I give the command."
The order was given softly, but there was a chill note in the voice that brought instant
obedience. The man who had spoken was not large, but there was a look of utter
ruthlessness on his copper-tinted features and in his glacier-cold eyes. His shoulders were
broad, his frame powerful. He wore the insignia of a general.
The aid at his side spoke in a whisper: "The trap has been set well, my general."
"Si.
Soon the jaws of that trap will close." The general’s Spanish was guttural, as if he were
speaking a language still partly unfamiliar to him. "But care must be taken. Those we await
have keen eyes."
Even as he spoke, more figures came into view at the far end of the canyon. Their eyes
searched the scene before them, then one raised an arm in signal. A donkey train moved
around a bend.
Scouts were out ahead. Other tall men moved beside the heavily loaded beasts of burden.
Still others brought up the rear.
A faint fire kindled in the general’s eyes, and his lips made sucking sounds.
"Soon that will be ours!" he breathed fiercely.
THE men escorting the donkey train were unusual in appearance. They were tall, with thick
shoulders and powerful muscles. Almost copper-colored, they wore a short mantle over their
shoulders, a network of leather which had projecting ends. They wore broad girdles, of a
dark blue and leggings fashioned like football shin guards.
Those in the lead carried modern rifles. The others were armed only with spears and short
clubs bearing vicious, razor-edged flakes of stone.
Slowly, they advanced. A few were chanting a weird song, utterly unaware of the terror and
death that soon was to strike.
"Another sun and we shall reach Blanco Grande," said one.
"Then we will have fulfilled another task for Doc Savage," his companion replied. "It has
been long since we last saw the bronze man. I wish he would come again."
"He is busy, but he will visit us again some day. We shall see him if we are patient," rejoined
the first speaker.
But he was wrong in at least part of his statement. None of those with the donkey train ever
were to see Doc Savage again. At that moment, they were passing squarely between the
khaki-clad men concealed on either side of the trail.
The general would bark only one word, but that word was to start a chain of circumstances
that was to bring many deaths; that was to reach out to New York, where Doc Savage had
his headquarters; that was to bring the bronze man’s aids into the fray; that was to test to the
utmost the skill of Doc Savage and his five friends, experienced as they were in battling evil
and injustice.
"Fire!" roared the general.
Instantly, the quiet of the canyon was shattered by the murder-roar of guns. Khaki-clad men
reared up from behind boulders with automatic rifles. A rain of lead poured from those rifles
into the ranks of the guards with the donkey train.
The guards were brave. The leaders brought up their guns, tried to reply to the merciless hail
of death. Then they went down, almost cut in two by lead.
The others hurled their spears and dived for the temporary safety of the rocks. The heavily
laden donkeys snorted, burst into a panicky run. Khaki-clad figures leaped toward the trail
and barred their path.
Shrill, pain-stricken cries came from the doomed guards. One grunted with satisfaction as
his spear drove through the body of an attacker, only to die a moment later with a bullet
through his brain.
Crimson stained the cold waters of the creek. It became literally a river of blood. The
crashing roar of high-powered guns filled the canyon with thunderous echoes.
"Let none escape! Kill them all!" roared the general. The glacier-cold of his eyes had
melted. The orbs were now red with a killing lust.
His men needed no urging. Relentlessly, their bullets were hunting down fleeing figures. The
guards were dropping on all sides.
"We are lost!" moaned one of these. It was he who had first spoken on the trail.
"Doc Savage should know," his companion said throatily. There was a terrible wound in his
chest. Red-flecked foam was on his lips. Already, his eyes were glazing. "Y-you should try to
get word to him, Zum. I—I—" He became limp.
HIS companion eased behind the rocks on his stomach. His skin was almost the color of
those boulders. Bullets whined over him suddenly. Zum rolled over and lay still. The death
blast moved behind him, caught a guard who had risen to his knees to hurl a knife.
Cautiously, Zum wiggled on a short distance. Again he lay still. Then he moved ahead once
more.
Exultant cries of victory were coming from the sides of the canyon. Khaki-clad men were
rising to their feet. The steady roar of guns had ceased. Now there was only an occasional
shot from a revolver held close to some wounded guard’s head.
Zum neared a turn in the canyon. He leaped to his feet. With the speed of a racing hare, he
rounded that turn. An automatic rifle burst into life. Hot lead played a tattoo on rocks. Slugs
ricocheted and howled. One nicked the running man’s right shoulder just before he vanished
from view.
"Get him! Don’t let him escape!" the general shouted viciously.
Khaki-clad figures raced in pursuit. When they reached the bend in the canyon, Zum had
disappeared. He was running with all his speed. His mighty lungs were drawing in great
gulps of breath, his feet were pounding tirelessly.
"He escaped," reported the man who had fired the automatic rifle.
"Fool!" The general’s face was livid. He swung a fist, knocked the man to the ground. "You
know what happens to men who fail! You know what The Leader does!"
The man on the ground groveled. His face became a pasty color. His eyes rolled wildly.
"The—the hand of death!" he half screamed. "Don’t let it get me!"
The general’s eyes were scornful. "You deserve to die. Too much is at stake to permit
errors. But this time I shall let you live. I can stop that pig of a runner before he gets word to
Doc Savage."
Bodies of the slain guards were lying on all sides. Some were horribly mutilated by lead. Of
all who had been alive only five minutes before, only Zum still lived. The vultures were
swooping low.
The general paid no attention to the bodies. Callously, he stepped on them, as he walked
toward the still-trembling, frightened donkeys. His men, also, had leaped toward those
donkeys. With anxious, feverish hands they were tearing loose the covering on the packs the
donkeys carried.
"Gold!" one breathed softly.
"Much gold!" said a second.
"Retie those packs!" snapped the general. His lips were working with quick anger. "This is
only a drop in the bucket compared with what we will have later."
UNWILLINGLY, the covers were restored. The khaki-clad men looked at the packs with
greedy, cunning eyes.
"This must be taken to Blanco Grande. You shall be its escort. Do not try to escape with it!"
the general went on harshly.
One of the men shivered slightly. Escape! That would be impossible! Well he remembered
the scarred, evil shape of the mountainous country over which they had been flown to reach
this point of ambush. And they had dropped from those planes by parachute. There was no
way of returning except to walk. They could have walked to this destination, but that would
have meant loss of time. Other troops of gold-hungry men would meet them when they left
the mountains.
The men had to do as they were ordered.
"This will be a blow to Doc Savage," the general’s aide said craftily. "Are you not afraid?"
The general sneered. "Why be afraid of him?"
"But I have heard of many marvelous exploits of his," said the aide. "He is dangerous to
evil-doers. He has done almost uncanny things."
For a moment, a faint flicker of worry passed over the general’s hard face. Then it was gone.
"Do not worry," he jeered. "The Leader knows how to handle him. Besides, Doc Savage will
know nothing of this—until it is too late."
"And when will that be?" There was a cunning, shrewd look in the aide’s eyes.
"When we have launched our plans. When the entire world is rocked. When power such as
men seldom dreamed of—" The general broke off. One hand strayed to the heavy gun at
one hip.
"It could not be that you desire too much information, that you are a spy, could it, mi amigo?"
he queried softly.
The aide took a step back. "No—no!" he cried. "I am just naturally curious. That is all."
"Curious!" A peculiar expression flared in the general’s glacier-cold eyes. The gun came to
his hand, lifted. "We do not encourage curiosity in our ranks, mi amigo."
The other jumped back, turned to run.
Blam!
The general’s gun spoke once. A section of the other’s skull vanished. He was dead.
"I think you were not a spy, and that you were just curious," the general said. "However"—he
whirled on the other khaki-clad men—"let that be a warning. You will take my orders. You will
be paid in gold—as long as you obey those orders. You will be paid in bullets if you become
curious. In bullets by me, or paid by The Leader in another way."
The khaki-clad men were silent. They had heard how "The Leader" paid. Hard-bitten,
vicious as they were, they showed fear.
"Now take the gold in. I have a plane waiting for me near here. I fly back to Blanco Grande.
The man who escaped must be stopped at all costs. No word goes to Doc Savage."
ZUM didn’t know about the plane. He did know that no one could catch him on foot. Through
winding canyons and deep gorges he ran at a steady, tireless pace. His feet ate up the
miles.
Zum’s heart was sad. Many of his friends had died in that murderous ambush. Hope of
seeing those murderers brought to justice was one of the things that spurred him on. For he
knew Doc Savage would act.
The gold that had been stolen had been on its way to Doc Savage. The men who had been
guarding it were Mayans. All the world knew of Doc Savage and his men, and of their
unceasing fight on evil. Until now, few had known where the money came from that financed
that fight.
It really was a legacy left Doc by his father. It came from the Valley of the Vanished, where
the bronze man had found pure-blooded Mayans, long lost from the outside world.
When Doc had left the Valley of the Vanished, he had arranged with King Chaac, chief of
the Mayans, to listen in on a radio on every seventh day. When his funds ran low, Doc would
send a call for gold. Mayans would take it to Blanco Grande, the capital of Hidalgo, where
the president, Carlos Avispa, would see that it was sent on to Doc.
Dusk was falling as Zum came in sight of Blanco Grande. The mountains long since had
been left behind. Zum’s pace had slowed. He was weary. His face bore long lines of strain.
But steadily he went on, entered the narrow streets of the capital of Hidalgo. Zum had been
there before with gold trains for Doc. He knew where the radio towers were. He knew that in
some way it was possible to send messages from there that would reach Doc Savage. He
turned that way.
Had he not been so weary, Zum might have noticed the unusual activity in the ordinarily
sleepy Central American city. Many soldiers were about. They were fully armed and in small
detachments, moving with evident purpose.
Zum did not notice. He had only one thought, only one driving motive: He alone was alive to
let Doc Savage know what had occurred. He intended to fulfill that trust.
A LONE operator was on duty in the shack beneath the radio towers. He had difficulty in
understanding what Zum was saying. The Mayan was breathing hard, his words came in
gasps. His Spanish was not good.
"Señor Clark Savage!" Zum blurted at last.
The operator understood that. His eyes became wide. He had heard of Doc Savage.
"Gold stolen! Mayans killed!" Zum panted. "Send message!"
The operator stood as if paralyzed for a moment, his brain trying to digest what he had
heard.
Blam!
A pistol shot came loudly. Zum fell to the floor, twitching. A short, heavy-set man with
glacier-cold eyes and wearing a general’s uniform stepped into the radio shack, gun in
hand.
"Don’t send that message!" he ordered crisply.
"But—but—" The operator’s mouth dropped. "It—it’s to Doc Savage, general. I—I’ve got to
send it."
His voice ended almost in a scream at what he saw in the general’s face. He made a dive
for the radio key.
The gun came up. Once again it spoke. The operator died, the radio key untouched.
A faint grin cut the general’s face. He patted the gun in his hand.
"Unless Doc Savage is a clairvoyant, I do not think he will ever receive that message," he
said dryly. "And he couldn’t hear those shots in New York."
Two men came in then at the general’s barked command and gathered up the dead bodies
and wiped up the blood. Some might wonder what had happened to the radio operator that
he should disappear. But none would ever know just what had taken place. It would remain a
mystery.
Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
FEW sounds penetrated to Doc Savage’s office on the eighty-sixth floor of one of
Manhattan’s skyscrapers. That office might have been in a world by itself, far aloft, with view
unhindered by surrounding structures. But there was a curious, strained tension in that office.
"You’ve got to help, Mr. Savage. No one but you can do so. For you to refuse may mean
unreckoned tragedy."
The speaker’s voice was urgent, pleading. A tall man, he was dressed entirely in black
except for a brilliant, white shirt. His eyes and hair were black, but his thin, mobile face,
detracted from the somberness of his costume.
"Already there have been riots, some indication of what is afoot," he went on quickly. "I am
sure the peace of the world is at stake, perhaps the fate of the world as well. You must act!"
His black eyes flashed entreatingly to the man seated behind the only desk in the room.
That man stirred slightly. He was a big man, but did not show it. He was so well put together
that the impression was not of bigness, but of power. His face and hands were the color of
golden bronze—a bronze that exactly matched the color of his hair.
But it was his eyes that held the attention of his visitor. They were like pools of flake gold.
They were penetrating, with an almost hypnotic influence.
"What definite information have you that such a plot exists, Baron Vardon?" Doc Savage
asked. His voice was low, but it had a peculiar timbre, one that made it carry clearly and
distinctly.
The black-clad man sat more erect in his chair. His fingers toyed with his black felt hat.
"As I explained, I am on the League of Nations staff. We receive much information that is not
made known to the general public—information that comes to us from all our member
States. Recently, we have heard much of a mysterious man known only as The Leader. Who
or what he is, we do not know. But of his actions we know much."
Baron Vardon paused, frowned as if collecting his thoughts. "We know that a skeleton
organization of well-trained fighting men is being organized in every country in the world.
Already, there have been a few outbreaks. You remember the recent ones in China, Africa
and South America. Those were merely tests of power. The big coup is still to come. It
awaits some signal. What this signal is, we also do not know."
"And just what do you wish me to do?" the bronze man asked.
"We are convinced that the headquarters of this mysterious Leader is somewhere in
Switzerland. As a League of Nations representative, I am empowered to ask you to go to
Europe, find that man and block his plans."
"Seems like quite an undertaking to me," a third voice put in unexpectedly.
The speaker was sitting far back in one corner. A thin, not very tall man, he was pulling
absently at an ear that was much too big. His complexion was sallow and unhealthy-looking.
He appeared a physical weakling.
Only those who had tangled with Major Thomas J. Roberts, better known as "Long Tom,"
knew what an error that was. Nor did his appearance indicate that he really was one of the
world’s most famous electrical engineers.
Doc’s fingers played a rapid tattoo on the top of the desk. His flake gold eyes surveyed
Baron Vardon.
"A coup of such magnitude as you suggest would be difficult," the bronze man said.
"Practically impossible, I’d say," drawled Long Tom. Still tugging at his ear, he came to his
feet slowly and sauntered from the room.
"I assure you this is not only possible, but so," Baron Vardon said earnestly. "And whoever
The Leader is, he rules by fear. We have had reports he kills by a hand of death. Men who
have seen victims of the hand of death say bloody fingers and palm appear on the neck. The
features contort, horribly—"
Doc lifted one hand suddenly. A faint red light had appeared on a big panel at one side of
the room.
"Anyone know you came to New York, Baron Vardon?" the bronze man asked quietly.
His black-clad visitor started, his eyes receded in his thin face. "N-no. But why?"
"Several men are trying to break into this office," Doc responded softly.
"But they can’t get in, can they? I’m safe, am I not?" Baron Vardon’s voice was hoarse, his
features twisted with quick fear.
"No, they cannot get in unless I wish them to," said Doc. "But I believe we should see whom
we are opposing. Just sit quietly. I am going to release the doors." The bronze man moved a
foot on one spot on the floor.
Five men were in the hallway. One was working on the lock of a door which bore the sign:
"Clark Savage, Jr." The others carried businesslike automatics. Their faces were hard and
weather-beaten.
"Speed it up! Get that door open!" one of them barked. The lock-picker snarled in reply.
Then an amazing thing happened!
The door opened of its own accord. On either side of it panels also slid open. A gap fully
twenty feet wide was created in the office wall.
And inside, apparently rushing forward, appeared an entire company of armed men. They
carried submachine guns. Their faces were horrible grimaces. They seemed to be leaping
from behind shell-torn trees and out of huge shell-holes.
A yell of terror and horror came from the five attackers in the hall. One threw up his gun,
fired, then turned to run. Three of his companions also started to take to their heels.
"Halt!" The leader roared the order. His own eyes were gazing wildly. He was making an
apparent effort to keep his courage. Then his eyes became normal.
"Stop, you fools!" he bellowed. "It’s a trick! There are no men there! See, they’re not moving
forward at all!"
The running gunmen stopped and looked back. Even as they looked, the scene changed.
The company of armed men faded. Gigantic seas took their place. Huge waves with
white-topped spray appeared. The beat of surf came, low at first, then louder.
But no water splashed on the office floor.
The gunmen laughed, their nerves still jerking with their release from fear. Now they could all
see it had been a trick. They did not know how they had been fooled; it was enough to know
that they were not really facing a company of armed men. With cautious steps they moved
into the room.
And now the waves began to disappear. The office itself came into view. At one side was
seated a man dressed in black. Behind a desk sat Doc Savage.
"You wished to see me, gentlemen?" the bronze man asked.
Four pistols came up as one. Four bullets tore toward the bronze man. Doc Savage
slumped. His head went down on his desk. Then those weapons were turned toward Baron
Vardon. Again a hail of death poured out.
"Run! Run for your lives!"
The four gunmen turned with sudden fear. The cry had come from behind them, where their
leader stood. The men took one look and then obeyed. They dived frantically backward.
For the door and the panels on either side were closing. Frantically, the gang chief threw his
weight against one of those panels, tried to hold it back. The panel moved on.
Shrill screams of terror came from the four men inside. Desperately, they threw themselves
through the opening. The shoe of one was caught. The heel was nipped off as neatly as if by
a sharp knife.
"Let’s get out of here, that was too close," their leader rasped. He was breathing heavily.
"Another moment and we’d have been trapped in there. And even if we did get Doc
Savage, his men are still alive. They would have killed us."
DOC SAVAGE lifted his head, smiled at Baron Vardon. "Professional soldiers of fortune
from their appearance. Would you not say so, Baron Vardon?"
The baron’s face was a startling white in contrast to his black clothes. Nervously, he pulled a
handkerchief from a pocket, wiped his brow.
"I—I guess so," he breathed. "But—but, I still can’t understand why we’re still alive."
"It is too bad they discovered the doors closing so soon," the bronze man went on,
apparently unheeding the other’s remark. "Another moment and they would have been
caught, then they could have been questioned at leisure."
"But—but they had guns. They surely would have killed us, had they remained," exclaimed
Baron Vardon.
"No," Doc Savage corrected. "I do not believe they would. You see, they merely thought they
saw us. When I pressed my foot on a certain spot on this floor, I opened the doors, and
bullet-proof mirrors dropped. You have seen the childish tricks with mirrors used at
amusement parks, where a person would appear without a body. This was on the same
order. In addition, the mirrors were of a type which permitted us to see through from this
side, but prevented them from seeing us."
"And—and I—" Baron Vardon gulped. "I suppose they saw something that frightened them
at first. That was it."
"Yes. Merely some motion pictures projected against the mirrors, with a few added sound
effects. Sometimes the sight of those pictures suffice to frighten away intruders. These
fellows were of sterner stuff."
Baron Vardon swallowed hard, and an admiring grin appeared on his face.
"It was wonderful," he said. Then his expression changed, became serious. "But you see,
this attack alone proves that we are up against something desperate. It would have to be if
hired gunmen were sent all the way from Switzerland to kill you and, just because I am
asking your aid. You must help us!"
"I think it might be interesting at that, Doc."
Baron Vardon glanced up swiftly. Long Tom had returned to the room. His thin,
unhealthy-appearing face was blank of all expression, but one big ear wiggled slightly as he
looked at the bronze man.
Doc Savage’s flake gold eyes looked long and hard at Baron Vardon. "We never refuse
help where we may assist in any way to correct injustice, or to prevent evil," he said quietly.
"We will undertake the task, Baron Vardon."
Emotion twisted the baron’s mobile face. His features came alive. He leaped to his feet,
raced forward and grabbed Doc’s hand, shook it hard.
"I am delighted. I had hoped, of course, for your help. But to hear you give me your promise
makes my trip really worth while. You will leave at once for Switzerland?"
"We will start our search for The Leader as soon as possible," the bronze man said.
"Good! Get in touch with me at my hotel if I may assist you in any way." The baron turned to
leave, hesitated at the door, his face becoming solemn. "But be careful. I have heard much
of this hand of death. I will not rest easily until I know you have succeeded."
The door closed behind Baron Vardon.
"He’s O. K., Doc," Long Tom said. "I checked with Geneva. He’s an accredited
representative, and was sent here to contact you. Funny, I had him figured out as a phony."
The electrical wizard pulled one lobe of his oversized ear thoughtfully. "When you tapped
that code in Mayan for me to check on him, I thought you believed him a fake, also," he
added.
"I do not care to embarrass guests," the bronze man said. "Baron Vardon might have
understood the code had it been in English."
Long Tom looked up sharply. "And by the way, Doc. Isn’t it time to be hearing from Blanco
Grande? Shouldn’t another gold shipment be on its way?"
"I expect such a message at any time. Probably we—"
The bronze man broke off suddenly. A scream of dreadful agony, of pain and knowledge of
摘要：

THEGOLDENPERILADocSavageAdventureByKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?ChapterI.THEAMBUSH?ChapterII.APLEAFORHELP?ChapterIII.DEATHSTRIKES?ChapterIV.INTOATRAP?ChapterV.AWARNING?ChapterVI.DEATHCALLS?ChapterVII.ASPIDERSTRIKES?ChapterVIII.ATRAPCLOSES?ChapterIX.THE...

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