Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 110 - The Magic Forest

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THE MAGIC FOREST
A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
Scanned and Proofed
by Tom Stephens
? Chapter I. WESTWARD FLIGHT
? Chapter II. WHO IS NOME DALE?
? Chapter III. ATTACK!
? Chapter IV. UNKNOWN HIDE-OUT
? Chapter V. CONTACT
? Chapter VI. WILDERNESS TREK
? Chapter VII. GIRL TROUBLE
? Chapter VIII. STRANGE MAGIC
? Chapter IX. CABIN TRAP
? Chapter X. GUIDE TO DANGER!
? Chapter XI. MEN WITH GUNS
? Chapter XII. DISAPPEARANCE
? Chapter XIII. THE FLOOD
? Chapter XIV. RETURN TO TROUBLE!
? Chapter XV. CRY IN THE NIGHT
? Chapter XVI. AMBUSH!
? Chapter XVII. RETURN OF THE DEAD!
? Chapter XVIII. RETRIBUTION
Chapter I. WESTWARD FLIGHT
IT didn’t start off with the Indian thing at first. That was discovered later. The little Indian with eyes like a
Chinaman’s was given to Doc Savage. But that was after Renny, one of the bronze man’s aids,
disappeared.
It all happened in a very ordinary manner but, in time, developed into quite a mystery.
Renny went to LaGuardia Field as the guest of Clarence Faulkner. Faulkner was a new member of the
International Society of Master Engineers, of which Renny was a charter member.
Just recently, it was said, Clarence Faulkner had cleaned up almost a million dollars on the stock market.
He had made it in airplane stocks, the rumor went. And, now, because of his new wealth, he had just
become one of the directors of a company manufacturing a new stratosphere plane.
What Clarence Faulkner knew about engineering, or planes, for that matter, Renny didn’t know. Little
was known about Faulkner’s past. But he had money, and money gets you places; so he had got into the
society.
And being a member of the reception committee, big Renny had been asked to make the wealthy man
feel at home during his first few days in the engineering society. In turn, Clarence Faulkner had suddenly
asked Renny to accompany him on this flight.
The two men made an incongruous-looking pair.
Renny—better known as Colonel John Renwick—was a giant of a fellow. He had a long, gloomy face
that was like the expression of a man on his way to a funeral. Surprisingly, Renny always looked like this.
The other strange thing about him was his hands. They were enormous, about the size of quart pails.
Clarence Faulkner was a mousy little man, well-dressed, and with a continual pleasant smile upon his
rather ordinary features.
As the two men walked toward the mammoth silver plane, Clarence Faulkner kept saying things like,
"Isn’t it wonderful?" and "Oh, my!" as he observed the vastness of the airport and the continual arrival
and departure of transport planes.
Renny commented, "Quite."
His voice sounded somewhat bored. It also sounded—each time he spoke—like the roar of a bear in a
big cave. Renny’s voice was like that. It rumbled. And Clarence Faulkner could not get over the habit of
jumping a little every time the giant engineer spoke.
The two men reached the stratosphere plane and found attendants awaiting them. Men in regulation
uniforms stood by the portable flight of steps used for boarding the big metal ship. A closed-off area of
the field surrounded the ship.
One attendant said, "Everything is ready, gentlemen."
For a moment, Faulkner looked worried.
"You’re sure," he asked, "that this new plane has been thoroughly tested for safety?"
An attendant nodded. "Naturally. You need have no fear."
Renny was already climbing the steps and ducking his massive form into the plane’s cabin.
Clarence Faulkner followed, exclaiming, "Isn’t this wonderful?" He was trying to smile, but looking
frightened at the same time.
Other passengers were already seated. Renny had not been informed that there would be other guests
aboard the trial flight. But he guessed the plane manufacturers had arranged it. There were half a dozen
men in the comfortable leather seats.
A moment later, they took off.
THE flight was over Manhattan Island. The big ship climbed to ten thousand feet, leveled off at that
altitude, and started a long, sweeping circle of greater New York.
Renny had had time to make a few observations.
Windows, doorways, every conceivable opening of the giant ship was sealed against the outside air.
Inside, there was perfect air conditioning. Renny knew that, at greater altitudes, this hermetic-sealing
process was for the benefit of passengers. They would feel no discomfort at high altitudes, where the air
was thin.
Everyone was sitting there, gazing out the windows at the panorama thousands of feet below.
Clarence Faulkner had lost some of his fear.
"Wonderful!" he said, smiling.
Renny hardly heard him. He had been observing two of the other passengers who were apparently intent
on taking in the view.
Though the other passengers were well dressed, there was something about them that made Renny
ponder. They were well-built, thickset men. They hardly had the kind of faces found on men who work in
offices.
His glance strayed to a couple of others. He noted the heavy features, the blocky jaws. Funny, he
thought.
Just then, one of the pilots came through a doorway that led to the cockpit of the plane. He said, "We’ll
show you the control part of the ship. We’ll take a few at a time."
He motioned to some of the other passengers and three of them got up, moving forward and
disappearing through the doorway. The door was closed behind them.
Shortly, the co-pilot appeared again and beckoned to the three remaining strangers. They, too,
disappeared through the doorway.
Even little Clarence Faulkner noticed a thing that had occurred to Renny. He jumped up, demanded,
"Say! What happened to those other three? Why haven’t they come back? What about us?"
"That just occurred to me," Renny commented in his booming voice.
He, too, stood up.
Faulkner was ahead of him, moving forward toward the doorway of the pilots’ compartment.
Suddenly, he paused, his hand fluttering toward his face. He gasped, "Oh! Gracious! What—"
Renny leaped back.
"Holy cow!" he boomed.
He had heard the tiny putt of a sound, had barely caught the flash of a small object coming through a
small hole in the door. Clarence Faulkner got down on his hands and knees and appeared to be looking
for something on the floor. But swiftly, he stopped doing that; he sprawled flat on his face and lay still.
"Holy cow!" Renny repeated, leaping toward the man. At the same time he heard another putt. He
swerved, felt something tug at his coat sleeve. Renny saw the tiny dart that had not quite penetrated the
cloth. His brain clicked.
He clutched his arm, put a contorted expression on his face and started staggering around the cabin.
Even as he swayed on his feet, Renny’s heavy foot located and crushed down over the tiny dart that had
fallen to the floor. He scuffed the fragments beneath a chair seat.
He had an idea that he was being watched from the cockpit. He let his eyes roll. He looked like a man
ready to lose consciousness. But, at the same time, he was thinking of the dart that had caught Clarence
Faulkner in the face.
It contained some kind of powerful drug or was poisoned!
Renny fell down. He sprawled across one of the cabin seats and lay very still.
The cockpit door opened.
Two of the "passengers" appeared. The others followed, including the man dressed as the co-pilot. All
were big, powerful-looking individuals, though the co-pilot seemed a trifle bigger than the rest. All had
leathery, sun-burned features, indicating they had spent much time outdoors.
The leader said, "Blamed if I know who this big fellow is, but it’s just too bad he had to come along with
Faulkner. Now, we’ll have to take him along, too."
"We didn’t figure on that," said someone.
"Of course not. It’s just dumb luck."
The leader gave brief orders. "All right. Tie them both up." He stepped over Clarence Faulkner, yelled an
order through the doorway. "All right, start this crate west."
THE plane came off its long, circular course and headed westward. Soon, New York was a vague blur
in the distance.
Ropes had been brought into the cabin. Clarence Faulkner was securely tied hand and foot.
The men moved toward Renny, and one man grasped the giant engineer by the legs, to yank him to the
floor and straighten him out for tying.
But Renny came off the seat as though he’d been exploded from a cannon. He came up with his massive
fists swinging and his long face looking more gloomy than ever.
He started knocking men down!
Two men were hurled half the length of the cabin. Another was thrown up against the cockpit doorway,
just as the man in co-pilot’s uniform appeared there with some more lengths of rope.
The leader stared. "What the hell!" he exclaimed.
One of his assistants yelled a warning.
"Watch out! Trick! This big guy wasn’t knocked out by the dart!"
The warning was hardly necessary. The leader could see for himself. He leaped in to help his partners.
It didn’t seem possible that one man could hold out against seven. But Renny did—for a time.
His great hands pumped destruction. His fists looked like lumps of cement, properly hardened. Those
fists now cracked jaws, and there were howls of pain.
Renny’s face was more gloomy than ever, as it always was whenever he was in a fight.
Two of the men whom he had knocked down were up again, dazed, swaying toward him. They joined a
concerted rush of some of the others.
Renny’s powerful hands took hold of a cabin seat, ripped the chair from its fastenings and swung it in the
air. The attackers were mowed down before him like wheat in a strong wind.
Renny dropped the chair and grabbed two assailants by the throat. He banged their heads against the
metal cabin walls. There was cursing and shouting.
It was when the two-fisted engineer stumbled over Clarence Faulkner, still lying unconscious on the floor,
that he was overpowered.
An attacker had raised a blackjack. He brought it down on the back of Renny’s skull as the big engineer
stumbled and pitched forward, striving to regain his balance.
The blow brought unconsciousness!
"WHEW!"
someone said with relief. "That guy sure can fight! Wonder who he is?"
The leader shrugged. "Some friend of Faulkner’s, I suppose," he offered. He went around prodding limp
figures with his foot. "Come on, you birds," he said harshly. "This ain’t any holiday!"
They finally got Renny and Clarence Faulkner tied up. The captives were placed near the rear of the
cabin.
One man was massaging his aching, swollen jaw. He glanced through a cabin window.
"Wonder where we are, now?" he wanted to know.
The leader grimaced. "What the hell difference does it make? Take it easy. It’ll be a long time before we
get there."
The men took seats and relaxed. They acted like passengers resigning themselves to a long journey.
The plane climbed higher and higher. The men were conscious of a funny feeling in their ears, as they
mounted higher toward the stratosphere. It meant that they must be riding pretty high, because the sealing
process was supposed to eliminate such trouble.
One man had been fumbling through his pockets. Abruptly, he swore. He stood up and started feeling
around the seat cushion. Then he got down on the floor and peered beneath the chair.
"What’s eating you?" someone prodded.
"Lost it!" said the searcher.
"Lost what, dope?"
"I’ve gone and lost my totem pole—and that’s bad luck!"
Everyone started searching for the totem pole.
Chapter II. WHO IS NOME DALE?
THE unusual pair of fellows walking up and down at the edge of the huge city airport seemed to be
searching for something, too. And one of them looked mighty disgusted about it.
This one was about as wide as he was tall. All visible parts of his body were covered with stubby, bristly
hair the color of rusted shingle nails. He had a peculiar waddling gait, and his arms hung almost to his
knees. He reminded one of a gorilla.
He muttered, "Dang that Renny, anyway! He told me to meet him here at five o’clock."
The lean-waisted, well-dressed man with him said, "There’s a mechanic, Monk. Maybe he knows about
that stratosphere plane."
Monk, the hairy-looking, apelike one, was really Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, a
well-known chemist and an aid of Doc Savage. Behind his broad, flat forehead was concealed a brain
that was second to none in the field of chemistry.
The slender, fashionably dressed man was Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks, better known as
Ham to his friends. He was probably the most astute lawyer Harvard had ever turned out. Also, his
afternoon garb was sartorial perfection, for Ham was perhaps the best-dressed man in New York.
Ham carried a black cane that he was seldom without. It was, among other things, a sword cane, tipped
with a chemical that put its victims to sleep.
They had overtaken the plane mechanic. He was a powerful fellow with plenty of jaw.
Monk grabbed the man’s arm and demanded, "Hey! What happened to that new stratosphere plane? It
was due back here almost an hour ago!"
The mechanic gave Monk a frown.
"Look, wise guy, I ain’t the information bureau. Go ask them in the office." He started to move on.
Monk, with a seemingly effortless motion, whirled the heavily built man around.
"You act like that," the hairy chemist snorted, "and you’re gonna get hurt. I asked you—where’s that
plane?"
The man glared. And, yet, in his eyes was an expression which said he knew something but was not
permitted to speak.
"You’ll have to go to the office," he repeated.
Ham, always quick-thinking, ever tactful, stepped forward. "What this uncouth partner of mine is trying to
tell you," he said smoothly, "is that a friend of ours was on the stratosphere plane. He is a member of the
Doc Savage organization. We were a little worried—"
The mechanic jumped, swallowed something which seemed to stick in his throat, then gasped, "Doc
Savage?"
"We are part of that organization," offered Ham.
The mechanic’s eyes widened. "Well, then," he exclaimed, that’s different!" And then, tensely, "Look,
maybe I shouldn’t be telling you—that is; you can get more details from them inside; but here’s something
I know: That stratosphere plane has—well, it hasn’t returned. They don’t know what to think. It’s
disappeared!"
"Disappeared?" Monk piped shrilly. "Where?"
The mechanic shrugged. "That’s what nobody can find out. It was last seen flying over Philadelphia,
heading south. And that’s all!"
Ham grabbed his hairy partner’s arm and snapped, "Come on!"
They started toward a large building on one side of the field.
Inside, they located an official, drew him to one side, identified themselves, then fired questions.
But the official’s words were no more revealing than the mechanic’s. No, he didn’t have any idea where
the stratosphere plane was. It had not landed at any airport. It had not contacted this field or reported
any trouble. It simply had not returned according to schedule. It had been last seen flying high over the
city of Philadelphia.
Ham phoned Doc Savage.
Doc’s orders were brief. They were to stay at the field a few more moments, try to pick up any further
information, then return to headquarters. Especially, they were to question any attendants who had been
present when the plane departed.
They went back toward the landing field.
THEY learned a surprising thing. All mechanics who had attended the take-off of the stratosphere plane
had quit; walked off their jobs just half an hour ago! No one knew a thing about who had been present,
or who had boarded the great ship just before it took the air.
To a ground attendant who had been nearby, Monk said, "Maybe that danged ship didn’t take off at all!
Maybe they made a mistake about seeing it over Philadelphia!"
But the man shook his head. "Come along," he offered. "I can show you right where it was."
Ham and Monk followed.
And they saw for themselves. They noted the tire tracks right there in the ground, where the massive ship
had rolled down the field. They followed the tracks, shortly returned to the point where the attendant said
he had seen the plane waiting before take-off.
It was there that Monk found the totem pole.
The object was less than four inches long. Carved out of cedar, its surface was an intricate array of
gargoylelike faces.
But at one end of the tiny pole—which would be the top if it was a real totem pole and standing
upright—was the carved features of an Indian. An Indian’s face. The eyes were somewhat slanted. They
had a Mongolian cast.
Monk and Ham stared at the totem pole.
"What the heck!" the homely chemist muttered. He had turned the object around and was indicating
something on the other half.
It was the carving of the likeness of an owl.
Monk demanded, "Who would ever own a thing like this?"
"It might be a good idea to show it to Doc," suggested the well-dressed lawyer. "It might mean
something, and it might not. But it could have been dropped by someone boarding that stratosphere
plane."
"Yeah," agreed Monk, though it was usually against his policy to ever agree with his dapper partner.
A few moments later they took a taxicab for Manhattan.
IN the library of the skyscraper headquarters of the bronze man’s organization, Doc Savage said, "There
are certain races of Indians who use the owl as an emblem of good luck. To them, the owl is sacred."
Doc Savage referred to the tiny totem pole which had been turned over to him by Monk.
"But this image of an Indian on the other side," said Monk, "looks something like a Chinaman! How
about that, Doc?"
Doc Savage said, "Most Alaskan Indians have distinct Mongolian features."
"Alaska!" the chemist piped in his squeaky voice. "Blazes, if this gadget was dropped by somebody
boarding that stratosphere plane, how could this be— Doc, that plane was seen flying south."
They were grouped about radio apparatus in one corner of the bronze man’s vast laboratory. The array
of equipment was remarkable, probably equaling anything ever found in any radio station.
And just a moment before discussion had turned to the totem pole of a thing, Doc Savage had been in
contact with large airports from New York to Texas. He had picked up two definite reports concerning
the stratosphere plane and now learned that the plane had been sighted near Galveston, Texas, headed
south toward the Gulf of Mexico.
Doc made no reply to Monk’s comment. His metallic features were thoughtful as he listened at the
loudspeaker. In fact, his whole appearance was quite remarkable.
Standing alone, he would have appeared as a symmetrically built athlete of unusual bronze features and
hair of a slightly darker hue.
But next to Monk and Ham, the bronze giant completely dwarfed the two aids. His entire physique
denoted remarkable power and strength. His eyes, flake-gold in color, had compelling magnetic qualities.
They stirred restlessly.
But his physical development was only a part of the bronze man’s remarkable capabilities.
Doc Savage was known more for his fabulous mental ability, his uncanny mastery of electricity,
chemistry, surgery and other professions. Also, almost everyone who had heard of Doc Savage knew
that he practiced one of the most unusual professions in the world. Doc Savage was a modern Galahad.
He went around mixing in other people’s troubles, aiding the oppressed, righting wrongs, and meting out
his special kind of justice to evildoers.
It was known that he had a limitless source of wealth for these activities that brought no profit.
Doc now turned the miniature totem pole over in his hand as he waited at the radio loudspeaker. For the
past half-hour, Doc had been in continuous contact with various airports. But no further reports had
come in about the stratosphere plane. Since being sighted over Texas, flying southward, it had completely
vanished.
Ham looked worried.
Monk stalked up and down the laboratory, coming back at intervals to stand near the radio and listen.
They heard nothing.
Monk exclaimed, "Renny just went along on the flight as a guest. Faulkner did, too, for that matter. So
why didn’t the plane come back?"
Ham gave his burly partner a frigid look. "If we knew, you hairy ape, we wouldn’t be sitting here waiting
for some kind of report from the plane."
Monk went on, "But a plane, flying south, and a whatchamacallit thing from Alaska. It don’t make
sense!"
Doc said quietly, "There is a phone call. One of you had better take it."
A tiny bulb, observed by the bronze giant, had flickered in a panel on the laboratory wall. The light
indicated that the telephone, in the library outside the lab, was ringing. Connection to the outer room had
temporarily been cut off, while Doc Savage listened attentively at the loud-speaker.
Ham stepped outside to get the incoming call.
He was back in a moment, saying, "Doc, there’s a man named Nome Dale coming up here to see you
right away. I informed him it would be all right."
Monk frowned. "Look, shyster," he said, "you know that Doc only sees visitors by appointment, and
then only after we’ve completely investigated their cases. What’s the idea?"
The lawyer ignored his partner’s remark. He spoke to Doc Savage.
"This Nome Dale says he knows something about Renny," Ham announced.
IT developed that no one had ever heard of a young man named Nome Dale. Nevertheless, Ham had
acted properly in granting the man an interview with Doc Savage. Anything that Nome Dale might know
about Renny’s whereabouts was quite important, at the moment.
They remained—Doc, Ham and Monk—at the loud-speaker while they awaited Nome Dale’s arrival.
No further news came from any airports. Apparently, no further traces had been found of the
stratosphere plane.
Shortly, another panel light blinked, indicating that someone was at the reception-room door. The
reception room faced on a wide hallway on this floor of the bronze man’s skyscraper headquarters.
Entrance to the private hallway was only by means of express elevators that came directly to Doc
Savages floor.
Monk and Ham hurried ahead to see if it was Nome Dale who had arrived. They passed through the
library, a huge room lined with shelves containing books on every known subject.
The room beyond was the reception quarters, and it contained merely a few comfortable chairs and a
massive inlaid table of handmade design. Ham’s cane was lying on the table.
Also, two strange-looking pets, at the moment, appeared intent on doing a marathon around the
reception room.
One animal was, in a way, a small-size reproduction of the homely chemist himself. It was a chimpanzee
of questionable origin. The animal was fairly small, hairy, and its little eyes were almost lost in its homely
face. Strangely, Monk’s features had a similar pattern.
The chimp was named Chemistry and was Ham’s pet. At the moment, it was scampering about the
room, squealing loudly, chased by what looked like a runt pig.
The pig had ears, legs, and snout—more of these things than anything else. It made snorting sounds and
kept nipping at various parts of the small chimps anatomy.
Monk howled. He shouted, "Get him, Habeas!"
For the pig was Habeas Corpus, Monk’s own pet. The two animals were a constant source of trouble
between the chemist and Ham.
Ham suddenly pushed the chemist aside and made a worried dive after his chattering pet. The two
animals disappeared toward another part of the headquarters.
Behind the two aids, Doc said quietly, "It would be best to see who is at the door."
Ham opened the door.
The man who was standing there was young, had shoulders like a football player and was quite
good-looking. His features had a rugged, healthy glow. He wore no hat, and his hair was almost
straw-blond in color.
He said, still standing in the doorway, "I’m Nome Dale."
He hardly noticed Monk and Ham. He stared beyond them at Doc Savage, obviously recognizing the
bronze man.
Nome Dale stammered, "I . . . er . . . came to tell you about a fellow named Renny. That is, about him
and Clarence Faulkner."
Doc moved forward quickly.
"Yes?" he prompted.
Nome Dale continued, "Well, it’s about my—" Then he paused, his gaze going to the bronze man’s left
hand. Terror leaped into the young man’s wide eyes.
Doc Savages metallic features were expressionless, like something carved in bronze. But his unusual
flake-gold eyes flickered.
In Doc’s left hand was the totem pole that had been turned over to him by Monk and Ham.
摘要：

THEMAGICFORESTADocSavageAdventurebyKennethRobesonThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.comScannedandProofedbyTomStephens?ChapterI.WESTWARDFLIGHT?ChapterII.WHOISNOMEDALE??ChapterIII.ATTACK!?ChapterIV.UNKNOWNHIDE-OUT?ChapterV.CONTACT?ChapterVI.WILDERNESSTREK?ChapterVII.GIRLTROUBLE...

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