"058 (B055) - The Golden Peril (1937-12) - Harold Davis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

THE GOLDEN PERIL
A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson

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 eyesЧand 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. IЧIЧ" 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. "TheЧthe 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.