"060 (B084) - The Mountain Monster (1938-02) - Harold Davis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

And they were the marks of an eight-legged beast!
The marks disappeared just before the line of trees that surrounded John Alden's land. They did not reappear on the opposite side.
A frown creased Buck Dixon's square face. He shivered, despite the heat.
"I think we're up against something too big for us, something I don't want to go up against. I'm scared," he said at last. "But there's a man I've heard of who could figure out the answers for us. I think we'd better go to him."
"And who is that?"
"Doc Savage," said Buck Dixon, and there was awe in his voice.
Doc Savage! The bronze giant, who, with his five aides, had become world famous, whose name was as well known in the far regions of China and the jungles of Africa, as in the skyscraper district of New York.
There were stories of Doc Savage's almost incredible strength; of his amazing scientific discoveries and dangerous exploits. Doc Savage had dedicated his life to aiding those faced by dangers with which they could not cope. His name brought fear to those who sought to prey upon the unsuspecting. His name was praised by thousands he had saved.
John Alden paused. A dozen pictures flashed to his mind; his memory recalled a score of stories he had read.
Yes, John Alden conceded, Doc Savage could solve this problem. But the engineer thought of other things as well.
He thought of the scores of colonists who now called Arcadia Valley their home. To send for Doc Savage would be to spread word that there was something to be feared.
John Alden was not as old as Buck Dixon. He had the confidence of youth. He did not like to admit he was facing a problem he couldn't solve himself.
He made a mistake then.
"Let's wait until we have more to go on," he said. "After all, this may be something we can handle. I suggest we round up a few of the Indians, talk to them. They are superstitious, I know. But they may be able to tell us something that will help."
Buck Dixon made no reply. He merely raised a hand and pointed. John Alden looked.
Tiny dots were moving on the far side of the valley. They were taking a trail that would lead them far from Arcadia.
The Indians were leaving.
THE MONSTER did not come again that night. John Alden and Buck Dixon stood watch. Neither got much sleep.
But the following night, the horror struck.
It began to rain shortly after dusk. The sky clouded over as the sun set.
John Alden stood guard first. At midnight, Buck Dixon relieved him. The husky man made no attempt to hide his nervousness. It was thundering again. A premonition of evil gripped John Alden as he went to the cabin.
For a moment he considered returning, staying with Buck Dixon until daylight. Then he changed his mind. He would have a cup of coffee first. He went to sleep with the cup in his hand.
Buck Dixon crouched in an open space, keeping his rifle under his slicker. He felt as he had when he'd first done sentry duty in the trenches.
The strange odor was his first warning. One moment the air was pure, the next, and his nostrils twitched with the fearsome, foul scent.
Buck Dixon might have saved himself. Had he run at once, he might have stood a faint chance.
But the burly veteran did have nerve. He hesitated. And almost instantly the peculiar smell became strong. It sent his brain racing.
He was able to scream once, tried to get his rifle out from under his slicker. His feet moved, his arms did not. The rifle dropped from his hands. He started to run toward the head of the valley.
Then The Monster came into view.
It was huge. It towered as tall as a two-story building. And it was racing toward Buck Dixon on long, spidery legs.
A huge spider! That was what the Indians had said The Monster wasЧa huge, bloodthirsty spider.
Its speed was amazing! It came across the mesa as fast as a racing car could move. Buck Dixon's mind told him to stop, to fall flat.
He could not. He rushed on toward the fate that awaited him.
The Monster was almost upon him. It slowed. Two enormous, pincerlike projections came from its mouth, reached down for Buck Dixon.
Buck Dixon opened his mouth to scream again. No sound came forth.
Chapter II. THE MONSTER KILLS
JOHN ALDEN came awake with his rifle in his hands. He had the impression that he was reliving a nightmare, that he was hearing again Buck Dixon's screams of two nights before.
Then he caught a faint whiff of the cloying, sickly sweet odor. He knew it was no nightmare.
A hysterical laugh came from him. Frantically he rushed outside.
He saw The Monster just as it grabbed Buck Dixon!
Later, John Alden tried to picture just what did occur. It was all over in less than five seconds. But at the time it seemed horribly slow, as if he were witnessing some fiendish scene in slow motion.
The Monster had come practically to a stop. Two weird twisted legs on the front of its loathsome body bent down, two pincers reached out, wrapped themselves about Buck Dixon's body.
The burly veteran was whisked into the air as if he were weightless. Then the monster paused for an instant, apparently savoring the feast ahead of it. Buck Dixon's arms and legs beat futilely. He was twisted about, disappeared into The Monster's maw.
The rifle came to John Alden's shoulder. Calmly, he pumped bullet after bullet at the hideous monstrosity.
The crash of the rifle was echoed by dull, vicious smacks as the bullets reached their mark.
Slowly, deliberately, the spiderous shape turned, ran toward John Alden. The foul odor freshened.
Then it was that panic seized the lanky engineer. He jammed fresh cartridges into the rifle. He pulled the trigger as fast as he could lever bullets into the barrel.
The bullets had no effect!
The rifle dropped from John Alden's hands, even as Buck Dixon had dropped his weapon.
The Monster towered almost above him. Once more the cruel pincers reached out.
The pincers waved in the air. They waved almost mockingly. The loathsome beast turned. Its legs spurted across the ground.