"063 (B064) - The Motion Menace (1938-05) - Ryerson Johnson" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Pat took a moment to get over being stunned; then she went into action.
The white whiskers of the nearest man were nice and long. Pat grabbed and yanked. The fellow hadn't expected that. She got him down across her lap. He couldn't very well shoot. Neither could his companion.
With her free hand, Pat aimed a dig at the driver's little pop eyes. He bleated and threw up his hands as if he had found a snake in his lap.
Pat reached for her big six-shooter. At the same time, she twisted the whiskers with all her might. She could feel some of them pulling out.
Then the curtain of unconsciousness fell down on things.
The bearded man from the other car hastily pocketed the gun with which he had clubbed Pat.
"Can you drive, General?" he asked.
"Yes," said the one whose eyes Pat had poked.
Both cars went down the street in a hurry. They did not, however, drive too fast. That might have interested some of the military guards stationed about this, the foreign quarter of the city.
Ky Halloc came out of the Chinese tobacco shop with a pack of American cigarettes on which he had paid an unearthly import duty. He looked about, and seemed surprised when he saw his car about four blocks distant, moving rapidly. It turned a corner and was lost to sight.
Ky Halloc, after he had rubbed his jaw, gave a queer, short laugh.
"This," he said, "is just the first chapter."
Chapter II. THE WALL OF TERROR
PAT SAVAGE looked at some white whisker hairs in her fingers for a while after she awakened. They had tied her wrists with a necktie, but her fingers must have remained unconsciously clenched on the whiskers. She tried her strength. But the necktie was stronger.
Trees and brush were whisking past on either side. The woods did not look as if it had been farmed. Wild country.
Pat looked her captors over. They were a queer pair. They reminded her of old owls. Their hooked noses did that. The way they kept their lips tight made it look as if they had something in their mouths. They did speak good English, though.
As she finished her inspection, she nearly snorted. They were dressed like a vaudeville team. Each wore a gaberdine topcoat buttoned to the throat, and each head was topped by a hat shaped like a stewpan, and made of some white fur that might have been dyed-and-clipped rabbit, or ermine.
Pat looked around. The other car was following.
"Well," Pat demanded, "what's the meaning of this?"
"Quiet, madame," said one of the old men. "His Highness will confer with you when the time comes."
The time, it developed, was some distance off. The cars drove for half an hourЧthere was a clock on the dashboard. Then both machines pulled off the road and headed for the shore of a lake. They nearly got stuck. Every one alighted, and Pat was helped out.
Two canoes were cocked up on the lake shore. Every one got in them. Three of the men gave Pat every help possible. When one of them did her a service, he always prefaced it by a funny little bow. The canoes were of American make.
Pat wondered, as they paddled out in the lake, if they could swim. Two men were in her boat and three were in the other. She could make good time with her hands and feet tied. Pat became intrigued with the idea.
She upset the canoe.
THE old men could swim. They were, in fact, a bunch of old Neptunes. Pat, swimming underwater, just started to vision escapeЧthe water was loosening the necktieЧwhen they caught her. She kicked around some, but they held her.
They righted the overturned canoe, with the help of the bearded gentlemen in the other canoe, and spilled the water out of it. Two of them gave their bows, then hauled Pat, dripping and madder than she could remember being, into the craft.
Not a word was said by anybody. But it took great control for Pat to keep silent.
They rounded a headland. A planeЧa seaplane, two-motored, big and fastЧstood on the lake. A man was inside, waiting.
More bows, and Pat was lifted into the plane cabin. The pilotЧhe had a helmet chin strap buckled under his whiskersЧhad the bowing habit, also. He made Pat comfortable in a seat, then backed away.
The old men then upset both canoes.
"If the trail comes this far, the upset canoes may mislead them with thoughts of drowning," an old gentleman told Pat. He smiled widely, then closed his mouth and held it as if he had something in it.
The plane then took off. The ship climbed beautifully. It headed south.
"I'm sorry, madame," one old man apologized. He bowed, then tied a scarf over Pat's eyes; and Pat thereafter could not see where they were going.
The plane finally landed nicely on water, taxied a bit, then the floats ground against what sounded like rock; and other noises indicated the craft was being tied with ropes to the shore.
An old gentleman then removed Pat's blindfold and bowed. "My arm, madame," he said politely.
Pat tried to jump into the water as they helped her ashore. She wanted to leave wet tracks. They politely prevented this, then removed her high-heeled pumps, which might leave scratches on the stone.
The old men had also taken off their shoes. They all wore very woolly socks.
They walked in silence across the stone. Nowhere was there a blade of grass, although there were high, wooded slopes around the lake.
A cleft appeared ahead. They walked to it. As they walked in, it narrowed, and quickly became the mouth of a cave. The hole was not waist high, and only wide enough for one man at a time.
The old man in the lead stepped back, bowed, and said, "You first, madame."
Pat glanced angrily at the surrounding rocks. There was not much she could do. She bent and dived into the hole. Straightening up, she looked around.
Pat's career had not been entirely without scares. She had rather good self-control; but she suddenly emitted a startled screech.
She had crept into the den of an enormous bear. And the occupant was home!
PAT knew a good deal about bears. This one was the worst kind. A grizzly! Monstrous! The beast showed its fangs. A growl came from it. Then it started for her.
The grizzly was not a dozen feet distant, and grizzlies are not customers to meet at that range, even with the most high-powered rifle.
Pat whirled, hopped for the outlet. Her feet were not now lashed with the necktie, but she doubted very much if she could make it anyway.
One of the old men blocked the way.
The thoughts that lashed Pat's brain the next instant were chaotic.
Shrill, chortling glee came from the old man's lips. He had his head back. Laughing! Like a babe with a lollypop!
"Be calm, madame," he said. "The bear is a pet. Perfectly gentle. Back, Moe!"