"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 011 - Brand of the Werewolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Me either!" the operator replied. He secured the magazine which he had started to read. "Say, did you
see the article in here about that fellow?"
Wilkie glanced at the magazine. "Nope. I'd like to read it, too."

"Take it." The operator passed the magazine over. "It's sure worth reading. It tells some of the things he
and his five men have done. I tell you, Wilkie, a lot of the things are hard to believe. This fellow must be a
superman!"

"Them writers sometimes exaggerate," Wilkie said. "Not in this magazine," the telegrapher assured him.
"It's got a reputation of sticking close to the truth."

The engine whistle moaned out. Echoes came slamming back from the timbered hills.

"That's the ol' highballl" Wilkie wheeled. "Thanks for the magazine. Be seeing you, brass pounder."

The train was moving. With a smoothness that came of long practice, Wilkie swung aboard. He headed
for the cars which held drawing-rooms. He walked the swaying aisles with the proficiency of a sailor on a
rolling deck of a storm-tossed ship.

Opening the magazine at page nine, he stared at the article. The first paragraph gripped him. Absorbed in
his reading, he nearly fell over a suitcase which some traveler had left protruding into the aisle.

"What a man!" Wilkie ejaculated.

The traveler who owned the suitcase, mistakenly thinking the remark was directed at himself, looked
indignant.

Wilkie reached the drawing-room; and found the porter. "I'm hunting for this man," he said, and showed
the name on the telegram.

"Yassah!" gulped the porter. "Golly me! Dat's de stranges' lookin' man Ah evah saw!"

"What's strange about him?"

"Man, he am de bigges' fella yo' evah laid yo' eyes on!" The porter gazed ecstatically ceilingward. "When
he looks at yo', yo' jus' kinda turns inside out. Ah seed him with his shirt off, takin' some kinda exercises.
Ah nevah seed such muscles befo'. Dey was like big ropes tied around him."

Wilkie nodded. He had come on duty at the last division point, and had not seen all the passengers. "In
the observation car, eh? And I'll know him when I see him?"

"Yo' cain't miss him! He's a great big bronze man!"

Wilkie headed for the observation car.

BACK in the tiny way station, the telegraph sounder was clicking noisily. The operator sat down at his
typewriter to receive.

He copied the incoming message number, the office of origin, and the address. The missive was destined
for a passenger on another train.