"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 156 - Seh-Pa-Poo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Doc jerked open a rear door, paused to demand, тАЬWhat's the rush?тАЭ

The Indian, no longer sounding like a circus Indian, said hoarsely, тАЬListen, I ain't gonna stay around here.
Come on! I'll explain things later. This ain't no place for us right now!тАЭ

The motor caught, gasped and labored for a moment, then roared, the gears made a loud metallic
gnashing, and the Indian added, тАЬGet in! For God's sake, get in!тАЭ He was hunched over the wheel.

The back door of the station wagon slammed. The Indian sucked his breath inward noisily, asked, тАЬYou
okay?тАЭ

тАЬOkay,тАЭ Doc Savage said.

The station wagon began moving. It went cautiously, hugging the cliff on the left, and the Indian presently
said, тАЬThis is bad road.тАЭ

тАЬWhat is running away going to get you?тАЭ Doc Savage demanded.

тАЬSave our necks, probably.тАЭ

The road, the crudest kind of trails, became wider, although it was still a shelf with a sheer cliff on either
side. The machine gathered speed. The Indian leaned back, relaxing a little. He tramped on the
accelerator.

A moment later, the station wagon leaped wildly to the right, toward the precipice edge. The Indian,
using every muscle to the utmost, smashed the left-hand door open and pitched out. He screamed
wordlessly as he went out, a frightened hoarse sound that presently came back from the surrounding cliffs
as whimperings and mewings, in echoes. He hit hard, rolled, trying to stop himself rolling.

The station wagon then went over the cliff. It did not go over quite cleanly, the front wheels dropping
after they passed over and the chassis underside dragging with a ghastly, metallic, tearing noise; then
there was a solid rubbery bump as the rear tires hit and bounced over. The station wagon probably
turned over and over, over and over, as it fell. It was too dark to see.



DOC SAVAGE had gotten out. He had jumped, as a matter of fact, before the Indian. The instant he
had known something was wrong, he had gone out. He now stood, half crouching, against the side of the
cliff where he had landed.

It was dark, intensely dark, where he stood. But a few yards away, on the road, he could distinguish the
sprawled form of the Indian. The Indian wasn't moving.

It came to him that he had made almost no sound leaving the station wagon, that the Indian probably
thought he was in the machine when it went over the edge.

He did not make his presence known.

He did some thinking.