Read Online Doc Savage: The Ice Genius (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 12) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray - Free Book Online Page B
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streams. Had he set the weapon to discharge single shots, conceivably the slender electrical genius might have actually downed more foes. But he was counting on the deafening bullfiddle roar of the tiny weapons to have a psychological impact upon the attackers.
Bustling up to the control cockpit, Monk Mayfair wanted to know, “They don’t look like they scare easy.”
“Mongols have a reputation for fierceness and courage,” remarked Doc Savage.
“What say Renny and me slip out the trap-door hatch in back and try to pick them off from a good spot?”
Doc Savage shook his head slowly. “We will see what they do. It is possible they will retreat once they realize they cannot harm us.”
Monk made a disappointed gorilla face. Invariably, he preferred to take direct action even if a problem showed signs of solving itself without force. Monk loved action. He thrived upon it.
Soon enough, night breezes tore the billowing clouds of smoke and tear gas into rags and dispersed them.
The Mongol bandit band struggled to reassemble themselves. They held council. The tallest among them, a man with a Russian fur cap and a costume that suggested a Mongolian Cossack, seem to be in charge. There was a great deal of arm waving and other excited gesticulations.
Horses were checked for signs of wounds and those that could not be awoken, because they had succumbed to Doc Savage’s mercy bullets, were kicked savagely and then abandoned.
AFTER a time, the Mongols settled down and the tall leader led his men past the flying boat in the direction of the ice cave.
They seemed unafraid of an ambush. As they walked along in their felt boots trimmed in wolf fur, some of them kept a wary eye on the plane hatch, in case it should pop open and disgorge shooting foes.
These men disappeared into the cave, leaving two pickets behind to stand guard. They were in there quite a long time, inasmuch as they possessed no light by which to search.
When they emerged, the party dragged Monzingo Baldwin out rather roughly. The little man had been lifted up by one leg and carried like a chicken being taken to the tree stump where the farmer’s axe stood waiting.
“They got him!” Renny boomed out.
“Probably gonna shoot him dead,” said Monk, as if the prospect was not unappealing.
Sounding grave of voice, Doc Savage said, “We cannot let him be executed.”
“Can’t we?” rumbled Renny. “The little squirt tagged along without our permission. He may just have earned himself a bullet.”
Doc Savage said nothing. He was not as hard-boiled as some of his men, who believed that mercy should be tempered by justice, and not the other way around.
Kicking and squawling, Monzingo Baldwin was dragged toward the flying boat, and made to kneel in the dirt. His face was twisted something awful. It looked as if tears were streaming down his small squeezing eyes.
The tall Mongol placed the muzzle of his rifle against the back of the midget’s head, and looked up at the faces peering out at him from the cabin windows.
He called out in his own language.
“What’s he saying?” asked Long Tom.
Doc translated, “The bandit chieftain is warning if we don’t come out with our hands in the air, he will shoot Baldwin dead before our eyes.”
Ham said, “We can’t very well surrender to spare the life of that confounded scamp, can we?”
Doc Savage was silent. His golden eyes were molten.
“If we do not, they will slay him for a certainty,” he said at last.
Renny rumbled, “What’s to say if we do, they won’t scrag us all anyway?”
That prospect, obviously, was what was making the bronze man hesitate.
Doc Savage is not a foolish individual. Although he valued life, he also understood calculated risk. To simply surrender, might or might not preserve Monzingo Baldwin’s skin. It was impossible to tell. Probably it would not. But neither did Doc Savage want to be the cause of the little man’s demise.
While the tall Mongol chieftain
Bustling up to the control cockpit, Monk Mayfair wanted to know, “They don’t look like they scare easy.”
“Mongols have a reputation for fierceness and courage,” remarked Doc Savage.
“What say Renny and me slip out the trap-door hatch in back and try to pick them off from a good spot?”
Doc Savage shook his head slowly. “We will see what they do. It is possible they will retreat once they realize they cannot harm us.”
Monk made a disappointed gorilla face. Invariably, he preferred to take direct action even if a problem showed signs of solving itself without force. Monk loved action. He thrived upon it.
Soon enough, night breezes tore the billowing clouds of smoke and tear gas into rags and dispersed them.
The Mongol bandit band struggled to reassemble themselves. They held council. The tallest among them, a man with a Russian fur cap and a costume that suggested a Mongolian Cossack, seem to be in charge. There was a great deal of arm waving and other excited gesticulations.
Horses were checked for signs of wounds and those that could not be awoken, because they had succumbed to Doc Savage’s mercy bullets, were kicked savagely and then abandoned.
AFTER a time, the Mongols settled down and the tall leader led his men past the flying boat in the direction of the ice cave.
They seemed unafraid of an ambush. As they walked along in their felt boots trimmed in wolf fur, some of them kept a wary eye on the plane hatch, in case it should pop open and disgorge shooting foes.
These men disappeared into the cave, leaving two pickets behind to stand guard. They were in there quite a long time, inasmuch as they possessed no light by which to search.
When they emerged, the party dragged Monzingo Baldwin out rather roughly. The little man had been lifted up by one leg and carried like a chicken being taken to the tree stump where the farmer’s axe stood waiting.
“They got him!” Renny boomed out.
“Probably gonna shoot him dead,” said Monk, as if the prospect was not unappealing.
Sounding grave of voice, Doc Savage said, “We cannot let him be executed.”
“Can’t we?” rumbled Renny. “The little squirt tagged along without our permission. He may just have earned himself a bullet.”
Doc Savage said nothing. He was not as hard-boiled as some of his men, who believed that mercy should be tempered by justice, and not the other way around.
Kicking and squawling, Monzingo Baldwin was dragged toward the flying boat, and made to kneel in the dirt. His face was twisted something awful. It looked as if tears were streaming down his small squeezing eyes.
The tall Mongol placed the muzzle of his rifle against the back of the midget’s head, and looked up at the faces peering out at him from the cabin windows.
He called out in his own language.
“What’s he saying?” asked Long Tom.
Doc translated, “The bandit chieftain is warning if we don’t come out with our hands in the air, he will shoot Baldwin dead before our eyes.”
Ham said, “We can’t very well surrender to spare the life of that confounded scamp, can we?”
Doc Savage was silent. His golden eyes were molten.
“If we do not, they will slay him for a certainty,” he said at last.
Renny rumbled, “What’s to say if we do, they won’t scrag us all anyway?”
That prospect, obviously, was what was making the bronze man hesitate.
Doc Savage is not a foolish individual. Although he valued life, he also understood calculated risk. To simply surrender, might or might not preserve Monzingo Baldwin’s skin. It was impossible to tell. Probably it would not. But neither did Doc Savage want to be the cause of the little man’s demise.
While the tall Mongol chieftain
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