Read Online Doc Savage: The Miracle Menace by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray - Free Book Online Page B

comment to that, but his flake-gold eyes roved the ever-shifting trees on either side of the well-worn path, apparently missing little, but also discovering nothing unusual.
    When they approached the clearing, they were startled to see a black tower jutting over the treetops that had not been there moments before.
    At first, they mistook it for a tall fir tree, silhouetted against the waning moon. But its edge had not the irregular look of an evergreen. And fir trees were not common in these Missouri woods.
    “Hey!” shouted Monk. “That looks like that wizard’s hat of a roof tower Renny was talkin’ about!”
    “That’s it!” Renny thumped. “Holy cow!”
    They quickened their pace. The path was so narrow that in walking bunched together, their elbows kept brushing. Now they stretched out in single file, eager to get there as rapidly as possible.
    Came an ear-splitting shriek.
    Everyone reached into armpit holsters for their supermachine pistols, powerful yet compact weapons beyond anything in the hands of any nation. Little larger than an automatic, these packed the punch of a Tommy gun. They resembled one in miniature, down to the canister-like drums mounted ahead of the trigger guards. Each pistol was capable of unleashing a frightful storm of lead, but in fact were rarely charged with solid slugs. Instead, the drums contained so-called “mercy” bullets—hollow shells filled with a fast-acting anesthetic solution of the bronze man’s invention. He did not believe in slaying his enemies.
    All brandished their superfirers, except Doc Savage, who rarely carried a weapon. He preferred not being dependent upon firearms.
    As it happened, their attacker had selected Ham for his first victim.
    He dropped down from a heavy bough and landed beside the dapper lawyer. The late arrival was compactly muscled, sinewy and wiry to a degree that comes from living out of doors, and off the land.
    White rods of light picked him out. His face was a fierce, snarling animal-like thing, the sharp nose mashed where Renny’s iron knuckles had popped it. His skull was shaven after the fashion of the Mohawks, sunburned face smeared with thin, greenish lines. A single scalplock sprouted from the top of his head, to which stiff porcupine hair was affixed.
    “Holy cow!” howled Renny. “The scalper!”
    That was as much as anyone got out.
    RENNY lunged forward, and received a faceful of dirt, flung unexpectedly. He brought his monster hands up and began pawing at his eyes.
    Next, Ham Brooks yanked the narrow blade out of the barrel of his sword cane. Assuming a stance similar to a fencer, he lunged, inflicting upon the Indian’s bare shoulder a minor wound.
    Withdrawing, the dapper attorney stood back, saying, “He will be insensate in a mere second or two.”
    Instead, the brave made a rush for Ham, much to the latter’s consternation.
    “Didn’t you wipe that sticky anesthetic off your blade?” yelled Monk.
    “I forgot!” gulped Ham, defensively weaving the air before him with the flashing sword.
    Long Tom Roberts slanted in, tripped the Indian, who somehow pulled the puny electrical wizard down with him. They ended up rolling in the dirt, clubbing and howling like two alley cats in a cartoon.
    Long Tom managed to extricate himself, while the Indian bounced back on his moccasins.
    So far, no one had gotten off a shot. Johnny Littlejohn stood rooted, as if dazed by the spectacle.
    The redskin then turned to engage Doc Savage. He must not have realized the size of the mighty bronze man until he was next to him because a look of astonishment whipped across his twisted lineaments.
    Doc then had a remarkable two or three minutes.
    The arboreal attacker produced a knife of some kind. He ducked to one side, swept in and attempted to run its edge across the back of Doc’s right knee in an effort to hamstring him.
    Doc Savage drifted out a hand and seized the wrist back of the knife. He twisted, and the blade spilled, struck