Read Online The Avenger 23 - The Wilder Curse by Kenneth Robeson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kenneth Robeson
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tries to get out of the van, pour lead. The rest of you, fix up the big bang.”
Feet scurried outside the van. Then came sloshing, dripping sounds along the van walls. With it came a raw, strong smell instantly identifiable as gasoline. They must be throwing it on with open buckets.
Somebody did something under the van, and there was the sound of a match striking.
“Give it about five minutes’ worth of fuse,” directed the voice.
Fuse! Some sort of explosive! Right under the van.
When the explosive let go, it would knock the truck up against the roof girders and splinter it like a match box. After that, it would burn like an oil-soaked torch.
Smitty looked at The Avenger. The pale eyes and masklike face showed no emotion at all. Smitty took off his coat, hunched the shoulder into a peak, and stuck the wadded fabric up through the hole in the van top.
There was a sound like a couple of hundred typewriters rolled into one. When Smitty pulled his coat down there was no shoulder left on it.
He looked at The Avenger again and found that Dick had shifted to the front of the van.
All during his fight outside the van, Smitty had wondered why The Avenger didn’t try to get out. Benson could have tossed a gas pellet out and put that guard by the hole to sleep, it seemed to Smitty.
Now, with his brain a bit clearer, Smitty knew why The Avenger hadn’t. It would have done no good. Put that one man to sleep, sure. But there were a dozen more to take his place, and the garage was too big to fill completely with gas and put them all out.
Dick Benson might have escaped, himself. But he hadn’t come here to do that. He had come to rescue Mac and Cole who were still tied up, by the way, since too much had happened to allow anyone time to untie them.
Smitty couldn’t see what The Avenger was doing at the front of the van. And he wished he could. He wished he could be sure that something was being done, because this was a deadly spot they were in.
The silence in the garage was sort of unhealthy, it was so complete. In it, Smitty could suddenly hear the sputter of a fuse.
Then there were running feet, the slam of the garage door at the front—and more silence.
“Chief,” said Smitty tensely, “we have to do something.”
“We cerrrtainly do,” burred the helpless MacMurdie, heaving at his bonds. “ ’Tis a sweet bonfire they’ve lit under us, Muster Benson.”
“Ever light a bonfire under a mule?” came The Avenger’s calm, even voice.
And what, wondered Smitty, did that have to do with the situation?
“Looks like a sure roasting for the mule—if he doesn’t move,” The Avenger’s calm voice went on. “So, he moves. We’ll do the same trick.”
As he concluded, a square of partition between van body and cab sagged back in his hands, and then the three in the van with him got the idea.
The van had been turned after it got inside the garage so that it nosed against a side wall. With a guard at the front of the garage and another at the back, the sides of the van were toward them.
The cab was deeply recessed, so that the two guards were unable to see into it from the sides.
They didn’t see The Avenger crawl through the front hole and settle down under the wheel. They might not have seen even from a better angle, as a matter of fact.
So they didn’t see. But they heard the starter grind, of course, and then heard the thunder of the motor. Yelling, they started pouring lead into the van, and into the cab, blindly through the sides. The slugs went in like cheese, but The Avenger did not give them time to nose around for victims.
With the first pop of the motor, he was in gear, and he made the truck leap back and around toward the rear door like an angry mustang.
The man there screamed in mortal fear as the great hulk leaped at him. He dropped his gun and scrambled to keep from being mashed like a pancake against the rear door.
Then the van leaped forward, toward the second guard, who was still
Feet scurried outside the van. Then came sloshing, dripping sounds along the van walls. With it came a raw, strong smell instantly identifiable as gasoline. They must be throwing it on with open buckets.
Somebody did something under the van, and there was the sound of a match striking.
“Give it about five minutes’ worth of fuse,” directed the voice.
Fuse! Some sort of explosive! Right under the van.
When the explosive let go, it would knock the truck up against the roof girders and splinter it like a match box. After that, it would burn like an oil-soaked torch.
Smitty looked at The Avenger. The pale eyes and masklike face showed no emotion at all. Smitty took off his coat, hunched the shoulder into a peak, and stuck the wadded fabric up through the hole in the van top.
There was a sound like a couple of hundred typewriters rolled into one. When Smitty pulled his coat down there was no shoulder left on it.
He looked at The Avenger again and found that Dick had shifted to the front of the van.
All during his fight outside the van, Smitty had wondered why The Avenger didn’t try to get out. Benson could have tossed a gas pellet out and put that guard by the hole to sleep, it seemed to Smitty.
Now, with his brain a bit clearer, Smitty knew why The Avenger hadn’t. It would have done no good. Put that one man to sleep, sure. But there were a dozen more to take his place, and the garage was too big to fill completely with gas and put them all out.
Dick Benson might have escaped, himself. But he hadn’t come here to do that. He had come to rescue Mac and Cole who were still tied up, by the way, since too much had happened to allow anyone time to untie them.
Smitty couldn’t see what The Avenger was doing at the front of the van. And he wished he could. He wished he could be sure that something was being done, because this was a deadly spot they were in.
The silence in the garage was sort of unhealthy, it was so complete. In it, Smitty could suddenly hear the sputter of a fuse.
Then there were running feet, the slam of the garage door at the front—and more silence.
“Chief,” said Smitty tensely, “we have to do something.”
“We cerrrtainly do,” burred the helpless MacMurdie, heaving at his bonds. “ ’Tis a sweet bonfire they’ve lit under us, Muster Benson.”
“Ever light a bonfire under a mule?” came The Avenger’s calm, even voice.
And what, wondered Smitty, did that have to do with the situation?
“Looks like a sure roasting for the mule—if he doesn’t move,” The Avenger’s calm voice went on. “So, he moves. We’ll do the same trick.”
As he concluded, a square of partition between van body and cab sagged back in his hands, and then the three in the van with him got the idea.
The van had been turned after it got inside the garage so that it nosed against a side wall. With a guard at the front of the garage and another at the back, the sides of the van were toward them.
The cab was deeply recessed, so that the two guards were unable to see into it from the sides.
They didn’t see The Avenger crawl through the front hole and settle down under the wheel. They might not have seen even from a better angle, as a matter of fact.
So they didn’t see. But they heard the starter grind, of course, and then heard the thunder of the motor. Yelling, they started pouring lead into the van, and into the cab, blindly through the sides. The slugs went in like cheese, but The Avenger did not give them time to nose around for victims.
With the first pop of the motor, he was in gear, and he made the truck leap back and around toward the rear door like an angry mustang.
The man there screamed in mortal fear as the great hulk leaped at him. He dropped his gun and scrambled to keep from being mashed like a pancake against the rear door.
Then the van leaped forward, toward the second guard, who was still
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