Part 14 (1/2)

”Get your chemical bombs,” Doc directed. ”Better leave the pig.”

Down the street, Doc and Monk found Trapper Lake asleep. Street lamps -- they were electric bulbs which dangled from wires spanning the thoroughfares -- had been extinguished long ago. A light burned in the depot of the Timberland Line railroad.

The town had only one cab. Finding it at this hour was out of the question. Doc and Monk headed north, running. Monk, considering his short, bowed legs, was capable of surprising speed.

They were nearing the edge of town when sounds of shot came rapping to their ears.

”Rifles'.” Monk e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”The fight!”

A bullfiddle of a moan suddenly drowned the other gun noises.

”It's Renny!” Monk howled. ”That noise was made by one of our machine pistols!”

A MOMENT later, Monk found himself running alone. The homely chemist had thought he was running fast, but Doc had left him behind so suddenly that it seemed to Monk that he had turned around and traveled backward. Until this moment, Doc had been skeptical of the phone call. It was the sort of thing by which a trap would be sprung. But hearing the moan of the supermachine gun had alarmed him more than a little. The weapons were not public property. Doc manufactured them himself; the only ones in existence were those in possession of his men.

For some distance, Doc followed the rutty roadway. This sloped downward and became more rugged, the wilderness on either side more impenetrable.

More rifle shots sounded, and the superfirer blared hoa.r.s.ely. The sounds came from the left.

Doc veered over. He was forced to go slowly, for the darkness was intense.

He could hear Monk come thumping up. The homely chemist was trying for speed rather than quietness.

His approach was anything but silent.

From far down the road -- from a point which Monk had pa.s.sed -- a whistle shrilled. It was a blaring whistle of the sort used by policemen. Doc Savage jerked to a halt and listened.

”Monk!” he yelled. ”Duck under cover somewhere. Stay quiet.”

The bronze man's great voice reached the homely chemist and halted him. Most convenient shelter was the ditch beside the road. Monk flopped into it.

He listened. There was only the fluttering of leaves as they were moved by the night breeze. Monk jammed an ear to the ground. Borne by the earth came thudding noises which might have been gigantic footsteps.

The thumpings approached. Then there was loud breathIng -- tremendous breathing, such as they had heard the night before on the lake sh.o.r.e.

Doc's powerful voice crashed, ”The gas bombs, Monk!”

Monk clawed at a pocket and brought out a gas mask of very compact construction -- merely a nose clip and a mouthpiece. From the latter, a tube led to a breath-purifier which was not as large as Monk's hand.

Doc, Monk knew, would be donning a similar mask. The gorillalike chemist stood erect, preparatory to hurling his gas bomb. But he never threw it.

A rasping, metallic voice thundered out. In volume, it was gigantic.

”They've got gas!” it said. ”Don't take chances. Beat it! Get Griswold Rock!”

The metallic nature of the huge voice indicated it was issuing from a loud-speaker. And it was the voice of the rednecked thug, Hack.

Obeying the order, the monster wheeled and charged off in the direction of town. It was followed by another, then a third, and a fourth. Monk's hair all but stood on end as he listened to the thunder of Gargantuan footsteps.

But he was not too unnerved to whip out his flashlight and spray it after the monsters. The things were beyond thick brush. He saw nothing to give a clew to their nature.

Over where Doc Savage was positioned there sounded a sharp report, and powder flame spurted. Doc was shooting. Running, Monk joined Doc. He found the bronze man with an ordinary 4l0-gauge shotgun-like pistol. As Monk arrived, Doc again fired at the sound of the fleeing monsters.

The big bronze man was charging the weapon with the special cartridges which he had manufactured during the afternoon.

Doc Savage fired his over-size pistol twice more from where he stood. Then he ran to the road and sent more of his special bullets down it.

”It was a trick to decoy us out of town,” he said grimly. ”They've gotten one of our machine guns, somehow.”

”D'you reckon they got the weapon off Renny?” Monk asked uneasily.

Doc did not answer this, for it was not the bronze man's i habit to hazard guesses. He headed in the direction of town, running swiftly, Monk lumbering along behind.

They had covered scarcely a hundred yards when sudden, scalding white light washed over them. The beam came from some distance down the road.

Doc slammed against Monk. Together, they spun into the ditch.

Machine-gun lead moaned and ripped along the road. The volleying metal scooped clods and kicked dust into the ditch. The mingled buzz of ricocheting slugs was like the droning of oversized bees.

”This must be the guy who gave the command with the loud-speaker,” Monk hazarded.

The homely chemist was tugging to get his superfiring machine pistol from its holster.

”I was afraid this lead-sprayer wouidn't stop the big babies,” he growled. ”I'm sure gonna use it on this cookie, though.”

He reared up on his knees. His gun howled, and the light promptly went out.

”Got him!” Monk exclaimed, his usually small voice boisterous and gleeful. He ran toward the machine gunner.

But he had not gotten the fellow. That slight error would have cost him his life, had Doc not seized his leg and yanked him down. As Monk sprawled p.r.o.ne, a fresh storm of machine-gun slugs swept the road.

”Didn't you notice how steady the light was?” Doc inquired. ”The fellow laid it on something.”

While the machine-gun slugs were gnas.h.i.+ng at the opposite side of the road, Doc Savage lifted for a quick look. He could not detect the muzzle flame of the weapon.

”The gun must have a flame-digester on the muzzle,” he said. ”Otherwise, we could spot it.”

The bronze man quitted the roadside ditch. Working to the right, he reached a ma.s.s of vegetation. He worked through this with a quietness little short of uncanny. In developing his ability to move silently, Doc Savage had studied the ways of the masters of stealth-the hunting carnivora of the jungles.

He listened, hoping to.locate his foe.

But it was another sound which caught his attention. Shrieks! Excited cries! Shots, the cras.h.i.+ng of timber and the squall of a fire siren! The uproar came from the direction of Trapper Lake. The monsters had fallen upon the town.

Chapter 19. THE MONSTERS RAID.

THE MACHINE gunner menacing Doc Savage could be heard running. He was making in the direction of Trapper Lake.