WINMX Assorted Textfiles/Ebooks.tar/Text - Compilations - The Library - Volume 09 - R to Z - 354 fiction ebooks (PDF, HTML, RTF, DOC, TXT, ZIP).zip/Robeson, Kenneth - Doc Savage 1937 12 - The Golden Peril.txt

Text File | 2001-10-08 | 259KB | 4,196 lines

THE GOLDEN PERIL


THE GOLDEN PERIL
A Doc Savage Adventure By Kenneth Robeson
This page copyright ⌐ 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com


Chapter I. THE AMBUSH
Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
Chapter V. A WARNING
Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES
Chapter XIV. A VOICE FROM THE SKY
Chapter XV. SHOT DOWN
Chapter XVI. A NET CLOSES
Chapter XVII. A KNIFE FALLS
Chapter XVIII. THE ATTACK
Chapter XIX. A TRAIL OF GOLD
Chapter XX. WHEN PLANS MISFIRE
Chapter XXI. FRIENDS PART



Scanned and Proofed by Tom Stephens
Chapter I. THE AMBUSH
THE vultures knew a feast awaited them. They hung almost motionless in the gray,
ominous sky. Their beady eyes stared greedily down into the deep canyon that lay
beneath them.
The canyon was gloomy as a grave. Its walls rose sheer and straight for an
interminable distance. Boulders and runty trees lined its sides. A small stream
droned a mournful dirge in the center. Except for the dirge of that stream there
was no sound.
But death waited there!
Only the vultures from above could have seen the men-vultures below. They were
huddled behind boulders. The half darkness of the canyon combined with the khaki
they wore to make them almost invisible. Fully two-score men were there.
They were of almost every race and nationality. But they were alike in the greed
that shone in their eyesùand in the modern instruments of murder they carried.
A faint sound came from the far end of the canyon. The dim figure of a man
appeared in the distance, stood motionless for a moment, then vanished.
There was a sudden tenseness among the hidden men. Weapons were moved
cautiously.
"Be quiet. Do not move until I give the command."
The order was given softly, but there was a chill note in the voice that brought
instant obedience. The man who had spoken was not large, but there was a look of
utter ruthlessness on his copper-tinted features and in his glacier-cold eyes.
His shoulders were broad, his frame powerful. He wore the insignia of a general.
The aid at his side spoke in a whisper: "The trap has been set well, my
general."
"Si.
Soon the jaws of that trap will close." The generalÆs Spanish was guttural, as
if he were speaking a language still partly unfamiliar to him. "But care must be
taken. Those we await have keen eyes."
Even as he spoke, more figures came into view at the far end of the canyon.
Their eyes searched the scene before them, then one raised an arm in signal. A
donkey train moved around a bend.
Scouts were out ahead. Other tall men moved beside the heavily loaded beasts of
burden. Still others brought up the rear.
A faint fire kindled in the generalÆs eyes, and his lips made sucking sounds.
"Soon that will be ours!" he breathed fiercely.

THE men escorting the donkey train were unusual in appearance. They were tall,
with thick shoulders and powerful muscles. Almost copper-colored, they wore a
short mantle over their shoulders, a network of leather which had projecting
ends. They wore broad girdles, of a dark blue and leggings fashioned like
football shin guards.
Those in the lead carried modern rifles. The others were armed only with spears
and short clubs bearing vicious, razor-edged flakes of stone.
Slowly, they advanced. A few were chanting a weird song, utterly unaware of the
terror and death that soon was to strike.
"Another sun and we shall reach Blanco Grande," said one.
"Then we will have fulfilled another task for Doc Savage," his companion
replied. "It has been long since we last saw the bronze man. I wish he would
come again."
"He is busy, but he will visit us again some day. We shall see him if we are
patient," rejoined the first speaker.
But he was wrong in at least part of his statement. None of those with the
donkey train ever were to see Doc Savage again. At that moment, they were
passing squarely between the khaki-clad men concealed on either side of the
trail.
The general would bark only one word, but that word was to start a chain of
circumstances that was to bring many deaths; that was to reach out to New York,
where Doc Savage had his headquarters; that was to bring the bronze manÆs aids
into the fray; that was to test to the utmost the skill of Doc Savage and his
five friends, experienced as they were in battling evil and injustice.
"Fire!" roared the general.
Instantly, the quiet of the canyon was shattered by the murder-roar of guns.
Khaki-clad men reared up from behind boulders with automatic rifles. A rain of
lead poured from those rifles into the ranks of the guards with the donkey
train.
The guards were brave. The leaders brought up their guns, tried to reply to the
merciless hail of death. Then they went down, almost cut in two by lead.
The others hurled their spears and dived for the temporary safety of the rocks.
The heavily laden donkeys snorted, burst into a panicky run. Khaki-clad figures
leaped toward the trail and barred their path.
Shrill, pain-stricken cries came from the doomed guards. One grunted with
satisfaction as his spear drove through the body of an attacker, only to die a
moment later with a bullet through his brain.
Crimson stained the cold waters of the creek. It became literally a river of
blood. The crashing roar of high-powered guns filled the canyon with thunderous
echoes.
"Let none escape! Kill them all!" roared the general. The glacier-cold of his
eyes had melted. The orbs were now red with a killing lust.
His men needed no urging. Relentlessly, their bullets were hunting down fleeing
figures. The guards were dropping on all sides.
"We are lost!" moaned one of these. It was he who had first spoken on the trail.
"Doc Savage should know," his companion said throatily. There was a terrible
wound in his chest. Red-flecked foam was on his lips. Already, his eyes were
glazing. "Y-you should try to get word to him, Zum. IùIù" He became limp.

HIS companion eased behind the rocks on his stomach. His skin was almost the
color of those boulders. Bullets whined over him suddenly. Zum rolled over and
lay still. The death blast moved behind him, caught a guard who had risen to his
knees to hurl a knife.
Cautiously, Zum wiggled on a short distance. Again he lay still. Then he moved
ahead once more.
Exultant cries of victory were coming from the sides of the canyon. Khaki-clad
men were rising to their feet. The steady roar of guns had ceased. Now there was
only an occasional shot from a revolver held close to some wounded guardÆs head.
Zum neared a turn in the canyon. He leaped to his feet. With the speed of a
racing hare, he rounded that turn. An automatic rifle burst into life. Hot lead
played a tattoo on rocks. Slugs ricocheted and howled. One nicked the running
manÆs right shoulder just before he vanished from view.
"Get him! DonÆt let him escape!" the general shouted viciously.
Khaki-clad figures raced in pursuit. When they reached the bend in the canyon,
Zum had disappeared. He was running with all his speed. His mighty lungs were
drawing in great gulps of breath, his feet were pounding tirelessly.
"He escaped," reported the man who had fired the automatic rifle.
"Fool!" The generalÆs face was livid. He swung a fist, knocked the man to the
ground. "You know what happens to men who fail! You know what The Leader does!"
The man on the ground groveled. His face became a pasty color. His eyes rolled
wildly. "Theùthe hand of death!" he half screamed. "DonÆt let it get me!"
The generalÆs eyes were scornful. "You deserve to die. Too much is at stake to
permit errors. But this time I shall let you live. I can stop that pig of a
runner before he gets word to Doc Savage."
Bodies of the slain guards were lying on all sides. Some were horribly mutilated
by lead. Of all who had been alive only five minutes before, only Zum still
lived. The vultures were swooping low.
The general paid no attention to the bodies. Callously, he stepped on them, as
he walked toward the still-trembling, frightened donkeys. His men, also, had
leaped toward those donkeys. With anxious, feverish hands they were tearing
loose the covering on the packs the donkeys carried.
"Gold!" one breathed softly.
"Much gold!" said a second.
"Retie those packs!" snapped the general. His lips were working with quick
anger. "This is only a drop in the bucket compared with what we will have
later."

UNWILLINGLY, the covers were restored. The khaki-clad men looked at the packs
with greedy, cunning eyes.
"This must be taken to Blanco Grande. You shall be its escort. Do not try to
escape with it!" the general went on harshly.
One of the men shivered slightly. Escape! That would be impossible! Well he
remembered the scarred, evil shape of the mountainous country over which they
had been flown to reach this point of ambush. And they had dropped from those
planes by parachute. There was no way of returning except to walk. They could
have walked to this destination, but that would have meant loss of time. Other
troops of gold-hungry men would meet them when they left the mountains.
The men had to do as they were ordered.
"This will be a blow to Doc Savage," the generalÆs aide said craftily. "Are you
not afraid?"
The general sneered. "Why be afraid of him?"
"But I have heard of many marvelous exploits of his," said the aide. "He is
dangerous to evil-doers. He has done almost uncanny things."
For a moment, a faint flicker of worry passed over the generalÆs hard face. Then
it was gone. "Do not worry," he jeered. "The Leader knows how to handle him.
Besides, Doc Savage will know nothing of thisùuntil it is too late."
"And when will that be?" There was a cunning, shrewd look in the aideÆs eyes.
"When we have launched our plans. When the entire world is rocked. When power
such as men seldom dreamed ofù" The general broke off. One hand strayed to the
heavy gun at one hip.
"It could not be that you desire too much information, that you are a spy, could
it, mi amigo?" he queried softly.
The aide took a step back. "Noùno!" he cried. "I am just naturally curious. That
is all."
"Curious!" A peculiar expression flared in the generalÆs glacier-cold eyes. The
gun came to his hand, lifted. "We do not encourage curiosity in our ranks, mi
amigo."
The other jumped back, turned to run.
Blam!
The generalÆs gun spoke once. A section of the otherÆs skull vanished. He was
dead.
"I think you were not a spy, and that you were just curious," the general said.
"However"ùhe whirled on the other khaki-clad menù"let that be a warning. You
will take my orders. You will be paid in goldùas long as you obey those orders.
You will be paid in bullets if you become curious. In bullets by me, or paid by
The Leader in another way."
The khaki-clad men were silent. They had heard how "The Leader" paid.
Hard-bitten, vicious as they were, they showed fear.
"Now take the gold in. I have a plane waiting for me near here. I fly back to
Blanco Grande. The man who escaped must be stopped at all costs. No word goes to
Doc Savage."

ZUM didnÆt know about the plane. He did know that no one could catch him on
foot. Through winding canyons and deep gorges he ran at a steady, tireless pace.
His feet ate up the miles.
ZumÆs heart was sad. Many of his friends had died in that murderous ambush. Hope
of seeing those murderers brought to justice was one of the things that spurred
him on. For he knew Doc Savage would act.
The gold that had been stolen had been on its way to Doc Savage. The men who had
been guarding it were Mayans. All the world knew of Doc Savage and his men, and
of their unceasing fight on evil. Until now, few had known where the money came
from that financed that fight.
It really was a legacy left Doc by his father. It came from the Valley of the
Vanished, where the bronze man had found pure-blooded Mayans, long lost from the
outside world.
When Doc had left the Valley of the Vanished, he had arranged with King Chaac,
chief of the Mayans, to listen in on a radio on every seventh day. When his
funds ran low, Doc would send a call for gold. Mayans would take it to Blanco
Grande, the capital of Hidalgo, where the president, Carlos Avispa, would see
that it was sent on to Doc.
Dusk was falling as Zum came in sight of Blanco Grande. The mountains long since
had been left behind. ZumÆs pace had slowed. He was weary. His face bore long
lines of strain.
But steadily he went on, entered the narrow streets of the capital of Hidalgo.
Zum had been there before with gold trains for Doc. He knew where the radio
towers were. He knew that in some way it was possible to send messages from
there that would reach Doc Savage. He turned that way.
Had he not been so weary, Zum might have noticed the unusual activity in the
ordinarily sleepy Central American city. Many soldiers were about. They were
fully armed and in small detachments, moving with evident purpose.
Zum did not notice. He had only one thought, only one driving motive: He alone
was alive to let Doc Savage know what had occurred. He intended to fulfill that
trust.

A LONE operator was on duty in the shack beneath the radio towers. He had
difficulty in understanding what Zum was saying. The Mayan was breathing hard,
his words came in gasps. His Spanish was not good.
"Se±or Clark Savage!" Zum blurted at last.
The operator understood that. His eyes became wide. He had heard of Doc Savage.
"Gold stolen! Mayans killed!" Zum panted. "Send message!"
The operator stood as if paralyzed for a moment, his brain trying to digest what
he had heard.
Blam!
A pistol shot came loudly. Zum fell to the floor, twitching. A short, heavy-set
man with glacier-cold eyes and wearing a generalÆs uniform stepped into the
radio shack, gun in hand.
"DonÆt send that message!" he ordered crisply.
"Butùbutù" The operatorÆs mouth dropped. "ItùitÆs to Doc Savage, general. IùIÆve
got to send it."
His voice ended almost in a scream at what he saw in the generalÆs face. He made
a dive for the radio key.
The gun came up. Once again it spoke. The operator died, the radio key
untouched.
A faint grin cut the generalÆs face. He patted the gun in his hand.
"Unless Doc Savage is a clairvoyant, I do not think he will ever receive that
message," he said dryly. "And he couldnÆt hear those shots in New York."
Two men came in then at the generalÆs barked command and gathered up the dead
bodies and wiped up the blood. Some might wonder what had happened to the radio
operator that he should disappear. But none would ever know just what had taken
place. It would remain a mystery.

Chapter II. A PLEA FOR HELP
FEW sounds penetrated to Doc SavageÆs office on the eighty-sixth floor of one of
ManhattanÆs skyscrapers. That office might have been in a world by itself, far
aloft, with view unhindered by surrounding structures. But there was a curious,
strained tension in that office.
"YouÆve got to help, Mr. Savage. No one but you can do so. For you to refuse may
mean unreckoned tragedy."
The speakerÆs voice was urgent, pleading. A tall man, he was dressed entirely in
black except for a brilliant, white shirt. His eyes and hair were black, but his
thin, mobile face, detracted from the somberness of his costume.
"Already there have been riots, some indication of what is afoot," he went on
quickly. "I am sure the peace of the world is at stake, perhaps the fate of the
world as well. You must act!"
His black eyes flashed entreatingly to the man seated behind the only desk in
the room.
That man stirred slightly. He was a big man, but did not show it. He was so well
put together that the impression was not of bigness, but of power. His face and
hands were the color of golden bronzeùa bronze that exactly matched the color of
his hair.
But it was his eyes that held the attention of his visitor. They were like pools
of flake gold. They were penetrating, with an almost hypnotic influence.
"What definite information have you that such a plot exists, Baron Vardon?" Doc
Savage asked. His voice was low, but it had a peculiar timbre, one that made it
carry clearly and distinctly.
The black-clad man sat more erect in his chair. His fingers toyed with his black
felt hat.
"As I explained, I am on the League of Nations staff. We receive much
information that is not made known to the general publicùinformation that comes
to us from all our member States. Recently, we have heard much of a mysterious
man known only as The Leader. Who or what he is, we do not know. But of his
actions we know much."
Baron Vardon paused, frowned as if collecting his thoughts. "We know that a
skeleton organization of well-trained fighting men is being organized in every
country in the world. Already, there have been a few outbreaks. You remember the
recent ones in China, Africa and South America. Those were merely tests of
power. The big coup is still to come. It awaits some signal. What this signal
is, we also do not know."
"And just what do you wish me to do?" the bronze man asked.
"We are convinced that the headquarters of this mysterious Leader is somewhere
in Switzerland. As a League of Nations representative, I am empowered to ask you
to go to Europe, find that man and block his plans."
"Seems like quite an undertaking to me," a third voice put in unexpectedly.
The speaker was sitting far back in one corner. A thin, not very tall man, he
was pulling absently at an ear that was much too big. His complexion was sallow
and unhealthy-looking. He appeared a physical weakling.
Only those who had tangled with Major Thomas J. Roberts, better known as "Long
Tom," knew what an error that was. Nor did his appearance indicate that he
really was one of the worldÆs most famous electrical engineers.
DocÆs fingers played a rapid tattoo on the top of the desk. His flake gold eyes
surveyed Baron Vardon.
"A coup of such magnitude as you suggest would be difficult," the bronze man
said.
"Practically impossible, IÆd say," drawled Long Tom. Still tugging at his ear,
he came to his feet slowly and sauntered from the room.
"I assure you this is not only possible, but so," Baron Vardon said earnestly.
"And whoever The Leader is, he rules by fear. We have had reports he kills by a
hand of death. Men who have seen victims of the hand of death say bloody fingers
and palm appear on the neck. The features contort, horriblyù"
Doc lifted one hand suddenly. A faint red light had appeared on a big panel at
one side of the room.
"Anyone know you came to New York, Baron Vardon?" the bronze man asked quietly.
His black-clad visitor started, his eyes receded in his thin face. "N-no. But
why?"
"Several men are trying to break into this office," Doc responded softly.
"But they canÆt get in, can they? IÆm safe, am I not?" Baron VardonÆs voice was
hoarse, his features twisted with quick fear.
"No, they cannot get in unless I wish them to," said Doc. "But I believe we
should see whom we are opposing. Just sit quietly. I am going to release the
doors." The bronze man moved a foot on one spot on the floor.
Five men were in the hallway. One was working on the lock of a door which bore
the sign: "Clark Savage, Jr." The others carried businesslike automatics. Their
faces were hard and weather-beaten.
"Speed it up! Get that door open!" one of them barked. The lock-picker snarled
in reply.
Then an amazing thing happened!
The door opened of its own accord. On either side of it panels also slid open. A
gap fully twenty feet wide was created in the office wall.
And inside, apparently rushing forward, appeared an entire company of armed men.
They carried submachine guns. Their faces were horrible grimaces. They seemed to
be leaping from behind shell-torn trees and out of huge shell-holes.
A yell of terror and horror came from the five attackers in the hall. One threw
up his gun, fired, then turned to run. Three of his companions also started to
take to their heels.
"Halt!" The leader roared the order. His own eyes were gazing wildly. He was
making an apparent effort to keep his courage. Then his eyes became normal.
"Stop, you fools!" he bellowed. "ItÆs a trick! There are no men there! See,
theyÆre not moving forward at all!"
The running gunmen stopped and looked back. Even as they looked, the scene
changed.
The company of armed men faded. Gigantic seas took their place. Huge waves with
white-topped spray appeared. The beat of surf came, low at first, then louder.
But no water splashed on the office floor.
The gunmen laughed, their nerves still jerking with their release from fear. Now
they could all see it had been a trick. They did not know how they had been
fooled; it was enough to know that they were not really facing a company of
armed men. With cautious steps they moved into the room.
And now the waves began to disappear. The office itself came into view. At one
side was seated a man dressed in black. Behind a desk sat Doc Savage.
"You wished to see me, gentlemen?" the bronze man asked.
Four pistols came up as one. Four bullets tore toward the bronze man. Doc Savage
slumped. His head went down on his desk. Then those weapons were turned toward
Baron Vardon. Again a hail of death poured out.
"Run! Run for your lives!"
The four gunmen turned with sudden fear. The cry had come from behind them,
where their leader stood. The men took one look and then obeyed. They dived
frantically backward.
For the door and the panels on either side were closing. Frantically, the gang
chief threw his weight against one of those panels, tried to hold it back. The
panel moved on.
Shrill screams of terror came from the four men inside. Desperately, they threw
themselves through the opening. The shoe of one was caught. The heel was nipped
off as neatly as if by a sharp knife.
"LetÆs get out of here, that was too close," their leader rasped. He was
breathing heavily. "Another moment and weÆd have been trapped in there. And even
if we did get Doc Savage, his men are still alive. They would have killed us."

DOC SAVAGE lifted his head, smiled at Baron Vardon. "Professional soldiers of
fortune from their appearance. Would you not say so, Baron Vardon?"
The baronÆs face was a startling white in contrast to his black clothes.
Nervously, he pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, wiped his brow.
"IùI guess so," he breathed. "Butùbut, I still canÆt understand why weÆre still
alive."
"It is too bad they discovered the doors closing so soon," the bronze man went
on, apparently unheeding the otherÆs remark. "Another moment and they would have
been caught, then they could have been questioned at leisure."
"Butùbut they had guns. They surely would have killed us, had they remained,"
exclaimed Baron Vardon.
"No," Doc Savage corrected. "I do not believe they would. You see, they merely
thought they saw us. When I pressed my foot on a certain spot on this floor, I
opened the doors, and bullet-proof mirrors dropped. You have seen the childish
tricks with mirrors used at amusement parks, where a person would appear without
a body. This was on the same order. In addition, the mirrors were of a type
which permitted us to see through from this side, but prevented them from seeing
us."
"Andùand Iù" Baron Vardon gulped. "I suppose they saw something that frightened
them at first. That was it."
"Yes. Merely some motion pictures projected against the mirrors, with a few
added sound effects. Sometimes the sight of those pictures suffice to frighten
away intruders. These fellows were of sterner stuff."
Baron Vardon swallowed hard, and an admiring grin appeared on his face.
"It was wonderful," he said. Then his expression changed, became serious. "But
you see, this attack alone proves that we are up against something desperate. It
would have to be if hired gunmen were sent all the way from Switzerland to kill
you and, just because I am asking your aid. You must help us!"
"I think it might be interesting at that, Doc."
Baron Vardon glanced up swiftly. Long Tom had returned to the room. His thin,
unhealthy-appearing face was blank of all expression, but one big ear wiggled
slightly as he looked at the bronze man.
Doc SavageÆs flake gold eyes looked long and hard at Baron Vardon. "We never
refuse help where we may assist in any way to correct injustice, or to prevent
evil," he said quietly. "We will undertake the task, Baron Vardon."
Emotion twisted the baronÆs mobile face. His features came alive. He leaped to
his feet, raced forward and grabbed DocÆs hand, shook it hard.
"I am delighted. I had hoped, of course, for your help. But to hear you give me
your promise makes my trip really worth while. You will leave at once for
Switzerland?"
"We will start our search for The Leader as soon as possible," the bronze man
said.
"Good! Get in touch with me at my hotel if I may assist you in any way." The
baron turned to leave, hesitated at the door, his face becoming solemn. "But be
careful. I have heard much of this hand of death. I will not rest easily until I
know you have succeeded."
The door closed behind Baron Vardon.
"HeÆs O. K., Doc," Long Tom said. "I checked with Geneva. HeÆs an accredited
representative, and was sent here to contact you. Funny, I had him figured out
as a phony."
The electrical wizard pulled one lobe of his oversized ear thoughtfully. "When
you tapped that code in Mayan for me to check on him, I thought you believed him
a fake, also," he added.
"I do not care to embarrass guests," the bronze man said. "Baron Vardon might
have understood the code had it been in English."
Long Tom looked up sharply. "And by the way, Doc. IsnÆt it time to be hearing
from Blanco Grande? ShouldnÆt another gold shipment be on its way?"
"I expect such a message at any time. Probably weù"
The bronze man broke off suddenly. A scream of dreadful agony, of pain and
knowledge of death, penetrated the office walls. It was a thin cry,
high-pitched. It came from the hallway.

LONG TOM moved fast. He appeared slow beside the bronze man. Almost before the
electrical engineer had unlimbered his long legs, Doc Savage was out from behind
his desk, had reached the door. He moved with the smooth, unbelievable speed of
a man in the perfection of physical condition.
The office door came open. Doc Savage leaped into the hallway, knelt beside a
body that lay there. A low, trilling sound seemed to fill the air. It appeared
to come from no one spot, yet from everywhere. It was a strange, eerie thing.
Long Tom hurtled over the bronze man. He understood what that trilling sound
was. It came unconsciously from the lips of Doc Savage when he was either
surprised or sounding a warning.
The thin electrical wizard did not halt. Whatever had happened to that limp
figure on the floor, he knew Doc could take care of it much better than he
could.
He glanced once at the elevator indicator, saw no change was within six floors
of them, then his thin legs darted like pistons as he raced toward the end of
the hallway and started down the stairs.
It was five minutes before Long Tom returned. His unhealthy-appearing face wore
a look of chagrin. He was breathing heavily.
"No one in sight," he said, his tone filled with disappointment.
Doc was still kneeling beside the fallen figure. The bronze man had a
physicianÆs kit beside him.
"Adrenaline did not work. No restorative I had succeeded," the bronze man said.
Long Tom looked down. The fallen figure was that of a boy. He wore a messengerÆs
outfit. His visored cap lay upside down on the floor. Inside it was a yellow
envelope.
Then Long TomÆs eyes opened and he whistled slightly. On the boyÆs neck, growing
more clear with each passing instant, was the shape of a hand. It was a hand of
bloodùblood that came from the boy!
"The hand of death," Long Tom grated.
Doc Savage rose to his feet slowly. His flake gold eyes were sad. It was seldom
that his astounding knowledge of medicine failed to save a life.
Carefully, he opened the envelope that had been in the messenger boyÆs cap.
Again came that low, trilling sound.
"What is it?" Long Tom asked swiftly.
Silently, the bronze man handed him the message. It read:
GOLD HAS ARRIVED OKAY STOP WILL SHIP TO YOU TO-MORROW
CARLOS AVISPA

Chapter III. DEATH STRIKES
DOC SAVAGE stood motionless, his eyes riveted on the message in his hand.
Abruptly he turned, strode into the office.
Long Tom, his mushroom complexion a blank, followed him. DocÆs silence had
indicated there was something peculiar about that message. What it was the
bronze man had seen, Long Tom didnÆt know. And he knew that he wouldnÆt find out
until Doc had proved himself right or wrong.
The bronze giant went quickly to the laboratory. First, he treated the message
and the envelope with his own development of FlemmingÆs solution. He put it on
an automatic drier and then dipped it in a square container of dye.
Long Tom knew Doc was using the most modern method of developing fingerprints.
Prints undetectable under ordinary methods stood out like bold landmarks with
this new treatment.
Doc placed the paper under an ultra-violet lamp. The body of the papers
fluoresced with a brilliant, blue-green luminosity. Only two fingerprints were
on it. They stood out stark and black.
"Those are mine," the bronze man clipped. "There is no other print on either the
envelope or the message. And the boy did not have any gloves."
"Thenù" Long Tom began.
"The message was switched." Doc said flatly. "Whatever did happen to that gold
shipment, someone is trying to keep us from finding out."
Long Tom opened his mouth to speak. He stopped. A low whine and a swish of air
told him that the private, high-speed elevator was soaring up from the basement
garage.
No one but Doc and his aids were supposed to know the existence of that private
lift. It could shoot upward, as if flung by a catapult, and dropped like a
plummet. It took both experience and fortitude to ride in it at all.
No one else was supposed to know of itùbut attacks on the bronze man and his
aids came always from places least expected. Neither Doc nor Long Tom said a
word.
They heard the automatic doors open. Then there was a crash of glass; a heavy
body fell on the floor. Low, angry mutterings reached their ears; then there was
silence. The only sound that came was a stealthy shuffling of footsteps.

LONG TOM reached quickly into a desk drawer and took out a weapon that looked
like an oversized pistol. It was equipped with a large ammo drum. It was one of
DocÆs superfiring machine-pistols, twice as fast and deadlier than a machine
gun.
Doc Savage did not move a muscle. His bronze face was expressionless.
Slowly, Long Tom approached the door to the corridor. Then he stopped; his jaw
dropped, and a look of supreme disgust spread over his face.
He saw the immense back of the closest thing to a gorilla that could come in
human form. Long, red-tufted arms dangled almost to the floor. The huge human
swayed from side to side. A nubbin of a head was almost completely sunk in the
huge shoulders. More red, simian hair came out from the head and neck.
A baffled, childlike muttering came from the huge man as he backed up. In front
of him, one hand raised behind him, the other extended confidently with a
vicious-looking sword, was an immaculately clad and dapper figure. With a
handkerchief peeking from his breast pocket at just the proper angle, a
spotless, pearl-gray hat on his head, the man danced forward with the agility of
a fencer.
In spite of his slender, foppish attire, he gave every indication that he was
about to commit a highly pleasurable murder.
"IÆll tear that danged sword cane to pieces," the hairy one complained, in a
voice that would have better befitted an immature youth, "then IÆll tear you
apart, you animated writ of hocus-pocus!"
"Try it, you hairy vacuum!" Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks advised the
apelike one. "Destroy my choice presents, will you? IÆll run this through your
gullet and hang you up on the wall!"
"Cut it!" Long TomÆs voice rapped out. "Things are happening."
The apelike one turned around. It was odd to see a face like his look so
plaintive. It was probably one of the homeliest faces in existence. His little
eyes were nearly invisible, so deeply were they sunk in their pits of gristle.
This was Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, probably one of the
greatest living chemists in the world. He was a Houdini of the test tubes. His
friends knew him as "Monk." No other name would have been fitting.
"That danged shyster bought a statue of an ape and had my name engraved on it,"
he complained. "Then he had the crust to make me a present of it. I smashed it
right here. And IÆm going to grind him into hamburger!"
Then Monk saw the body of the messenger boy. His expression changed. "Trouble,"
he exclaimed. "Do you supposeù"
The dapper figure, better known as "Ham," sheathed his sword cane with one quick
motion. Together, they whirled and darted into the office.
Monk and Ham quarreled continually. No insult was quite enough for one to heap
on the other. But either would have gladly given his life to save the other. And
both would have died for Doc Savage.
Almost running, the two raced to the room where Doc Savage stood waiting for
them. Monk breathed an inaudible sigh of relief at the sight of the bronze man.
Ham was less demonstrative. One of the shrewdest legal lights that ever came
from Harvard, he was trained to hide his feelings.
Doc Savage smiled slightly. He had seen the tableau in the hallway from where he
had stood inside. An intricate system of mirrors enabled him to watch almost
every part of his domain from any other point, while hidden microphones enabled
him to listen to the conversation.
"I am afraid great danger may be threatening Hidalgo," he said softly.
A howl of rage and excitement burst from Monk. He fairly danced up and down.
"What are we waiting for? LetÆs go!" he bellowed plaintively.
"Still thinking of that good-looking princess down there?" Ham asked
sarcastically.
Monk blushed.
"We all know that without Hidalgo we couldnÆt carry on the work weÆve sworn to
do," Doc went on calmly. "And not only that, but we owe a debt to both the
citizens of the republic and the Mayans to protect them from trouble."
"Well, thenù" Monk blinked.
"I have accepted another task," Doc explained quietly.
For an instant there was silence. Yet that silence was indicative of the respect
his aids held for their bronze chief. Their looks were not questioning. They
waited merely for orders.
In crisp tones, Doc explained to Monk and Ham what had happened, what Baron
Vardon had told them.
"I donÆt like that guyÆs looks," Long Tom gulped. "Even if he is from the League
of Nations, he looked phony to me. And he went out of here just before this
messenger boy came in."
Bristles seemed to rise on the back of MonkÆs neck. The chemist even preferred
fighting to annoying Ham. And that was saying a lot.
"LetÆs go get him!" he howled. "Any guy that would kill a kid like thatù" He
waved his arms and started for the door. DocÆs low voice stopped him.
"We must know more than we do now before we throw suspicion on anyone," he
admonished. "But I think we had all better call on the baron. He may have seen
someone in the hall as he left here and can give us a clue to the murderer."
Swiftly, the four went toward the corridor. As they opened the door elevators
stopped at the far end of the hallway. A group of blue-clad policemen poured
out.
"We heard a guy had been killed!" bellowed one in a captainÆs uniform. "What is
it all about?"
Long Tom stepped forward, as if to explain. A bronze hand shot out, jerked him
back.
"Look out! Duck for cover!" the bronze man cried.
His warning came just in time. For strange things were happening.

TO DocÆs aids, the sudden arrival of an army of cops had not seemed suspicious.
They had forgotten that no such force would be sent to investigate an ordinary
murder. And they had forgotten, also, that the murder of the messenger boy had
not been reported. No one knew of it except themselvesùand the slayer.
The bronze man had not forgotten. His crisp order came just as the man in the
captainÆs uniform made a grab for an object in a coat pocket. One hand went
back, came forward with an overhand motion. What he threw looked like a teargas
bomb.
Long Tom had already darted back inside the door. Monk and Ham instinctively
grabbed handkerchiefs to place over their noses as they, too, jumped back.
But the keen, flake gold eyes of Doc Savage had seen something the others had
missed.
Protruding from the body of the thing speeding through the air toward them were
rows of tiny spikes. Those spikes made the object look something like a prickly
pear.
Every one of those tiny spikes were a plunger. Should any one of the scores of
spikes on the side of that bomb touch even the slightest projection, the plunger
would set off a thermite compound that would tear a score of men to tiny bits!
And now that bomb was almost upon them, spinning and turning. The fake cops were
racing backward down the hallway, evil grins of anticipation on their faces.
Doc Savage stood feet apart, one hand in the air. The thumb and middle finger
were separated. It looked as if he were trying to talk the deaf and dumb
language. Then those two fingers snapped onto the whistling bomb with a speed
that defied detection.
The fingers closed between the tiny plungers!
But the body of the bomb was slippery; it had been greased just to prevent any
such miraculous catching. Doc couldnÆt hold it steady. Already, it was slipping.
If he reached with his other hand he would be sure to snap a spike, explode it
in his fists.
So the bronze man did the only other thing he could do. He yelled a warning,
hurled it from him, straight back where it had come from.
The phony cops had paused at the end of the hallway. They had stood rooted to
watch the culmination of their evil work. But they didnÆt stand there after Doc
let out that yell.
Scrambling, screaming, falling over each other in their frantic desire to get
away, they poured down the stairs.
Then the thermite bomb landed. There was a blinding flash, a searing heat and a
detonation that knocked Doc and his three aids flat on the ground.
Masonry had been torn from the floor and from the sides of the hallway. The
entrance to the stairs was blocked. From far down those stairs yells could still
be heard, as the fake cops raced for safety like they had never run before.
Doc picked himself up and looked at his aids. They were bruised a bit, but
otherwise unhurt.
"The real police will now be here shortly. Stay here and explain to them," Doc
instructed Long Tom. "Monk and Ham will come with me."
With swift strides, the bronze man led the way to his private, high-speed
elevator.

THE HOTEL ROYALE, where Baron Vardon was stopping, was one of the more
pretentious of ManhattanÆs hostelries. It ran more to the ornate than suited the
average visitor, but it was always filled.
Monk and Ham automatically dropped back a few paces and separated as they strode
through the lobby. That was a matter of habit, a practiced system. If trouble
occurred, they were less vulnerable, more ready for effective action than if
they were packed together.
Monk and Ham scrutinized faces closely, mentally catalogued types, ran
experienced eyes up and down figures for suspicious bulges in their clothing.
Two men stood together at one side, hands thrust into their pockets. One spoke
out of a corner of his mouth to the other. Both looked hard at Doc and his aids.
At the desk, a seedy, long-haired man argued violently with the hotel clerk. His
shiny frock coat was green with age. Under an arm, he held a battered violin
case. In a foreign accent that somehow sounded counterfeit, he loudly insisted
that there must be some mail for him.
It seemed to Ham that the two shifty-eyed men in the corner glanced at him and
at the violin case. But Ham couldnÆt be sure. It might be his imagination.
Doc had the baronÆs suite number. He didnÆt bother with the clerk, but went
straight to the elevator.
"Twelve," he clipped. The lift rose.
Baron VardonÆs suite was 1208. Doc Savage knocked softly on the door. There was
no reply. He knocked again. The door yielded under the slight vibration.
MonkÆs bulgy muscles swelled under his coat. Ham swung his sword cane swiftly.
Doc opened the door wide.
A dim table-lamp gave the only light. Curtains in the room had been drawn. But
that table-lamp was sufficient.
Directly before them, on the floor, were a pair of expensively shod feet. Above
the feet came well-creased trousers and a dinner jacket, then the face of Baron
Vardon.
The diplomat was twisted in an unnatural position on his back. His lips were
contorted into a grimace of horror.
But it was the neck that held the attention of the three who had walked into the
room.
Upon that neck was the red outline of a hand. It seemed to be growing brighter
every instant.
"The hand of death!" Ham gasped. "It has struck again!"

Chapter IV. INTO A TRAP
DOC stepped quickly past the body on the floor, leaped to a door at one side of
the room. He flung it open and found only an empty bathroom. He looked at the
roomÆs one large window, pulled back the shades.
Outside was a narrow airshaft court, scarcely twenty feet square. Another door
gave onto the bedroom of the suite. Apparently no one was there.
Monk waddled about the room like some huge anthropoid, sniffing on a trail. The
hairy manÆs eyes lighted on a great wardrobe trunk in one corner of the room. It
was a bigger trunk than he had ever seen before. He moved toward it.
And the trunk erupted!
From a horizontal slit near the top of the trunk, a long, thin muzzle was
jabbed. It swept the entire room.
Br-r-r-r-r-r-r!
The machine gun roared in a staccato crescendo of death; .45 caliber slugs
sliced through the room like a solid metal knife, just above waist height.
That terrific blast should have killed everyone in the room. It didnÆt. The
killer within the trunk thought at first he was dreaming. That dream slowly
turned into an awful nightmare.
Growling, long arms outstretched, Monk walked straight into the hail of lead
like an avenging Juggernaut. Fingers that could bend a silver dollar double
gripped the edges of the trunk. The muzzle of the gun swung squarely toward his
stomach.
With a bellow of rage, Monk tore the top of the trunk open. A mean, ratty face
was there. But there was a horror and disbelief on it, now. The killer forgot
all about his Tommy gun. Here was a man who absorbed Tommy slugs as casually as
he would take a shower!
The killer screamed, leaped from his little fortress. Red eyes darted back and
forth. Doc and Ham were between him and the door. Monk took one step forward, a
look on his face that would have made a tiger shrink.
The thugÆs voice ended in a gurgle. He ran blindly, crashed into a window. The
sill struck him just above the knees. Before he could stop he had soared on out
into space. A cry that was scarcely human came from his lips. That cry ended
abruptly as he hit the bottom of the airshaft, twelve stories below.
There was a moment of silence. Then a low, grating voice broke in.
"I will shoot for the head, my friends," it said. "I know you wear union suits
of chain metal that will defy machine-gun slugs. But the bones in your head are
not that strong."
The three men whirled. There in the doorway crouched the musical-appearing
fellow who had been shouting for his mail in the lobby downstairs.
There was no artistic expression on his face now. The wig of long hair was
pushed askew on his forehead. A mirthless grin was on his face. A businesslike
machine gun had emerged from the violin case.
That gun swung up, head high; a grimy finger tightened on the trigger.
And then Doc Savage moved. He moved like chain lightning. Like a bronze flash he
dived across the room. His arms swept out.
The bronze man had been too far away to try and nail the gunner. He didnÆt try.
His arms scooped up Ham and Monk, lifted each as if they were little children.
In the same fraction of an instant he swung, head low, head away from the
killer.
Br-r-r-r-r-r-r!
Slugs bounced off DocÆs back as he covered the length of the room in two quick
leaps. Crouched, holding his aids so their heads were out of the direct line of
fire, he was safe for the moment from the deadly bullets.
But the room was small. It was an easy matter for the killer to maneuver into a
better firing position.
And he did. But it didnÆt do him any good.
Without slackening his stride, his two aids held firmly, Doc Savage leaped
through the window. On the concrete, far below them, lay the crushed body of the
first killer.

THE homely face of Monk wore an expression of blissful unconcern as he felt
himself catapulted into the airshaft. Ham, likewise looked as if he were
thinking about some abstruse point of law that he might argue before the Supreme
Court. Both of DocÆs hands were occupied holding Monk and Ham. He doubled up
like a contortionist in the air. His teeth closed on a tiny button on his vest.
Then his head snapped erect. There was a swish, a sudden tugging, and their
plunging drop was checked to a gentle fall.
Monk looked up above them critically. It was the first time he had seen this
experiment. He had often thought of the possibilities of a special parachute
built for an airshaft. There was no reason, he had figured, why one of the
proper size and shape couldnÆt be just as effective in a short drop as the
plunger in a pump. There was little space for the fugitive air to escape.
But Monk had only thought about such a parachute. It had remained for Doc Savage
to construct one.
They drifted gently to the bottom. The gangster up above could have shot them
during the last few seconds of the fall. But when he first looked out the
window, he was too amazed to move. By the time he poked his gun over the sill,
there was nothing but an expanse of silk for a target.
Doc and his aids on arriving at the bottom dived through a doorway into the
cellar of the hotel.
"That parachute was good, but I donÆt think you gave it a real test, Doc," Monk
argued as they reached the street.
"What do you mean?" Ham asked suspiciously.
"Why your head is so full of hot air, we could æaÆ floated down, just hanging on
to you," Monk chuckled gleefully.
Ham whirled, waved his sword cane angrily. "We shouldnÆt have taken you,
anyway!" he yelped. "An ape like you should have been made to climb down!"
Monk chuckled. Things were back to normal. He became serious. "That seems to
wash up Long TomÆs theory that the baron was in on this," he grunted. "That is,
unless he was double-crossed."
"We still must do what the baron asked," Doc Savage said quietly. "I gave my
promise. You and Ham go to the hangar. Fuel the plane for a three thousand mile
non-stop flight. I need several things from the office, and will bring Long
Tom."
"We head for Switzerland?" Ham asked.
"We take the danger trail," the bronze man promised.

IF Doc could have seen the electrical wizard right then, he would have realized
that danger had already arrived for Long Tom.
Behind the impersonal, mushroom-complexioned face of Long Tom, was hidden real
sympathy for those in need. That sympathy had gotten him into trouble before.
But he couldnÆt help being the soul of generosity. He could never resist the
plaintive pleading of beggars.
If some one had knocked on the door of the office laboratory, he might have been
suspicious. But Long Tom was standing in the hallway just after the coronerÆs
men had taken away the body of the dead messenger boy.
An aged and infirm step came down the stairs that led from the observation tower
of the skyscraper. That was not unusual. It was one way that peddlers could get
down through the building and canvass the offices.
The man was white-haired. His face was pinched and drawn, as if life had dealt
harshly with him. He might have had a family to support, and selling pencils is
not usually considered a quick way to riches.
The pencils were in a square box. Around them was a band blazoning a well-known
make.
"Please, mister," the ancient said haltingly, "couldnÆt you use a few pencils?"
Long Tom hesitated, thrust his hand into a pocket. Then he remembered his wallet
was in his coat pocket back in the office. He didnÆt have any change.
"Just a minute," he said, and opened the door.
It was only two steps to where his coat was hanging. Long Tom was a little
surprised to see that the man had followed him in. But there was still that
apologetic, suppliant look on his face. Long Tom reached out to take some of the
pencils.
Pfffft!
A hissing sound came from a dozen little nozzles. Every pencil was a tiny hose
from which came a jet of tear gas. Long Tom staggered back, blinded. Too late he
realized he had been tricked.
The bent old man straightened. Sharp orders tumbled from his lips. There was a
rush of feet from outside. A dozen dark figures swarmed through the door.
Long Tom, blinded though he was, plunged forward. The men quickly understood
that his unhealthy appearance was no catalogue of his fighting ability. Three
men went down, moaned on the floor.
But twelve against one are too many, particularly when that one cannot see. Long
TomÆs sight was slowly returning, but even that wasnÆt enough.
He flung two foes from him, staggered back. Four more gangsters bored in. The
electrical wizard was driven back against a wall. Then a mighty fist sent him
sagging to the floor. He landed on his back, hands outstretched. One slammed
against the deskÆs baseboard.
Groggy and helpless, he was bound hand and foot and gagged.

THE phone jangled sharply.
The white-haired man who was no longer old seized it. At first he imitated Long
TomÆs voice. It was a surprisingly good imitation. Then his voice dropped back
to normal.
"O. K.," he rapped. "HeÆs got away with a lot of things. I donÆt see how he got
out of the hotel. But he canÆt get out of this trap. WeÆll fill him so full of
lead they can use him for an anchor."
The man clicked the receiver back on the hook and turned to the gangsters.
"The bronze man is in the elevator," he rasped. "Go to the stations appointed.
Shoot for the head only!"
There came the sound of the high-speed elevator. Its meteoric ascension forced
air whistling through the cracks of the door.
The elevator outside clicked to a stop. The automatic doors opened. Footsteps
came toward the door. The white-haired leader glanced quickly at Long Tom,
smiled in satisfaction.
Long TomÆs expression showed he had recognized that tread.
The footsteps reached the door. Guns were pointing that way from all directions.
The door swung open. Long Tom held his breath. The white-haired man stopped
smiling.
For the footsteps walked right into the center of the room. But no one was
there!
Hair rose on the necks of the gangsters. Eyes seemed almost to pop from their
heads. Some moistened dry lips. Others could only gape stupidly.
And the sounds went on!
The chair behind DocÆs huge desk scraped back. There was a sighing, as if a huge
bulk had dropped into the soft leather cushion. The seat of the chair sank.
Sweat was pouring now from a dozen faces. One gangster whipped a little paper
from a pocket, sniffed the powdered contents up his nostrils. But the drug
didnÆt seem to have any effect. He was still scared to death.
The white-haired man broke the spell with an effort. "Shoot, you idiots!" he
screamed. "Shoot at that chair!"
The roaring of the guns sounded like a stepped-up Niagara. Acrid smoke filled
the air. The chair behind the desk seemed to disintegrate. Lead literally tore
it apart.
The silence that followed that burst of firing was like that in a courtroom
following a verdict of death. Long Tom lay wide-eyed and motionless.
Then there was a low cough. It came from right above the shattered chair!
Then a memo pad on the big desk was riffled back.
"Long Tom," came DocÆs voice from the chair, "when these persons have gone, I
would like to talk to you about our plans."

THE gangsters stood frozen. If they had been frightened before, now they were
actually oozing fear. Their features were chalk-white, their entire bodies
shaking.
Through the door to the library came the shrill voice of Monk.
"You danged shyster!" he shouted. "As soon as we clean out this nest of
gangsters, IÆm going to take you apart, injunction by injunction!"
"Ha!" HamÆs voice came sarcastically. "YouÆre not any tougher than those twelve
babies out there."
Two pairs of footsteps clattered into the room. But no one was visible.
One of the coke-fiend gangsters let out a scream.
"IÆve got æem, IÆve got æem!" he yelled. "Lemme go! IÆm goinÆ straight to
Bellevue!"
He dropped his Tommy gun and dived toward the door. It was the signal for a
stampede. Overtensed nerves could stand no more. Rat-faced figures fought each
other to get to the hallway, the white-haired leader among them. In the space of
seconds, the office was cleared.
Then the elevator doors opened again. Doc Savage stepped out.

Chapter V. A WARNING
LONG TOMÆS jaw sagged as Doc untied him. His eyes held a vacant look. His
fingers played with a lobe of one oversized ear.
"IÆve seen you pull a lot of stuff, Doc, but how was that done?" he asked
weakly.
"I caught your signal when you pressed the baseboard," the bronze man explained.
"So I went to the room below, looked into the panoramic television in the
ceiling, and saw the gang.
"The desk was wired to turn over a page of the memo pad. And the chair seat was
wired to sag when I wanted it to. The restùthe sound effectsùwas done by
micro-waves and ventriloquism."
"Oh!" Long TomÆs expression cleared. Then his face showed admiration. An
electrical genius of no mean ability himself, those few words had been
sufficient explanation.
"ThatÆs something new. IÆve been working on it, but never got so far. In other
words, the micro radio waves hit the diaphragm of the telephone in whatever room
you aimed them at, and reverted into sound, and by ventriloquism you make it
appearù"
Doc nodded. "What happened?" he interrupted.
Long Tom explained swiftly and somewhat shamefacedly. "Our opponent, whoever he
is, not only has money and an exceedingly alert organization, but he must also
have imagination and brains," the bronze man commented. "I believe Vardon was
right. The stakes are high."
"So much the more reason for us to get to Europe in a hurry," the electrical
wizard said glumly. "I suppose weÆll have to stick our necks out again for some
rough gang to take a crack at. Iù"
The door burst open with the bang of a cannon. Ham bolted into the room. His
usually immaculate attire was disheveled. He showed unusual excitement. He was
waving a newspaper in one hand.
"Look! Look!" His words were wheezing gasps.
Long Tom craned his neck and moved forward. "Now, Ham, take it easy. Excitement
is bad for your heart."
Ham thrust the paper at Doc. "This extra just hit the streets. I grabbed it and
came on up. Monk went on to get the plane ready. Read this!"
Across the front of the newspaper were big headlines:
BIG REVOLT IN HILDALGO!
TROOPS STORM PALACE!
Only a few lines of reading matter were under the headlines. Evidently but
little information had been received when the extra had been put to press.
"Hidalgo!" breathed Long Tom. "That must mean old Carlos Avispa is in danger.
But what about the gold? Is that lost?"

THE bell of a telephone sounded. Doc lifted the receiver.
"Mister Savage? I am speaking for the secretary of state." The voice was smooth,
almost regretful.
"Yes?"
"I am afraid the news we have for you may already be in the papers, but we
wished to verify it before calling you."
"Thank you," said Doc. "And the message?"
"There has been an uprising in Hidalgo. Knowing your interests there, the
secretary of state asked me to give you what facts we have."
"And those are?"
"Few, very few, I am sorry to say. We do know there was a sudden uprising,
seemingly by a majority of President AvispaÆs troops. What caused it, or why, I
do not know. An attack is believed to have been launched on the palace. But all
communication was severed after we had received but one short bulletin. Whether
the government of Hidalgo has been overthrown or not, we do not know."
"I see. I wish to thank you for calling." The bronze man spoke slowly.
The speaker at the other end of the line coughed slightly. "Iùweùerùwe realize,
Mister Savage, that this may be a blow to you. President Avispa, we know, is a
personal friend of yours. And we understand you have big interests there. But,
ahùahù"
"Yes?" DocÆs voice did not raise, but there was a sudden firmness in its tone.
"Ahùwell, the secretary asked me to remind you not to get into any entanglements
with Hidalgo. United States citizens must not participate in the quarrels of
other countries." He paused, then added:
"I am sorry, sir."
Doc Savage hung up the receiver slowly.

"A FINE pickle!" raged Ham, after the bronze man had related the phone
conversation. He paced to and fro rapidly. "Avispa and our gold in danger, and
we must stand byùhelpless!"
"There are many things to consider," Doc Savage reminded quietly. "The fact
remains that much trouble has been, and will be, avoided with other countries if
United States citizens minded their own business."
"Yes, it is justified, undoubtedly; but not in this case." Ham straightened,
became Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks. He spoke in his best courtroom
manner:
"But this situation is different, your honùpardon, I mean Doc. If we went to
Hidalgo it would not be to embroil our country in a private war. We would go
merely as friends of the duly constituted authorities, to lend our advice and
counselù"
"And to do a little scrapping, if necessary," Long Tom interposed, with a sly
grin.
"For all we know, President Avispa may be dead," Ham continued, with a stern
glance at Long Tom. "The country may be in the hands of rebels. Our friends, the
Mayans, may be endangered. We owe them a debt we can never repay. Besidesù" The
lawyer hesitated. "Incidentally, Doc, we were not told definitely that we
couldnÆt go, were we?"
The bronze man shook his head, said, "No. I was merely reminded not to interfere
with anything that might drag the United States into trouble with Hidalgo. We
would experience no trouble from the law if we went to Hidalgo, provided we left
before our passports to Hidalgo are suspended."
"Butùbut," sputtered Long Tom. "You told Baron Vardon we would go to
Switzerland, that we would leave at once! Even if our sympathies are with
President Avispa in Hidalgo, we cannot go there until that job is taken care
of."
"No," contradicted Doc softly. "I did not promise that we would go to
Switzerland at once." Light flamed in his flake gold eyes. "What I did say was
that we would undertake at once the task Baron Vardon suggested. We will do
that. But now, we will go to Hidalgo. I believe the uprising there has a
definite connection with the plot Baron Vardon mentioned."
HamÆs face shone with delight. "The attorney for the plaintiff wins his case,"
he beamed. "Of course, IÆm sorry we will be there just as advisers and canÆt get
into the fighting, butù"
He danced about, using his sword cane to spar with an imaginary enemy.
"Always thinking of fighting," Long Tom said disgustedly.
"Ham, you go on down to the plane, help Monk load," the bronze man put in. "You
know the equipment we should have."
The dapper lawyer minced toward the door, still sparring with his cane. A broad
smile was on his face.
"Long Tom, here are your instructions." Doc Savage spoke for some length. A look
of bewilderment on the electrical geniusÆs face gradually faded; his expression
became eager and intent.
"ThatÆs good," he gulped at last. "We canÆt take any munitions except, of
course, weapons to defend ourselves; but with this stuffù"
"It may come in handy," Doc agreed dryly.
Long Tom went to one of the big laboratory rooms that were included in the
office suite. Doc turned to the radio room. The bronze man sat down before a
large panel. He threw a switch and watched tubes slowly become warm.
"Renny and Johnny!" he said, his mouth close to a small microphone. His voice
was unraised.

MORE than three thousand miles away, that voice came clearly from a small radio.
Huge mountains reared on all sides. There was a tremendous cut through one of
those mountains. Steam shovels were panting as they dug up tons of earth.
An enormous man, fully six feet four inches in height, was watching those steam
shovels through half-closed eyes. As he watched, he opened and closed fists that
were bony monstrosities. They appeared big enough to break doors. In fact,
breaking doors with those fists was one of the favorite occupations of their
owner.
His face was severe, the mouth thin and tightly compressed. Even though his eyes
showed pleasure in the scene he was witnessing, his features had a puritanical
look.
A small native, his clothes mud-covered, panted up.
"Se±or Colonel Renwick," he wheezed. "The black box, it speak!"
The big manÆs look of indifference vanished. Long legs taking gigantic strides,
he jumped over boulders, cleared a sixteen-foot stream with scarcely a break in
his pace.
He halted before a big boxlike tent. A small radio was sitting outside that
tent. Beside it was a portable sending set. "Renny speaking," he said clearly.
As "Renny" spoke, another tall man came running into view. But where Renny was
heavy, this man was thin. He looked almost half-starved. Glasses were perched on
his nose. His features were studious and intellectual.
Known wherever geologists and archaeologists gathered as William Harper
Littlejohn, one of the most famous in his field, he was called "Johnny" by his
friends.
"And this is Johnny elucidating," he said into the microphone.
"There is trouble in Hidalgo," came DocÆs clear tones.
RennyÆs big frame jerked erect. Forgotten in a moment was the engineering
project he was directing. That project was one that would add to his fame, but
additional renown meant nothing compared to a call to action.
"You two being in South America, are much closer to the scene than we are in New
York," DocÆs voice went on. "By leaving within an hour, you should be able to
fly to Hidalgo before dawn. Keep in touch with me by radio, and help President
Avispa in every way possible."
"Boy, this sounds like action!" Renny chortled exultantly. "ItÆs great!"
"Positively stupendous," agreed Johnny.
In New York, Doc turned away from the radio.
"All set," called Long Tom. "LetÆs go. Too bad Johnny and Renny will beat us to
the scene, but they may leave something for us to do."
Long Tom might not have felt so certain Johnny and Renny would arrive first, or
that everything was all set, had he been able to see through the ceiling.

A SMALL, dwarflike man, an evil grin on his face, was rapidly coiling a strand
of wire back into a small briefcase in the room above. The wire was almost
invisible. The microphone at the end was no larger than a dime.
"A marvelous invention, this," he chuckled without sound. "So the great Doc
Savage has decided to interfere in affairs in Hidalgo? That will prove very
interesting to The Leader, I am sure."
He took earphones from his head, placed them on top of the wire and the
batteries the briefcase contained.
"And the great Doc Savage must be worried. He is calling in all his men to
help."
The dwarf snorted with disgust. "Seems to me I read about the project Colonel
Renwick is directing in South America. Littlejohn is making some archaeological
surveys at the same place. It will be easy to discover just where."
Once more that evil grin crossed his wrinkled features. He moved noiselessly
toward the door.
"Who can withstand The Leader? His organization is perfect. I do not believe
that Colonel Renwick or William Harper Littlejohn will ever arrive in Hidalgo."

Chapter VI. DEATH CALLS
JOHNNY and Renny were troubled by no such doubts. Their movements were swift and
assured.
They wasted no time on the tent. Growling, his puritanical face more stern than
before, Renny threw clothes recklessly into a suitcase.
Johnny worked more deliberately, but almost as fast. He looked at some of his
archaeological specimens with regret, but did not bother to pack them.
A youth wearing high leather puttees, military trousers and tropical hat, came
toward them. His face wore a look of dismay.
"Colonel Renwick, what is the matter? Where are you going?"
Renny looked up impatiently, snapped the clasps on his suitcase. "Come on,
Johnny, what are you killing time for!" he snapped.
"Butùbut you canÆt do this! You canÆt leave!" the youth exclaimed excitedly.
"Why says I canÆt?" roared Renny. "I am, ainÆt I? YouÆre supposed to be an
engineer, arenÆt you? You take charge. IÆll be backùwhen you see me."
One huge fist reached out, yanked Johnny to his feet. "Come on!"
"YouÆre a domineering, despotic, dyspeptic martinet," wailed Johnny. But he went
along.
Two slender steel threads led down the mountainside. They vanished in the mists
of clouds that hung far below the top of the mountain. They appeared tiny and
fragile. Yet an open car was suspended from the upper thread.
This primitive elevator was used to bring material and men from the plains
thousands of feet below to the summit. The lower thread acted as a brake, to
keep the elevator from descending too fast.
Johnny and Renny leaped into the car. Renny reached over and released the brake.
The effect was like that of a sudden, steep dive on a roller-coaster. Only this
dive didnÆt stop in a second or two. It seemed to continue indefinitely.
The car rocketed downward. JohnnyÆs mouth opened and closed as he tried to speak
against the wind. He motioned for Renny to use the brake, to slow the speed of
the car.
Renny grinned broadly. "Doc asked for speed, didnÆt he?" the big man shouted.
Johnny looked over the side. One hand was holding tight to the glasses on his
nose. The other gripped frantically at one side of the car. His face suddenly
went a pale, pasty color. He gulped.
RennyÆs face lost its grin. He reached for the brake, applied it hard. The speed
of the car did not slacken. It increased.
Hunching his huge frame, Renny looked over the side. His face, too, went ashen.
The bottom steel thread had vanished. Somewhere, it had either broken or been
cut. There was no way to stop the terrific speed of the car. It was hurtling
downward at ever increasing speed. There still were thousands of feet to go.
When the car reached the bottom, there would be one tremendous crash. Only
pieces would ever be found of car and occupants.
Renny groaned, but not from fear.
"When we donÆt get there, Doc sure will think weÆve disobeyed orders!" he
shouted.

DOC was having troubles of his own just then.
Even HamÆs features were streaked with perspiration as the last of a long series
of boxes and provisions were stored aboard a huge amphibian.
The plane rested on a slide at the end of a long warehouse. The name "Hidalgo
Trading Co." was painted on that warehouse. It was inconspicuous-appearing from
the outside. Inside, it appeared more like a transportation exhibit at Grand
Central Palace.
A submarine was there; both swift scout and heavier passenger planes and an
autogyro were stored, ready for immediate use. And hovering close to the top of
the warehouse was a speedy, modern dirigible.
"Too bad we canÆt use the dirigible," Monk groaned, with a look aloft. His
simian countenance appeared pained. The dirigible would be easier riding than
the amphibian, but the hairy chemist knew there was no chance of using it. Where
they were going they would be buffeted by wind currents that would tear apart
even the strongest airship.
"All loaded, Doc," panted Long Tom. His complexion was yellow-colored.
Doc nodded, swung through the door at the rear of the amphibian, made his way to
the controls. A moment later and four motors burst into speech.
On the water, the plane was clumsy-appearing. Its nose reared up. It was huge,
with the long wings that meant tremendous lift, but with wings so angled that
they signified speed as well.
Monk cast off the mooring ropes as Long Tom and Ham clambered aboard. The roar
of the motors increased in pitch.
Far down the river, a launch was approaching. Spray curled, destroyer-fashion,
from its bow. It was headed directly toward the Hidalgo Trading Co. warehouse.
Ham eased into the co-pilotÆs seat beside the bronze man. A carefully applied
handkerchief restored his usual appearance of freshness. He glanced down the
river.
"Visitors on the way, Doc," he said laconically. Doc Savage revved each motor in
turn. The amphibian moved out slowly, drifting with the current.
"I expected them," the bronze man said quietly.
The launch was close now. A gun could be seen on its bow. It was an
efficient-appearing gun, quite large enough to destroy an amphibian. A man
appeared from the cabin, waved his hand frantically.
MonkÆs face appeared suddenly in the pilotÆs compartment. He wore a worried
look.
"Step on it, Doc!" he howled hoarsely. "TheyÆll be on us in a minute!" Behind
him was Long Tom. The electrical wizardÆs features also showed strain.
The bronze man pushed forward on the wheel, drew back the throttle. The
amphibian leaped like a race horse from a starting stall.
A yell of dismay came from the launch. It was close enough to make out the
features of the men aboard. A police lieutenant held a megaphone, bawled a
frantic order.
"Hold it, Doc Savage! You canÆt take off now!"
For answer, Doc smiled. Once more he pressed forward on the wheel, pulled back
the throttle. The amphibian shot ahead, then rose into the air like a graceful
bird, circled the police launch.
Down below there was much confusion. The police lieutenant yelled again through
the megaphone.
"Stop!" he bellowed. "Where are you going?"
His voice carried to the plane, which wasnÆt so high up.
"To Hidalgo, of course, you mug!" bellowed Monk. A delighted grin creased his
homely features. "They canÆt stop us now!"
"No?" Ham turned a look of withering scorn on the hairy chemist. "You think they
canÆt, you baboon! They couldnÆt, probably, if you had kept your mouth shut.
Nowù"
"What did I do?" Monk howled belligerently.
"Oh, nothing!" Sarcasm blistered from HamÆs tongue. "Just nothing at all. Here
we are up against a clever opponent who found out someway that we were not
headed to Europe, but to Hidalgo, and tipped off the state department to get us
stopped. Then what do you do but bellow out the truth!"
"Well, what of it?" Monk looked hurt. "WeÆre in the air, arenÆt we? They canÆt
stop us."
HamÆs shoulders lifted in a long sigh. "I donÆt suppose it ever occurred to that
simian brain of yours that there is an air division of the Coast Guard, did it?
If they really want to stop us, theyÆll send a fast plane after us as soon as
that copper reports. We couldnÆt get away then without a fight, and you know we
couldnÆt fight."
MonkÆs big frame suddenly seemed to shrink. He did his best to hide his head.
"IùI didnÆt think of that," he admitted sheepishly. "But if we donÆt get there,
at least Renny and Johnny will."

RENNY and Johnny didnÆt think they would reach any place safely.
The car elevator was moving downward so rapidly that trees and rocks were only a
blur on either side. The pulley on the steel cable overhead whined and shrilled
like a banshee.
JohnnyÆs eyes watered even behind his glasses. His hat whipped off. When he
opened his mouth to yell, the wind tore the sound away so swiftly it could not
be heard.
Renny stood fully erect in the car. His huge figure seemed unaffected by the
tremendous pressure of the wind. His enormous arms were outstretched, so that
the long fingers of his powerful fists grasped each side of the car.
He was looking over the side, his gaze placid and unworried.
"Always wanted to make a trip this fast sometime!" he shouted.
Johnny caught the words only faintly. "Inexplicable exhibitionism of juvenile
philosophy!" he screeched.
The car sagged dangerously close to high knolls at times. Again, it was a
hundred feet in the air. Always there was the danger it would overturn, would
spill its occupants to instant death.
And death could not be long delayed. The bottom of the mountain could not be far
away.
Renny appeared to sigh deeply. He loosed the grip of one huge paw, reached down
in the bottom of the car. He lifted up a small derrick hook. There was a rope
attached to the hook.
The studious features of Johnny brightened as he saw Renny lean over a side of
the car. The big engineer dropped the hook. His attitude was that of a man about
to try for a trout.
The car dipped toward a knoll. Renny jerked on the rope. His face changed
expression slightly as the car again rocketed high in the air.
"Missed!" he shouted.
Trees were bigger now, on each side. They grow bigger lower down on the
mountains, where they can get more oxygen. And that meant the end of the
elevator ride was very close.
Another knoll approached. RennyÆs features set hard. His thin mouth was more
severe and grim than usual. It was compressed so tightly he seemed to have no
lips at all.
Once more his enormous arms swung out, down, then up.
Johnny didnÆt need to hear his yell. He saw RennyÆs mouth open, saw the
expression in his eyes.
Without hesitation, Johnny loosed his grip on the sides of the car, threw
himself to the bottom.
A thin, piercing wail cut the air. It grew louder. It sounded as if thousands of
saws were rasping against metal.
RennyÆs shirt split with the strain. Muscles knotted in big bunches.
Perspiration poured from his face. A small, white streak of light came into
view. It was a streak that cut across directly above the level of the car top.
The derrick hook appeared to be holding that light in place.
JohnnyÆs arms reached up, caught hold of the rope attached to the hook. He
braced his feet against the side of the car, poured all his strength into
holding that streak of light motionless.
A huge clasp was at the front of the car. It was used to hold the car in place
at its terminal.
Now, Renny moved that clasp around, screwed it down slowly on the streak of
light.

THE sound of buzz saws increased. Smoke curled up from about the clasp. The
streak of light appeared to dance.
Then it became apparent what that streak of light was. It was the lower end of
the two wires upon which the elevator dependedùthe wire that had been cut.
It was moving upward as fast as the car was traveling downward. Loose and
uncontrolled, it would slice through a manÆs body easier than the keenest knife.
JohnnyÆs eyes had a harried look behind his glasses. His arms were as rigid and
immovable as steel. The slightest slip, the slightest slackening of pressure on
the hook against the wire, would cause it to leap and whirl. Renny would be
directly in its path.
The big engineer showed no indication of fear. His bony monstrosities of fists
were slowly squeezing the clamp tighter against the wire.
The car pitched up on its nose. Instantly, Renny eased the pressure a trifle. As
the car settled, he put that pressure back.
The carÆs speed was still that of a diving airplane, but even so it had
slackened. Tightening of the clamp on the wire was acting as a brake.
Slowly, carefully, Renny increased that pressure. The car bucked like a rodeo
bronco. The world gradually took on a more calm appearance.
Time seemed to stand still. Crimson showed in a long gash on one of RennyÆs arms
where it had barely brushed the speeding wire. The carÆs pace slowed to that of
a slow-moving auto.
"O. K., Johnny, get set!" Renny said quickly.
The car crashed. The two aids were hurled out. But they had landed with only
minor bruises.
Near them lay another body. It was that of the watchman supposed to be on duty
at all times at the bottom of the elevator. He had been shot neatly through the
brain.
"Seems like some one didnÆt want us to go where weÆre going," Renny observed
without humor.
"A platitudinous observation, but justifiable," Johnny agreed dryly.
Fifteen minutes later, they lifted their plane from a South American field and
headed northward.
Neither spoke of the peril that was just past. Neither thought of the perils
that might be ahead. It was just as well they did not know what was in store for
them.

Chapter VII. A SPIDER STRIKES
WHITE, foamy clouds stretched for miles in either direction. They appeared
solid, except where a shaft of sunlight drove through. Then it could be seen
they were as filmy and intangible as a spiderÆs web.
In the center of those white billows was a darker spot. It darted and circled
rapidly, over and under, in and out of the white web, much as a spider does. But
it emitted a deafening roar. It did not pounce noiselessly on helpless prey as
does the spider.
Otherwise, the simile was quite correct. The plane that was seeking shelter in
the clouds high over Florida not only resembled a spider with the clouds for its
web, but its purpose was the same: It also was preparing to stalk prey.
Inside the plane there was little sound. Words of the men who sat there were
quite audible.
"They should come soon," said one. His voice was thick, guttural. Heavy,
protruding eyebrows masked small eyes in an aggressive face.
"Bah! They should not have been permitted to leave New York at all. The United
States is too easy with Doc Savage," said a second.
Fingers of one hand twirled the ends of a tiny, waxed mustache. Shoulders
shrugged expressively.
The third occupant of the cabin turned from the window. "What are the reports?"
he asked.
His voice was flat, lifeless, without expression, but it brought an amazing
change in his two companions.
"Just a moment, Leader," the heavyset man said excitedly. His aggressive face
shone with eagerness.
"Permit me to get them, Leader," exclaimed his smaller companion. The ends of
his mustache bobbed up and down rapidly.
"I have just come from the radio!" boomed the first.
"Me, I can answer the questions!" blurted the second.
"Quiet, Louie. Calmly, Henry." The man called The Leader did not raise his
voice. It remained flat and lifeless. But a chill was there, suddenly. Louie and
Henry stilled as swiftly as they had erupted.

THE LEADER swung his eyes slowly from one to the other. There was something
malevolent about that look. It would have been hard to describe at first. Then
the reason would have been clear.
The face was as lifeless as the voice. Only the eyes seemed alive. The nose,
cheeks, lips and chin were not unhandsome, but they were devoid of all
expression. Color was in the cheeks, the lips were pink. But that color appeared
artificial.
It was almost as if rouge and lipstick had been used. The face might have
belonged to a corpse. It seemed impossible that it belonged to a living man. Yet
power was reflected there, and a ruthless will.
"You first, Louie," that cold, dead voice said.
"We have just heard from Blanco Grande," the big man said hurriedly.
"Everything, it is going according to plan. The soldiers have revolted. The
country is in an uproar."
"And President Avispa?"
"IùuhùI regret to say he has not yet surrendered." The big man appeared
frightened, suddenly. Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. "Itùit
seems he was well loved by many of his people. Not all the troops revolted. The
palace is still holding out, although it is only a matter ofù"
The chill look in the otherÆs eyes stopped him. Those eyes were as merciless now
as his face.
"Do the men so soon forget the hand of death?" that cold, dead voice asked.
LouisÆs hands shook openly. He moistened his lips with a thick tongue. "No," he
said hastily. "It is just a minor delay. They will be in command by the time we
reach there."
"And your report, Henry?"
The small man twisted the ends of his mustache nervously. "All, it is well. The
unit organizations in each country are progressing rapidly. From England,
France, Germany, Russia and others, the reports come in. All wait the word from
The Leader."
The hum of the planeÆs motors came but faintly. The ship twisted and turned
through the sky.
"It is well," the dead-voiced man said at last. For just a moment a flash of
hate lighted his eyes. "We should have headed directly for Hidalgo, but the men
I sent to New York failed. The world is within my grasp. I will win, but it is
necessary to eliminate Doc Savage. Soon his plane will be coming by here. And
thenù"
Strange smiles lighted the faces of Louie and Henry. Their eyes dropped to a
queer apparatus on the floor of the cabin.

"WE are making good time, Doc," Long Tom said laconically.
"We canÆt make too good time to suit me," Ham said anxiously. "IÆll be glad when
we leave the United States far behind."
"A shyster that can talk like you shouldnÆt be worried," Monk grumbled. "YouÆre
supposed to be able to talk your way out of anything." The hairy chemist sighed.
"I wish Habeas was along. It would be a pleasure to look at a face that doesnÆt
have law written all over it."
At the start of the trip Doc had requested that the pets be left behind because
of the danger that they would meet, much to the chagrin of both Ham and Monk.
"That hog?" Ham sniffed contemptuously. "Now if Chemistry were hereù"
"We are nearing the outer coast of Florida," Doc cut in quietly. "Soon we will
be beyond the jurisdiction of the Coast Guard."
"And if we are stopped?" Ham asked.
"I am sure we can explain to the state department," the bronze man said. "That
would take time, however. I trust that will not be necessary."
Clouds were moving in on the plane. Long Tom moved to the radio compartment. He
placed a pair of headphones over his ears and twisted a dial. A startled
expression crossed his face.
With one move, the thin electrical wizard yanked the headphones from his ears,
raced toward the front of the plane.
"Another ship is near by!" he shouted. "I heard the roar of her motors over the
airphone!"
"I know. It is to our right, and above us," the bronze man said. He twisted the
controls slightly, plunged the plane into a cloud bank to the left.
Long TomÆs mouth dropped open. He knew Doc Savage had exceptional hearing, that
the long, rigid training the bronze man had followed since childhood had made
his ears super-keen, but even so Long Tom was surprised.
The airphone was tuned delicately. It was designed to pick up the slightest
motor roar at the distance of several miles. Even so, the sound that had come to
Long TomÆs ears through the headset had been only moderately loud.
"The Coast Guard?" breathed Monk. A look of childish disappointment was on his
homely face.
"There are numerous pleasure craft about here," Ham put in hopefully.
"The plane is drawing closer," Doc said quietly.
"In those clouds?" Monk asked incredulously. His look of disappointment changed
to one of acute dismay.
"Some of the Coast Guard planes use airphones, also, you hairy ape!" Ham said
bitterly. "They use them to help locate smugglers who use planes. You would pop
off and talk too much!"
Doc looked thoughtful.

"WE are drawing close to them," Louis said jubilantly. His eyes under their big
eyebrows were shining wickedly. Headphones were over his ears.
"Thisùthis Doc Savage, he is a tough man to go up against," Henry said
hesitantly.
"Bah!" Anger flared in the malevolent eyes of The Leader. "Who is he? Just an
adventurer who has been lucky. He will not escape me!"
"IùI wish we could use the hand of death," Henry muttered, half to himself.
The pale, ghastly white features of The Leader spun toward him.
"ThatÆs childÆs play," he said in that cold, dead voice. "And it would not work
at any distance. The hand of death is only to impress and kill fools. Doc
Savage, IÆll admit, is no fool. But what we are going to doù" He broke off,
turned toward the queer apparatus on the floor of the plane.
"The roar of the motors is much louder!" Louie yelled excitedly. "We must be
almost up with them!"
The Leader glanced out a window. The clouds were thinning. The spot could not
have been better chosen for an ambush. A swift drop, and thenù
A signal was given the pilot. The plane turned up on one wing, dived downward. A
second ship appeared below them. It was a big, four-motored amphibian.

"THEYÆVE caught us," Ham said wearily.
DocÆs flake gold eyes were looking upward. A plane was shooting down from above.
On the sides of that plane were the insignia of the Coast Guard.
"IÆm sorry," Monk said. For once his voice was quite humble.
"CanÆt you outrun them?" Long Tom broke in heatedly.
"We are carrying too heavy a load. The speed of our plane is not up to that of
the one they are using," Doc said concisely.
The bronze manÆs eyes narrowed slightly.
The other plane had dropped until it was almost level with them. The helmeted
head of the pilot could be seen through the side.
But no signal was being given them to land.
"Something queer about this," Ham breathed. A puzzled look passed over his
features.
"Maybe," Monk began, "theyÆre not goinÆù"
He broke off. Doc had wrenched hard on the controls. The big amphibian went into
a barrel roll, straightened out and dived.
Monk hit the top of the cabin, rolled and came up sputtering. Long Tom sprawled
his length. HamÆs features went white.
They all saw then what Doc had seen an instant before.
The plane bearing the Coast Guard insignia had turned toward them slightly, then
its nose had gone up.
And as the nose went up, a long, dark shape hurtled from the bottom of that
ship. It headed directly toward the amphibian.
"An aδrial torpedo!" whispered Ham.
The fake Coast Guard plane pivoted, rose slightly, then leveled off. The aδrial
torpedo whizzed swiftly through the air.
Once more Doc whipped the big amphibian around. He looped, did tricks few pilots
would ever have attempted with so large a ship. The plane should have been far
removed from the course of the torpedo.
"ItÆs following us!" howled Monk.
Long TomÆs eyes were bulging. Ham was sitting upright, hands clenched.
DocÆs eyes swept the scene. As he twisted and dodged, the torpedo went through
the same motions.
Up above, the fake Coast Guard plane loafed easily.
"ItÆs radio-controlled! We canÆt escape!" cried Long Tom. Doc was a master
pilot. Under his hands the amphibian became as nimble as a pursuit ship. But in
vain.
With every twist of the amphibian, the torpedo made a similar turn. A small
screw behind it beat frantically. Short, stubby wings made it a flying
engineùand a flying bomb.
And the aδrial torpedo was fast. It was gaining. Slowly but surely, it was
overtaking DocÆs ship!

Chapter VIII. A TRAP CLOSES
A GRIM expression came over the face of the bronze man. The big plane was wide
open. The throttle was pulled to the last notch. Her four giant motors seemed to
be trying to tear their way from the wing sockets.
But escape that way was impossible.
Doc gave a faint signal. As Ham seized the controls, the bronze man slipped from
the cabin. With Long Tom at his heels, he went into the tiny radio control room
of the plane.
Monk slipped into the co-pilot seat. His features worked with futile rage.
"Daggonit," he howled, "if we could only get above that thing, I could drop down
on top of it!"
"Try sticking your head out a window!" Ham blistered. "If it sees you, itÆll
probably get scared and run away."
The fact that Monk failed to reply to that one caused Ham to turn around. He
could hardly see Monk for his mouth. It was open, wide. When the chemist did
that, his head all but disappeared. Monk just pointed.
The dapper Ham stared. His eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped.
The aδrial torpedo was no longer pursuing them!
As they watched, it appeared to hesitate. It wabbled and twisted. Then it spun,
its nose going up as it turned.
The aδrial torpedo headed back, directly toward the ship from which it had come!

ABOARD the other ship there was sudden confusion. The man called The Leader who
had been watching with a frozen face, leaped to his feet, raced toward the radio
room.
Henry was sputtering unintelligible words. His arms were waving wildly.
"ItÆs turned around! ItÆs coming for us! I can do nothing!"
The LeaderÆs malevolent eyes became hard. "Get out," he said, in that cold, flat
voice. "I can control this."
LouieÆs big form appeared behind him. The Leader worked keys rapidly. The aδrial
torpedo came on, twisting and dogging as the pilot of the fake Coast Guard plane
went through maneuvers even as Doc had gone through them a few short seconds
before.
Without change of expression, The Leader turned to Louie. He whispered a few
words in the otherÆs ear. The big man nodded, raced out of the radio room.
The Leader rose, motioned to Henry. "Take it. The torpedo is harmless now."
HenryÆs eyes were fear-stricken, but he obeyed. The LeaderÆs eyes narrowed
slightly. He closed the door of the radio room behind him.
A moment later, and his air of calm had disappeared. The torpedo was gaining, it
was coming closer with each passing instant. The frozen-faced man raced to the
belly of the big ship.
Louie was already there, was pushing himself into a small opening. The Leader
crammed himself in a similar one.
Louie looked up questioningly. The other nodded. With a heave of mighty muscles,
the big man jerked down on a lever.
The next instant they were falling. A tiny plane had dropped away from the belly
of the big ship. Wings shot out from its side. A motor roared.
The Leader scarcely looked around as the aδrial torpedo hit the plane he had
just deserted. Safe with Louie in a small, swift pursuit plane, he showed no
concern over the fact that he had tricked the man that he had left behind. That
he had died.
But his eyes were terrible in their anger. He had come to grips with Doc Savage.
He had lostùthis time. But nextù

DOCÆS big four-motored plane was more than a mile away when the fake Coast Guard
plane appeared to dissolve in air. He swung the big amphibian toward the
speeding dot of the pursuit ship.
It was useless. The tiny plane was merely a blur of motion. Even as he looked,
it dived into a cloud bank and disappeared.
"That was unfortunate," the bronze man said. "But we can hardly be responsible
for that."
MonkÆs breath came out in a slow sigh. His mouth closed like a big hinge. Eyes
still staring, he surrendered his seat to Doc.
"Dang it," he complained, "I saw it, but I still donÆt believe it. Just what
happened?"
"There are two types of aδrial torpedoes," Doc said quietly. "One is
radio-controlled at will. The other, like this one, was newer. The two planes,
the sender and the object to be destroyed, complete a radio-wave circuit. The
torpedo rides the beam. No matter what the direction the pursued ship takes, the
torpedo will follow."
"But this one turned around!" Monk howled. "It destroyed the ship that fired it.
How come?"
"The same principle as reversing a motor on an alternating current. We have
stronger apparatus than they have. I merely reversed the beam."
"But two of them got away at that," Ham said regretfully.
"Yeah, and at the speed they were making, theyÆll get to Hidalgo long before we
will," Long Tom put in dolefully.
"That may not be fatal," Ham said dryly. "Johnny and Renny are closer than we
are. They should get there first. And they should be able to handle one pair, at
least."
"If they get there," Monk said pessimistically.
As if in answer to his words, a light began to flash on and off on the
switchboard at the radio controls. It showed that a message was coming in on the
special micro-wave length used by Doc and his aids.
Long Tom sprang to the board, pressed a switch.
"Conditions deemed meritorious for incursion of landing terrain," the
emotionless voice of Johnny droned through the loudspeaker. "Propugnaculum of
legions of Avispa seem in prepotency."
Long Tom looked quickly at Doc, then spoke into the small microphone.
"All right, then," he clipped. "If AvispaÆs soldiers are in control of the
landing field, go on down. WeÆll be seeing you."

RENNY looked over a side of the plane. The little joystick was almost invisible
in one huge hand. But those enormous fists that could smash a solid oak panel
were as sensitive as a motherÆs touch on the stick. The plane wheeled slowly as
he picked up wind direction and prepared to land.
Below them was scattered fighting through the streets of Blanco Grande. That
Central American city looked far different than when DocÆs aids had first seen
it.
The presidential palace had been rebuilt. Now it was one of the wonder spots.
There was a great modern hospital that Doc had ordered built. That building and
its highly trained staff had practically banished disease from all Hidalgo.
Gold from the Valley of the Vanished had made that possible, just as the same
gold had financed Doc in his fight on evil-doers.
"Yeah, gold in proper hands can be of lots of good, but if the wrong guy had
itù" Renny spoke almost to himself.
Soldiers in the uniform of the Republic of Hidalgo were putting dark, brown-clad
men to rout all over the city. Bursts of smoke came from rifles, and brown-clad
men fell in the streets. At the airport itself, a large contingent of soldiers
stood on guard. They waved wildly to the approaching plane.
"Looks like theyÆve got the beggars on the run," Renny said.
"We must get to Carlos Avispa before any untoward interposition by the criminals
changes that tide," Johnny commented.
Renny moved forward the stick and the plane flattened into a glide, began to
descend slowly. The soldiers were waving and shouting even more than before. It
was as if they were hailing rescuers from the sky.
The big engineer frowned slightly as his eyes combed the crowd for sight of the
distinguished figure of Avispa. If his soldiers had really been victorious, it
was not unlikely that the white-haired president of Hidalgo would be at the
flying field to greet them.
The motor roared as Renny gunned it, dropped one wing of the plane in a quick
turn; then they were swooping down, and the wheels touched the ground gently in
a perfect three-point landing.
Soldiers were rushing toward them from all parts of the field.
"Viva! Viva!"
came the cries.
"Viva, nothing!"
Renny growled. "IÆll be durned glad to get my feet on the ground." He hoisted
his big frame out of the cockpit. Johnny already had dropped from the ship.
"An extraordinary welcomeù" Johnny began. Then he paused. The half-starved look
on his face changed to one of incredulous wonder.
"Renny!" he yelled.
"Holy cow!" roared Renny.
Somewhere, a sharp voice had barked out an order. The soldiers stopped cheering.
Bayoneted rifles swung up as they raced forward.
"Surrender!" came the harsh command.

JOHNNY and Renny already were several paces from their plane. The odds against
them were overwhelming. With smiles wiped from their faces, DocÆs two aids
forgot all about the military strategy that says "do not fight a useless
battle."
They went into action!
A strangled roar came from Renny as he leaped forward. His hamlike fists clubbed
out like bludgeons. Two soldiers sank to the ground as if they had suddenly been
mesmerized. Their uniforms were split, and beneath the colorful dress garb of
the Hidalgo presidential guards, khaki uniform showed plainly.
Johnny dived to the plane, reached inside. He came out with his superfiring
machine-pistol even as a soldier leaped for him. The starved-appearing geologist
tripped his attacker, brought the pistol up. He was too busy even to use a big
word.
The gun moaned in his hands. A wave of soldiers went down like wheat before a
reaper.
The blast cleared the way so Renny could reach the plane and get his
machine-pistol. He whirled, crouched low. His weapon, too, went into action with
a bullfiddle moan. The phony guards went down like tenpins.
"WeÆve got to get word to Doc!" Renny howled.
"Get word to him yourself!" came a bellow from Johnny. It had probably been
years since he had used such simple words.
As their machine-pistols moaned and coughed, the uniformed men screamed, broke
back.
Blam! Blam!
A rifle spoke sharply, twice. Lead pinged into the plane behind their backs.
Johnny and Renny ducked, firing steadily. Only "mercy" bullets were in their
weaponsùbullets that brought quick unconsciousness, but not death; but their
foes did not know that.
Then the tide of the battle turned. Behind the wave of retreating figures, a
soldier set up a Lewis gun on a tripod. Sandbags were in front of him. A cruel
leer was on his face.
The gun started with a deadly chatter, even before his own retreating
confederates were past him. Three of them fell, filled with his machine-gun
lead.
DocÆs aids dropped, rolled. Dirt kicked up in front of them. They pressed
themselves flat on the earth. There was a tiny rise in the ground between them
and the machine-gunner. It made them more difficult targets.
But the machine-gunner chopped his gun down. The slugs tore off that little rise
of ground, sent it flying away in a cloud of dust. Bullets tore through RennyÆs
clothing. The deadly rain of lead came nearerù
A voice roared suddenly from a loudspeaker at the edge of the field.
"Do not kill them, fool! We must take them alive. Until Doc Savage is dead, they
must live. By torturing them, we may bring the bronze man to terms."
The machine gun stopped chattering. Instantly, Johnny and Renny were on their
feet. They turned, dashed toward their plane.
A veritable wave of men rushed around that plane toward them. A yellowish vapor
was pouring from a large tank in the arms of the leading man.
Johnny coughed. Renny felt as if his muscles had suddenly gone powerless. The
machine-pistol dropped from his hands. Figures wearing gas masks poured over
him.
Arms flaying the air instinctively, his huge fists knocking down men right and
left, the big engineer went on. His clawing hands caught a side of the plane. He
felt as if his lungs were bursting. Arms caught him about the legs, tried to
hold him back.
With the last ounce of his tremendous strength, Renny jerked himself forward,
fell head down in the cockpit of the plane. His head collided with the radio
switchboard. He tried to shout.
It was too late. He could not. He slumped down, unconscious.

Chapter IX. THE SKIES EXPLODE
FAR to the north, in DocÆs big plane, the radio control board light flashed
again. Once more, Long Tom tuned in on the micro-wave. A voice came in steadily.
It used none of JohnnyÆs long words. It was a compact message, designed to pack
the most meaning in the fewest words:
"Overpowered by enemy. Too many to tackle. Turn back. Use other plans."
Doc SavageÆs flake gold eyes opened slightly. His mouth tightened.
"TheyÆve been trapped!" MonkÆs voice was a moan.
"I donÆt see howù" Long Tom gulped.
"Evidently they mistook hostile forces for the loyal troops of President
Avispa," the bronze man said crisply.
For a moment there was silence. HamÆs brow was furrowed. He knew, as did the
rest, that the very wording of the warning they had received indicated that
Johnny and Renny had been overcome.
It was a warning designed to indicate that very thing.
Small, easily concealed dictographs were hidden just under the radio board on
all the planes used by DocÆs men. Pressure of a button was all that was
necessary to broadcast one of several prepared messages. Renny had banged his
head against the button that controlled the one he wanted to send.
"If no one saw Renny get that warning off, maybe we can surprise them," Ham
exclaimed.
"More and more, we are having evidence that the man we are opposing is not only
clever, but has sources of information that has enabled him to anticipate us,"
the bronze man said slowly.
Monk roared, thrust out his powerful arms. Monk always was a direct actionist.
Trickery might be all right, but he preferred stronger methods.
"LetÆs go on and take æem!" he howled. "WeÆll knock æem clean to the Pacific!"
"One shot, if it struck this plane in the right place, and weÆd be the ones who
would be knocked clean to the Pacific," Long Tom commented dryly.
"CanÆt we let Monk get there somehow in any case?" Ham asked pleasantly. "They
would think they had harmed us if they chopped him up, and that certainly would
be fooling them."
"Why, you encyclopedia of reversed decisions!" Monk bellowed. "If I wasnÆt
better than you, IÆd take a parachute jump without the parachute!"
Ham pulled open a large window of the control cabin and smiled. "I think itÆs
big enough," he said significantly.
"Turn east," Doc interrupted evenly. He turned the controls over to Ham. "Head
for Havana. Give her all the speed sheÆs got."

HAM obeyed unhesitatingly. Conversation quieted. Doc Savage had reached a
decision. What it was, his aids did not know, nor did they ask. The bronze man
seldom revealed what he had in his mind until it came time to put that plan into
execution.
But they all knew that there must be a good reason, or Doc would not be turning
off their course when Johnny and Renny were in danger.
For time and time again, they had all seen instances to show that Doc SavageÆs
first concern was the safety of his men. The bronze giant would take terrific
personal risks when his aids were in the clear. But when he was the only agent
that could free them, he made sure they would be safe before he walked into
almost certain death.
Vital supplies were aboard the big amphibian. Ham knew Doc would sacrifice those
supplies willingly if it would aid Johnny and Renny. But if not, those supplies
had to be saved.
Doc rose, went back into the cabin with Long Tom. The green foliage of Cuba
appeared before them.
"Tilt the nose up," the bronze man instructed briefly.
The dapper lawyer obeyed. There was a faint jerk on the plane. An object hurtled
downward. Then a huge, white mushroom appeared.
Long Tom had bailed out. He was landing in Cuba.
Doc watched Long Tom land, pick himself up and fold the chute. As the
unhealthy-appearing electrical genius headed for a highway, the bronze man took
the controls.
"Where to now?" Monk growled.
"Hidalgo," Doc answered briefly. "No stops until we get there."
Monk and Ham looked at each other questioningly. They would have liked to know
what Long Tom was going to do, but they knew they would have to wait until Doc
decided to tell them.
The bronze man looked straight ahead. Tiny flakes in his eyes looked like
whirlwinds. His mouth was grim.

FAR ahead of the big four-motored ship, a smaller plane whipped along like a
humming bird. It went so fast it was merely a blur in the sky.
The malevolent eyes of the man at the stick were inscrutable. His face was set
and lifeless. It had no expression. Radio headphones were on his ears.
The little plane was high in the air. It had to be. The country below was rugged
and wild. Just ahead was a mighty mountain peak. It was on one of the two great
Central American ranges that wedge between them the Republic of Hidalgo.
The great area between the two giant ranges was traversed by half a dozen
smaller but even more rugged groups of hills. The whole scene presented a
perfect spot for guerrilla banditry.
It was almost impenetrable. The tiny ship topped the big peak and glided down
into the valley. Nearly in the center of it was Blanco Grande.
The pilot, his malevolent eyes glowing, circled and spoke softly into the
microphone slung before his mouth. Still swinging, he waited for his answer.
The view below him was one of beauty. Blanco GrandeÆs crooked streets had been
straightened. There were no squalid shacks, but only great parks. Crystal-clear
water played from fountains. There was a great, white marble library that
permitted the education of those Hidalgans who wished to partake of it. Gold had
done that for Blanco Grande.
The vicious-eyed pilot saw, but was uninterested. He thought only of the gold
that had made the beauty of Blanco Grande possible. The corners of his lifeless
mouth lifted slightly. Gold!
If the world only knew what he intended to do with that gold, armies from every
civilized nation would be sped by warships under forced draft to block him. But
the world did not know. When it did learn, it would be too late.
"Gold has been used in many ways, but never as I intend to use it," The Leader
assured himself.
The earphones crackled slightly. He listened, then turned to the big man in the
tiny cockpit behind him. The slit that was his mouth straightened.
"The ones they call Renny and Johnny have been captured," he said in that flat,
expressionless voice. "They are being held as hostagesùor until I decree they
must die."
Again the earphones crackled into life. The malevolent eyes of The Leader
sparkled at what he heard.
"The bronze man went off his course to fly over Havana," he announced. "He
circled and dropped the man known as Long Tom. Our men lost trace of Long Tom,
but he is believed to have headed back for New York.
"Doc Savage is worried. He should be. I am almost glad we did not kill him in
the clouds. I will be happy when he reach Hidalgo. For thenù" A mirthless
chuckle came from between his thin lips.
Louie shivered faintly; perspiration dampened his fists. The big man did not
hesitate to kill. He feared little. But he did fear the lifeless-faced ruler who
piloted the plane.
If The Leader said he was glad Doc Savage would reach Hidalgo, then it meant the
brain behind those evil eyes had concocted some terrible scheme.

A GROUP of soldiers rushed out as the plane dropped to the landing field at
Blanco Grande. Gone were the fake uniforms that had fooled Johnny and Renny. Now
the soldiers of fortune were dressed in khaki.
At their head was a stocky, agate-eyed man in the uniform of a general. His
shoulders were broad, his eyes set a little too close together. Copper-tinted
features grave, he bowed low before the figure approaching from the plane.
When he raised his head, he endeavored to keep his features calm. But fear
showed there. A silence fell.
Slowly, deliberately, The Leader raked him with his malevolent, repelling eyes.
They started at the feet and moved slowly up to features that were turning
ashen.
General Juan GlassellÆs mouth opened, then closed. He ran a tongue over dry
lips.
"Glassell, you are a fool." The flat, lifeless tones of the other were not
raised. They did not need to be. There was a chill in them like an icy blast.
The big man in the generalÆs uniform tried to speak. The words would not come.
His throat seemed glued.
"You were in command of the armed forces of Hidalgo," that dreadful voice went
on. "You assured me you could seize control of this country within two hours.
You failed."
The Leader took a step forward. His lifeless face jutted forward. Involuntarily,
Glassell moved backward.
"IùIù" he half shrieked. "How did I know so many would remain loyal? How did I
know we would have to kill so many?" He gulped rapidly. "But we are winning! We
will soon be in control!"
The other looked at him for a long moment. "It must be that way, you must win
before to-morrow. If notù"
"Not the hand of death, not that!" Glassell screamed.
"Blanco Grande must be in our hands. It is the only exit from the Valley of the
Vanished. Unless we control that exit, we could be trapped." The Leader spoke as
if to himself.
Some of GlassellÆs color returned. "It shall be done. We shall hold the city.
There will be no attack on our rear when we push ahead. We can even start part
of the advance to-night."
"You blundered also when you permitted this Doc SavageÆs men to send out word
that they had been captured," the cold-voiced one went on.
General Glassell started with honest astonishment. "Butùbut that is impossible!
I was here myself! They could notù"
The Leader held up a hand. "Enough. They did. But it is just as well. This
bronze man will rush here to rescue them. That is what I want. Now here is what
I want you to doù"

THE Hidalgo airport became the scene of great activity. Pursuit planes were
rolled out, their motors warmed. Big bombers trundled from their hangars. Pilots
and observers swarmed about them. At the edge of the field, antiaircraft guns
were moved into position.
"His plane should be here in ten minutes." General Glassell spoke excitedly. His
close-set eyes were gleaming wickedly. "Every report has been the same. It is
the four-motored craft you described. The markings are such they could not be
counterfeited."
Beside him the frozen-faced one nodded slightly. "There is no question of that.
His eyes narrowed, then he shrugged. "It has taken him longer to reach here than
I estimated, but that means nothing."
The pursuit planes took off. The bombers roared in the air behind them. Up and
up they soared. The pursuit ships were only faint dots in the sky, the bombers
far in the distance, when a huge amphibian showed in the clear mountain air. At
first, it was many miles away. Then it was quite close.
Relief showed suddenly in The LeaderÆs evil eyes. "It is the right ship," he
breathed. "At first I feared a trick, but nowù"
On and on came the amphibian. It circled the field, high and suspiciously.
The Leader lifted the microphone in front of him. He spoke into it.
Instantly, it seemed as if all hell had arrived. There was the terrific roar and
moan of diving motors. Pursuit ships that had been hidden high above, smashed
down, motors wide open in desperate power dives. Machine guns rent the air like
riveting hammers.
DocÆs ship wheeled. It was clumsy by comparison with the hornetlike attackers.
Its big bulk seemed to loom large, make a perfect target.
But machine-gun bullets bounced off it like rain.
"Armor-plated," The Leader sneered. "But wait!"
The big amphibian was dodging and twisting with amazing agility for so large a
ship. Time and time again, it seemed to dart directly out from under a rain of
steel that would have been fatal.
But gradually the attackers were closing in. Squadron after squadron zoomed
close. The bombers were coming down, their observers firing fiercely.
Then a second contingent of battle planes drew near. DocÆs plane was locked in a
perfect circle of enemy ships. It had no way to escape. The pursuit planes drew
aside to let the latest arrivals close.
Strange-looking weapons protruded from the sides of these ships. Gradually they
jockeyed close.
Flame suddenly filled the air. Flame blasted with tons of pressure from the
muzzles of those queer-looking weapons. That flame was white-hot. Even the
watchers, far below, could see the armor plating on the big amphibian melting.
The flame cut through the steel like an acetylene torch through a cheap boiler
plate.
The lips on the frozen-faced one twitched. His grin was a horrible grimace.
Then that grin vanished. Stark dismay flamed in his malevolent eyes.

ONE instant the entire sky was filled with fighting ships. The next, and the sky
was filled only with flames and flying pieces of things that had been ships and
men.
The Leader had expected DocÆs plane to be carrying explosives. He had counted on
that to wipe out the bronze man and his aids. But he hadnÆt counted on the
terrific destruction that occurred.
DocÆs big ship vanished. It just wasnÆt there. But neither was the entire
attacking fleet. The blast, when its concussion reached the earth, flattened
hangars, hurled men to the ground.
DocÆs plane was blown not to bits, but to fine powder. But with it every ship of
that tremendous battle fleet was destroyed!
HidalgoÆs entire fighting fleet had been destroyed. Butù
The evil sparkle returned to the malevolent eyes of The Leader. Once more those
lifeless lips twisted. He turned to General Glassell.
"The price was high," came that flat, cold voice. "But it was worth it. Doc
Savage was more dangerous to us than any ordinary army would be. Now he is dead.
He and his aids. And I am happy that I watched him die."

Chapter X. VIVA THE LEADER
DARKNESS fell on Blanco Grande. But the night was red. Streets resembled an
old-fashioned torchlight parade. And there was a revelry of victory such as no
political celebration would have dreamed about.
Khaki-clad figures staggered drunkenly, waved half-empty bottles in the air.
They repeated one monotonous, victory chant:
"Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader! Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader!
Eyes stared wildly. Sometimes they glanced about nervously, only to start and
continue their celebration. There could be no doubt about it. Doc Savage was
dead!
That decision had not been reached at once even after the terrific explosion in
the sky. Hundreds of men had been put to work. Carefully, they had picked up
every piece of wreckage, every part of a human body they could find.
Enough pieces of the big amphibian had been found to identify it positively.
There could be no mistake. It had been DocÆs plane.
Identification of bodies had been more difficult. They had been torn into
thousands of pieces. But one unanswerable clue had been found:
Among the shattered fragments that had been men, had been found a queer
substance, several pieces of it, in fact. That substance had been tested. It was
crimson-soaked underwear of the type only Doc and his men wore.
That had convinced even The Leader.
And as revelry reigned in the streets, the frozen-faced one and General Glassell
sat comfortably in the traitorÆs well-furnished offices. As sound of the
celebration penetrated those offices, Glassell smiled happily.
"With one stroke, you have insured victory," he complimented. "Even those who
have stood with President Avispa will quail now. The bronze man was their only
hope."
The frozen-faced one nodded slightly. His eyes darkened as the shrill echo of
shots came to his ears.
"But those at the palace are stubborn. They still fight on." He shrugged, his
lifeless face unchanging. "It does not matter. We can localize the fighting
there. You have dispatched more troops toward the palace?"
"As you ordered. None can stand against the force I have dispatched. Every
instrument of modern warfare is included in the equipmentùeverything but
planes."
"The loss of those planes was regrettable, but need not concern us," the other
said in cold, clipped tones. "More could be ordered, but we will not need them.
Before they will have arrived, we will have conquered."
"And then?" There was a sly, shrewd look in GlassellÆs close-set eyes.
"Then I am ready." For the first time a note of hardness, a grim hint of
implacable power and greed, broke through that flat voice. "Authority such as no
man has ever had will be in my hands. Dictators, kings, emperors and czars of
the past will be as nothing compared to me."
"But howù"
General GlassellÆs voice choked, his face paled. The otherÆs repelling eyes had
swept over him, once. That was enough.
"It is not well to ask too many questions," the frozen-faced one told him. "The
secret of how that power is coming to me is known to me alone. No one else can
guess, no one else will knowùuntil it is too late."
From outside came that steady, monotonous shout:
"Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader! Doc Savage is dead. Viva The Leader!"

THE cries filtered dimly through a subterranean passage. They reverberated
hollowly against walls of stone. The walls were damp, cold and clammy. But the
two men leaning against them felt just as damp and just as clammy.
Sweatùthe cold sweat of horrorùoozed from the pores of Renny and Johnny.
"If Doc is gone, it doesnÆt matter much what happens to us," Renny said.
Johnny was slow in replying. His grief was heavy.
"Doc had to get it sometime, I suppose," he said in a low voice. Under stress of
emotion he had returned to simple words. "But if heÆd only had a chance to
fightù"
The guards had told the two men all about it. They had told it with great glee.
Their description had been complete. They had even revealed the fact that
look-outs had been watching Doc and his men all the time, and that Long Tom had
landed in Havana.
Renny shuddered. That chant of death came again through the cell window. "And
Monk and Ham went with him. There were six of us. Now there are only three. Long
TomÆs the only one left, outside of us."
"And we are incapacitated by lack of locomotion," Johnny said crisply. His eyes
narrowed behind their glasses. His half-starved features set.
Renny looked at him quickly. The big engineerÆs puritanical face became severe.
His thin mouth compressed tightly.
"I see what you mean!" he snapped. "Doc wouldnÆt want us to quit, just because
he is gone. HeÆd want us to carry on, to do what we were supposed to do."
His huge frame swung toward the door. His monstrosities of fists battered
furiously. He was accustomed to smashing through doors with those fists. This
one was different. Skin came from his knuckles. The door did not move. It was of
iron.
Johnny gestured faintly toward one side of the dungeon. Renny looked that way
and his eyes opened slightly, his features became even more thin and
disapproving.
Mortar appeared chipped and flaky around one huge stone in one side of the cell.
Some previous occupant had undoubtedly spent hours working away at that mortar,
buoyed by undying hope.
Softly, despite his bulk, Johnny eased to the stone. His powerful fingers
brushed the mortar away. Then those fingers jammed in hard, caught a firm grip.
Muscles rose in huge ridges on his back, perspiration broke from his face. The
big stone creaked. Fine dust flew out. Renny moved over, caught Johnny about the
waist, added his ponderous weight.
There was a dull, crunching sound. The huge stone came out.
In the corridor outside the cell a guard laughed jeeringly. "Birds do not fly
from this cage, se±ors," he called bitingly.
With disappointed eyes, DocÆs two aids looked into the hole left by the huge
stone. Behind that hole was another stone, equally as big. The cell was a
veritable fortress. Escape was impossible.
"Maybe Avispa can win out without our help," Renny said. But his voice showed
that he had no such hope.

NOR did President Avispa hold any such hope, either. Despair was written on a
face that once had known only smiles. Harsh lines of worry had wiped out his
look of kindliness.
Shoulders that once had been powerful, now were bowed with sorrow and
disappointment. His head was cupped in strong, well-formed hands. His eyes had a
look of grief and resignation.
Words dinned into his ears, words shouted by a drunken, boisterous mob of
khaki-clad men that encircled the palace.
"Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader! Doc Savage is dead. Viva The Leader!"
A scattered volley of rifle shots sounded, near at hand. The monotonous chant
broke off, but only for a moment. Soon it was resumed.
A small man slipped into the room. His face was bloody, his clothes torn.
AvispaÆs head came up. For a moment hope lighted his eyes; then that hope died
as he saw the look on the otherÆs features.
"It is so?" he asked needlessly.
"There is no doubt about it, my president," the little man said. "I myself saw
the pieces of the plane and theùthe other things that show the bronze man is
dead."
For a moment President Avispa did not speak. He was thinkingùthinking back into
the past, as the old sometimes do. Clark Savage, Sr., had been his friend. Clark
Savage Jr. had been his friend. Now both were gone. He had respected the elder
Savage, but he had had an affection for Doc such as he had had for no other
living man.
But Doc was gone. And enemies were pressing ever harder.
"What else did you learn?"
The man hesitated. It was as if he did not care to be the bearer of evil
tidings.
"The two known as Renny and Johnny are captives," he mumbled at last. "They are
held in the dungeon, where none can get at them. From words I heard dropped by
liquor-loosened tongues, they are to be executed."
A sudden shout went up from outside the palace. A machine gun wrote rapidly. And
the words it wrote were death. Rifles cracked.
"An attack!" the little man breathed.
Avispa grew old again. He slumped in his chair. "They are few. My men are loyal,
but why should we fight a useless battle? Why shouldnÆt I surrender and at least
save their lives?"
"No! No, my president!" The little man fairly spouted words. "That cannot be! I
did not want to tell! But now I must!"
"There is worse to come?" Avispa asked incredulously.
The small man gulped, and nodded. "They are boasting in the streets of what they
are to do," he said brokenly. "Those of us who are captured alive are to be
tortured in ways that make the blood run cold. Never surrender. If you are not
killed in the final fighting, thenù"
Slowly, with hands that shook, President Avispa reached into a drawer, brought
out a pistol. "I understand, mi amigo. One bullet I shall save for myself."
A second, then a third machine gun joined the riotous chorus of death beyond the
palace walls. A pitiful line of defenders hunted cover, praying only that the
end would be a merciful one.

THE men manning those machine guns outside the palace were angry. They alone had
been kept on duty. While others drank and celebrated, they were forced to work.
"LetÆs get it over with!" a hardboiled sergeant snarled fiercely. "The quicker
we wipe out that bunch of rats in there, the quicker we can have some fun
ourselves!"
"They at least are a stubborn bunch of rats!" a corporal grated.
Sullen murmurs swept the ranks of the attackers. The monotonous chorus of the
revelers brought only fierce swearing.
A tall figure came swaying down the street. He was dressed as a captain. Or he
had been in a captainÆs uniform. Now that uniform was ripped and torn. A
civilianÆs hat was pulled down tightly over his head. He held a bottle high in
one hand.
"Doc Savage is dead! Viva Theù"
"Viva
hell!" bellowed the sergeant. He made a swipe for the bottle in the otherÆs
hand.
The big man toppled, but held onto the bottle. "Naughty, naughty," he said
thickly. "Shish is mine. Why donÆt you get your own?"
"Yeah, why donÆt I?" the sergeant rasped bitterly. "By the time I get free,
there wonÆt be any left!"
The big man nodded his head sagely. "You shonow, I spect youÆre right. Shere
isnÆt very much more."
Machine guns quieted. Eager, angry ears were cocked toward the speaker.
"You mean the supply is about gone?" the sergeant asked, with dangerous calm.
"Yes, shir. ItÆs about gone." The big man swayed again, lifted the bottle to his
lips, then wiped his mouth with a tattered sleeve. He coughed, the bottle almost
fell from his hands.
The sergeant grabbed it, took a deep swallow. The anger faded from his face. "If
we only didnÆt have to push on and take this place to-nightù"
He hesitated a moment, and fear showed thinly on his features. "But itÆs no go.
I only wishù"
The big man regained his balance with an effort, stared owlishly at the bottle
in the sergeantÆs hand. He pawed for it awkwardly.
"Shay, thatÆs mine."
"Scram!" snarled the sergeant. "IÆm keeping this, and itÆs little enough as it
is!"
"O. K." The big man turned, staggered off. "If youÆre goinÆ tuh be soùso
unsociable about it. I got a bunch hidden I was goinÆ to give yuh, but not now."
The sergeantÆs mouth dropped open. He looked quickly at the corporal. The
corporal nodded feverishly. Together they slipped off, behind the swaying
figure. They did not see the men from the machine guns take in after them.
And soon they discovered they had lost the big man. He seemed to have vanished
in thin air. For a moment the men swore, then they hurried back to their posts.
A vacant spot had been left in the lines for a moment. But no one would know
about that.

EVEN as they were warming up the machine guns a moment later, a tall figure
eased into the palace grounds. A moment later and that figure had reached the
palace itself.
President Avispa heard a faint tap on his window. He whirled, grabbing up the
gun from the desk.
Peering in at him was a disheveled figure wearing what had been a captainÆs
uniform. A civilianÆs hat was jammed tight over the head.
But Avispa did not notice the uniform or hat. He saw only a pair of eyes. Those
eyes were of flake gold.
As he stared, momentarily paralyzed, the big figure eased quickly into the room.
"I came as swiftly as I could," said Doc Savage quietly.
Avispa found it hard to speak at all. Outside, he could still hear that
monotonous chant:
"Doc Savage is dead! Viva The Leader!"
But Doc Savage was not dead.

Chapter XI. SEEING DOUBLE
PRESIDENT AVISPA seemed to grow younger with each passing second. Age dropped
from him like a cloak. His features were lined, his hair white; but now his
shoulders were erect, his head up.
"Myùmy friend," he said simply.
Doc wiped dark grease paint from his face. Bronze hair that closely matched the
color of his skin showed as he pulled the hat from his head.
"You are safe. I thought you were dead." Avispa had difficulty in standing
still. He seemed to want to hop up and down with joy. Then he sobered. "But I
canÆt understand. You have had many narrow escapes. But thisù" He gestured
expressively. "Positive evidence was found that you were dead."
"Evidence that I hoped would be found," the bronze man said dryly.
"Then you really werenÆt in the plane?"
Doc smiled slightly. "Of course not, although I wanted The Leader and his men to
think so. Long Tom dropped off the plane at Havana. In the disguise of a
peasant, he purchased some supplies, then chartered a small, swift plane and
followed us. We met over the Valley of the Vanished."
President Avispa nodded eagerly.
"I had supplies we could not afford to lose," the bronze man continued. "Those
were the ones Long Tom purchased in Havana. Those supplies were dropped by
parachute. Monk, Ham and Long Tom went with them, and I took over the small
plane. Using radio control, I directed the big amphibian here."
"But when the attack came?"
"My plane was hidden in the clouds, even above the pursuit ships that were
waiting for me. In the amphibian was thermite, in great quantity. Naturally,
when the explosion came it was devastating, as you saw."
"But the bodies," protested Avispa. "How did you do that?"
"They were artificially created," the bronze man responded quietly. "I knew The
Leader would demand more than an exploded plane to make sure I was dead."
Doc then told the white-haired president of the ruse he had used to get inside
the palace grounds. Although he had pretended to drink, the bronze man hadnÆt
touched a drop.
"Now the enemy thinks you are dead." The white-haired president grinned broadly.
"What a surprise is in store for them when they discover their error, when they
find that you have arrived and saved Hidalgo!"
"Hidalgo is far from saved," the bronze man cautioned. "The enemy we oppose is
resourceful, he is dangerous."
Avispa sighed, sank back in his chair. He knew that Doc was right, that the
battle had still to be won; but now that the bronze man had arrived, he felt his
first ray of hope. And he was glad to shift his burden to anotherÆs shoulders.
"First, you will want to know what has happened. I will tell you," he began.
"The revolt is led by General Glassell. He was in charge of my army. He turned
traitor. Why, I do not know. I do know that in the weeks just preceding the
revolt, he enlisted many strangers in the army. They were of a type I did not
think we would need, evil-faced, villainous-appearing. But he said they were
fighters."
"They were renegade soldiers of fortune, men who came here solely to take part
in this revolt," Doc said quietly.
Avispa nodded. "So I discovered. When the attack came, many of my men were
loyal. But they were caught unprepared. A majority were killed. Only a few
reached me here at the palace. They have done their best. They have repelled
attack after attack. But it is only a question of time. They cannot hold out
much longer."
"And Johnny and Renny?"
A shadow of pain flickered over the otherÆs face. "They are prisoners. They are
to be executed," he said.

DOC SAVAGEÆS expression did not change. Only the gold flecks in his eyes
appeared to move.
"Where are they held?" he clipped.
"In the dungeon," Avispa said apologetically. "I should have destroyed that
dungeon. I did not. I kept it as a curiosity. It was built years ago by another
ruler. In it are all the medieval instruments of torture ever devised. And it is
impenetrable."
A shudder shook the white-haired presidentÆs frame.
"Johnny and Renny are there. They are fifty feet underground in a fortress that
has walls twenty feet thick. The only entrance is a narrow passageway in stone.
It is heavily guarded."
Guns sounded with renewed vigor outside the palace walls. A scream of pain came
from an unlucky defender. Doc SavageÆs face hardened. His life had been
dedicated to fighting injustice and evil-doers. The screaming of dying men and
the snarl of guns outside symbolized the worst type of injustice.
Directed by a man with an insatiable lust for power, revolt had been brought
about in a peaceful country. Hundreds of innocent lives had been lost. And the
trail of blood was not yet ended.
"The situation is bad," Avispa said doubtfully.
"Johnny and Renny are in peril," Doc said quietly. "They are prisoners because
they obeyed my orders. My first task is to save them, if possible."
Avispa agreed slowly. Age seemed creeping back over him.
"Where does Glassell live, or have his offices?"
"They are combined." The white-haired president gave brief directions.
"Perhaps if you could talk to him, you could persuade him to see the evil he has
brought," he concluded wearily. "He did not appear bad to me. I thought onceù"
he gestured resignedly.
"I will be back," Doc interrupted swiftly. "Do not give up."
As swiftly as he had entered, the bronze man was gone. He melted into the shadow
of the palace wall.
A machine-gunner thought he saw a dark shape move against that wall. He turned
his gun that way, squeezed the trigger.
Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-!
Lead tore fragments of stone and dust from the wall. The dark shape had
vanished.
The machine-gunner swore half-heartedly. He was beginning to be accustomed to
ghosts. The captain who was going to lead the way to a liquor supply must have
been one. Nothing else could have disappeared so fast.
A breath of air fanned the gunnerÆs check suddenly. He spun, twisting his gun
with him. Then he laughed nervously.
A tall figure appeared to have materialized beside him, coming out of the very
ground. The figure was swaying. One hand passed a bottle to the gunner.
"Brought this to you," the big figure gulped.
The gunner grabbed it gratefully. It wasnÆt until much later that he recalled
that his benefactor must have come from the palace wall. By that time the bottle
in his hand was half empty. He no longer cared.

GUARDS almost encircled the home of General Glassell. They, too, were thirsty.
But liquor would not have tempted them, even if they could have had it.
The Leader was in the office with Glassell. The very thought of that was enough
to bring chills to otherwise hardened spines. They had heard of The Leader. They
had heard more of the hand of death. So they walked their posts alertly, quick
to challenge any who came too close.
But walking in a military manner does not mean looking up at the sky. Thus the
guards did not see the dim shadow that glided noiselessly through the foliage of
trees, high over their heads.
Leaves rattle and tree limbs bend easily under heavy weight. But so carefully
did the shadow among them move that there was not a sound. Yet it moved fast.
Only seconds elapsed until it had passed the line of guards, reached the
security of darkness on the other side.
Then a big figure dropped to the ground as lightly as a cat. It drifted across
the yard, blending with shadows behind stunted trees and bushes.
Before a window, the figure halted. The shades were drawn, but there was light
behind those shades. Voices came clearly.
"I personally do not take pleasure in watching torture, but if that is your
wish, Glassell, you have my permission," came cold, flat tones.
Breath was drawn in gustily. Lips smacked, as if Glassell were anticipating a
pleasurable experience. "It has been long since I have enjoyed such a sight,"
the general said. His Spanish had become blurred. It was guttural and harsh.
"This Renny is a big fellow, is he not?" the cold, lifeless voice asked.
"Big enough to stand plenty before he dies," Glassell gloated. "In that I shall
take extreme delight. The other"ùhis tone expressed supreme disgustù "this
Johnny, as he is called, is a half-starved appearing fellow. He probably will
not last long, although we have ways of keeping life existing, even when the
poor pigs want to die."
The huge figure outside the window stiffened.
There was sound of a chair being drawn back. "First I shall eat," Glassell said.
"Then I shall go. When I return, two more of Doc SavageÆs aids will be dead."
A shadow appeared to drift up one side of the house. It moved lightly, fingers
finding the slightest projection. Then a window swung up. The shadow disappeared
inside.
Glassell ate heartily. His close-set eyes were half shut. Already he was
planning the exquisite torture he would use. There was the rack now; but that
was not so good, it had been used too often. Perhaps it would be better to start
by filling the bodies of his victims with sharp toothpick-sized pieces of wood
imbedded not too deeply in their bodies. By burning those pieces of wood, every
nerve would suffer agony, but the torture would not kill. After thatù"
Still smiling, he rose from the table and left the house. Guards snapped to
attention as the general walked from the building and headed toward the dungeon.

THE soldiers who guarded the dungeon torture chamber were brutal. It took men of
instinctive brutality to serve in those posts. Right now they were filled with a
sense of well-being. There were two captives below who should furnish lots of
amusement.
A bottle had been passed around earlier. Now several were smoking cigarettes.
But they were alert. They could afford to take no chances on those prisoners
escaping.
A sentinel whistled softly. The men leaped up, stepped on their cigarettes.
Ugly, loutish figures drew to attention.
The swaggering form of General Glassell came into view. The general walked
jauntily. His air bespoke a man well pleased with himself.
"The soul of Doc Savage is no doubt lonesome," he purred. "We will send it
company."
He laughed harshly at his own joke as he passed the first guard.
"Step lively!" he rapped. "I wish to see the dogs immediately. The dayÆs work is
incomplete."
Four of the guards stepped forward. Here was a leader to their liking. He was
ruthless, vain and brutal.
Moving at a rapid pace, the guards led the way down through long stone
corridors. Deeper and deeper they went into the ground. The air was dampish and
foul.
As they reached a heavy door, three of the guards stood back. They lifted
bayoneted rifles.
"These are desperate men," said the turnkey. He twisted a huge key in the lock.
The door swung open.
Johnny and Renny stared out calmly. They looked at the big figure of the
general.
"A one-way trip?" Renny asked pleasantly.
"And not a joyful one," the turnkey sneered.
"Bring them out!" the general rapped.
The turnkey laughed. Johnny and Renny moved out slowly. The guards backed up,
the points of their bayonets touching the stomachs of DocÆs aids.
Safe behind them, the turnkey smashed Renny hard in the neck, spat at him. He
kicked Johnny in the shins.
"Travel," he rasped. "If youÆre nice, weÆll shoot you after using the
thumbscrews. Otherwise, we may show you some of our other playthings."
"Guard them carefully!" the general barked. "Take them up above. WeÆll see about
the torture then."
"A pleasant executioner," Johnny commented.
"I believe I prefer dying to his company anyway," Renny agreed.
"Silence, dogs!" The turnkey kicked out viciously. Renny bit his lip, his huge
hands working as if they already felt a throat in their grip.
The general stood to one side, smiling slightly as the procession passed him.

THERE was a sudden commotion above them. The sound was that of running feet. The
guards halted, startled.
"Get going! What are you waiting for?" barked the general. His lips lifted in a
savage snarl.
The guards quickened their pace. Sharp points of the bayonets boosted Johnny and
Renny along.
"Holy cow," Renny exploded, "we canÆt even walk; weÆve got to run to the closest
exitùand the kind of exit that probably will be our last one!"
The sound of running feet was nearer now. Two more guards tore around the end of
the corridor, rushed toward those with Renny and Johnny.
They looked as if they had been seeing ghosts. Their faces were pale. They
swallowed hard as they tried to speak.
Then another figure came around the bend in the corridor. Breaths came in
sharply. Then there was silence. A deep, ghastly silence.
That second figure also was General Glassell! There were two General Glassells!
One stood near the prisoners. The other stood almost before them. The two looked
exactly alike. They were dressed exactly alike.
It was almost as if one of them was standing before a mirror. Or as if the
soldiers were seeing double.
"Arrest that man! HeÆs an impostor!" howled the second General Glassell.

Chapter XII. THE TORTURE ROOM
THE soldiers stood rooted. Eyes were bulging, hands were fingering guns
nervously. The wrong word would have filled that corridor with a deadly hail of
lead. Nerves keyed, the men were ready to shoot at anything or anybody.
The two General Glassells were glowering at each other. The face of each grew
red. Their mannerisms were the same, the very lift of their lips was identical.
"You heard me! Arrest that man!" The roar came not from one man, but from two.
Guns came up in the hands of the soldiers. And about half covered the second
General Glassell. The others covered the one who had arrived first.
Johnny and Renny stood fast. They were barely breathing, but their eyes were
sparkling. They alone of all those in the corridor knew what had happened, knew
that one of the two men wearing a generalÆs uniform was really Doc Savage!
But even they did not know which one!
The bronze man had often fooled them by his skillful use of make-up. This time,
he had excelled himself. So closely did the two men resemble each other, that
none could tell which was real and which was counterfeit.
More guards and soldiers poured into the corridor. And that broke the spell. For
in the lead was a captain of the guards, carrying a submachine gun.
The captainÆs wits were quick. He took in the situation with one quick glance.
"Both of you up, with your hands!" he bellowed.
"But IÆm General Glassell!" shouted the second general to appear.
"Obey my orders! Arrest that man!" countered the first.
"YouÆll both be corpses if you donÆt do as I say!" snapped the captain. "One of
you is lying. IÆll find out which. Up with your paws!"
Slowly, two pairs of hands went up. The guards moved closer, encircling both of
the men dressed as generals. Bayonet points went out, jabbed a trifle harder
than was necessary. It is seldom that buck privates get a chance at generals.
"I cannot understand this," the first General Glassell snarled. His Spanish was
guttural and harsh. "I come here to take these prisoners to the torture room.
Then this fake general appears. I do not understand why you do not arrest him.
He must be a spy."
"Spy!" The second general fairly shouted the words. "Spy! Me, the general in
command of all HidalgoÆs troops? This man looks like me outwardly; he talks like
I do. But he is not me. I can prove it!"
A sharp gasp came from Johnny. RennyÆs huge figure shifted uneasily.
"Then prove it!" bellowed the captain.
The second General Glassell pawed at his tunic, he tore his shirt open.
"You have all fought with me!" he screamed. "Look!"
With one quick motion, he bared his chest. A long, vivid scar ran from the
center of that chest almost to the waistline.
"See if the impostor has such a scar!" Glassell shrilled.
"That will not be necessary," came the calm tones of Doc Savage. "I congratulate
you. You have won, General Glassell."

RENNY moaned in disappointment. Johnny shook his head sadly.
The real General Glassell was jumping up and down in anger. He surged close to
the man who looked like him, took one incredulous look into the otherÆs eyes.
Then anger faded; fear and something like awe crept into his face.
"Doc Savage!" he breathed. "Butùbut you are dead!"
The guards stepped back when they heard GlassellÆs words. One who had imbibed
too heavily turned a pale, sickly color.
"A spirit!" he moaned.
With a visible effort, General Glassell regained control. The red rim of rage
crept into his eyes.
"Not a spirit yet!" he blasted. "This bronze man is hard to kill. But he is in
my hands now. And this time he will die. I myself shall watch him die. Shall see
him die by inches."
All attention was centered on Doc Savage. For just a moment no eyes were on
Renny. The big engineer went into action.
The bellow of rage he gave would have done credit to a bull-apeùor to Monk. His
huge arms swept out, knocked over two guards as if they had been tenpins.
Then his huge monstrosities of fists knotted. He really went to town! Arms
working like pistons, Renny slugged with the grim efficiency of a battering ram.
Fists that could break the panels of a stout door, snapped jaw bones just as
easily. Howls of pain and rage resounded through the corridor.
Johnny, also, had started to go into action. He had been stopped almost before
he started. One guard was standing behind him. That guard brought the butt of
his gun down on the geologistÆs head with deadly force.
General Glassell paid no attention to Renny. He didnÆt even turn his head when
Johnny went down. He held a .45 automatic in one fist, and the muzzle of that
automatic was aimed directly at Doc SavageÆs head.
"Call your man off, or IÆll order my captain to sweep this hall with his
submachine gun!" he rapped.
The threat was no idle one. The guard captain had stepped back as the fight had
started. An amused grin was on his hard features. He held the submachine gun
ready for instant action.
Doc could have fought. He undoubtedly could have disarmed Glassell. With
GlassellÆs gun, he could have killed many. But the odds were too heavy against
them.
Alone, Doc would have taken the chance. He could not take a chance now without
sealing the fate of Johnny, and Renny. And thought of his men always came first.
"Hold it, Renny," he said calmly.
The huge engineerÆs arms dropped to his sides instantly. A surprised look
crossed his puritanical features, but he asked no questions. If Doc said stop,
then stop it was.
A moment more, and he was pinned in by bayonets. Further struggle was useless.
"To the torture room," Glassell said. And his voice had hoarsened, had become
thick and gloating.
The general was well pleased with himself. He had just recovered from a shock
that had badly disturbed him. For, finishing his dinner, Glassell had left his
room, to meet what, at first, he had thought was a ghost. That had been the last
thing he had remembered. A bronze fist had rendered him unconscious.
But lady luck had been with Glassell. A guard had, by chance, heard the thud of
the generalÆs body falling to the floor. Investigating, he had almost fallen
across the unconscious man. A few minutes had been necessary to revive him. Doc
Savage hadnÆt pulled his punch. Cold water had brought the general to.
There was a gleam in GlassellÆs eyes as he marched with the prisoners toward the
torture room. There was a smile on his faceùa smile that spoke death for the
bronze man and his aids.

JOHNNY swayed dizzily as he was led into the torture room. His head still ached
from the terrific blow he had received. But he forgot that blow, forgot the
pain, as he saw the implements for inflicting pain which were stored in the
dimly lighted, stone-walled room.
As an archaeologist, Johnny had often studied instruments of torture. He knew
the history of most of them, had seen many extensive collections.
But he had never seen a more complete collection than had been assembled here.
Every fiendish device perfected during the Spanish Inquisition was there, as
well as many used by pirates and savages.
The rack appeared almost gentle compared to the other instruments designed to
inflict pain for hours without killing. There was an ironlike cage in the shape
of a man.
A victim would be placed there, and the door closed. The inside of that door was
of solid iron spikes. Whenever the victim grew tired and slumped, those spikes
drove into his body and forced him erect.
Hours of mental and physical torture would pass before the poor wretch would
finally fall forward, impale himself on those spikes and be unable to rise
again. He would die a slow, horrible death.
Then there was the platform to which a victim would be trussed by his thumbs,
with a noose slack about his neck. Blocks of wood were placed under the feet and
the arms pulled up high over the head.
Then those blocks of wood were removed, one at a time, until the victim hung by
his thumbs, pulling himself up, until he could stand no more and dropped down to
strangle.
Iron pinchers were there. Spots were on those pinchers and the spots were not
from rust. Toenails and finger nails were extracted with those gentle
instruments, while other devices cut away the eyelids.
But all these were given only a passing glance by Renny. His attention centered
on a huge machine in the middle of the room. His eyes grew wide, and he gave a
strangled cry as he saw that machine. For Doc Savage was being led toward it!
The bronze man appeared perfectly calm. Rusty handcuffs had been placed on his
wrists, with those wrists behind him. Guards were all about him. And at his side
was General Glassell.
"I will explain this little pet of mine to you," Glassell jeered. "I am sure you
will enjoy it. You see, we attach cords to each of your arms and legs. We pull
you into the air, spread-eagled.
"You are hoisted high, at first. Under you, you see, is this sharp sword. It
will be aimed directly at your belly. You will be lowered slowly, oh so slowly.
When that sword pricks your stomach, you will draw yourself up. You are a strong
man. That is what will make this amusing.
"For long minutes, perhaps, you will hold yourself up; then you will sink down.
The sword will cut you; it may drive just a little way into your belly. You will
lift again, and again you will drop, until finally that sword will start cutting
into you, half an inch at a time until at lastù"
"Shall we start now?" Doc asked politely.
Renny half sobbed. Doc had been in many tough places. But none, the big engineer
thought, had ever been as tough as this. And he was helpless. Johnny was
helpless. They had to stand by and watchù
Blam!
There was a sudden explosion, it came near the door to the torture chamber.
Tense nerves jumped. Guards spun. Their guns roared even before they could look.
Then blank looks of astonishment crossed their faces.
No one was there!
"Fools! Must we wait all night?"
Half abashed, but still wondering, the guards turned back to the scene in the
center of the room. Their eyes grew wider still.
The general was swinging a gun in his hand. With his other arm, he was
supporting his prisoner. A mark on the jaw showed where that gun had collided
hard.

THE guard captain leaped forward. Two other men joined him. Quickly they took
the rusty handcuffs from the unconscious manÆs wrists. As swiftly, they attached
strong cords to ankles and arms. The limp figure was swung up in the air, to
hang spread-eagled, directly above the sharp-pointed sword beneath.
Johnny kept back a cry with difficulty. He had hoped until the last that the
bronze man would find some way to escape. Now it could not be done. Knocked
unconscious by that blow to the jaw with the butt of the heavy .45, he would
recover to find slow, certain death awaiting him.
An evil, coarse chuckle came from the general. Features contorted into a hideous
grimace, he whirled on Renny and Johnny, studied them for a moment. The, corners
of his mouth lifted higher.
"Are all the guards here?" he snapped at the captain.
"Si,
none wished to miss the treat," the man agreed.
"Give me two brave men who are not afraid to kill," the general ordered. "I have
thought of an added delight. The bronze man is more worried about his aids than
he is about himself. If he should revive and find them missing, his mental
torment will equal the pain the sword will inflict"
"Si, si,
it is so," the captain smirked.
"Then give me two men. I will take these two out and place them where they will
be safe. Do not lower that poor pig up there, even if he regains consciousness,
until I return."
"Si,
my general."
Johnny and Renny were bound swiftly. Then they were marched from the room. The
general followed them, an almost insane look on his features.
The heavy door of the torture room swung closed. Instantly the general seized
the heavy lock, threw it in place and locked it.
"Whatù" began one of the guards.

STRONG fingers flicked out. They caught the man just at the base of the brain,
pressed hidden nerves there. The man collapsed like a bag of flour.
The second guard brought his gun up. It seemed to him later that strength must
have deserted him. The gun was taken from him so fast he did not know what had
happened. A hand smacked down over his mouth, he was propelled toward the
entrance to the dungeon at a fast pace.
A moment more and they had reached the night air. The guard was flung back up
against a wall. He hit so hard he was stunned.
"Turn around," a quiet voice ordered Johnny and Renny. The bonds were torn from
their wrists.
"Now get back down there, save that general of yours before he is impaled on his
own pet device," rasped the terrible figure that stood over the guard.
The guard turned, ran as if demons were pursuing him.
"How did you do it?" gasped Johnny, using small words in his surprise.
"A nitro capsule. I had it in my mouth, shot it across the room. The handcuffs
were already loose. When the explosion came, I merely knocked out Glassell and
put the handcuffs on him."
"Holy cow," exclaimed Renny.
Doc did not seem to hear. He was already running through the darkness. His aids
took after him.
As they ran, they heard renewed firing at the palace, firing so fierce that it
could only mean disaster.

Chapter XIII. THE LEADER STRIKES
THE small band of palace defenders was hard-pressed. Not many soldiers remained.
Some had deserted in fear of the hand of death. Enemy bullets had accounted for
many more.
The attackers were staging a bitter assault. But it seemed concentrated at the
front gates. With a stone wall and concealed firing pits to aid them, the
defenders fought desperately on. Even though only comparatively few remained,
they held back the khaki-clad legions.
Near one side of the palace, a sentry paced restlessly. He strained his eyes,
trying to peer into the darkness. Upon his shoulders rested the task of
protecting President Avispa. And he preferred the sounds of the battle in front
to the ominous stillness of the shadows inside the palace grounds.
That sentry wasnÆt afraid of guns. But he had heard of the hand of death. And a
death that could creep out of the darkness and leave him with a horrible red
stain on his neck made sweat course down his backbone.
A weird, high-pitched scream pierced the night. It came even above the crack of
rifles and the typewriter-like chatter of machine guns. The sentry gripped his
gun tightly, found it wet and slippery with his own perspiration.
Victims of the hand of death were supposed to scream like that.
The sentry pivoted, retraced his steps along his post. And behind him, two
furtive figures crept from the shadows. They drifted noiselessly toward the side
of the palace.
"Wait for a moment. I will take care of the guard," came a low, flat voice.
One of the two furtive figures halted. The other slipped ahead, blended with the
blackness of the palace wall.
The sentry whirled, started back toward where that lurking assassin waited. He
saw a dim movement, and opened his mouth to yell. That yell never came.
A vagrant moonbeam flickered faintly on cold steel. A long knife plunged up to
the hilt in the sentryÆs heart.
The sentry was already dead, he could not scream. But with his last flash of
consciousness, he saw something that froze his brain, made him grateful for the
merciful plunge of the knife.
A hand darted out for his throat. It was a strange-appearing hand, a dreadful
monstrosity. That hand closed on soft flesh and squeezed hard. But the sentry
was saved that horror. Life had already departed.
The killer moved into the open briefly. His companion sped to his side. That
companion was breathing heavily, his own eyes were filled with fear. Teeth
chattered, despite the warmth of the night.
"Stop it, fool!" hissed a cold, flat voice.
With quick steps the killer reached a window, pushed it open. A moment more and
he was inside. His companion followed him. Light showed under the bottom of a
door leading to an adjoining room. The killer crept forward. His hand was light
as he turned the knob of the door, swung it open slowly.
Before them, but with his back turned, sat President Avispa. The white-haired
president of Hidalgo was studying maps.
A sudden draft of air swept the back of his neck. Avispa did not look up. One of
his hands moved toward a drawer at his side. Then that hand halted.
"Hands still, Avispa!" snapped a cold, quiet voice. "Turn around!"
Defiantly, the white-haired presidentÆs head snapped up, he whirled in his
chair. Then the defiance went out of him as if he were a punctured balloon.
He knew death had called for him.

THE lifeless, expressionless face of The Leader was before President Avispa.
Malevolent eyes swept scornfully over the white-haired man. A gun was steady in
one fist.
But it was on the frozen-faced oneÆs companion that AvispaÆs attention centered.
The other was removing a hat. He unwrapped a long muffler from about his neck.
Casually he slipped from a light topcoat. As he stood revealed in the light, he
also was white-haired, his features were lined.
"A double!" Avispa whispered.
The frozen-faced one nodded. "Exactly." His cold, flat voice was clipped. "Doc
Savage is not the only one who knows something of the art of make-up."
"W-what do you want?" AvispaÆs tones were choked.
"Your abdicationùin return for your life."
There was silence for a moment.
"If you will abdicate and name General Glassell your successor, you will be
spared," those cold, flat tones went on.
"And if I donÆt?"
The malevolent eyes of the frozen-faced one sparkled. "If you donÆt, you will
die! My companion here will take your place. He is made up to look just like
you. His act will be sufficiently good to fool your guards."
"But will it fool Doc Savage?" Avsipa asked quietly.
The lifeless face of The Leader split. Teeth showed as the red flare of rage
lighted his eyes. The hand that held the gun came up, the fingers showing white
on the butt.
"Doc Savage! Doc Savage is dead!" he half shrieked. He jumped up and down,
screaming curses of hate.
Avispa took a chance. His hand shot to the desk drawer, closed over the gun that
was there.
Blam!
Two shots sounded as one. AvispaÆs weapon dropped from his fist. There was a red
stain across his knuckles.
The make-up double leaped forward, he smashed the aged president squarely in the
face with a fist. Avispa was slammed back into his chair. Crimson streamed from
his nose.
"I could have killed you then." The LeaderÆs voice had become low and merciless.
"I am going to kill you, but that way would be too easy."
He moved forward, his lifeless face jutted out, his malevolent eyes staring. One
hand still held his gun. The other hand came from a pocket. It was a
peculiar-looking hand. It appeared like a club-foot at the end of an arm. Queer
fingers opened and closed.
Avispa opened his mouth, but no sound came. His vocal cords appeared paralyzed.
"Think, as you are en route to hell, of what will happen to your people," the
frozen-faced one gloated. "They are to become the accursed of the earth. Nothing
can save them! Your double, here, will rule for a time. Then Glassell. And nowù"
Those clutching fingers shot out. They gripped President Avispa firmly by the
throat.
A thin, high-pitched screamùa dreadful screamùbroke from the aged manÆs lips.
The bloody imprint of a hand appeared on his neck.

DOC SAVAGE was easing over the palace wall when he heard that scream. Close
behind him were Renny and Johnny. Both aids knew their only chance to get by the
guards was to follow him.
"Holy cow, what was that?" exclaimed the big engineer.
The bronze man did not answer. It had seemed he was moving fast before. But his
speed then was nothing as compared with the speed he now showed.
Before his aids could hit the ground, he had dropped over the wall, was racing
across the grounds toward the palace. He could see the faint light through the
shade at AvispaÆs office windows.
A peculiar trill sounded. At DocÆs feet was stretched the body of the sentry. He
stopped only for a second. That second was enough to show the sentry was dead.
The bronze man then vaulted through the open window, dived into AvispaÆs office.
The white-haired president was slumped back in his chair. The prints on his
throat were rapidly growing more red, His heart had stopped, he had quit
breathing.
Renny and Johnny pounded into the room.
"Well, IÆll be superamalgamated!" boomed Johnny.
Doc Savage crouched over the body of Carlos Avispa. His hands darted to the
secret pouch that was always strapped next to his skin. He took out a tiny
hypodermic syringe and a small vial. In an instant, he jabbed the hypodermic
into the reddening flesh and shot home the plunger.
"If the stain continues to deepen for more than a few seconds, there is no
hope," the bronze man clipped.
Even as he spoke, he was drawing another syringe from the pouch. This one was as
long as a darning needle. Renny gasped as Doc jerked loose AvispaÆs shirt. The
bronze man placed the needle directly over the white-haired presidentÆs heart.
Then he drove that needle in, deep through the flesh.
Silence gripped the room. But that silence was broken. A voice from somewhere
outside ripped through the night, rasping metallically from a powerful
amplifier.
"It grieves me to confess that I have been deceived," the voice cried. "I had
thought Juan Glassell was our enemy. He is not. And I had thought Doc Savage and
his aids were our friends. That, also, was a mistake."
Incredulous gasps came from Renny and Johnny. Even through an amplifier, an
intimate would have sworn the voice was that of Carlos Avispa.
Doc Savage did not look up. He was still working over the stricken body of the
white-haired president.
And slowly at first, the red hand of death was fading.
"Extraordinary phenomenon," Johnny muttered. The geologist felt AvispaÆs wrist.
A pulsebeat came faintly.
"The adrenaline injection in the heart I understood," Renny said. "But the
other?"
Doc did not appear to hear. AvispaÆs eyes opened. He stared about wildly for an
instant, incredible horror still mirrored in the pupils of his eyes.
"ùand so," the amplifier blared outside, "as president of Hidalgo, I call upon
you to surrender."

RENNYÆS mouth dropped open. He leaped toward the door that connected with other
parts of the palace. That door was locked.
An expression, almost of glee, crossed the big engineerÆs face. He squared off
before the door, drew back one huge fist. With an explosion like that of a minor
bomb, his fist struck. Two-inch oaken panels split.
The white-haired president stirred.
"Those words! That manù" he gasped.
Doc nodded. He bent over, lifted the white-haired president in his arms.
As Renny reached through and unlocked the door, Doc pushed past him, darted into
the hallway.
At the front of the palace, the impostor was smiling, but there was a worried
look in his eyes. He had spoken well and persuasively. But still a sullen murmur
came from the defenders.
"What I say is true," he repeated into the amplifier. "Doc Savage is really the
man behind this revolt. He wants all the gold from the Valley of the Vanished.
He intends to defraud Hidalgo. I was tricked. General Glassell argued with me,
but I did not believe him. Now, I know the truth. We must surrender. I will let
Glassell becomeù"
He broke off.
A bronze man, carrying the white-haired figure of President Avispa appeared at
his side. Avispa was weak, clung to DocÆs shoulder as he was set on his feet.
The impostorÆs face paled. He glanced desperately toward a dim and darkened
corner of the parade ground. He couldnÆt see the half-concealed figure there.
But he needed instructions.
Sounds of firing outside the palace walls had stopped. It was as if the
attackers expected an immediate surrender.
The crowd of palace soldiers stood in stunned silence. What they saw they could
not comprehend. The impostor was an actor. He thought he could bluff it out. He
screamed into the amplifier:
"Doc Savage is here with an impostor! Kill them before they do us harm!"
A roar came from the crowd. Figures crowded close to the stand.
The bronze man did not attempt to speak. He leaped to the side of the fake
Avispa, seized him by his hair. The wig came off.
The impostor then stood revealed as a black-haired, villainous fake. The mob
went wild.

THE impostor wasted no time. He leaped from the platform with a scream. Palace
guardsmen raced toward him.
Doc Savage stepped before the amplifier. "Do not kill him," he said quietly.
"His master is the one we want. Save this man until we can find out what he
knows."
Renny and Johnny leaped into the raging throng, tried to fight their way to its
center, where the impostor had gone down under a struggling mass.
Doc might as well have shouted down a well. Even over the amplifier, his voice
was drowned on the howls of mob rage.
And Renny and Johnny stood no chance at all. They could not even penetrate the
outer fringes of the struggling mass. The guardsmen had caught a traitor. They
knew how to deal with traitors.
The impostor was literally torn to pieces.
From a darkened corner, at the far edge of the palace grounds, a frozen-faced
man with malevolent eyes stared in amazement. A plan that couldnÆt go wrong, had
gone wrong! A man that should be dead, was not dead!
Silent as a wraith, The Leader vanished from the grounds. Grim orders were
issued.
"Wipe the palace from the face of the earth! Kill every man inside!"
Guns went into action. And for the first time, artillery was brought up. That
artillery would soon blast the palace into dust.

Chapter XIV. A VOICE FROM THE SKY
THERE was a small chemical laboratory in the presidential palace. Carlos Avispa
paced nervously up and down. Doc worked quietly at a small vat with several
chemicals. Renny and Johnny stared dolefully out a window.
A red glare showed dully against heavy, overhanging clouds. Part of Blanco
Grande was in flames. The reprisal of The Leader had not been long in coming.
"HeÆs a killer," Renny muttered. "We gotta get that guy, somehow."
"I thought, at first, Glassell was the arch-fiend," Avispa said. "But this is
beyond his planning. Even for all the gold in the Valley of the Vanished."
"The Mayan gold is only the start of this," DocÆs voice said quietly. "And
Glassell is merely a cog."
"Holy cow," Renny boomed, "what more than gold would he want?"
"This man is a person of unlimited ambition," Doc said cryptically, "Also one of
ability."
The shrill of the telephone in the laboratory interrupted him. Avispa answered.
His haggard face grew even grayer as he listened to an excited voice on the
other end of the wire. His lips grew into a tight line. When he hung up, he
turned to Doc.
"It was a spy I have in their camp. I am afraid you must go, Doc Savage. I know
your sworn pledge to the Mayans. Five thousand troops have left for the Valley
of the Vanished."
He paused, seemed about to speak again, then changed his mind. Doc looked at him
for a moment.
"That is not all the message you received," he said gently. "Tell me the rest of
it."
Avispa hesitated.
"Another large group of troops has been left behind. Even now, they are bringing
up artillery to shell the palace. When we are wiped out, Blanco Grande is to be
burned."
"Astounding retributory determination," Johnny grumbled. "We should do
something."
"I can do nothing but urge you to leave," Avispa said sadly. "My place is here.
I must die with Blanco Grande, but you should do your best for the Mayans."
Doc walked to one corner of the room. Concealed in a wall, was a small but
powerful radio transmitter. The bronze man flicked on the switch. He twirled the
dials, waiting briefly for the tubes to heat.
"Monk speaking," a voice bawled. It was startlingly clear as it boomed from a
tiny loud-speaker.
"A large enemy force is on the way to the Valley of the Vanished," DocÆs voice
clipped. "I will endeavor to be there with Renny and Johnny before they arrive.
But in the meantime, there is much to be done." He issued instructions in
concise, swift sentences.
"I gotcha, Doc," MonkÆs voice said. The radio clicked off.
The bronze man sped back to the chemical vat. He poured a peculiar-colored
liquid into several bottles. His flake gold eyes gleamed.
"Wait," he instructed briefly. Then he was gone.

THE rumble of heavy artillery, being towed through the streets, sounded
ominously as the bronze man left the palace grounds.
Khaki-clad rebels were jubilant. When that artillery was fired at point-blank
range, the battle would be over. Blanco Grande would be theirs.
A small, smartly clad captain strutted down the street. He had served in wars
all over the world. He had fought under a dozen flags. But none that afforded
him as much pleasure as now. Here was an opportunity for just the sort of wild
looting and killing that he liked.
Strolling easily, he went past a dark alleyway. Steel-strong fingers reached
out, caught him back of the neck. He floated into the alleyway.
The captain was no coward. But he felt fear then. He tried to struggle. He could
not seem to move a muscle. A low voice came to his ears, a vibrant, compelling
voice.
"Where is the gold?"
"W-what gold?" he stammered.
A finger pressed on nerves at the back of his head.
"The gold is under guard in the bank building. It was taken from the Mayans,"
the captain said in a dull, colorless voice.
Pressure on that nerve had done something to the captain. He found that he could
not think clearly enough to lie. He had to tell the truth.
A hand flicked across the back of his head. The captain dropped to the ground,
unconscious. A shadowy, dimly seen figure eased through the night. It headed
toward the bank where the stolen gold was hidden.
The bank was brightly lighted. There was a reason for that. The rebel soldiers
did not trust each other. They wanted to see anyone who went in or out. The
structure itself was a severe, stout affair of stone.
There were five men on guard. They were villainous-looking criminals and
well-armed. A voice came from around a corner. It was a feminine voice. It
screamed in pain.
"Help! Help! Let me go! Please!"
The five khaki-clad men grinned evilly. They strolled down to the corner, peered
around. There was nothing there. Grumbling, puzzled, and faintly worried, they
hurried back to their posts.
Inside, a bronze figure was active.
Pile after pile of gold was there. That gold had cost the lives of many brave
Mayans.
The bottles of chemicals came from the bronze manÆs pockets.
The guards were talking uneasily. The rumor had spread. Word had come that Doc
Savage was not dead. And the mysterious call for help when there had been no one
about, weighed on over-tensed nerves.
"IÆve heard that the bronze guy was an excellent ventriloquist; maybe he played
a trick on us," one muttered.
Fear-shadowed eyes glanced into the bank. A voice howled hoarsely. Something was
there.
Guns ready, the men darted to the door. That door was unlocked. It had been
locked ten minutes before.
Frantically they rushed in, darted toward the back of the building. Then they
halted, abashed. A dummy hung there. There was no sign of any living creature.
Tiptoeing, lips tight, the five guards crept out. Something happenedùsomething
puzzling. But, without words, they decided what they would do: They would say
nothing. To admit some one had entered the gold storeroom would be inviting the
hand of death.
At the outskirts of Blanco Grande, the tall figure of Doc Savage moved swiftly
to a small field. His plane was concealed there. The motor of that plane roared.
Outside the palace, artillerymen were swinging their guns into lines. Shells
were piled by the guns. In the distance sounded the drone of a planeÆs motor.
The artillerymen glanced up curiously, then pushed shells home. In a moment the
palace of Hidalgo would be no more.
"This is Doc Savage speaking," came a clear, vibrant voice. The voice came from
the sky.

"SOLDIERS of General Glassell, listen!" The clipped tones of the bronze man won
instant attention. Artillerymen halted their work, necks craning upward.
Everywhere in the capital city, noise ceased. It was as if all were listening to
that voice.
The plane loafed easily in the sky. A radio loud-speaker amplified the voice of
Doc Savage thousands of times. Each word he said came clearly.
"You were promised gold for your fighting," DocÆs voice went on. "For that gold,
you must murder innocent people. But how do you know, even after you have
committed your crimes, that you will receive the gold that is promised you?"
Jeering laughter rose from the khaki-clad men below.
"You have seen the gold, I know." It seemed almost as though Doc had heard those
jeers, and was answering them. "When the Mayans were slaughtered and the gold
they escorted brought here, that gold was exhibited. But were you given any of
it?"
The jeers died suddenly. That was so. The men had seen the gold, but none had
been paid with the precious metal. With closer attention, they listened to the
next words from the sky.
"Early to-night, more than half your force was dispatched to the Valley of the
Vanished. It is there that the real gold is. There is more of it there than
could be carried by all of you. There is enough there to make every man a king.
But again, how do you know you will receive your share?"
The khaki-clad men were silent. Hard faces bore wondering expressions.
"There is one way in which you might answer that question." DocÆs voice seemed
to rise slightly. His plane pivoted directly over the heart of the city.
"If those who led you are playing fairly with you, then what you think is gold
now stored under guard, is really gold. But suppose it is not? Suppose the gold
has been taken by your leaders, and only worthless metal remains?
"Then, in that case, you have been tricked. You have nothing. The men storming
the Valley of the Vanished may get gold, but how do you know if you will get
anything?
"I say to you thenùinvestigate. Find out if that is really gold that is stored
in the bank. If it is not, then go after those who are really on the way to a
fortune. Do not be fooled!"
A moment of silence followed those last words. Then there was a yell from a
thousand throats. Gold, not glory, was what these men fought for.
Artillery was forgotten. Machine guns were forgotten. Hundreds of yelling men
smashed through the streets toward the bank.

THE five men guarding the bank did not know whether to join the rush or to
fight. They lifted their guns, hesitantly.
That was a mistake.
They were cut down almost before they could move. Angered killers swarmed into
the building.
The sacks of gold were at the rear. In an instant, those sacks had been ripped
open.
Howls of disappointment and futile anger came from those who were close enough
to see.
When the golden loot had first been brought back by the raiders, it had been
shown to the soldiers. It had gleamed dully, as only gold can gleam.
What the khaki-clad men saw now did not gleam. There was no sign of gold. Only
bars and ingots of lead lay before them.
The word passed swiftly. The leaden bars were hurled furiously aside. Men rushed
from the building. In disordered streams, they poured down the street.
It was just as well they did not investigate too closely. One leaden bar struck
a marble wall with such force that the bar broke in two pieces.
Had the ends of those pieces been examined carefully they would have revealed
much. The outer side of the bars appeared to be lead. For as much as a quarter
of an inch from the surface, they also appeared lead.
But the centers were pure gold.
The chemical Doc had mixed, a combination chiefly of graphite had done its work
well. It had worked into the porous, precious metal, had seemingly worked
alchemy in reverse, changing gold into lead.
Actually, it had done nothing of the sort. But the angered, charging troops did
not know that.
They did not even recall DocÆs actual words, did not know that he had not lied
to them, but had merely tricked them. They believed the gold that was to have
been paid them had been stolen, that their only hope of getting gold was to join
the rush on the Valley of the Vanished.
Frantically, they streamed from Blanco Grande, following those who had left
hours before.
High above them, Doc looked on, a peculiar expression in his flake gold eyes.
He had saved President Avispa. He had saved Blanco Grande from destruction.
But at what a cost! Now, hundreds more of gold-hungry attackers were streaming
toward the Mayans he was sworn to protect.

HALF an hour later, Doc was in the air again. This time, he pointed the nose of
his plane toward the Valley of the Vanished. With him were Renny and Johnny.
They did not see the plane that left close after them. That plane carried
General Glassell and a frozen-faced one whose eyes could only glare with rage.
But the evil brain behind that frozen face was working. A preliminary skirmish
had been lost. But the main fight was still to come. And The Leader was
confident.
For he knew the cards were stacked against Doc Savage.

Chapter XV. SHOT DOWN
THE sun was high when Doc eased the motor of his plane and headed downward.
Below lay a scene such as few have ever viewed. It was a big valley, shaped
roughly like an egg. Most of the ground was sloping, far too steep upon which to
land a plane. But there was one small, smooth lake.
In the center of the valley towered a pyramid. The sides were absolutely smooth,
except for the center where steps had been carved. At the top, on a flat place,
stood a temple, with a flat stone roof, supported by square pillars.
The entire pyramid glowed with a yellow, metallic aurora. It had been
constructed of quartz literally filled with pure gold.
Doc had arrived at the Valley of the Vanished.
As the bronze man sat his plane down on the small lake, scores of figures raced
toward him. The air was filled with strange cries of welcome.
In the lead was a tall, solid man, with snowy-white hair. His skin was
golden-colored, he wore a broad girdle of red, with the ends forming an apron in
front and back.
Close behind him was a young woman, nearly as tall as he, whose beauty caused a
gasp from Renny and Johnny, even though they had seen her before.
"Greetings, King Chaac and Princess Monja," Doc said in perfect Mayan.
The lumbering figure of Monk and the tall, perfectly attired Ham, with Long Tom
at his heels were approaching at a more dignified pace.
"Boy, IÆm glad you got here!" Monk bellowed.
RennyÆs ordinarily tight-lipped face had relaxed in a huge grin. Johnny appeared
just as pleased as Mayans rushed to the sides of the plane and hoisted them out,
carrying them through the water on their shoulders.
King Chaac seemed almost speechless. He grasped DocÆs hands and held them
tightly in his own. His daughter had eyes only for the bronze man. She was
looking at him in a way that showed clearly that she loved him, even though she
knew that love was hopeless.
"It has been long, too long since you were here," Princess Monja said. Her voice
was low and trembled slightly with emotion.
"Son of my old friend, I am happy," King Chaac said.
Others crowded about, chatting happily. Renny and Johnny were seized by old
friends who talked as if they could never stop. Monk and Ham eased their way
closer, moving slowly through the throng. Long Tom stood back, his eyes
thoughtful.
No sign of the danger in which they all stood was marring the welcome to Doc.
Young men and women, dressed in clothing that showed expert weaving and dyeing,
some with fine wire-gold interwoven, were bubbling joyously.
A dozen were trying to talk to Doc at once. The bronze man was answering all as
swiftly as he could. His features were as emotionless as usual.
But Long Tom wondered just what memories this reception brought back to the
bronze man. King Chaac was still erect, but his hair was whiter, his shoulders
more bowed than when last he and Doc had met.
And Long Tom knew that Doc must be thinking of that first meeting, must be
recalling the sad events that had led up to it, even though he did not show that
fact.
For the gold in the Valley of the Vanished, the gold that had provided Doc
Savage with funds to fight wrong-doers and now was being sought by the worst
criminal of them all, had been a legacy to the bronze man from his father.
Clark Savage, Sr., had discovered this lost valley with its strange inhabitants,
many years before. He had secured possession of the land inclosing the valley,
and had made arrangements with King Chaac for Doc to have the gold when the
bronze man came and proved himself worthy.
Then Clark Savage, Sr., had been murdered.

LONG TOMÆS eyes darkened with pain as he thought of that, even though it was
long in the past. Enemies had killed the elder Savage, had tried to prevent Doc
from ever reaching or claiming his legacy.
Those enemies had been defeated. Doc had won out, but the loss of his father had
been a severe blow.
And now the Valley of the Vanished was threatened again. It was threatened by
modern, well-armed foes. Even Long Tom, with all his marvelous faith in the
ability of the bronze man, did not see how the present peril could be defeated.
The happy, chatting Mayans were faced with extermination by relentless,
merciless foes.
Still talking to King Chase, with Princess Monja clinging to one arm, the bronze
man was led toward the Mayan village.
"I am glad you have come in our time of danger," Chaac said with simple dignity.
"Our enemies are many. Our task will be a difficult one," said Doc Savage.
"But with you here, I know we shall be safe," the Mayan king responded.
"The preparations you asked us to make are completed," Long Tom said, drawing
nearer.
"Those bums are in for a surprise when they jump us," Monk put in.
"What I cannot understand is who could be behind this," said Ham. "You mentioned
a General Glassellù"
"He is only a tool," Doc Savage said.
"And a renegade Mayan," King Chaac said, bitterly.
"I thought so," the bronze man agreed gravely. "His skin and features showed me
he was of your race."
"He is a product of what you call civilization," Chaac continued, and his face
was hard. "Also, he is the son of Morning Breeze."
RennyÆs puritanical face lighted. "Morning Breeze! The one who tried to kill us
when we were here before?"
King Chaac nodded. "That is correct. And Glassell, as he calls himself, really
is Son of the Moon, the child of Morning Breeze. After Morning Breeze was
killed, Son of the Moon apparently reformed. He became very popular with our
younger people."
"He is no good," Princess Monja said unexpectedly. Her beautiful face twisted
scornfully. "He tried to make love to me!"
"Son of the Moon convinced a majority of my people that we were missing much
that civilization could give us," King Chaac explained. "He persuaded me he
should be sent to Blanco Grande. He said he would study, would bring back to us
things that would help us."
"He didnÆt," Monja said angrily. "Insteadù"
"Instead," Chaac continued, "he became a too apt pupil of civilization. We heard
disgraceful stories about him. But President Avispa liked him, made him head of
his army. Now he has betrayed that trust."
"And now he intends to kill his own people," Princess Monja said.
"Not if we can help it," growled Monk. The hairy chemistÆs gaze never left the
face of the girl.
"Hero saves life of girlÆs father, wins her hand," whispered Ham maliciously.
Monk blushed.

THE council of war was held in King ChaacÆs quarters. Doc sat at the head of the
table with the Mayan ruler. The others ranged themselves on either side.
"We have made a thorough study of the terrain," said Ham. His words were crisp,
concise.
"Now we have Brigadier General Theodore Marley Brooks speaking," Monk put in
slyly.
"With Major Thomas J. Roberts and Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, I
reconnoitered the situation," Ham went on smoothly. "It is bad."
"The entrance to this valley is a narrow one," objected Renny.
"True. It could be held against a large number of menùprovided we had sufficient
modern weapons," Ham replied. "But while we have only our mercy pistols and a
few other things, the foe is in possession of high-powered artillery."
"Did not your diligent preparations provide for such a contingency?" asked
Johnny.
Ham grinned. "We followed out DocÆs orders. That is the only reason we may hope
for success."
"I think the invaders are in for a surprise," Long Tom agreed. He smiled with
quiet pride.
King Chaac turned to Doc Savage. "What are your instructions for my people?" he
asked simply.
The bronze manÆs flake gold eyes swept swiftly over his aids. "We do not wish to
cause loss of life among your people," he said. "However, you have scouts out
now, I presume?"
Chaac nodded. "They are watching all possible routes of approach."
"Then there is little more they can do," the bronze man said. "But we should not
underestimate the foe who opposes us. He is clever. Above all, counsel your
young men to take no unnecessary chances."
"They are filled with anger at the brutal murder of their Friends," said Chaac.
"When the invaders appear, they will want vengeance. They may be difficult to
control."
"But they must be controlled," Doc Savage said quietly. "Against the modern
weapons of the soldiers of fortune who are marching here, they would stand no
chance."
"They have motorized battalions," Renny put in. "They have artillery, machine
guns and rifles. When they attackù"
He broke off. A tall Mayan had suddenly raced into the room. Perspiration was
pouring from his body. He spoke excitedly.
"They come! They come! An advance guard is even now entering the canyon only one
removed from this!"

KING CHAAC started to speak. Doc Savage already was on his feet. The others
leaped up.
"You remain here. I will see what is to be done," the bronze man clipped.
Without waiting for a reply, he vanished from the room. Johnny was close behind
him. Monk and Ham exchanged one quick glance, then poured from the room,
followed by Long Tom and Renny.
Doc was racing down the street of the village with long, quick strides. He did
not appear to be moving fast, but a Mayan runner who attempted to keep up with
him, found himself quickly outdistanced.
"HeÆs going for the plane!" Long Tom shouted. "WeÆve got to stay here, but at
least we can look!"
He turned the opposite way and sped toward a narrow, dangerous trail that led
upward, toward the head of the canyonùthe direction from which the invaders must
come.
Princess Monja appeared from a near-by building. Without a word, she joined the
group of running men.
"You go back!" Monk roared.
The girl shook her head. A strange look was on her face. "If Doc Savage goes
into danger, I want to see," she argued.
Ham chuckled as MonkÆs jaw dropped. "Thought she was worried about you, you
hairy ape, did you?" the dapper lawyer gibed.
Behind them, a planeÆs motor came to life with a sullen roar. As Renny glanced
over one shoulder, he saw the plane move swiftly across the small lake, then
take to the air.
The climb was steep, but DocÆs aids were all in good condition. They mounted
swiftly.
Princess Monja alone lagged slightly. Renny caught hold of one of her arms in a
huge fist. Monk glowered, and grabbed her on the other side.
The plane was now far above them, moving over the end of the canyon.
"Lucky Doc destroyed most of their air fleet, or weÆd be worse off than we are,"
Renny commented. "A few eggs from the air could sure make it tough."
Br-r-r-r-r-r!
The wicked snap of a machine gun came faintly to their ears.
Just as the group reached the top of the mountain, where they could look down
into the adjoining valley, a puff of smoke appeared in the sky near DocÆs plane.
"TheyÆve even brought antiaircraft guns along with them," Long Tom marveled.
It was impossible to see the men who were firing on Doc. They had taken shelter
among trees and rocks several miles away. But the sound of shooting came
clearly.
More and more puffs of smoke appeared near DocÆs plane. The bronze man was
swinging the ship around in lazy circles.
Princess MonjaÆs dainty fingers gripped hard into MonkÆs arm.
"They wonÆtùthey canÆtùheÆll be safe, wonÆt he?" she asked anxiously.
"Sure," Monk comforted. "Doc can take care of himself. He wonÆt take any
unnecessary chances. Whyù"
A moan came from Johnny. The lean archaeologist looked sick suddenly. An
exclamation of dismay came from Monk and Long Tom. HamÆs hands clenched tightly,
while Renny was banging one huge fist into an open palm as pain showed on his
tight-lipped face.
Smoke was billowing from DocÆs plane. Even as they watched, the plane faltered
in mid-air. Slowly, its nose dropped; then it was falling over and over. Going
down, downù

Chapter XVI. A NET CLOSES
"HEùheÆs lost!" sobbed Princess Monja.
"DonÆt be silly. Doc will be all right," said Monk, but his simian features were
worried.
"Ah-ah, Doc has extricated himself from much more precarious situations than
this," Johnny said hollowly. His glasses were bobbing up and down.
The plane was almost out of sight now, sinking behind a projecting corner of the
canyon. Smoke had increased until huge billows were rolling from the stricken
craft.
"DocÆs got something up his sleeve. DonÆt you worry!" boomed Renny. But the huge
engineerÆs mouth was compressed tightly, his features even more severe than
usual.
"IùIÆm glad we got the stuff rigged up in time," Long Tom said, desperately
trying to change the subject.
His yellow complexion even more unhealthy-appearing than before, the electrical
wizard glanced down the rim of the canyon where long, pipelike weapons had been
rigged. Those weapons pointed downward, so that they covered the approach to the
Valley of the Vanished.
A faint crash came to their ears. A cloud of dust rose far down in the canyon.
DocÆs plane had struck.
"LetÆs get back to the village," Monja pleaded brokenly. Tears were streaming
from her face.
Had Monja not been present, DocÆs aids probably would have delayed their
departure. As it was, they followed the weeping princess.
Thus, they did not see the creeping, stealthily moving figures who were wiggling
their way to where the pipelike weapons hung over the canyonÆs rim.
The safety of those in the Valley of the Vanished depended upon those weapons.
They were supposed to be guarded at all times. Only chance left them vulnerable.
The slinking figures were taking advantage of that chance.

DOCÆS plane crashed almost at the spot where the advance guard of the soldiers
of fortune had made their stand.
Khaki-clad figures, bayoneted guns ready, rushed forward as the ship came down.
At the last moment the plane seemed to right itself, but still it struck with
resounding force.
Smoke clouds rolled out on all sides. The soldiers plunged into the smoke and
vanished from view. Others followed them. Some were shouting hoarsely as they
charged.
Those shouts died suddenly. The smoke spread out in a thin cloud. Even those who
had hung back were enveloped in it.
A huge captain, face scarred from some ancient encounter with a sabre, halted
abruptly, a heavy automatic in one hand.
"Halt!" he roared. "Wait!"
The sound of his voice appeared to dwindle on the second word. A faint whiff of
the smoke had reached his nostrils. A surprised expression crossed his
battle-hardened features.
Slowly, he crumpled. His arms fell limply to his sides. His head landed on one
of those arms. His eyes closed as in sleep. Around him, others were dropping.
Those who had first darted toward the plane already were down.
Scarcely ten seconds after the plane had crashed not a soldier in the advance
guard was on his feet. The entire company was sprawled motionless, weapons still
in hand.
Slowly, the smoke cloud lifted. Fresh currents of air swept through the canyon,
rolling the mist away.
A soldier stirred, sat up to stare about stupidly. One by one others awakened.
Their faces were dull and stupid. They pressed their hands to their heads as if
unaware of what had happened.
The scarred-faced captain recovered more swiftly. Intelligence dawned in his
eyes. He leaped up, snarling viciously as he raced to the side of the plane.
Shock-absorbers on that plane had taken up most of the force of the crash
landing. The ship was virtually undamaged.
And it was empty!
"Where did he go?" the captain roared angrily.
The soldiers glanced about with dull eyes. One, a huge fellow in khaki, moved
over to the machine guns that had been trained on the plane, started to
dismantle them.
"Theyùthey ainÆt nobody here," a sergeant gasped. There was a note of awe in his
voice. "Would a ghost æaÆ been flying that plane?"
"Ghost, hell!" The captainÆs jaws worked furiously. "This is one of that Doc
SavageÆs tricks!" His eyes widened suddenly, and he whipped a hand to one
pocket. A relieved expression showed on his hard features as his fingers felt
papers there.
"Form your men and call the roll!" he shouted.
The sergeant wet his lips uncertainly, "Butùbut, captain," he objected, "there
had to be someone in that plane. There ainÆt now. Where did he go? And what
happened to us?"
"Form the company!" the captain roared, his face livid with anger. "Doc Savage
must have been flying that plane! IÆve always heard he was tricky. And that
couldnÆt have been smoke that rolled from the ship; it was gas. A kind of gas
that just put us to sleep."
The sergeant looked dazed for a moment, then snapped out commands. The huge
fellow who had been dismounting the guns rose with a sigh and ambled toward the
forming ranks. He stumbled as he neared the captain, threw out one hand to catch
himself.
"Excuse me, captain," he mumbled.
The captain snarled, one fist dropped to the .45 at his hip, but the big soldier
was already walking away. The sound of paper being crumpled came faintly.

THERE was uneasy murmuring in the ranks of the soldiers. Facing bullets was one
thing; facing an enemy who dropped from the sky, overpowered an entire company
and vanished, was something else. It smacked too much of the supernatural.
Corporals cursed bitterly as they swung their men into formation and checked off
names. Two or three stepped out of ranks to confer with the first sergeant.
"All present and accounted for, sir," the first sergeant reported. "And, if the
captain pleaseù" he hesitated.
"Well?" snapped the scarred-faced man.
"The men are upset by what has occurred," the sergeant said hesitantly. "They
are willing to take orders, but they want to remind you they are all in this
just as much as you are. They are afraid we may run into a trap in canyons such
as these, and respectfully ask your plans."
The scar flamed like a red gash on the captainÆs face. For a moment, he seemed
too inflamed to speak, and the first words that rolled from his lips singed even
the hardened hides of the men who faced him.
"We attack in just two hours!" he bellowed. His hands opened and closed on the
butt of his .45.
"We want to know what weÆre runninÆ into. Gold ainÆt no good to us if weÆre
dead!" a voice shouted from the rear rank. It was the big soldier who had
dismounted the machine guns who spoke.
Others yelled in assent.
"And if our company can be gassed, why couldnÆt all our army get it the same
way?" the big soldier went on.
"IÆll answer that question." There was a decisive ring in the captainÆs voice.
His face had hardened, but he spoke with assurance. "First, I want to see the
man who dares question me. Who is he? Bring him here."
Men in the ranks shifted uncertainly, then the big soldier was pushed to the
front. He shuffled forward between two other khaki-clad veterans until he stood
within a few feet of the captain.
"We knew of this gas. Preparations have been made to render it useless!" the
captain snapped. He darted a quick glance at the big soldier, then again faced
the company. "Doc Savage is clever, but The Leader is clever, also. He has known
in advance every move this Doc Savage has made, and checkmated it. A plan has
been devised to kill every Mayan without risk to ourselves. Why, right here in
my pocket isù"
The captainÆs hand touched his pocket. A blank look crossed his features. For a
moment, he was quite pale, standing as if stricken. His head turned slowly, his
eyes bored into the face of the big soldier before him.
Slowly, his hand went to his hip, pulled out his .45. The muzzle of the .45 came
up, pointed squarely at the head of the big soldier.
Flake gold eyes stared back calmly at the captain. The gold-flecked eyes of Doc
Savage.
"Damn you!" shouted the captain, and pulled the trigger.

AN entire company of men was watching the scene. None could have told exactly
what happened next. It came too fast.
A harmless click came from the .45 in the scarred-faced manÆs hand. In the same
instant, the two men beside Doc Savage turned somersaults in the air. Powerful
hands had snapped out, grabbed and hurled them as if they were weightless.
The body of one struck the captain. They crashed to the ground together.
In the same flash, the bronze man started running. As the company of soldiers
stood stupefied, they saw the big soldier fairly fade across the ground, start
up the side of the canyon.
The captain staggered to his feet.
"Fire! Get him!" he bellowed. "ThatÆs Doc Savage! A thousand in gold extra to
the man who kills him!"
Rifles came up. Bolts clicked. Hammers fell.
But no shots came!
A squad rushed to one of the half-dismantled machine guns, assembled it swiftly,
inserted a belt of bullets and swung the muzzle to cover Doc SavageÆs
fast-disappearing figure. The gun would not work.
"The firing pinÆs been knocked off my rifle!" one of the soldiers yelled. Others
took up the cry. Not a workable gun was left in the company. Doc Savage had
worked swiftly in the few minutes the men had been unconscious.
Now he was traveling swiftly back toward the Valley of the Vanished.
As he ran, sure-footed as a mountain goat up the steep canyon side and over
rocks, the bronze man examined the papers he had taken from the scarred-faced
captain.
The papers were covered with orders. They were concise, detailed military
orders. A map showed every canyon, every possible adit and exit to the Mayan
kingdom.
And they revealed that even now huge forces of armed men were marching to bottle
up both the upper and lower entrance to the huge canyon where the Mayans lived.
The attack was to be launched simultaneously from each end.
The orders read:
When the signal for the attack comes, move forward fearlessly. The canyon should
be taken without loss of a life.
A faint, trilling sound filled the air, the sound of Doc Savage. The final
notations on the orders read:
We understand what Doc Savage intends to do. He will be rendered harmless.
The bronze man redoubled his speed, stripping off the khaki coat he wore. The
original owner of that coat was trussed and gagged firmly. His bound form would
be found when the advance guard started ahead.
Doc Savage was following no trail. Sometimes it seemed as if he literally were
running on a thread, so narrow was the ledge of rock he traversed.
He mounted sharply, sped along the crest of the canyon. Two huge boulders loomed
before him. There was a narrow passageway between.
The bronze man was moving almost soundlessly, despite his speed. As he neared
the boulders, he traveled even faster. Like a high jumper, he leaped at one of
the huge rocks.
With fingers that gripped like steel, he hurled himself upward, reached the
summit.
On either side of the passageway, now below him, waited an armed man.

ONE of the soldiers thought he sensed the shadow of an eagle. He glanced up,
tried to cry out.
He had no chance. Doc Savage flashed downward. One arm whipped out. The man went
down without a sound. His companion turned, squeezed the trigger of his gun.
There was a streak of bronze as DocÆs fingers went forward, lightning fast. One
finger caught between the trigger and the trigger guard, preventing the ambusher
from firing.
The bronze manÆs right hand flicked hard against the otherÆs neck, struck the
paralyzing nerves there.
Scarcely slowing, never hesitating to look back, Doc raced on. Behind him were
two prone figures. Ahead were other boulders, but they were farther apart.
A shot rang out, close at hand. At the same instant, Doc Savage was whipped into
the air.
One moment there had been firm footing beneath him. The next, and the ground
seemed to rise swiftly.
A group of men rushed forward from all sides. At four corners, several men had
hold of ropes. They were holding up a huge fishing net, of the type used by
deep-sea fishers, and woven to withstand tremendous pressure. A thin layer of
dirt had concealed that net.
Doc was being held up in the air, as the onrushing men seized the edges of the
net, pulling it up, pinning him in the center.
The bronze man had nothing firm to get a grip on. The net beneath his feet gave
him no leverage. But his giant muscles erupted. Men yelled with sudden fear.
Enmeshed as he was in the huge net, Doc went into action. His fists cracked on
jaws. His skilled fingers brought quick oblivion to those who came within his
reach.
Without the net, he would have stood a chance of victory. But that net was a
handicap. Too big a handicap, combined with the number of attackers that now
launched themselves upon him.
Pistol butts rose and fell, showering blows unmercifully on DocÆs closely combed
bronze hair. The avalanche of attackers swarmed over him, pulling the net tight,
wrapping ropes about it.
Doc Savage resembled a mummy in a hempen cocoon as a broad-shouldered, powerful
man strolled on the scene. The fellow wore the uniform of a general.
"Well done, men," smirked General Glassell. "The famous Doc Savage who escapes
even torture rooms, is now harmless. Before we are through with him, he may
regret he ever made that escape."

Chapter XVII. A KNIFE FALLS
DOCÆS flake gold eyes moved briefly over Glassell, the son of Morning Breeze.
They remained longer on the man who followed the renegade Mayan.
The newcomer was dressed in the uniform of a field marshal. But his appearance
would not have been called commanding. Rather, it was fearsome. It affected even
the hardboiled soldiers of fortune. They cleared a path for him, with awe and
unbidden terror showing on their features.
The face of the field marshal showed nothing at all. It was lifeless. The nose,
cheeks, lips and chin were devoid of all expression, as are those of a corpse.
Only the eyes seemed alive. They were malevolent beyond description.
The Leader stood before Doc Savage!
The bronze manÆs gaze was steady. He appeared not to show the effects of the
beating that had brought crimson through his light bronze hair. His attitude was
that of a disinterested spectator surveying a freak.
The LeaderÆs features did not move. They remained leaden and set. But hate
sparkled deeper in his malevolent eyes.
"I am pleased to meet the so famous Doc Savage," he said in a flat, lifeless
voice. "One of us had to go. Naturally, it had to be you."
General Glassell shifted uneasily. "We shall kill him now?" he asked anxiously.
The cold, lifeless face turned toward him. The burly Mayan took a step backward
involuntarily. "IùI only thoughtù" he began.
A faint flicker of scorn came to The LeaderÆs malevolent eyes. "Certainly we
kill him, but in my own wayùand in my own time." He whirled toward the soldiers.
"Get blankets and more ropes."
The LeaderÆs eyes blazed as he turned back to the bronze man. "Have you no
curiosity?" he flared.
"Why should I be curious?" Doc SavageÆs voice was even and unruffled. "You
probably arrived here soon after I went to visit your advance guard. You saw
what I did there and laid a trap for me. The trap was well set."
The frozen-faced one bowed. "Thank you," he sneered.
Then his voice returned to its usual cold, lifeless tone. "We did just that. The
first two men you encountered were mere decoys. They served their purpose. But I
didnÆt mean that. I meant, werenÆt you curious as to what my plans are, what I
mean to do?"
"No." The bronze manÆs face did not change. "I am not curious. I know."
Lifeless lips drew back to show gleaming teeth. Eyes became thin slits. "And you
shall die with that knowledge. You will not pass it on."
The Leader spun swiftly to the soldiers with the blankets and ropes. "Do as you
were instructed!"
The soldiers moved forward. Even with Doc Savage trussed so that movement was
impossible, they were cautious. A grin spread over GlassellÆs features. He
seemed to anticipate some special amusement.
"You once caused the downfall of my father," he jeered. "I hope the gods permit
him to watch his son aid in revenging that downfall."
Doc made no reply. Soldiers were wrapping blankets about his already trussed
figure. More ropes went about the blankets. Only his head was left free.
Then a rope cradle was fashioned. His helpless form was tossed into the cradle.
A strong hempen strand was placed over an outjutting rock, and fastened to the
cleverly fashioned support.
"Now!" rasped The Leader.
Three soldiers lifted DocÆs bound form. With sure-footed steps, they walked to
the edge of the cliff. A corporal barked a sharp order.
Without hesitation, the three soldiers threw Doc over the side. A sheer
thousand-foot fall lay below!

THE rope snapped taut. DocÆs body jerked viciously, struck the side of the
canyon wall and bounded out again. Above him, the single rope that kept him from
falling to destruction was stretched tight as a violin string.
The frozen-faced one peered over the edge. A sharp knife was in his hand.
"Anticipation is always half the enjoyment," he advised in that cold, lifeless
voice. "You cannot see me. I can see you. Sooner or later, death will strike.
Hang there, helpless. Meditate on the rocks that wait for your body far below.
When you least expect it , this knife will do its work. You will die."
A battle-hardened corporal shivered slightly. It was ghastly, he reflected, to
hang there, never knowing when you were to fall, with a horrifying, mangling
death below youùone that would leave your body a smashed, pulpy mass.
And Doc Savage had been a great man. But, of course, The Leader was greater.
General Glassell was trying to express somewhat the same sentiments.
"You have genius," he said flatteringly. "No one but you could have defeated the
bronze man. He even escaped me."
The LeaderÆs lifeless face did not change, but his eyes showed pleasure. "I am a
genius," he agreed.
"And is not now a good time to tell me what is to happen, now that the bronze
man is through and victory within our grasp?" Glassell asked cunningly.
The frozen-faced one glanced at a wrist watch. "Ten minutes before we attack,"
he said coldly. "Where are the reports from your Mayan spies that you promised
we would have?"
General Glassell squirmed as if suddenly stricken with a chill. "They will come,
they will come in time," he said hastily. "None could fail you." He drew a deep
breath. "But is it not time that I knew the plan?"
The Leader hesitated. Then his eyes glowed fanatically.
"Perhaps I should tell you a little," he conceded. "You called me a genius. And
that is correct. For none but a genius could have devised this plan. For it is
simple. Simple and yet so complex that none but me could have thought or carried
it out."
The wild light had left his eyes for a moment. Now they blazed with the lust for
power that makes and wrecks kingdoms.
"Gold is the answer! Gold and gold alone!"
"Butùbut, I know," stammered Glassell. "But you are a wealthy man. You have far
more of a fortune than you could ever use, or ever spend. I donÆt understand."

THE LEADER gazed at him scornfully. "Of course you donÆt. And certainly I have
moneyùmuch money. But money isnÆt always gold. And it is gold I want. Gold to
bring me power, power to rule the world.
"I have men in every nation of the world. They are trained men, trained
agitators." The lifeless-faced man spoke as if to himself. "They have stirred up
disorder. They can stir up much more. My money and their skill have done that.
"Some of them are leaders in their own fashion. They can cause revolts that
might upset one or two nations where the people are none too well pleased with
their present governments. But what is that?"
GlassellÆs eyes were large, his mouth half open.
"Nothing!" The frozen-faced oneÆs lips came together tightly. "Money alone will
not buy enough men to rule the world. Even gold as a purchasing power will not
do that. You must strike in another way. And that can be done with gold."
"But I do not see!" Glassell objected blankly.
"Of course, you do not see. No one has, except me. That is where genius comes
in. That is where a simple plan that suddenly becomes complex, baffles the
average mind. But not mine."
"Doc Savage said he knew," Glassell put in suddenly.
For a moment, faint admiration appeared in the malevolent eyes of The Leader.
"Perhaps he does," he admitted. "But he is an extraordinary man. The knowledge,
however, will do him no good. I will seize the gold in the Valley of the
Vanished. I will use it as no one else has thought of using it."
He paused dramatically. "And IùI shall become the dictator of the world!"
GlassellÆs breath was coming fast. His features bore a strange look.
"And me. IÆll run Hidalgo!" he breathed.
The words seemed to snap The Leader back to reality. His eyes swung about
swiftly.
"Yes, you shall rule Hidalgo," he agreed, but there was a faint, underlying
sarcasm in his words. "I shall rule you."
The Leader tested the edge of his knife on the ball of a thumb. A thin, crimson
line showed. He nodded, walked toward the rope that alone held Doc SavageÆs
helpless body suspended.
The knife blade pulled across the rope gently. A thread snapped up. General
Glassell looked on, hypnotized. Conversation between the soldiers stopped. They
stood frozen.
Again the knife caressed the taut rope. Another fragment of hemp unwound like a
steel spring.
Glassell moistened lips that suddenly had become dry and parched. His eyes were
burning feverishly. His own hand made unconscious, sweeping moves, as if it were
he who wielded the knife.
The frozen-faced one lifted the knife high, tensed for a swift, sweeping blow
that would cut entirely through the rope. Then he halted, his head came up
quickly.
In the almost absolute silence, came the faint sound of running feet.
"The spies," Glassell said, his voice coarse and choking.

A TRAVESTY of a smile, a mere lifting of the corners of the mouth, unexpectedly
marked The LeaderÆs face.
"Savage has been where he could hear all we have said so far. He should live
until he can hear this. Death will then be even more unbearable," his flat tones
came.
Two men rounded a turn in the mountain wall, came racing toward the group of
soldiers.
Glassell chuckled. "I told you theyÆd get here in time," he reminded.
The newcomers were not dressed in the khaki of GlassellÆs troops. They were
dressed as Mayans dressed, their finger nails painted a brilliant red. Once that
had been a sign of fighting men. Now it meant only those who were outcasts.
"We come, Son of the Moon," they said in Mayan.
Shifty-eyed, they stood in front of the renegade who once had won the respect of
King Chaac in the Valley of the Vanished. These two, also, had been trusted.
Friends of GlassellÆs father, they had appeared to reform. But when Glassell
called, they had answered. They had turned traitors.
"You did your work?" Glassell asked harshly.
"Speak Spanish, French, English or anything else, but not that gibberish," the
frozen-faced one ordered.
GlassellÆs eyes narrowed slightly, but he interpreted without hesitation.
"They say the task you sent them on has been completed," he reported.
"The fangs of Doc SavageÆs men have been drawn?"
"Si,
completely. They found the big chambers of gas, with special projectors aiming
in our direction, just as you had said they would. Using masks you provided,
they succeeded in freeing that gas."
"And it must have been a good gas," the frozen-faced one said reflectively,
"judging from how it tumbled over the advance guard when Savage used it from his
plane. I am glad our radio experts heard his orders. That gas, released at the
proper time, might have left our entire army helpless."
"But not now." Glassell was jubilant. "They think they are armed to receive us.
They are not. They are without a weapon. They have nothing to fight with."
"Right." The Leader turned, looked over the edge of the canyon, down to where
Doc Savage hung swaying on the end of the rope. The bronze man was trussed so
thoroughly only his head was in view. He glanced up, his flake gold eyes
emotionless as they saw the lifeless face of The Leader.
The knife made a quick circuit in the air. Sunlight glanced off its shiny
surface as it cut cleanly through the rope.
Belowùa thousand feet belowùsharp-pointed rocks seemed to leap upward to receive
DocÆs body as his cocoon-bound figure hurtled downward.
Somewhere in the distance a bugle sounded.

Chapter XVIII. THE ATTACK
"I DONÆT like it." Monk was frankly worried. Perspiration showed on his apelike
features. He paced back and forth restlessly.
"Doc will win out somehow." Ham tried to speak with assurance, but he somehow
failed.
Long Tom held a pair of field glasses to his eyes and peered down the canyon.
"If we only hadnÆt gone down with Princess Monja, we might have been able to see
something that would have given us a clue as to what happened," he worried.
"Female perversity predominates even antediluvian craniums," Johnny contributed,
with a bitter look at Monk.
"You didnÆt have to go down with us just because I was taking Monja!" Monk
flared. Red crept over his face.
"Quit speaking of girls." RennyÆs puritanical features became even more severe.
"You said, I believe, that you have something rigged up that Doc suggested might
halt the army that is to attack us. Perhaps we had better inspect that apparatus
and see that it is in working order."
"Gladly." Ham brightened. He swung his sword cane back and forth. "Anything to
be doing something, and anything to keep from having to look at the lovesick
face of this ape."
Monk growled something unintelligible, but even he seemed glad of something to
do.
With Long Tom leading the way, the five moved along the lip of the canyon to
where the pipes extended over the edge.
Johnny and Renny examined them with frank interest.
"It was a tough job, but one that should work," Long Tom said, with pardonable
pride.
"Unless attacks are launched from both ends of the canyon at the same time,"
objected Renny.
"WeÆve got others just like this at the far end," Monk rumbled. "A couple of
ChaacÆs men are down there to operate them."
"And the motivating principle behind these cylindrical protuberances?" asked
Johnny.
"Compressed air and a gas Doc invented," Long Tom explained. "We will use masks
so we wonÆt be affected, then press this button"ùhe stepped forward to
illustrateù"and gas, much heavier than airù"
His mouth dropped. His ordinarily yellow, unhealthy appearing features became
ghastly. "Itùitù" he choked.
Monk and Ham rushed forward, investigated swiftly.
The hairy chemistÆs mouth worked wordlessly. Ham straightened, spoke in
strangled tones.
"Some one has tampered with them! The gas has been released!"
"And that kicks us into eternity," Monk rumbled thickly. "It took us hours to
fix that gas. Doc might do it quicker. But he isnÆt here. And without it weÆre
lost. The Valley of the Vanished is doomed!"
Renny spoke the thought of all of them.
"Perhaps it would be well if Doc hurried back," he said simply.

DOC was hurryingùdownward.
When the rope was cut, his body fell as if it had been shot from a gun. Glassell
yelled out gleefully. The malevolent eyes of The Leader were half shut, as if
savoring a delectable joke.
Those eyes opened wide with startling quickness. GlassellÆs yell shut off in
mid-breath.
The unbelievable had happened!
The blankets, cocoon-tied ropes and huge fishnet that bound the bronze man
suddenly opened and fell away. Doc Savage appeared, free of any bonds.
In the same instant, his long arms and unbelievably strong fingers shot out.
They caught a narrow crevice in the seemingly sheer face of the cliff.
His fall was halted.
A foot more, or a foot less, and the effort would have been in vain. He made his
catch at the one place where the cliff bulged sufficiently that he could reach
it.
Only years of training of eyes and muscles could have achieved the bronze manÆs
purpose. The hours he spent daily in going through the most rigorous exercises,
training every muscle, every faculty, had their reward.
For the space of a heartbeat, he hung motionless; then he was in action.
With the grace and ease of a human fly, but with a speed that no other human fly
ever possessed, Doc moved across the face of that flat mass of rocks.
The unexpectedness of it all had caught Glassell and his frozen-faced companion
flatfooted. For long moments they were as if drugged, eyes unbelieving.
The Leader was the first to recover. He whipped a heavy .45 from his pocket,
fired hastily. That haste was his undoing. His bullets went wild. Even as
Glassell drew his gun free, and before his companion could fire again, Doc
reached shelter.
It wasnÆt much of a shelter. It was merely a wrinkle in the cliff. That wrinkle,
like a glass-smooth wave, was above him. Lead struck it and whined away
harmlessly. The bronze man moved along easily beneath it.
Glassell was raging. The frozen-faced oneÆs thin mouth was set; he was firing
clip after clip of bullets. Soldiers had raced forward, were adding their rifle
fire to the din.
Doc Savage went on, swiftly.
The corporal who had heard much of Doc Savage surmised what had happened. In a
way, he was almost glad. He held a reluctant admiration for the bronze man.
But he had no intention of reminding the others of what they must have
forgotten.
Doc Savage had been tied, and tied tightly. But the bronze man had been tied
before. Slipping his bonds had been simple enough. And in the kit he always
carried around his body were razor-sharp knives. It had not been difficult to
obtain one of those knives and cut through net, ropes and blankets.
The bronze man, had he desired, could have climbed back up the rope to the top
of the cliff. But that would have meant facing bullets without a chance for
defense.
Now he had rounded a corner of the canyon, reached a place where he could climb
to the top and run.
With sure-footed speed, he tore toward the lip of the gorge where his aids
awaited him.
Once more a bugle sounded. And as the shrill blast of the trumpet still echoed,
artillery went into action.
The invaders launched screaming shells toward the Valley of the Vanished.
As Doc reached the place where his aids waited, the first of those shells tore
overhead. At the other end of the canyon came the rumble of attacking forces
there.

"WE canÆt hold out long." RennyÆs voice was as calm and conversational as if Doc
had just returned from a pleasure jaunt.
"They freed that gas we had," Monk grumbled.
None of DocÆs aids showed surprise at the bronze manÆs reappearance. They always
pretended that they never worried when he was on dangerous errands.
"I know." The bronze man wasnÆt even breathing fast. He made no reference to his
experiences.
"The mercy guns?" he asked.
"We got them as soon as we found the gas had been destroyed," said Long Tom.
Doc Savage nodded slightly. The roar of heavy artillery increased.
So far, the shells were overshooting. The gunners may deliberately have been
intending to frighten, rather than kill.
"Two of you go to the other end of the canyon," Doc said swiftly. "The other
three remain here. Use mercy bullets in your guns and delay the invaders as long
as possible."
He turned, raced on down the canyon side toward the Mayan village.
Renny and Johnny picked up weapons and followed, headed toward the lower end of
the gorge.
"So long, if we donÆt see you again." Renny said dryly.
The others nodded. Their plight was desperate, and they knew it, but their
spirits were far from low. Doc Savage was back again.
Far down the canyon in front of them the first of a skirmish line could be seen
advancing. It was moving slowly, the khaki-clad men taking care to stay behind
rocks. The invaders were taking no chances.
The artillery fire had settled down now to a steady, thunderous roar.
A modern army, with all that civilization had developed in the way of death
dealing, was moving relentlessly on the last remnant of an ancient race.
Only one man stood between that army and victory. And even his aids wore frowns
as they wondered what one man, even Doc Savage, could do to stop a well-armed,
well-disciplined mass of troops.

PRINCESS MONJAÆS features lighted as she sighted the bronze man. Face still
stained with tears, she rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck.
"IÆm so glad, so happy you are back," she half sobbed.
An unaccustomed color mounted on DocÆs face. There was no time in his busy life
for love. He long ago had renounced any thought of marriage. And his unfailing
attraction for women had often proved a source of embarrassment. He felt far
more at ease in a desperate fight than he did when some beautiful girl showed
affection for him.
MonjaÆs arms were locked tightly around DocÆs head, her well-molded form was
close to his. Gently, he released her grip.
"You must never worry or be concerned ever about my fate," he told her gravely.
The deafening explosion of a big shell drowned out all lesser sounds. Princess
Monja shuddered.
"IùI was afraid," she said. "I am not afraid now."
"But still there remains much to be done," Doc said softly. "Please tell your
father I wish to see him."
The girl hurried to obey. Doc made haste to the building where Long Tom had
taken temporary quarters. One room was filled with chemical supplies and strange
equipment. Swiftly, he went to work.
Only the fact that the canyon walls were so high saved the Mayan village from
destruction. The gunners were forced to elevate the muzzles of their weapons to
such an angle that accurate fire was impossible.
But the troops with those guns were advancing.
King ChaacÆs face was worried as he entered the room where Doc worked. "Areùare
we lost, Clark Savage?" he asked anxiously.
"The assault will be centered on the buildings here," the bronze man observed,
ignoring the question. "Glassell, since he formerly lived here, knows of the
gold caverns beneath us. I believe he expects you to run there for shelter,
since you would be safe from shells if you were underground."
"An excellent idea," the aged king said. "IÆll give instructionsù"
"Such caverns also could prove to be a gigantic trap," Doc went on. "Openings
could be blasted into them, and we would be caught. Therefore, take your people
and seek shelter in the undergrowth and small caves along the walls of the
gorge. There you will be safe."
"And you?" King Chaac asked.
"I shall be busy," the bronze man replied grimly.

"WE canÆt hold out much longer," Monk panted. The hairy chemist was perspiring
feverishly. Much as he loved a fight, this one was becoming just a little too
warm.
Ham and Long Tom were twenty paces on either side of him. Each had sought
shelter behind large rocks, was making himself as small as possible.
And they needed all the protection they could get. Snipers were raining lead
about them. Several times, bullets had smacked into various parts of their
anatomy. Only the bulletproof armor they wore saved them.
Even so, DocÆs aids knew they could not hold out much longer. Their rapid-fire
pistols, loaded with bullets that brought unconsciousness but not death, sounded
occasionally with bullfiddle roars. But they had no chance.
Had the situation not been so serious, they might have marveled at the scene
beneath them.
Small baby tanks were creeping forward with machine guns spitting. Those tanks
could never scale the cliff and descend on the Mayan village, but they could
come close enough so that the men safe inside could drive defenders from the top
of the canyon wall.
A stream of lead, fully a hundred feet in length, burst from one of the tanks,
played up and down the side of the gorge, but fell short of the men crouched on
the top.
Small trench mortars were throwing up bombs. Some of these exploded too close
for comfort.
Heavy artillery, machine guns, flame-throwers, tanks and infantryùall were being
used in one strong, desperate assault.
"DocÆs running the Mayans to shelter," Long Tom observed. He pulled restlessly
on the lobe of one oversized ear.
"And weÆd better be getting out of here," Ham put in grimly. The lawyerÆs
usually dapper appearance was far from that now. He was hot and tired, his
clothes dirty. The barrel of his gun was almost white-hot.
"I hope DocÆs got some trick figured out," Monk worried as they retreated
cautiously. "If he hasnÆt, weÆre really goners this time."

PRINCESS MONJA hoped that the bronze man had some way of halting the invaders,
too. But she did more than that.
A look of determination was on her beautiful features. When others of the Mayans
slipped toward the sides of the canyon in obedience to DocÆs order, she did not
go with them. She hid in one of the buildings near Doc until the streets were
clear.
Then she slipped out, began a cautious approach to the head of the canyon,
circling to dodge Monk, Ham and Long Tom as they moved slowly back. At the rim
of the gorge, she halted at a point where she could see all that was going on
beneath her.
A strange glint entered her eyes as she made out a bulgy, heavy-set figure in
the uniform of a general. One hand felt softly the hilt of a peculiar stone
dagger.
Son of the Moon was a traitor. It was he who had brought this trouble on his
people. She, as princess and heiress to the throne of her people, should kill
Son of the Moon, and with his death remove the one who had forgotten those of
his own blood. Thus reasoned Princess Monja.
Carefully, taking shelter where she could, she crept slowly down the side of the
gorge, toward the point where that bulky, heavy-set figure was.
At the bottom of the canyon, she halted briefly. No one was looking in her
direction. General Glassell was only a hundred yards away. Earphones were on his
head. He appeared to be talking into a black box. His back was toward the girl.
Whipping the stone dagger from her dress, Monja crept onward.
And it was then, with terrifying suddenness, that strong arms seized her from
behind!
Monja kicked, scratched and fought with the fury of a trapped wildcat. Her mouth
was open; she screamed frantically.
Words were being whispered into her ear. Too late, she realized their
significance.
Monk, growling and muttering, pulled the still struggling girl back toward the
side of the gorge.
Catching sight of her as she had started down the canyon wall, he had grasped
the mad mission she was on, had set out in pursuit.
But he had reached her too late. MonjaÆs scream had been heard. An entire
platoon of khaki-clad figures descended upon them.
Monk fought. He fought as he had never fought before, mouthing defiance as his
apelike arms bowled soldiers right and left. But he could not protect his rear.
A heavy weight crashed upon him, bore him to the ground. Still struggling, he
was bound, a revolver butt smashed down on the back of his skull.
Dazed, but with belligerence undiminished, he was jerked to where General
Glassell stood waiting. Princess Monja was held firmly between two of the
invaders.
"This is a surprise," Glassell said, with mock politeness. "IÆm glad to see you,
Lieutenant Colonel Mayfair, and you, princess." His eyes gleamed with a strange
emotion as they looked upon the scornful features of the Mayan girl. He whipped
around to the soldiers.
"Execute Colonel Mayfair at once!" he snapped. "As for the girl"ùhe paused,
smirked slylyù"I had intended to get her anyhow. I am just as well pleased that
she could not wait, but came to me. I will keep her."

Chapter XIX. A TRAIL OF GOLD
GLASSELL turned back to the radio he had been using. Monja, bound tightly, was
propped against a rock near by. The soldiers led Monk away. The girlÆs eyes were
soft as she watched the hairy chemist go to his doom. Monk glanced at her once.
What he saw in her face made his heart beat swiftly.
"IÆm sorry, Monja," he rumbled.
"You are a brave man, Monk," she said softly. "I shall always remember you."
Glassell was speaking excitedly. "IÆve captured the one they call Monk and King
ChaacÆs daughter!" he reported.
"It is well." The cold, colorless tones of The Leader sounded in the earphones.
"Save both of them in case Doc Savage offers unexpected resistance and it
becomes necessary to bargain with him."
"IÆve ordered Monk shot!" Glassell half howled.
"Countermand that order at once!" The otherÆs voice did not rise, but there was
something in it that made GlassellÆs hands shake as he tore the earphones from
his head and raced in the direction the soldiers had taken Monk.
Then he paused. A cunning look crossed his heavy features. The hand of death was
terrible, but stillù
Sharp orders sounded clearly. "Ready! Aimù"
Glassell motioned to a near-by soldier. "I have changed my mind," he said. "Tell
Sergeant Audib he must not execute Colonel Mayfair."
"Fire!" A volley of rifle shots crashed out.
The soldier gaped stupidly. "But, se±or generalù"
"Fool! Idiot!" Glassell swore with seemingly genuine rage. He jerked out his
.45, shot once. The soldier crumpled, a look of surprise still on his face.
"I am sorry," Glassell reported over the radio a moment later. "I gave a soldier
orders to run and halt the execution. He did not move swiftly enough. Monk
already had been executed. I shot the soldier myself."
At the opposite end of the canyon, the frozen-faced one listened without change
of expression. Only his malevolent eyes turned a shade darker.
"Proceed with your advance," he instructed, in that flat, cold voice. "Do not
move too swiftly. Doc Savage may have something up his sleeve, although I doubt
it. We shall start moving here in five minutes and pinch the Mayans between us.
We should have achieved our entire aim inside half an hour."
The Leader switched off his radio. For a moment, he stood silent. When he spoke,
it was to himself.
"And I am afraid, General Glassell, that you have blundered once too often. Your
usefulness, also, will have expired within the next half an hour."

SOLDIERS mounted to the canyon rim overlooking the Valley of the Vanished. Other
khaki-clad figures appeared from the opposite end of the gorge. The men moved
forward, cautiously.
Below them, they could see only the collection of queer-shaped buildingsùand the
huge, gold-built pyramid.
Eyes became feverish; a tenseness filled those advancing soldiers of fortune.
Captains shouted orders harshly, delaying with difficulty the advance of troops
that were muttering rebelliously.
"ThatÆs the gold weÆre after. What are we waiting for?" a gigantic, red-eyed
invader snarled.
"There is no one in view. It might be a trap," a companion counseled.
"Trap, hell!" The big soldier spat contemptuously. "That bunch down there is
licked, and they know it!"
The Mayans hidden at the sides of the canyon also felt that hope was gone.
Peering through trees, they saw DocÆs aids retreat to the building where the
bronze man had been at work. Then they saw nothing more.
Glum features faced Doc. "Monk is gone," Ham said, softly. Sorrow showed on the
lawyerÆs face.
Pain flashed for an instant in the bronze manÆs flake gold eyes. "You are sure?"
Long Tom nodded slowly. "We saw him overcome and later executed. We were too far
away to help him."
"He tried to save Princess Monja," Ham explained haltingly. "The big ape, IùIù"
"We understand," Renny said. His thin lips were tight. All felt a stunning loss,
but all knew that Ham probably was the most affected, despite the continual
bickering between the two that had marked their careers.
"Time is short," Doc Savage said. He stared straight ahead for a moment, then
spoke crisply. "We have only a faint chance. The forces against us are
overpowering. But we can try. The fate of the Mayans, the fate of the world,
depends on us. Here is what must be done."
He spoke on, in short, clipped sentences. The others nodded. No need to tell
them that their plight was desperate. They all knew they were faced with almost
certain death. But it was not in their code to surrender.
Once Johnny opened his mouth to protest. Then his lips came together, the words
unspoken. Doc Savage was taking the most dangerous, the most desperate chance of
all in the one plan that offered the slightest hope of winning out. But that was
the bronze manÆs way. Johnny knew protests would be useless.
One by one, the men turned to their allotted tasks.
Doc wheeled a small machine to the doorway. In appearance it was not unlike a
miniature cannon, except that the barrel was solid steel, with no opening for a
shell. Wires led from it to a small dynamo. At one side was a row of buttons and
across the top, running parallel to the barrel, were two heavily insulated
wires, strung like a radio aδrial.
Soldiers were moving over the edge of the canyon wall. Doc spun the point of his
strange weapon in that direction. The dynamo hummed, its pitch gradually
increasing.
The bronze man pressed one of the buttons beside the barrel.
Blam!
Rock and dirt exploded with a tremendous blast directly in the face of the
onrushing force.
Again Doc pressed a button.

"HEÆS pulled one out of his hat."
The speaker was clad in khaki. He was pressed close to the ground, where he
could get a clear view of what was happening. Small, deep-set eyes peered from
beneath layers of gristle. One long, crooked arm was tossed carelessly over the
small form beside him.
"Yes, Monk, but I expected that," said Princess Monja.
The hairy chemist twisted his head, looked admiringly at his companion.
Explosions were blasting at the entire edge of the cliff where the attacking
force had halted. The blasts came with the force of high-powered shells. The
attackers were milling in confusion.
"Atomic blasts." Monk explained.
"Atùat what?" asked Monja.
Monk blushed slightly. "Long Tom is the electrical guy; he could explain better
than I can," he confessed. "But DocÆs got an electrical dingbat rigged up that
shoots bolts of juice, and when that juice hits the rocks it releases the atomic
energy inside, causing an internal explosion, creating the illusion of artillery
shells hitting."
"O-oh, yes. IùI understand perfectly." A dazed look was on MonjaÆs face.
Monk grinned happily. He didnÆt understand perfectly either, but he was glad
just to be alive, and to be with Monja.
He really should be dead, he conceded. In fact, heÆd been left for dead by the
firing squad. But the commander of that firing squad evidently hadnÆt heard of
the bulletproof armor. None of the soldiers had fired at his head. All had shot
at his body.
The tremendous striking power of the bullets had knocked Monk out, but they
hadnÆt killed him. HeÆd recovered, just as the advance had started. Borrowing
the uniform of an unconscious soldier, heÆd found Monja, freed her and started
back to rejoin Doc.
Slowly, the hairy chemistÆs grin faded. Additional hordes of khaki-clad troops
were pouring up the canyon.
The gold-maddened reserves from Blanco Grande had arrived!
In the same instant, officers of the invaders saw through DocÆs trick. The
explosions were continuing. Rocks and dirt were being thrown high in the air,
but casualties were few. Shouted orders came distinctly.
Troops dived through the dust clouds, started charging down the slope toward the
Mayan village. From the opposite end of the gorge, the first of the attackers
there came into view.
Streams of khaki-clad troops were swarming toward the golden pyramid from all
directions. Literally thousands of men were staging a last, furious charge.
Below them, Doc Savage stood alone!

AS the charge started, Doc Savage abandoned the atomic gun. It had served its
purpose. It had delayed the attack until the bronze manÆs aids had completed
their tasks and disappeared.
But Monk did not know that. A groan burst from his lips.
Nothing could withstand the resistless force of that charging mass of
gold-maddened, inflamed band of soldiers of fortune, an army composed of little
better than bandits, whose sole aim was to kill and loot.
And then a strange thing occurredùa thing that not even Monk could understand.
Doc left the doorway of the building where he had been crouched. He raced into
the open. He raced directly for the golden pyramid.
Order almost disappeared in the ranks of the invaders. They became little more
than an unruly, senseless mob. Attempts of their officers to control them were
unheeded.
All had heard of the extra reward offered to the man who killed Doc Savage. They
raised guns, fired, and ran downward.
Doc apparently paid no attention to the bullets that sang about him. As Monk
watched, the bronze man reached the front of the pyramid, started up.
Narrow paths, chiseled in the side of the gorge, offered the only route for one
group of the advancing soldiers, but they were tumbling down that with little
regard either for their own safety or the safety of their companions.
Some were pushed off, to fall to horrible deaths. The others did not even pause.
Behind them came even more, as those who had left Blanco Grande last joined in
that frantic rush.
All eyes were on the bronze man. The steps up the front of the pyramid were
steep, but he was mounting them with apparent ease. His rapidly moving figure
made a difficult target, but even so it seemed impossible that he could reach
the top in safety.
But reach the top he did. A sigh of relief came from Monk, a sigh that was half
a groan. For Doc had swung open the huge door at the top of the pyramidùthe door
that led to the enormous gold caverns beneath the ground.
"HeÆs safe for a minute, but heÆll be trapped! TheyÆll get him sure!" the hairy
chemist wailed.
But he found he was talking to himself. Monja had slipped from under his arm,
was on her feet and running down another narrow trail.
"If Clark Savage dies, I want to be with him," she sobbed.
For a moment, a lugubrious expression was on MonkÆs homely face. It seemed he
hadnÆt been making the progress with the pretty Mayan that he had thought.
But MonkÆs hesitation was only momentary. Then he, too, was on his feet,
plunging after the girl. He also could die with Doc.
From the far end of the canyon, a fresh regiment of khaki-clad veterans streamed
into view. The valley seemed filled with shouting, murderous invaders.
Then Doc reappeared. And at sight of him, MonkÆs breath came in with sudden
comprehension.
The bronze man was running down the face of the pyramid now. He was carrying a
huge load in his big arms. And as he ran, he dropped objects from that load.
The sun flashed briefly on the burden he carried. It was a dull, golden gleam.
The objects that were being dropped were golden ingots, goblets and golden
vessels.
The bronze man was leaving a golden trail leading straight to the enormous
storehouse undergroundùthe storehouse where thousands upon thousands of similar
ingots and immense stores of beautiful golden images and vessels lay hidden.

Chapter XX. WHEN PLANS MISFIRE
THE tumult that followed was almost indescribable. No such desperate, hideous
stampede had ever been seen before.
The sight of those golden objects, the clear intimation that they led to a
storehouse where an almost inexhaustible supply was hidden, released passions
that long had been hidden. The thin veneer that civilization had stamped on the
murderous troops intent on a bloody errand was stripped away.
They became savages. Only one thought filled them; only one desire impelled
them.
Each wanted to be the first to get the gold. Each wanted to seize all the
gleaming metal that he could carry, to paw over it, to revel in wealth, to steal
and loot and kill.
Officers tried desperately to stem the tide. Automatics cracked as those
officers shot the men in the leading ranks, striving to restore sanity.
They might just as well have tried to reason with a hurricane, and they stood as
little chance of stopping the rush.
More guns roared. But those guns were in the hands of the gold-maddened
soldiers. The officers dropped. Some were trampled to death, others were shot
down, still others were run through by bayonets. None lived.
The race up the front of the pyramid resembled the rushing onslaught of warrior
ants, who climb over the bodies of their fellows to surmount any obstacle, and
who leave nothing behind them.
So it was with the khaki-clad invaders. Those who slipped, those who paused for
an instant to draw a breath, were knocked to the steps, were ground under
hobnailed boots.
Screams of pain and torture filled the air, mingling with other yells from those
who did not even know they were making a sound, but knew only they intended to
go on, and that nothing could stop them.
The bronze man had disappeared. Even had he been in plain view, it is doubtful
that he would have been noticed. Every eye was focused on that yawning opening
near the top of the pyramid, the opening that led to the gold vaults.

THE LEADER had been thrust aside by the first rush of his troops. And he had
realized at once what had happened.
The anger that filled him against Doc Savage made his malevolent eyes gleam like
red balls of fire. His expressionless face was even more lifeless and frozen.
He alone made no attempt to try and halt the soldiers. That, he saw, was
useless. The very reason that had impelled him to enlist such men as his
warriors was now working against him.
He had wanted only those to whom killing is just another job, who were outside
the law and ready for any desperate venture. Now those qualities had broken out
in a way that would be impossible to control.
Doc Savage had outwitted him.
But the frozen-faced one had no intention of giving up. He still had one
desperate play he could make. His eyes narrowed with cunning thought.
Cautiously, he started toward the pyramid.
Thunderous noise of fighting men came from under the ground now. The stream of
struggling bandits climbing up the pyramid had dwindled. In a few minutes all
would be in the deep, hidden caverns.
There was huge chamber after huge chamber in that underground vault. Every
chamber was filled with gold. Pile upon pile of it was there for the taking. But
the frozen features of The Leader betrayed no interest, now, in that fact.
The soldiers, he knew, could still be taken care of. They could be taken care of
in a way that was hideous beyond all human reason.
But The Leader was scarcely reasonable. And now he was hunting and stalking. He
wanted to find Doc Savage. If he could find himù

AT one side of the village was a peculiar-appearing structure. Once it had
housed the sacrificial well. At the bottom of that well had hissed vicious
snakes. It had been used by the Mayans for executions.
The snakes were no longer there. It had been long since the sacrificial well had
been used. But if the snakes were gone, the well did hold other queer creatures.
As the din and tumult quieted, those strange creatures appeared, pulling
themselves awkwardly over the edge of the well.
There were four of them. They were huge, and far from human in appearance,
although each did appear to have two legs and two other appendages that might
have been arms.
But where the heads should have been, were bucket-shaped objects, something like
diversÆ helmets. Shoulders and torsos were hidden in bulky jackets that joined
the helmets at the top, and overall-shaped trousers below.
Each of the four was carrying a large cylinder. A bellowslike arrangement was at
one end of each cylinder, while a hose was attached to the other end.
The cylinders were heavy. The four, big as each was, grunted inaudibly as they
hoisted their burdens and started slowly toward the pyramid.
And as they moved forward, another figure came into view. Doc Savage glided from
a near-by building, took up a position in front of the strange-appearing
figures.
He did not appear surprised, nor did the four seem to notice him.
But another did. The frozen features of The Leader peered cautiously around a
corner, two hundred yards away. A gun came up in his hand, then dropped. The
distance was too great.
The Leader was not superstitious. He saw nothing awesome in the four creatures
that trailed Doc Savage. He did see deadly peril there to his plans.
He did not know, but he felt with fierce certainty that he knew what was in the
cylinders those four carried, and felt he knew why they were dressed as they
were.
Men about to use an overpowering gas would be dressed that way. Men who planned
an attack on a large force where their only hope lay in rendering their
opponents helpless, would be dressed that way.
If such a gas were loosed in the gold caverns, the soldiers there would be
helpless. Even if the gas did not kill, it would leave the bandits easy prey, so
that they might be disarmed and bound.
Under the direction of the Mayans, terrible when aroused, an army could be
marched, powerless, back to Blanco Grande to face the summary justice of
military rule.
The Leader darted forward with fierce strides.

GENERAL GLASSELL, also, was stalking prey. Unlike the commander, the Mayan
renegade had not been in the front ranks of the attackers. He had arrived behind
the fierce rush of the maddened men.
But bringing up the rear, he had seen something that at first made him believe
in ghosts.
Speeding along ahead of him had been a beautiful girl, closely pursued by an
apelike form, whose long, dangling arms almost touched the ground.
GlassellÆs .45 had appeared in his hand; he had slipped along rapidly behind
them.
The Mayan, also, saw that all was lost. There had been one instant of fierce
regret, then he had reverted to type. With the fatalism of his race, he had
accepted defeat. But all his fierce hatred had centered on Monk.
As the roar of underground fighting increased in volume, Doc led his four aids
to the base of the pyramid. He held a mercy pistol in one hand.
The scramble of running feet came to his keen ears. He whirled. A strange
trilling filled the air, a trilling low, yet penetrating. It was heard by his
four aids, even inside the huge helmets they wore.
From one side of the pyramid had appeared Princess Monja, with Monk close behind
her. And in the rear, pistol raised, was General Glassell.
At another corner, almost behind Doc, came the frozen, expressionless features
of The Leader. His gun was aimed directly at the bronze manÆs head.

THERE was an instant of perfect silence among those at the base of the golden
pyramid.
The fate of the world hung on that one breathless moment. Victory for either
side could be decided in the space of a heartbeat.
The Leader saw that victory in his hands. A single pressure on the trigger, and
lead would drill the bronze-haired head of Doc Savage.
Monk saw the danger to Doc. He let out a hoarse bellow of rage and leaped
forward with the clumsy, gangling, yet tremendous speed of the bull-ape he
resembled. Four men in queer costumes also leaped to shield the bronze man.
But even quicker than his aids, even faster than the finger squeeze of The
Leader, was Doc Savage.
A gun cracked. Lead whistled through the space DocÆs head had occupied a moment
before. But the bronze man was no longer there.
With a co÷rdination of muscles that would have appeared unbelievable unless it
had been seen, Doc had jumped to one side. In that same flash, he had turned in
mid-air. He landed facing the horrible features and malevolent eyes of the
frozen-faced one.
It was then that the man who had wanted to rule the world knew he had lost. It
was then he knew that the golden trail he had followed could have but one
ending.
With a shrill scream, he vanished behind the side of the pyramid. He ran
frantically along the wall toward a small niche.
General Glassell saw that move. He understood what it meant. Some deep, hidden
remnant of manliness came to the surface. With frantic steps, he charged
desperately to intercept the man he had so long obeyed.
They came face to face, directly before the niche.
Insane rage gleamed from the frozen-faced oneÆs eyes. Glassell was yelling, was
shouting frantic words. What those words were, The Leader never knew.
He squeezed the trigger of his gun, again and again.
The renegade Mayan went to the ground, his head almost shot from his body. The
Leader clawed frantically at a small spot on the side of the pyramid.
Doc Savage shot around a corner. Lead tugged the side of his coat as the
frozen-faced one fired at him.
Mouth drawn back in a terrible grimace, eyes almost popping from his head, The
LeaderÆs clawing hand found what it sought. It was a small key.
Doc SavageÆs keen eyes saw that key. His lips tightened. He fired his mercy
pistol at the otherÆs hand.
That mercy bullet struck even as the key was pushed home.

THERE was a tremendous, earth-shaking roar. The ground trembled and rocked
beneath their feet. Even Doc was shaken off balance, while his aids were thrown
to the earth bodily by the force of that explosion. The pyramid rocked and
teetered, seemed almost about to collapse entirely.
While ears still rang, while bodies still were stunned by the force of that
overpowering blast, other sounds rose from the depths of the earth. The sounds
were such that none who heard them ever could forget.
They made tame by comparison the worst nightmare ever experienced. They were
animal cries of unendurable pain and torment. They were wrung from hundreds of
throatsùthe throats of gold-maddened bandits, trapped and dying.
The simple pressure of a hidden key had exploded tons of dynamite planted by
spies at either entrance to the gold cavern. That explosion had been planned to
trap and kill Mayans who had been expected to seek refuge there from the
artillery bombardment.
Instead, it had trapped and killed those who had sought to destroy the Mayans.
And they had been killed by their own commander. Hidden caches of deadly gas,
designed to wipe out any Mayan who might survive the explosion, had been
released with the blast. That poison was now killing the last of the bandit
horde.
Doc Savage ran forward, firing once more with his mercy pistol.
The Leader had fallen. He made no attempt to rise. One fist made feeble swipes
at his throat.
As the bronze man reached his side, the other fell back. On his throat was the
crimson-soaked hand of death.

Chapter XXI. FRIENDS PART
DOC SAVAGE reached quickly for the kit inside his coat. His hand came out. It
held only a broken hypodermic. The LeaderÆs last shot at the bronze man had
sealed his own doom. It had broken the only vial of antidote Doc had had for the
hand of death.
The bronze manÆs aids gathered swiftly. The metal helmets came off, to reveal
Renny, Johnny, Long Tom and Ham. Monk stood close to Princess Monja.
A peculiar-shaped glove was on one hand of the frozen-faced one. It was
literally covered with hundreds of tiny needles.
"The hand of death," Monk said solemnly.
"Be careful when you touch it," Doc cautioned. "The point of each of those
needles has been covered with a very swift-action poison. It was only by
analyzing some of the blood of the slain messenger boy that I was able to
develop an antidote. Now that antidote has been destroyed."
Ham nodded. Mayans were streaming down from the hills. The noise underground had
ceased. There was only the silence of the tombùa tomb that enfolded all those
who had come to murder and loot.
Renny glanced at the body on the ground curiously. "But who is he, Doc?"
"Yeah, I never saw that mug before," Long Tom muttered.
Doc Savage smiled slightly. He reached down, his hands worked about the fallen
oneÆs face.
A gasp of astonishment came from the lanky chemist as Doc Savage rose. In his
hands, he held a cleverly fashioned mask. That mask had fitted closely over the
real features of The Leader.
The man who lay dead was Baron Vardon.

"BUT heÆs the one who wanted us to go to Switzerland. We saw him dead in the
hotel room in New York!" Monk exploded.
"He is the one who wanted us to go to Switzerland, but we did not see him dead,"
Doc corrected quietly.
"You meanù"
"I mean he tried to decoy us abroad, so he might have a clear field here," the
bronze man went on. "He realized he might fail, so he pretended to be a victim
of the hand of death. When we first entered the hotel room, his acting was
realistic.
"Before we left, I knew he was not dead, but there was no time to do anything,
or any reason to then. I didnÆt want to make him a prisoner then. It would have
meant letting the rest of his men know that fact and disperse before I could
trap them all. But, unfortunately, I failed."
"The pulse on his throat?" Johnny asked. "Is that how you knew he wasnÆt dead?"
"Exactly. The pulsebeat there showed he was alive."
"But his purpose?" Ham asked. "From Long TomÆs investigation, Baron Vardon was
an exceedingly wealthy man in his own right. Why did he want the gold here?"
"Baron Vardon was wealthy," Doc agreed, "but he wanted power. Through his League
of Nations connections, he learned of the Valley of the Vanished. And he saw a
way to use the gold.
"Gold is almost a forbidden metal on a majority of the worldÆs leading money
markets, yet those money markets are based on it. And the peace and prosperity
of the world depends on the money markets.
"Should the financial centers of the world suddenly be disrupted, the entire
financial structure of the world would be toppled; and nations, even the
strongest, would fall."
"Then heù"
"He intended to throw the billions of dollarsÆ worth of gold of the Valley of
the Vanished on the world market in one big sweep. Financial security of nations
would have been overthrown. His agitators would have stirred up trouble where
stirring was necessary. Gold would have made him dictator of the world."
"A golden peril!" Ham breathed.

THE MAYANS did not want to see Doc and his men go. But the bronze manÆs errand
was over. Hidalgo and the Valley of the Vanished had been saved.
The plane Long Tom had purchased in Havana, virtually undamaged, was flown from
the near-by canyon to the small lake in the Valley of the Vanished. Equipment
was placed aboard.
No attempt had been made to open the underground tombs where murderers and
thieves lay buried. The Mayans would wait for months, until all poison gas was
gone, before they did that.
Princess Monja stood silent and forlorn at the edge of the lake as the six men
started for the plane.
Monk paused beside her. His homely face worked with emotion. It seemed he had
words to say, but he could not say them.
The Mayan princess had eyes only for Doc. Face lengthening, Monk walked on.
The planeÆs motor roared. The ship began to move slowly across the water. Cries
of farewell, mingled with sadness, filled the air. It might be long before they
saw Doc Savage again.
MonkÆs eyes were glued to Monja. Under the full sweep of the Central American
sun, her skin was golden, her face beautiful.
HamÆs face screwed up mischievously; then he sobered. The look on MonkÆs face
showed only too well where his heart was.
"Skip it," the dapper lawyer advised affectionately. "SheÆs beautiful, and sheÆs
a princess. But you have no more chance there than she has of winning Doc. Women
are dangerous, too."
"Yeah," Monk sighed deeply. "A golden peril."

THE END