BROWN DEVILS
“Into the rocks!” Doc snapped.
Monk’s little machine gun spewed a stream of reports. Its roar was like the note of a gigantic bull fiddle. Ham and Renny also turned loose.
Burnoosed brown men folded down. Two, four, five of them!
Doc began: “No killing if you can help——”
“Mercy bullets!” grunted Monk. “They only put ’em to sleep!”
They raced for the nearest shelter—boulders and monster slabs of stone which had slid down from the heights above during past ages.
The white-haired girl seemed stunned by the abruptness of developments. Then she wheeled and raced ahead of them to cover.
“Blast her!” Ham gritted. “She led us into a trap!”
“Nix!” snapped Monk. “She was as surprised at sight of these birds as we were.”
The machine gun snarled in their direction, but a bit too late. The lead torrent hammered harmlessly among the boulders. A brown man, resembling a dark-faced white ghost in his robes, sprang up forty yards to the right. He lifted a rifle.
Ham’s gun stuttered—the rifleman spilled off the rock on which he stood.
Now came Monk’s chance to change the white-haired girl’s opinion of him.
Two burnoosed men darted out ahead of them.
Near by, Mohallet’s voice shouted at the pair: “Seize the girl! Get her clear so that we can kill this bronze devil and his men!”
One of the swarthy pair grasped the girl. The other struck at her head, club fashion, with a pistol. Twisting, she evaded the blow.
Monk emitted a bellow which was astounding in view of his usually mild voice! He charged, picking up a rock as he did so. Such long arms did he have that he seemed hardly to stoop in grasping the rock.
The fellow trying to club the girl sought to reverse his pistol. Monk flung the rock. It caught the dark man in the face. There was a mushy plop as it hit, and the whole character of the man’s features changed.
Throwing the rock was Monk’s way of avenging the attempted clubbing of the girl. He could have shot the fellow with a mercy bullet much easier, but that would have inflicted little pain.
Releasing the girl, the other man sought to flee. Two jumps, he made. Then Monk overhauled him and gathered him in a great bear hug. One of the man’s arms broke. Monk’s strength was tremendous.
Dropping his victim, Monk cuffed him as he fell. The flat-handed blow against the skull knocked the man senseless.
The white-haired girl gave Monk a faint smile, and the homely chemist grinned from ear to ear.
“Under cover!” Doc called sharply at Monk.
“Let ’im stay out there makin’ eyes at her and get shot!” Ham suggested.
Monk, beckoning the young lady, dived into shelter.
For possibly three minutes that followed, there was a sort of tense silence, broken frequently by shots. Doc’s men had latched their rapid-fire pistols into single-shot operation.
Almost every swarthy head that eased into view received a chemical-charged bullet which induced instant unconsciousness. It was uncanny shooting, marksmanship the like of which the brown men of Mohallet had never before gone up against.
Heads ceased to appear.
In a low voice, Doc addressed the white-haired girl. He tried Arabian of various districts, the dialects of such desert tribes as possessed a vernacular apart.
The girl brightened. She spoke rapidly.
Doc listened, then shook his head. “She speaks a tongue which was once Arabian, but it’s so distorted that it’ll take several hours of practice before I can converse intelligently with her.”
He resorted to his fingers. He was forced to go slowly, leaving plenty of space between his words. It was like an expert telegraph operator transmitting to a beginner.
The reply was lengthy.
“They pulled a fast one on her,” Doc told the others. “They brought her ashore during the night. She didn’t see those fellows hide themselves. A small party of them were holding her. At sight of the submarine, they put on a great show of fright. She made a try at escape during the excitement, and succeeded. Of course, they arranged for her escape. She didn’t realize that.”
“I knew she wasn’t tryin’ to trap us,” Monk grunted.
“You fellows stick together!” Doc directed.
The next instant, he was gone from the spot.
* * * *
Doc made directly for the point from which Mohallet’s voice had come. If possible, he wanted to get his hands on the master villain. The fellow was a murderer, the type who would be a menace to mankind as long as he was at liberty.
Mohallet, moreover, knew what this was all about. No doubt he held the explanation of the presence of this strange white-haired girl who spelled English on her fingers, yet who could not speak the tongue, and who feared mysterious savages whom she called White Beasts.
Once Doc got his hands on Mohallet, he had no apprehensions that the sinister fellow with the false eye and the jeweled teeth would tell what he knew. Doc possessed many ways of making men talk.
Mohallet had retreated, however.
Doc came upon a skulking, burnoose-clad rifleman. The man had time for one terrified yell before the crash of a metallic fist jarred him into unconsciousness.
Another of Mohallet’s followers saw the bronze giant from a distance. He threw up his rule and fired. But when the bullet arrived, there was no visible target, other than a waste of rock and a sky already beginning to blaze with a terrific heat.
Mohallet’s men were drawing away from the vicinity, appalled by the uncanny marksmanship of the men they had attacked, and fearful of the giant bronze one who was chief of the five.
A flurry of shots from the submarine drew Doc’s attention. He glided to the right and sought a high eminence of rock.
Johnny and Long Tom had run the submarine close inshore, apparently with the idea of joining the fight at long range. Their intentions were good, but the way things were developing, they had made a very bad move.
Some distance down the beach, Mohallet’s men had carried light boats, fitted with outboard motors, to the water. Loading into the craft, they were skimming toward the sub. They used guns.
Lead began to streak the bay surface about the Helldiver. No mercy bullets, these! Deadly, metal-jacketed, the slugs squeaked and clanged off the thick steel hull of the underseas boat.
Johnny and Long Tom, greatly outnumbered, were driven from deck. They were in too close to submerge. There was no time to drive the heavy craft into deep water. Before it as much as began to move, Mohallet’s men were swarming over the deck.
Mohallet himself was in one of the light boats. He bent close to the sub hatch.
“Surrender!” he yelled in English. “Or we will drop a depth bomb alongside!”
Nothing happened for some moments. Whether Mohallet’s words could have been heard within the submarine or not was a question.
“Surrender!” Mohallet repeated. “Or we shall also kill the men who are ashore!”
John and Long Tom must have had the deck hatch loosened a crack so as to catch the words. There was a short conversation, so low-voiced that Doc could not catch the words. Then the deck hatch opened.
Mohallet and his followers swarmed down into the Helldiver’s innards.
* * * *
Keeping under cover, Doc returned to his five friends and the white-haired girl.
“We’re in a kinda tough spot!” boomed big-fisted Renny.
“Yeah!” grunted Monk. “We sure ran into a streak of tough luck!”
Doc nodded slowly. Although his bronze features showed none of his thoughts, he was disgusted. It was a rare occasion when he fell into a trap as simple as this one. He should, he believed, have observed that men were hidden along the beach, cleverly though they had concealed themselves.
His attention had been riveted on the white-haired girl and the sign talk with her. That accounted for his entering the trap.
“Getting careless!” he said aloud. “Riding to a fall like this—we had it coming!”
Monk had been trying to talk to the girl on his fingers. He was finding her abbreviated words too much for him.
“Dag-gone it!” he complained. “I can’t keep up with this shorthand she uses!”
“Let me try,” Doc suggested. “I’m anxious to hear her story.”
There was to be no conversation now, however. Doc had not formed a dozen characters when a loud hail came from the direction of the Helldiver.
“Ahoy, Doc Savage!”
It was Mohallet’s voice.
Doc made no answer, going on the principle that a silence would shake Mohallet’s confidence to some degree.
“I want to make a deal!” Mohallet called again.
“What kind?” Doc demanded. His mobile voice was pitched in a tone that carried strongly without being loud.
“A deal which will save your lives!” Mohallet retorted.
“Would you be kind enough to point out what danger now threatens our lives?” Doc inquired. “Certainly this pack of dogs you call your followers offers no menace.”
Mohallet cursed expressively.
“Wallah!” he yelled. “You would never be able to make your way from this spot to civilization!”
Doc laughed. The sound was remarkably hearty, and expressed an entire confidence in his ability to reach Bustan, the nearest settlement.
“We will kill your two men whom we have aboard!” threatened Mohallet, trying a new tact.
“What is your deal?” Doc queried.
“Come aboard, bringing the essential part of the submarine machinery which is needed to permit it to submerge, and which is missing,” Mohallet requested. “In return, we will permit you to remain alive, and will take you along with us, unharmed.”
“Huh!” Monk exploded. “Machinery missing! Who——”
“We weren’t born yesterday!” Doc yelled.
“What has the date of your birth got to do with it?” asked Mohallet, who was apparently not up on American slang.
“I mean simply that we are not children enough to believe you’d keep your word!”
Mohallet swore some more. “What is your price?”
“Get off the submarine with your men! Clear out entirely!”
“La!” Mohallet howled. “No!”
Doc debated. “Take us fully into your confidence, telling us what this is about, and permitting us to remain in control of the submarine, to sail it wherever you wish to go!”
“Wallah! That is agreeable!” Mohallet was entirely too prompt in taking up the offer.
Renny rattled his huge fists together. “The louse! He don’t intend to keep the bargain!”
“Neither do we!” Doc said dryly. “There wasn’t a word said about us not climbing Mohallet if we get the chance.”