"060 (B084) - The Mountain Monster (1938-02) - Harold Davis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

It headed directly for the ridge of trees. As John Alden stood frozen, the huge spider leaped into the air, vanished over the trees.
John Alden fainted!
IT was dawn when John Alden recovered consciousness. The rain had stopped. His head was clear, his brain alert. All sign of the hideous odor had disappeared. But close to him, not a dozen feet away, were the huge tracks of The Monster.
The lanky engineer scrambled up. And now he wished he had listened more closely to the story of The Monster.
The Indian who had told him the legends had gone into much detail. John Alden had laughed, had paid little attention. He was not laughing now, he was trying hard to recall what he had heard.
"For many years my people shunned this valley," the Indian had said. "Perhaps they should yet."
He had been an Indian educated in the States. John Alden had thought it strange at the time that a well-educated man could believe legends that must be based on superstition. That no longer seemed strange, either.
A monster lived in the mountains. It was a huge spider that lived on human beings, the Indian had related. When it had eaten its fill it would disappear, often for years. Then it would return.
The Indian who had told the legend had spoken seriously of mammoths and other huge creatures that once had roamed the earth. He had suggested the spider might be a relic of some such forgotten species.
John Alden was no authority, but he recognized that there might be a germ of truth in that theory.
There was little chance that Buck Dixon was still alive. In fact, John Alden did not believe that he was.
The lanky engineer was quite methodical. He went back to the cabin and changed into dry clothes. He got his rifle, oiled it, then filled his pockets with bullets.
Then he set out to follow the tracks. Once more they led directly toward the ridge of trees, vanished just at the edge. John Alden looked up, estimated the height that jump must have been.
And then he saw it—a small object, clinging to the side of a tree, a tree against which The Monster must have rubbed.
John Alden did not want to believe the evidence of his eyes. But something was there.
As the lanky engineer climbed the tree, came closer to the object hanging there, a faint odor became apparent. It was dim, scarcely discernible. It was the odor that always accompanied The Monster.
The object hanging to the side of the tree looked almost like a cane. It was practically the same thickness, but not as long. It had snagged against a big limb. But it was not a cane, and it was not of wood.
John Alden forced himself to take hold of it. It felt repulsive, slimy. There were tiny pores along the side from which a thin, oily liquid oozed.
It was a giant hair! And the bodies of some spiders are covered with fine hair.
Alden scrambled down to the ground. He started to throw the hair away, then changed his mind. A shrewd expression came to his eyes. Clutching his rifle tighter than before, he ran on through the ridge of trees.
No tracks were there. John Alden did not appear discouraged. He made wide circles, scouting for sign. It was a mile from the ridge of trees before the next tracks came into view.
The tracks were imbedded far down in the ground, showing the force with which The Monster had landed. The engineer broke into a trot, eyes on the ground.
A dark puddle appeared close beside the tracks. Hope died in John Alden.
The puddle was blood. And fifty feet farther on, he found what was left of Buck Dixon.
Buck Dixon's body was horribly mutilated. It had been torn open and ripped from end to end. Only the face was untouched.
John Alden wished he had not seen that face. Never had he seen such agonizing lines of suffering etched on human features. It was almost beyond description. It made him quite ill.
He went for a shovel, buried what remained of Buck Dixon. He took care to muss up the earth, to hide all trace of blood.
John Alden knew something of anatomy. And as he'd buried the torn remains of Buck Dixon, he'd realized something had been missing. That thought had recalled another detail of the Indian legend.
The Indian had said the spider was searching for just one thing—that when it found that, it would leave the valley in peace forever.
It was searching for the heart of a bronze-haired man.
It had been the heart that was missing from Buck Dixon's body. Buck Dixon had not been bronze-haired.
But Doc Savage was!
John Alden laughed, almost hysterically. He would take the giant hair he had found, would rouse Doc Savage's interest.
Hurriedly, John Alden ran to pack.
Chapter III. PERIL PURSUES
JOHN ALDEN told no one where he was going, or why. That did not arouse comment from the colonists. The engineer had made frequent trips to the United States and to Washington since the homestead project had started. Nor did the absence of Buck Dixon cause more than idle gossip. Buck Dixon had slipped away before on hunting trips.
There was some talk about big tracks being seen in the upper end of Arcadia Valley. A majority merely shrugged when told about them. Others put them down to a hoax. The Indians had not been too pleased when the settlers came.
Before any real inspection could be made of those tracks there was another heavy rain. Practically all sign of The Monster was washed away.
Arcadia Valley was still in ignorance of the horror and terror in store for it.
John Alden wanted to make all speed possible. But he did not want to bring suspicion by undue haste. He waited until he reached Juneau before he hired a plane.
When he landed at Portland, he rushed at once to a hotel. He needed a night's rest. He did not notice the big man who had been lounging around the airport.
This man questioned the pilot who had flown John Alden from Juneau. His questions were casual. The pilot never knew the part he played in what was to come, but he did look curiously after his departing visitor.
There was a reason for that. The big man looked like a prospector. He was sun- and wind-burned until his skin was dark. He had huge shoulders, and was as solidly built as a wrestler. One ear was cauliflowered. He had yellow hair that was almost bronze.
But it was his feet that made him outstanding. They were out of proportion to his body. They were downright gigantic! They dwarfed the rest of his body, and he was by no means small. Yet he moved easily and with unexpected swiftness.
He made his way to a telephone and called a long-distance number. When he got an answer, he said:
"This is Barge Deeter, chief. I got a report to make."
He spoke swiftly, some of the time arguing. Then he hung up.
When John Alden took a plane for San Francisco in the morning, "Barge" Deeter's huge feet were tucked only two seats behind him.
But John Alden didn't notice this. His conscience was bothering him. He had intended to merely arouse Doc Savage's interest, to let the bronze man fall a victim of The Monster and save Arcadia valley.
Now he knew he couldn't do that. He would have to tell Doc Savage the entire story, let him decide whether he would take a chance on meeting the huge spider.