"075 (B042) - The Gold Ogre (1939-05) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

THE GOLD OGRE
A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson


Chapter I. THE BULL-VOICED MIDGET
IF anyone had wanted to find the most gentle and most level-headed man in Crescent City, they correctly could have selected Thomas Worth as the individual.
And if they had wished to pick out the man who was least likely to claim that something unbelievable had happened to him, they could have taken Thomas Worth. Gentle, middle-aged Thomas Worth had told very few lies in his life.
This helped make the matter particularly terrifying.
If Thomas Worth had been a lying man, or a drinking man, or even the least bit of a half-wit, people would have been able to understand it. And they wouldn't have taken the matter so seriously. And in that case, Doc Savage might not have learned of the mystery until it was too late to do any good.
Thomas Worth was also a poor man. The fact that he was crippled had a good deal to do with his being poor, although even before a piece of heavy machinery fell on his leg, he had never been able to make more than day wages. He was a poor, honest toiler; he just seemed never to be able to get anywhere much in life. He deserved success. God knows, he deserved it. He was thirty-eight, and looked fifty.
He had a wife who was nice, and a son who was in his teens. The son was a good boy—he was named Don Worth, and he was already a little too serious for his years, and worked a little too earnestly. At least, the boy was more serious and worked harder than other boys of his age.
The poverty of Thomas Worth probably had very little to do with the incredible thing that happened, except that it accounted for his being employed as night watchman at the airport.
Thomas Worth's job was to hobble around the Crescent City airport at intervals each night, and stick the beam of a powerful flashlight into dark spots. Usually, he didn't have any trouble. He never even carried a gun. Once in a while, somebody would try to pilfer light bulbs out of the field border lights, but that was about all. It was simple work, not difficult, and honest Thomas Worth was deeply grateful for it.
He religiously made his rounds of the airport at hour intervals—first at eight o'clock, when he went on duty, then at nine, at ten, at eleven, at midnight, and so on.
Thomas Worth was making his midnight round when he met the little golden dwarf.
Later, it became reasonably certain that this was the first time one of the public had seen a gold ogre.
FIRST, there was a voice in the darkness.
"Be careful where you're going!"
Thomas Worth jerked to an astonished stop. It was very dark. He had not been using his flashlight for a few moments; often he needed to use both hands on his cane, so he frequently kept his flashlight in his pocket when not in use.
"What?" he said.
"You almost stepped on me," said the voice.
It came from Thomas Worth's feet. It was a small voice, but very hoarse and harsh. It reminded Thomas Worth of the way a bull would sound, if the bull was about a foot high.
"Say!" said Thomas Worth. "Who in blazes are you?"
"Never mind that. Just don't step on me."
Thomas Worth decided it was either a tramp or an intoxicated man, both of which types were sometimes seen around the airport, and occasionally were found sleeping in secluded spots. He leaned on his cane, dug out his flashlight and pressed the button.
He got the big shock of his life.
It was a hideous little gold man. A man who looked to be not much more than two feet high. The fellow had a wide thick-lipped mouth, small pig eyes, and two holes for a nose. His face was not hairy; the rest of him was. Long, scraggly, golden-colored hair that looked like gilded moss.
The little golden ogre was naked except for a loincloth. This was brown, rather than golden, and looked as if it was made out of muskrat fur. His sandals were made of some kind of tree bark, held on by thongs which ran up between his small gnarled toes and tied around his hairy golden ankles.
A club was gripped by the little ogre. The club wasn't gold either; it was made of a dark wood and studded with large thorns. The small golden ogre—he resembled a miniature caveman—gripped the club with both hands, and there was an expression of bestial ferocity on his face.
Thomas Worth took a long look—and wondered if he had gone crazy. He had been feeling all right lately; he hadn't done more than his usual amount of worrying—it wasn't likely his mind had slipped.
Another possible explanation for this apparition occurred to Thomas Worth.
"What carnival did you escape from?" he asked.
"Carnival?" said the golden midget. "What's a carnival?"
"Maybe it was a circus?"
"What is a circus?"
"What are you?" Thomas Worth demanded.
The small man did not answer at once. His eyes had become accustomed to the light, and he was staring at Thomas Worth. Judging by his expression, he was just as flabbergasted as the bigger man.
"Yah, yah!" the little man said suddenly.
"What?"
"Yah, yah!" repeated the ugly golden midget.
"I don't understand what you're trying to say—"
The ogre struck Thomas Worth with his club. It happened with surprising speed. The club struck Thomas Worth's serviceable leg and the bigger man cried out in involuntary pain and fell to the ground.
It was as if electric sparks had struck Thomas Worth's leg. The feeling spread; a kind of tingling agony rushed through his body until it reached his brain—and made Thomas Worth unconscious.
THE Crescent City airport remained open day and night, as befitted the flying field of a metropolis such as Crescent City, which was a manufacturing city of some consequence located on the shore of one of the Great Lakes. Several men were on duty during the night, most of them young fellows, and all of them nice. They liked Thomas Worth, and pitied him while at the same time respecting him. For Thomas Worth was a man who was struggling along and supporting a family against tremendous odds.
They soon missed their watchman that night at the airport.
Between one and two o'clock, they began looking for Thomas Worth. At first, two mechanics and a pilot waiting for duty made a casual search. Before morning, everybody was looking, and all the giant floodlights around the airport had been turned on, making it even brighter than it was after daylight came.
They did not find Thomas Worth.
Of course, they sent messengers to Thomas Worth's home—the Worth family was too poor to afford a telephone—and learned that the father had not merely gone home.
Thomas Worth's wife, Mary, was home, and she naturally became quite alarmed, particularly since she knew of no reason why Thomas Worth should disappear. Her son, Don, was away from home, working at a summer camp for boys.