"Robeson, Kenneth - Doc Savage 1937 12 - The Golden Peril" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Blanco Grande. The man who escaped must be stopped at all costs. No word goes to
Doc Savage."

ZUM didn’t 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.
Zum’s 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. Zum’s 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.
"Seсor 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 general’s uniform stepped into the
radio shack, gun in hand.
"Don’t send that message!" he ordered crisply.
"But—but—" The operator’s mouth dropped. "It—it’s to Doc Savage, general. I—I’ve
got to send it."