"Robeson, Kenneth - Doc Savage 1938 02 - The Mountain Monster" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

score of stories he had read.
Yes, John Alden conceded, Doc Savage could solve this problem. But the engineer
thought of other things as well.
He thought of the scores of colonists who now called Arcadia Valley their home.
To send for Doc Savage would be to spread word that there was something to be
feared.
John Alden was not as old as Buck Dixon. He had the confidence of youth. He did
not like to admit he was facing a problem he couldn’t solve himself.
He made a mistake then.
"Let’s wait until we have more to go on," he said. "After all, this may be
something we can handle. I suggest we round up a few of the Indians, talk to
them. They are superstitious, I know. But they may be able to tell us something
that will help."
Buck Dixon made no reply. He merely raised a hand and pointed. John Alden
looked.
Tiny dots were moving on the far side of the valley. They were taking a trail
that would lead them far from Arcadia.
The Indians were leaving.

THE MONSTER did not come again that night. John Alden and Buck Dixon stood
watch. Neither got much sleep.
But the following night, the horror struck.
It began to rain shortly after dusk. The sky clouded over as the sun set.
John Alden stood guard first. At midnight, Buck Dixon relieved him. The husky
man made no attempt to hide his nervousness. It was thundering again. A
premonition of evil gripped John Alden as he went to the cabin.
For a moment he considered returning, staying with Buck Dixon until daylight.
Then he changed his mind. He would have a cup of coffee first. He went to sleep
with the cup in his hand.
Buck Dixon crouched in an open space, keeping his rifle under his slicker. He
felt as he had when he’d first done sentry duty in the trenches.
The strange odor was his first warning. One moment the air was pure, the next,
and his nostrils twitched with the fearsome, foul scent.
Buck Dixon might have saved himself. Had he run at once, he might have stood a
faint chance.
But the burly veteran did have nerve. He hesitated. And almost instantly the
peculiar smell became strong. It sent his brain racing.
He was able to scream once, tried to get his rifle out from under his slicker.
His feet moved, his arms did not. The rifle dropped from his hands. He started
to run toward the head of the valley.
Then The Monster came into view.
It was huge. It towered as tall as a two-story building. And it was racing
toward Buck Dixon on long, spidery legs.
A huge spider! That was what the Indians had said The Monster was—a huge,
bloodthirsty spider.
Its speed was amazing! It came across the mesa as fast as a racing car could
move. Buck Dixon’s mind told him to stop, to fall flat.
He could not. He rushed on toward the fate that awaited him.
The Monster was almost upon him. It slowed. Two enormous, pincerlike projections
came from its mouth, reached down for Buck Dixon.