Ds184 python isle doc, p.1
DS184_Python_Isle.doc, page 1
Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
Doc Savage Magazine #184 - "Python Isle" by Will Murray - October/1991
When a long-thought dead aviator returned, he and a mysterious woman flew a battered plane
that had been repaired with plates of pure Gold.
Seeking aid from the Man of Bronze, a raging battle shortly ensues for control of the lost secret of
Python Isle!
Originally printed and copyrighted circa 1933 by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Copyright renewed circa 1963 by The Conde Nast Publications, Inc. Printed in paperback by Bantam Books. It doesn't appear that these will be reprinted in the near future. So the following out-of-print editions may be read only for your personal interest and may not be otherwise duplicated or published for profit.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
Contents
#184 Python Isle
by Will Murray (October/1991)
CONTENTS
to skip to a given chapter,
Prologue
1
I. The Scarecrow
2
II. The Bamboo Tube
13
III. Radio Trap
25
IV. Bull Pizano
32
V. The Van Trick
44
VI. The Bronze Man
49
VII. The Clue Cloud
60
VIII. Th
e Ae
romunde Tr
ek
70
IX. Zep Brawl
82
X. Trade-Off
94
XI. Tale of Ophir
101
XII. Python Isle
110
XIII. The Invisible Wrath
119
XIV. Death and Taxus
129
XV. Shark Swim
135
XVI. The Solomon Warriors
143
XVII. Discontent
150
XVIII. Th
e M
ighty
156
XIX. The Python Pit
160
XX. Birds of a Black Feather
166
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
Contents
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
Prologue
Prologue
The island looked utterly forlorn.
It was a small bare rock jutting up from the frigid waters of the Arctic north of Hudson Bay.
Ice caked its shore line and powdery snow veined inland fissures. Howling winds tore the snow from those crevices and made them into white dancing devils.
Once -- ages ago -- the island had been volcanic. But now it was only a dead forbidding-looking crater whose ice-encrusted base seeped pale, yellowish subterranean gases. The icy northern blasts tore these exhalations into scraps and bore them out to sea.
It was to avoid the noxious gases -- the reason the island was avoided by Eskimos who believed it to be hoodooed -- that the black autogyro approached the crater at over 1,000 feet.
In the cockpit, the pilot gripped the rocker arm which controlled the tiny craft. His hands were unusual.
They were strong hands in which tendons played with a power remindful of hawsers. In addition, it could be seen that the pilot's skin was of a metallic bronze hue, finely textured.
One of the hands tipped back the rocker arm. Its propeller throttled, the autogyro descended like a parachute, its windmill vanes producing a braking effect against the chill air.
The black craft came in at a precise 30-degree angle. The crater rim loomed. Within it shining under the distant Arctic sun lay a perpetually frozen lake.
The gyro settled onto the ice. It rolled only a feet forward.
The Bronze Man stepped from the plane. He secured the craft's wheels with chocks, then glided easily and without mishap across the slippery ice.
The crater rim rose fully 7 feet above the frozen lake. The hood of the Bronze Man's enveloping parka almost topped the rim in those places where its irregular edge was less than a full 7 feet.
For the briefest of moments, he faced the crate rim far above the poisonous exhalations below.
Then a section of gray rock heaved up, disclosing an illuminated flight of stone steps.
The Bronze Man vanished down those stairs. The section of rock promptly slipped back into place, leaving no trace of its existence.
A stillness fell upon the lonely isle. The wind continued to howl. But the imps of drifting snow ceased to rise into the cold. The big rotors of the black autogyro turned lazily as if plucked by idle invisible fingers.
But that was all. Within the pit of the fortress-like dead crater, the Bronze Man toiled in solitude …
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1
Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
I - Scarecrow
I -- The Scarecrow
It was a diamond smuggler named "King" Hancock who was the first to sight the strange monoplane. This later proved to be extremely unfortunate.
Had King Hancock not chanced to be gazing out at the Indian Ocean at that moment, it is quite probably that considerable trouble -- not to mention several deaths -- might have been avoided.
King Hancock did not look like a diamond smuggler. He did not even look like a crook. He was a spry, dapper-looking individual who wore his hair slicked back and his mustache thin and pointed.
He wore a long Prince Albert coat in spite of the heat. It was King Hancock's trademark.
Actually, "King" was not his given name. He had come into the world as Bartholomew Hancock.
But he claimed to be a descendant of John Hancock, the natty Revolutionary figure who also had sported the appellation "King".
This current "King" Hancock had made it his life's work to emulate his famous ancestor. Except that the present "King" was a rogue.
Not that he was evil. King Hancock hadn't an evil bone in his body. But not a good bone, either.
King Hancock hadn't any particular inclinations either way, he was fond of saying. But he did like to dress and eat well. And he did like money.
This was why King Hancock was currently lounging at the rail of the tramp steamer Mighty which was 2 days out of Durban, South Africa with a clandestine cargo of purloined diamonds.
The plane swept out of the Northern horizon. It was a small craft built for speed.
It behaved strangely. One wing dipped erratically. The drone of its motor sounded like a bumblebee with a bad case of hiccups.
The strange plane angled toward the Mighty. It was then that King Hancock snapped out of his casual pose.
"Cap'n!" he yelled. "Trouble at 10 o'clock!"
At once, the decks of the decrepit steamer were aswarm with cursing, hard-faced men of varying nationalities. Rifles were brought out of hiding places. Deck plates were pried up and squat deck guns hoisted into the African sun.
"What-the-bloody-blazes is going on?" a voice exploded.
It might have come from one of the tram's rust-scabbed funnels. But it belonged to "Blackbird"
Hinton -- notorious diamond smuggler and skipper of the Mighty.
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2
Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
I - Scarecrow
Blackbird Hinton was a short rangy man who walked with a pronounced rolling gait. Hic cold black eyes wore a perpetual sun-squint. He was dressed in black. His coat, pants, shoes, and even his captain's cap were as black as an unlucky cat.
His face was brown and shiny like a bird's beak. He was not called "Blackbird" without reason.
"Where did that bloody-damned plane come from?" Blackbird demanded of his first mate -- King Hancock -- when he saw the strange craft.
"I don't know. It was just … there," Hancock explained.
Blackbird Hinton telescoped a jet-black spyglass and peered through it.
"Any markings/" Hancock inquired.
"No. Looks beat up, though."
Blackbird's mahogany face was grim. His forehead was dry in contrast to King Hancock's perspiration-streaked visage.
He passed the spyglass. "What do you make of it?"
King Hancock wiped sweat from his brow and peered heavenward.
"Looks to be in trouble all right. I'd say they're running low on fuel."
"Could be a trap," Blackbird said suspiciously.
Behind him, the Mighty's crew watched the tiny plane approach hesitantly. Their guns were held ready.
"There's a funny gleam on one wing," Hancock remarked. "But I can't make out what it is."
The strange plane drew closer. Its bumblebee drone continued intermittently. One wing (the shiny one) dipped repeatedly and it was plain to see that the pilot was having difficulty keeping level.
It continued on a direct line to the wallowing tramp steamer.
"Which way did you say it came from?" Blackbird demanded.
"Due north," Hancock replied. "Nothing but monsoons up there."
Black bird considered … then turned to his crew.
"Shoot it down!" he screamed. "It's the Law up there!"
Gunfire erupted from th e rolling deck. Rifles kicked! The deck guns remained silent because the plane was directly overhead.
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3
Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
I - Scarecrow
One crook fell over dead in the heat of the excitement. A bullet fired straight up had returned to deck after losing velocity. It stove in the top of his skull.
A thin tail of smoke grew out of one wing of the beat-up plane. The tail spouted fiery red feathers.
Then oily smoke.
The shiny wing heeled precariously for a long moment. Then the craft plunged toward the water.
Shooting ceased then.
Blackbird Hinton ran his thick hands over his dark coat front. He looked like an evil raven preening himself after a meal.
"That takes care of him," he grunted.
But it didn't.
At the last possible moment, the plane righted … got level … and pancaked into the Indian Ocean less than a mile from the Mighty's stern.
The craft did not sink although the crew watched it like carrion birds, waiting for the waves to claim the tiny ship.
"Probably the South African authorities," King Hancock mused out loud. "They must have found that diamond mine we raided 2 days ago. Maybe there were survivors we didn't know about."
"That's just what I'm thinkin'," Blackbird said.
He stared at the plane. One wing was entirely awash. That meant that the cabin was filing.
At length, the Mighty skipper gave his first mate orders.
"Take some men in a launch and check that bird out. Take prisoners. But make sure that plane gets the 'deep six'. If the Law is on our trail, we're better off knowin' about it."
Dapper King Hancock barked orders. Men fell to.
Soon, a launch was racing toward the stricken plane.
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-
The launch did not approach the crippled aircraft directly.
At King Hancock's direction, the launch crew circled the plane with eyes alert and modern rifles handy. Standing in the bow, Hancock looked a little like Napoleon in his Prince Albert.
"Man alive!" a deckhand exclaimed when they drew close. "Did we shoot him up that bad?"
The plane was a sight! Its fuselage was a patchwork of repairs and makeshift plates covering (sometimes barely so) various vents and holes.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
I - Scarecrow
"Glory be!" someone ventured. "If those ain't gold plates holdin' that wing together!"
The scarecrow of the skies was indeed repaired with gold, it was plain to see. Fist-sized patches of the yellow metal mottled one wing. What might have been golden rivets studded the craft's air surfaces.
The propeller blade was gilded in spots, perhaps for strength.
Strangest of all were the designs. Almost every inch of gold had a design hammered into it. These were difficult to make out. Except one.
On the gold-sheathed wing, a serpent wound its coils. The sight was some barbaric, sinister.
An eerie silence fell over the launch. King Hancock broke this.
"That's one of those transoceanic jobs," he said. "Like the one that Lindbergh flew to Paris."
His voice was strangely quiet.
"Hold your fire, men. The Law didn't send that bird after us."
It was fortunate that the natty diamond smuggler ventured his opinion at that exact moment.
Because his men -- nervous at the vision of the weird craft -- were becoming trigger-happy and doubtless would have fired when the cabin door suddenly popped open.
An apparition emerged from the cabin and onto a brine-washed wing. If anything, this individual was even more remarkable than the scarecrow of a plane that had lately come seemingly out of nowhere.
It was a man. But one dressed as none of cutthroats from the Mighty had ever seen a man attired.
He wore an odd costume. It might have been an abbreviated smoke jacket except that it was white, edged with gold, and its skirt fell only to the man's knees. His arms and legs were completely bare.
"Is that a dress that bloke's got on?" someone wanted to know.
"Maybe it's a kilt," another laughed. "The Scots get around."
The fantastic individual in white ignored them. He reached into the cabin door. If the astonishment aboard the launch had been great before, it now grew by yards after the second individual quitted the strange skybird.
For that one was a woman!
She too was strangely costumed. But her garb consisted of a trailing gown of purple and white.
Her hair was black, glossy, and pinned high on her head with a golden ornament. She seemed very young. Her face was a nice oval. She was a vision!
"This is getting' interestin'," a man to Hancock's left remarked, licking dry lips.
"Shut up!" Hancock barked. "Orders are to take them aboard. Hop to it!"
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
I - Scarecrow
The launch -- its engine throttled -- pushed toward the plane. The black-haired vision spotted them and yelled something no one caught.
"What'd she say?"
"Never mind," King Hancock said shortly. "Watch them! They're going to swim for it!"
They tried. The odd pair jumped into the sea, surfacing together some yards ahead.
"Boat hooks!" Hancock ordered.
The long hooked poles used to steady docking craft sprouted from the launch like quills.
"Steady as she goes," he told the man at the engine. "We don't want to run them over. Get the woman first."
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The launch eased toward the bobbing head of the swimming girl. She cast frightened eyes over a shoulder and redoubled her efforts. Nearby, her companion called out in a foreign tongue.
Engine idling, the launch glided unerringly after her.
"Grab her quick! You won't need the hooks."
King Hancock was correct. The launch all-but-bumped the girl.
A big seaman reached down and pulled her out by her shoulders. She struggled violently. Then subsided as it dawned on her that the bull seaman was more than her match.
"Hold on to her now" came the command. The launch -- once more under power -- came about and bore down on the swimming man.
The strange fugitive in white -- they saw not that he had flaming red hair -- abruptly ceased swimming and began treading water. He waited for the launch calmly.
"Get those hooks out," Hancock warned. "He may give us a fight."
But the swimmer did not … at first. He merely grasped a proffered boat hook and allowed himself to be pulled to the launch's side. String hands assisted him aboard. He accepted these readily.
The redheaded man stood amidships with seawater stringing off the skirt of his garment. He was tall and gangling. His hair was the color of new rust and his eyes -- in contrast to the sloe orbs of his companion -- were bright blue.
King Hancock -- no less out of place in his long coat than the other -- now approached.
"Got a name, mate?" he asked.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
I - Scarecrow
The redhead answered by way of a roundhouse right to the dandified diamond smuggler's pointed jaw!
King Hancock's head rocked back under the powerful punch. But for a quick-witted crewman, he would have been precipitated into the drink.
They jumped the redhead. Blow fell! Men grunted. The launch rocked to the sound of men in violent combat.
"No guns!" Hancock warned. "And someone hold on that girl!"
The strange antagonist proved himself to be quite a fighter. 2 men fell unconscious, their jaws whacked out of shape.
A boat hook swished by him but missed. Another descended on his thatch of carroty hair. He heard it coming and twisted. But the pole caught him painfully in the shoulder and he went down.
The sloe-eyed girl screamed. Someone clapped a big paw over her mouth, effectively silencing her.
The red-haired man lay unmoving across a thwart.
"That settles his hash," the boat-hook wielder announced proudly.
"Okay," King Hancock said, rubbing his bruised jaw. "He'll keep. Take us back to the ship."
