Doc Savage - The Stone Man Part 13

Suddenly, he demanded what they meant by the reference to Spad Ames.

Doc told him.

"That's bad," the old-timer muttered. "That Spad Ames was a rattlesnake in rabbit fur. He was a new kind of ranny for these hermit Indians. That's how come he learned so much, then got away."

"What is Spad Ames after?" Doc asked.

"You mean-why did he come back?""Yes."

"You got me, partner. The south end of this valley, I never been in. They don't let us mosey around there none. They got somethin' down there that's kinda mysterious. I know that's where they turn a man into stone, though. But that's 'bout all."

"And you have no idea how that stone-man business is managed?"

"Nary a idea."

The old-timer was cantakerous. He decided he needed some sleep, and sleep he did, curling up on the hard stone; and before long he was emitting snores that had the resonant volume, if not the musical quality, of a saxophone.

Doc Savage said: "We might as well get some sleep ourselves."

So they stretched out on the stone shelf, and were wide awake until dawn. The circ.u.mstances in which they were involved were such that sleep seemed unimportant.

As Long Tom muttered once: "When a man's got something as startling as this to think about, he'd be a sucker to sleep."

It was all unreal, as if they had stepped in a theater and were seeing a thundering musical comedy, full of strange happenings. There was no feeling that anything was natural, or as it should be. Everything was fantastic, difficult to accept.

The would-be tormentors with the torches loitered around the pit rim for an hour or two, then grew disgusted and wandered away.

Dawn came, and they got a closer look at their pit. The sides were sheer, as smooth as gla.s.s, and about twenty feet in height. The pit was, roughly, sixty feet in diameter.

They got nothing to eat that morning.

The absence of food piqued the old-timer.

"Why, dag nab it!" he complained. "You hombres is fetchin' me bad luck. First mornin' in my life they never fed me vittles."

"You mean," Doc said, "that we are getting worse treatment than their prisoners usually get?"

"You sure as heck be."

"That's queer," Ham said thoughtfully. "Why should they have it in for us in particular?"

SUNLIGHT eventually came down into the valley, turning the mists to cream; then everything lightened and took on a glowing that was reminiscent of a blue neon light. The mists did not seem quite as thick by day. They had thought it would be impossible to see through them a distance of more than fifty feet, whereas vision could actually penetrate twice that distance.

There was a breeze, and the mists swept along overhead, blowing like fog, long streamers squirming over the pit edge. The stuff was partially fog, but it had a vague and not unpleasant odor.

The faint scent of the mists was one which Doc had caught before-in Mark Colorado's room at Phenix Academy, that first time Spad Ames had attempted to seize him."Where does this fog come from?" Doc asked.

"Tain't fog. Leastways, not entirely," the old-timer advised. "Fog goes away. This don't, never."

"Where does it come from?"

"South end of the valley. Part I was tellin' you about-where I never been."

"Same part of the valley where they turn men to stone, as you put it?"

"Yes."

Monk put in: "You know, if some of this ain't explained to me before long, I'm gonna get a headache.

There in New York, Mark Colorado apparently turned one of Spad Ames' men to stone. If I hadn't seen the fellow with my own eyes, I would think this stone-man talk was crazy."

The day dragged on, and from time to time, white-haired people appeared at the pit rim and stood staring. Now and then, someone flung a rock.

The white-haired girls, as Monk particularly noted, were not at all hard on the eyes.

"I wonder what gives them their white hair?" the homely chemist pondered.

"Take a look at me," the old-timer suggested.

The prospector was as ancient as they had expected, with a face as wrinkled as a discouraged prune and a rather gnarled body. His hair was snow-white.

"You ain't no collar ad," Monk said. "Whatcha mean-take a look at you?"

"My hair."

"It's white. But white hair on an old goat your age ain't so unusual."

"I ain't so danged old!" yelled the prospector indignantly. "And my hair was as black as a pole kitty when I come here. Three months after I got here, it turned white!"

Doc said: "You mean that the mists turn the hair white?"

"Yep. Figure so."

"Probably some chemical in this mist," Monk hazarded, "that whitens the hair. Might be the chemical that gives the odor to the vapor."

Long Tom, who liked his food, had been brooding about the lack of a breakfast. "How do they eat around here?" he wanted to know.

"They farm. They make me and the other prisoners work in the fields, durn 'em. Course, they work themselves."

"This country is as dry as the Sahara," Long Tom reminded. "They must irrigate."

"Plenty of rain."

"What?""They have a shower nearly every day," the, old-timer explained. "Long in the afternoon, usually."

"Holy cow!" Renny interjected incredulously. "But it hardly ever rains in the surrounding desert!"

"I ain't lyin' to you jaspers," the prospector insisted. "It rains. And it's right cool in the valley in the summertime, when it's hotter'n the hinges of Hades outside."

"That doesn't sound reasonable," said the big-fisted engineer.

"I ain't explainin' it. I'm just tellin' you."

It was past midafternoon when they heard shooting in the distance.

IT was a machine gun. The weapon gobbled like a ten-ton turkey, short bursts frequently repeated.

There were shorter, more vicious smacks of high-powered rifles.

The explosions came then. Four of them; they were great, deep-throated roars that trembled the ground.

"Spad Ames," Doc said in a low voice.

Height of the surrounding canyon walls made darkness approach slowly. And soon after shadows came creeping, a grim cl.u.s.ter of the white-haired Indians gathered around the pit rim.

They did not throw things this time. Their manner was more grim than that. They shouted a few words.

The old-timer made a silent whistling mouth.

"Bad," he said. "They're talkin' about killin' you fellers."

"Why?" Doc asked.

"You're from the outside. They've never liked outsiders. And now this Spad Ames is attacking the valley, and they're workin' up a big hate for all outsiders. That includes you fellers."

An uncomfortable silence fell. They set on the stone shelf, and watched the faces on the pit rim until increasing darkness blanketed the place.

"Their language," Doc Savage said thoughtfully, "must be an extremely ancient dialect."

"Yep," the old-timer agreed. "I talk some Injun myself, but I never heard this lingo until I got here. You know what I think?"

"What?"

"You've seen them cliff dwellin's scattered around over this part of the country, ain't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, think these people are descendants of them cliff dwellers. Ain't sure, of course. But they've been in this valley for hundreds of years. They've got everything in here they need, and the place is easy to defend. Only that one entrance, closed by the river when they want it to be."

"They're not ignorant people," Doc said.

"Course not. They send a young brave and a squaw out now and then to be educated. Them two you call Mark and Ruth Colorado were the last pair-they're son and daughter of the chief.""If Mark and Ruth Colorado have the chief for a father," Monk put in hopefully, "they might be able to help us."

"I gather they're all that's keepin' you alive." The old-timer jerked a thumb up at the rim of the pit. "I've learned their language, you know. They ain't talkin' so favorable about you fellers."

When it was very dark, Doc said: "Let's make a pyramid, fellows. It's time we were looking over this place."

Monk grunted, got close to the wall, doubled over and braced his hands against his knees. Renny climbed atop his shoulders. Using great care, Ham topped them.

There was a clattering sound, and something fell into the pit. They hastily unmade their pyramid, lest they be discovered. Monk felt around in the darkness to ascertain what had fallen into the pit.

"Blazes!" the homely chemist said. "Is somebody up there a mind reader?"

He had found a rope ladder which someone had dropped so that it dangled into the pit.

Ruth Colorado's voice addressed them from above.

"You can climb out," she said. "We have a proposition for you."

Chapter XVI. THE POOR PROPOSITION.

CRIMSON seemed to be the regal color in the valley. The room had walls and ceiling and floors of exactly the same shade of crimson. It was a large room, forty feet or so in each dimension, except the ceiling, which was about fifteen feet.

In addition to Mark and Ruth Colorado, there were fourteen others present. Doc counted them while he listened to the chief talk.

The chief, a tall, lean fellow, healthy and active, bore considerable resemblance to the Colorados.

Obviously he had been educated outside the valley, because he spoke fairly understandable English.

He had made a long talk without saying much. Evidently they had plenty of time in the valley for long-winded conversation. At the end, he got down to the point.

"The council voted to end your lives," he said, "but my son and daughter have persuaded them to reconsider. We will make a deal. If you will capture this Spad Ames and Locatella and all their men, you will be permitted to live as prisoners here the rest of your lives."

When the proposal soaked into big-fisted Renny, he emitted a disgusted rumble.

"Generous, ain't you?" he boomed.

Doc Savage asked: "Just what was the idea of voting to kill us in the first place?"

"We do not wish any more outsiders here," the chief said grimly. "We get along very well by ourselves, and have for a long time."

"Killing us will hardly prevent others coming, will it?"

"If we had killed Spad Ames, we would have avoided a good deal of trouble," the chief pointed out logically."But we are your friends, whether you think so or not,"

"That is what Spad Ames said. We believed him."

"We're wastin' our breath arguin' with these geezers," Monk muttered.

Doc said: "What you hope we will do is get rid of all your enemies, then meekly be prisoners the rest of our lives!"

"What is wrong with that?" countered the chief. "It seems very generous to me."