The Land of Terror

'They sailed on the liner Sea Star, bound for New Zealand,' Ham explained.

'Sailed!'

'Exactly. The vessel put out to sea yesterday.'

Doc swung to the telephone. He called the number of one of New York’s most modern airports. He instructed, 'My low-wing speed plane, the large one — I want it checked over and fueled to capacity at once!'

'There was no passport issued to Gabe Yuder,' Ham pointed out.

'Gabe Yuder may not be Kar!' Doc declared. 'Kar would fear to monkey with a passport. Possibly he stowed away on the Sea Star, in the cabin of one of his men. At any rate, it’s up to us to stop that gang from securing from Thunder Island the element that is the basic ingredient of the Smoke of Eternity.'

Doc now called the large banking house with which he did business.

'Has it arrived?' he inquired of the firm president.

'Yes, Mr. Savage,' was the answer. 'The sum was exactly six million dollars. It was cabled by the National Bank of Blanco Grande, in the Central American Republic of Hidalgo, exactly on schedule.'

'Thank you,' said Doc, and hung up.

This fabulous sum was from Doc Savage’s secret reservoir of wealth — a lost valley in the impenetrable mountains of Hidalgo, a valley inhabited by a race of golden-skinned people who were pure descendants of the ancient Mayan nation. In the valley was a great treasure cavern and a fabulous mine of gold — the treasure-trove of ancient Maya.

It was from this amazing spot that Doc’s limitless wealth came. But the money was in a sense not his — he must use it in the thing to which his life was devoted, in traveling to odd ends of the world in search of those needing help and punishment, and administering to them.

His method of letting the Mayans know when to send him a mule train laden with gold was as strange as the rest — he broadcast from a powerful radio station on a certain wave length at high noon on a seventh day. The chief of the Mayans listened in at this hour.

'We don’t need to worry about cash,' Doc told Ham.

At this point Oliver Wording Bittman, the taxidermist, spoke up.

'I hope you may consider my assistance of some value.'

'You mean you wish to accompany us?' Doc inquired.

'I certainly do. I must confess my contact with you thus far has been very enjoyable and the excitement highly exhilarating. I should like to continue in your company. My experience on the expedition which I took to New Zealand with Jerome Coffern should render me of some value.'

'You speak any of the native dialects?'

'One or two.'

To Doc’s lips came words of a language native to the South Seas. Bittman replied, although rather uncertainly, in the same tongue.

But Doc still hesitated. He did not want to lead this man into danger, although the fellow seemed pathetically eager to go along.

'Perhaps I can assist in finding natives who accompanied Jerome Coffern and Kar to Thunder Island,' Bittman said hopefully. 'Talking to those men should help us.'

That decided Doc.

'You shall go with us if you wish,' he said.

* * *

PREPARATIONS were pushed swiftly. Doc’s five men knew what they might possibly need.

Monk took a unique, extremely portable chemical laboratory which he had perfected.

Long Tom took some parts from which he could create an astounding variety of electrical mechanisms.

Renny, the engineer, took care of charts and navigation instruments, as well as machine guns — for Renny was a remarkable rapid-firer marksman.

Johnny posted himself on the geology and natives of the district they were to visit, while Ham cleared up aspects of law.

'We’ll have to wait two days on a liner from the Pacific coast,' Renny complained.

'I have a scheme to remedy that!' Doc assured him.

The afternoon was young when they took off in Doc’s speed plane. This craft was a latest design, tri- motored, low-wing job. The landing gear folded up into the wings, offering little air resistance. It had a cruising speed of about two hundred miles an hour.

It was the final word in aircraft.

The ship climbed rapidly. At sixteen thousand feet, it found a favorable air current. The Appalachian Mountains squirmed below. Later, clouds cracked open to give a sight of Pittsburgh.

The passengers rode in comfort. The fireproof cabin permitted them to smoke. The cabin was also soundproofed. The all-metal ship had a gasoline capacity that, in an emergency, could take it nonstop across the Atlantic.

Doc flew. He was as accomplished at flying as at other things. His five friends were also pilots of better than average ability.

At Wichita, Kansas, Doc landed to refuel, and to telephone long-distance to the San Francisco office of the shipping firm which owned the Sea Star, the liner which Kar’s men had boarded.

The Sea Starwas already some hundreds of miles offshore, the owners informed him.

It was night when they swooped down upon an airport near Los Angeles.

'This is what I call traveling!' Oliver Wording Bittman said admiringly.

They took on sandwiches. Monk purchased a can of tobacco and cigarette papers. The fuel tanks were filled to capacity with high test. Bittman went off with the word he was going to shop for some medicine effective against air sickness.

In the meantime, workmen had been supplanting the plane’s wheels with long floats. A tractor hauled it to the water. Doc had purposefully selected a flying field near the shore. The whole thing required less than two hours.

Taking the air, Doc nosed straight out into the Pacific.

'Good Lord!' Bittman gulped. 'Are we going to fly the ocean?'

'Not unless Renny has forgotten how to navigate, and Long Tom can’t take radio bearings,' Doc replied. 'We’re overtaking the Sea Star.'

'But the plane — '

'The owners of the Sea Star, at my request, radioed the captain to lift the plane aboard his craft.'

Long Tom worked continuously over the radio equipment, his pale fingers flying from dial to dial. Periodically, he called to Renny the exact direction from which the Sea Star’sradio signals came, as disclosed by the directional loop aлrial he was using. It was ticklish business, flying directly to a ship so far out to sea.

* * *

DAYLIGHT had come again before they sighted the Sea Star. The liner was steaming in a calm sea.

Doc landed near by. He taxied expertly into the lee of the massive hull. A cargo boom swung over. Lines dropped from its end. Doc secured these to stout steel eyes which had been built — with thought of this very purpose — into the speed plane.

Passengers crowded the rails and cheered as the plane was hoisted aboard the liner. Curious speculation was rife. Doc’s bronze, giant figure created the sensation it always did.

After seeing his plane lashed down on the forward deck, Doc closeted himself with the Sea Star’smaster.

'You have four desperate men aboard,' he explained. 'Here are their pictures.' Doc exhibited the telephoto copies of the passport photographs of Kar’s four men.

The ship captain eyed them. He gave a gasp of surprise.

'Those four men transferred to a small, but very speedy and seaworthy yacht which overhauled us