Chapter XIII

77

STRANGE FISH

The fat man was spread out on the floor, moving a little, dying.

The reel of 8−mm. film was on the floor. Johnny Toms hadn't taken it.

Doc got the film. It wouldn't go in any of his pockets. He shoved it inside his shirt, under his belt.

Then Doc went outdoors.

“In the house,” he shouted, putting all the power he could into his voice. “Be careful! There's five more of them around!”

He had to cough because he had hurt his throat, and after he had coughed, he heard one of the cowboys.

“What do we do?” the cowboy asked.

“Do your best,” Doc said.

“Who are they?”

“Nazi agents. Supposed to be five. Maybe more.”

“That's interesting,” the cowboy said calmly.

DOC SAVAGE ran toward the house, and in the house a man began screaming. The screams started on a low note of rage and fear and continued that way for a while, five seconds or so, whereupon they changed to a ghastly whinnying. It was Uncle Bill Hazel. There was no doubt but that he was dying.

Doc changed his course, made for Bill Hazel's bedroom. He reached the window.

The lights were on inside. There were three men in the room, only one of whom was not dead or dying. That one, the man who had directed them at the Tulsa airport, was standing over Uncle Bill Hazel, holding a long knife. Hazel was sitting on the floor trying with both arms to hold his insides together. The other man, the one already dead, lay on the floor. Evidently Hazel had killed him before he was knifed.

The man with the knife seized Hazel's hair, jerked his head back, and slit his throat.

Then the man ran to the window, put both hands on the sill to climb out. He fell out on to the ground, loosely, after Doc smashed him over the head with the light machine gun. He did not move after he hit the ground.

Out by the cottonwood tree where the tractor stood, there was a commotion of words. Then one shot. Then more words.

One of the cowboys called, “Mr. Savage!”

“Yes?”

“How many'd you say?”

“Three left,” Doc said.