THE LOST GIANT

Author:===========================================================================
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-05-17T15:55:05+00:00

THE shack was not exactly the rattletrap which it had appeared to be through the night distance. It was large, and he decided, on closer inspection, that it was really a plane hangar, large, comfortable and probably steam-heated, on the edge of a rather cramped flying field.

He was lying in the snow—he had brought a white sheet from the house, and with his white skiing parka, he was not having trouble concealing himself, when a plane went over.

It came from the west, from the direction of Saranac, and it was slowly losing altitude. After passing, quite low over the shack and the small airport, the plane did a gentle three hundred sixty degree turn over the burning Stripe Lodge.

The plane occupant or occupants were not interested in Stripe Lodge, but in the little field by the shack. He was sure of that, because the plane bracketed one side of the field carefully coming and bracketed the other leaving.

The plane droned overhead. It was a large, snaky looking job in bright orange, two radial motors, and a fat roomy cabin. It was on skis.

It left.

A man came out of the hangar-shack, carefully wrapped a long yard-wide white cloth about him—it looked like airplane fabric—and replaced another man who had been crouching, unnoticed, in a snowdrift near the door. Lookouts were being changed.

Doc Savage tore his sheet into strips, and bound the white cloth over the parts of his clothing which were not white, and over his face, except for the eyes.

He could, now that he knew where to look, see the lookout’s breath steaming occasionally. Hoping to prevent being betrayed by the same thing himself, he made a pad over his mouth of loose cloth, so that his breath at least wouldn’t rush out in puffs.

He decided to take the risk of presuming there was just the one lookout. He crawled ahead. There was a little wind, whipping loose snow-devils along the surface of the drifts. These helped hide him.

He had no idea of overhearing anything. That would be expecting too much. But he did hope to find out whether they had an automobile or automobiles in the building, or whether there were planes. The place was about big enough for two planes.

He got a break, though, when a man—the fat man who had sat in the lobby of Stripe Lodge with the hunting rifle on his lap before the blowup—opened the door.

“See anything?” he called.

“No,” the lookout said. “Damn, it’s cold out here.”

“We’ll relieve you in a while.”

“Why didn’t the plane land?”

“Afraid to. They saw the fire at the lodge, and got nervous.”

“Probably a good thing.”

“Probably.”

“How’d you get in touch with them? Thought they didn’t dare use their radio.”

“They’ve landed on a lake. They got to a telephone and called me, a minute ago. They’ve hired a farmer to bring them over.”

“You think it’s safe for them to drive up here?”

“They won’t. They’ll park a mile down the road, and walk it. Or rather, ski it. They’ve got skis. There’ll be two of them, a thin man and a heavy one, so if you see them coming, it’s okay.

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