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Roy Glashan's Library
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Amazing Stories, February 1943, with "The Phantom Transport"
It was death to ride on Scraghorn Mountain—death dealt
out by a phantom monster roaring down the super highway.
EIGHT hundred miles east of the roaring Pacific coast line a gigantic test truck careened up a slow grade on the Trans-World Highway. The enormous solid body of the truck bounced easily between humming lines of shock-proof tires. High in the air above the forward wheels two grim faced men hunched over the controls.
"Arrow" Lawson, tall, almost awkward, held the wheel. His face was gaunt and tired from the long hours in the tight cab. This was the biggest job he had ever tackled. Lawson didn't intend to fail the assignment.
"She's smooth, all right." His eyes never left the glowing plastic that stretched ahead of them. "If we can hold her together for two hours more, we'll have the greatest thing ever conceived in ground transportation."
"Grumpy" Walters, wrinkled dual man, pushed his crash helmet back nervously and scratched the thin fringe of white hair that circled his shining scalp.
"If we don't succeed we'll be out of a job and the World Peace Union may as well fold up its tent and scram. This Japanese business is getting plenty ugly."
Lawson was silent. "Test One" started to climb toward the dark outline of Scraghorn Mountain. The sound of mighty diesel engines filled the cab, drifting up from the engine room at the rear of the truck. Arrow glanced at his companion. Grumpy was deep in thought. In spite of the calm, double-chinned face Grumpy Walters had worries tonight.
Lawson admired the old warrior. He knew those quiet eyes could flash fire when high stakes were in the game. Grumpy could handle the wheel of the test job as though it were a scooter. The little pot-bellied man moved with deadly speed and precision at the controls. Walters was made of first class steel to the core, in spite of his gruff talk and everlasting cud of chewing tobacco.
The plastic highway climbed swiftly now. Realizing he might be needed, Walters switched on his controls and both men guided "Test One" toward grim Scraghorn.
The sky, dark now for some hours, held an odd red overcast of atomic fog. Lawson checked the dash carefully and entered the data on a small note book strapped to his knee. A strange faraway sound drifted into the cab and his forehead wrinkled into a worried frown. The speedometer shot a tiny spear of light slowly around until it stopped at 800 m.p.h.
"It's hard to believe that the peace of the world might depend on us tonight," Arrow said slowly.
GRUMPY WALTERS pressed the window release open and spat into the night.
"With this damned atomic storm raging," he said in a matter-of-fact voice, "the ability of the Peace Union to deliver goods around the world depends on this one highway, and transports that are big and fast enough to cover ground in a hurry."
His head bent forward suddenly and tipped to one side, listening. Arrow cut the motors. They could both hear it now.
"Damned if I ain't hearing things!" the older man said. "Could have sworn there was a truck coming up the grade from the west."
Then realizing he must be wrong, he continued:
"With our air fleet grounded for six months, the Japs are stirring up more trouble in the Far East than we can handle. If we hadn't hit on the idea of extending Translucent Trans-World Highway [*] across both oceans we'd already be dead pigeons."
[* For a complete explanation of this super highway, see "Death Rides At Night"—Amazing Stories for August, 1942 —Ed.]
High above them against the abrupt cliffs of Scraghorn, a beam of light lifted from the surface of the plastic and flashed through the air.
"There is a truck up there." Arrow's long fingers jerked out "five" and "six" motor releases and the last two diesels roared to life. Almost without realizing it he drew the wheel around gently until they were hugging the outer side of the highway. The power lights of the oncoming truck swept over the crest of the hill and blinded him.
Steady...
The truck howled down the grade toward them—hogging the center of the plastic.
Scraghorn had a nasty reputation. Truckers were refusing to take this run. They had told foolish hair-raising stories about a ghost truck.
Half a mile away now—the other truck had switched sides on the highway and was headed straight toward "Test One."
Lawson looked quickly at Grumpy's grim face. Walters' chin jutted out, the cud of "chewin" forgotten. Beads of sweat stood on his face.
"I don't like the looks of it." His lips moved stiffly. "The highway police were supposed to keep Trans-World open for us."
The strange transport was almost upon them. To the right of the plastic, steep unbroken walls of granite swept up out of sight into the red cloud bank. Lawson knew from past trips that the cliff to the left dropped beyond the retaining wall into a valley two miles below.
He slapped the power switch off and climbed down hard on the brakes. Too late. The onrushing truck seemed to expand as it came against them. Headlights splashed into great white circles of light against his face. Twisting the wheel with all his strength he felt "Test One" break open under his feet. A terrific force struck them broadside crushing in the mono-steel walls. Tires screamed wildly as they careened into the high wall at the edge of the highway. It broke their speed some. The transport that had hit them seemed to dissolve silently into the night.
He heard Walters groan and speak in a faraway voice.
"The Phantom Transport!"
His voice was terror stricken.
The wall crushed out under the savage impact of "Test One." The truck rolled away from the cliff edge and toppled end over end into the chasm. Arrow felt his arms torn from the wheel and almost ripped from their sockets.
The world was a revolving mass of twisting screaming steel. He felt his body suddenly released from pain and knew he bounced around the cab like a lifeless puppet. He closed his eyes and wondered why death was so easy. It didn't seem to hurt at—all....
THE spacious council room of the World Peace Union was overflowing with important men. The Union had spent a fortune on Warren Masters and his transport factories. Under a blue cloud of sulky cigar smoke they watched history being made on the tela-screen map against the far wall.
In the three short years since Masters had come from his study of the Far East, he had acquired the important post as Master General of West Station. Now the atomic storm threat was an ugly thing that promised ultimate destruction to the peoples of earth. Masters found himself the center of attention.
Since morning the small line of light on the map had plowed steadily ahead. Warren Masters was jubilant. His thin almost expressionless face delicately indicated the man's growing importance. Sitting in a heavy leather chair drawn close to the map, he puffed quickly at a long Havana.
The slender gracefully attired body had full control of this situation.
When Arrow Lawson jerked the test transport against the wall on Scraghorn and sent it hurtling into space, the line on the tela-screen map twisted abruptly and went blank.
Masters jumped to his feet. The cigar dropped from limp fingers into the deep rug. He moved swiftly and silently toward the screen.
Tall, willowy General Briggs of East Station followed, lighting a cigarette from the one still in his lips.
Yo Sen, High Commissary from Chungking Station lifted his aged body from a low chair and followed them. The remainder of the group stayed at the table. Some of them dropped exhausted heads to its smooth top.
Masters crouched over the screen and switched the contact lever around. He brought in the image of the dispatch room on the floor below. A loud hum of excited voices drifted up to him from the bank of tela-screen senders on the floor under the council chamber. Joyce Walters, Chief Dispatcher was in the foreground of the screen.
The girl was lovely at any time. Now, with tears welling into the large brown eyes, her beauty was startling. Masters stared at the full wet lips, noted the white teeth clenched down hard on one of them.
"The map!" he almost shouted. "What has happened?"
Her teeth clamped down harder, high forehead wrinkling. Joyce pushed a strand of honey-colored hair back under the earphones. She was frightened more than a professional attitude should have allowed.
"I—I don't know, sir. We seem to have lost contact." She released the lip from her teeth and a tiny bloodless line showed the depth of her emotion. "We maintained contact with Grumpy—I mean—Mr. Walters until five minutes ago. Then the screen blanked and we haven't—been—able...." She started to sob and switched the screen blank in his face.
MASTERS straightened with mixed emotions in his heart. The girl was Grumpy Walters' daughter. If anything happened to the old man...
The high cheek bones of his face seemed to lengthen in pain. His eyes narrowed and he pulled a tight collar from his throat, breathing hard.
Usually trim and neat during a crisis, Masters let himself go to pieces under the strain.
He chewed at the tip of a fresh Havana and strode swiftly back and forth across the wide room. The men watched him closely—waiting. Briggs waited until the caged tiger look left Warren Masters' eyes. Then he approached and guided him to a chair.
"Please sit down, sir!"
Masters slumped forward with head on his hands.
"It's useless," he groaned. "Something terrible has happened. My entire project is ruined. Our people will suffer..."
"We must plan for eventualities." It was Yo Sen, the Chinese leader. "Fate has struck us its first blow."
Masters turned on him in anger.
"Eventualities be hanged. Without these new trucks and their speed we can't hope to cope with this problem. God pity every decent soul on earth if we don't distribute supplies. The Japanese are ready now to strike us in the back."
"I realize your heart has been broken," Yo Sen answered gently. "You have done your best."
Warren Masters softened, an apology on his lips.
"Forgive me," he muttered in a low voice. "I've tried. God knows how hard I've tried."
Briggs interrupted.
"It's not your fault, sir. But even you can understand that we cannot approve of your production plans on these transports when even the first test truck has proven itself a failure."
A murmur of assenting voices arose from the group around the table.
Masters nodded.
"I've lost," he admitted. "But the world has lost vastly more than I. Twenty factories ready to start immediate production. They will lie idle and our people will die."
THE Dispatch room below was alive with special reporters and intelligence officers. There was a bedlam of noise.
Joyce Walters felt herself going slowly mad. The transparent earphones held the long hair out of her face. She tried to reach the truck once more, but the earphones were dead.
"Calling 'Test One'—'Test One' come in please...."
No answer from the void. Her arms dropped. Tears flooded her cheeks and she brushed them away with a smooth hand. Then the small shoulders under the business suit stiffened. This was no time for a cry. Grumpy would want his daughter to play the game straight through to the finish.
Red lips snapped into a straight line and a flush of high color spread across her creamy cheeks. Somewhere out there in the night was the best old warrior any girl had ever called "Dad." She didn't know Arrow Lawson well, but a queer lump filled her throat every time she thought of the tall driver's honest, lovable face.
There had been introductions at the terminal yesterday. Grumpy had brought Lawson across the apron of the truck field and pushed him forward with a heavy blow on the back.
"Joyce—meet Arrow Lawson—best damned truck cowboy that ever yanked a wheel over the divide. He's taking the test run with me."
Lawson had mumbled something in a low, pleased voice and blushed. It was a fine tribute to her beauty.
Now Joyce was aware of the silence that had settled down on the dispatch room. The girls under her command were removing their head phones. Reporters streamed out with their stories of the lost "Test One." She looked around wildly and wanted to shout for them to go on trying.
Warren Masters was at the door. He came in slowly with arms hanging dejectedly at his side. His shoulders were hunched forward.
If the Master General of West Station had given up...? She tried to speak but her voice caught in her throat. The room grew suddenly very tiny and hot. The bank of tela-screens in front of her seemed to twist and melt away before her eyes. She tried to stand up—saw Masters come toward her with his face deeply concerned.
"Miss Walters?"
The room turned black and a rainbow of terrible colors flashed inside her head. His arm was around her waist. It seemed so foolish to—faint—now ...
A small faraway voice said insistently.
"Bring some water quickly."
IN Arrow Lawson's head a powerful motor roared in protest. Lights that flashed up a long road blinded him. He clutched at an aching head to hold them away. Opening his eyes Arrow realized the light came from a gleam of sunlight cutting through the cab's broken window.
Then he was still alive? Staring up at the roof of the twisted metal box, he let his mind wander back lazily to the crash on the highway. The terrible ride over the cliff edge. What about Grumpy?
He sat upright and pain shot through his leg. With a groan he sank partly back, looking around him.
Walters was against the far side of the cab, his face twisted with pain. A slab of mono-steel had ripped from the cab door and pinned him there.
"We ain't in Heaven," Grumpy forced a grin through the blood that covered his lips. "I've been waiting for you to come around for a long time and I'm sure it ain't."
Lawson moved the stiff leg and knew it wasn't broken. He sighed with relief.
"Maybe not," he said. "But if we came through this mess alive, it's good enough for me."
Grumpy lifted a blood-soaked arm and wiped his face.
"Well Mr. Lawson," he clenched his teeth, "if you can navigate, give me a hand will you?"
Walters was game and he was badly hurt. Arrow started to crawl toward him, felt the twisted body of the cab lurch under him. He stopped, then moved forward inch by inch. Carefully he gripped the steel trap that held Grumpy's body and released him from under it.
"When we rolled over the cliff top, I figured the next stop would be the ground floor."
"It's obvious that we didn't have an express elevator," Grumpy snorted. "Must have hung up halfway down."
He rolled from under the steel slab. With his undertunic, Lawson skillfully bound his companion's wound.
Crawling carefully through the shattered window the truck cowboy dropped to solid ground. His lips puckered in a low whistle.
"Give me a lift," Walters said. "I'm coming out."
They were on a narrow ledge of granite not two hundred feet from the top of the canyon wall.
Only the cab had lodged here. The remainder of "Test One" had ripped loose and fallen to the canyon floor far below.
Arrow walked to the edge and stared down. Almost out of sight below the smooth belly of granite he could make out the remains of the transport. It spread out over the valley floor hardly visible to the eye. Grumpy came slowly to his side.
"Feel better?" Arrow asked.
"When I see what might have happened to me and didn't, I feel great."
LAWSON drew out a crushed cigarette package and extracted a last smoke. Breaking it in half he pushed one end into Grumpy's mouth. He tossed the empty pack on the rocky floor. His gaze traveled upward, searching for an explanation of how they had hit the cliff shelf. Grumpy's eyes followed his own.
Twenty feet above their heads a gnarled, sturdy pine tree twisted away from the rock wall. Dangling from its branches were long steel cables that had torn loose from the truck. Arrow shook his head slowly.
"The cab must have broken from the trailer and hit that pine," he said thoughtfully. "The cables swung up in onto this shelf and we stayed put."
"I always said it would take a lot to kill me." Grumpy sat down weakly. "But I thought I was on Gabriel's calling list this trip."
The sun climbed slowly against the far side of the canyon. They must have been in the cab all night. Lawson thought of the anxious Peace Union waiting for news of their trip. He wondered how Joyce, Grumpy's kid, had taken their failure to show up at West Station. Perhaps she'd think of him some, also. Then his mouth twisted into a desperate, almost frightened expression.
"We're safe enough here," he said. "But how in hell are we going up or down?"
Walters spat the remainder of the cigarette from his dry lips and watched it drift out of sight below.
"Never thought of that," he admitted. "No rope ladders—no wings, so I guess we stay here."
That damned nagging fear of high places was pulling at Lawson again. This was worse than the early trips aloft in the highway patrol's Sky Bugs. At least he could come down in them whenever he wanted to.
He turned his back on the sickening drop of the cliff and walked toward the gradually sloping roof of the cave. Grumpy followed and sat down with his back against the wrecked cab.
"You need a doctor," Lawson said.
Walters grinned weakly.
"Fat chance," he answered. "They wouldn't be much good by the time one of them dropped this far."
A strong wind whipped through the narrow canyon and Arrow's face wrinkled thoughtfully. The forgotten cigarette package lifted from the floor and blew into the darkness behind the shelf.
There must be an opening to create an inward draft against the side of the mountain.
Eagerly he ran toward the back of the cave, staggered over a pile of debris and pitched headlong. A cold wind rushed over his head and into a small shaft cut from solid rock. He reached out for something that might help him arise. His fingers closed over rough wood. Lighting a match he grinned delightedly at an ancient pick-axe, rusted and rotten with age. The tunnel was man made and could never have been started from the cliff side of the mountain. There must be another entrance above.
RETURNING, he found Grumpy still leaning against the cab with his eyes closed tightly. Blood was seeping through the chest bandage. Arrow bent over him and lifted the older man gently to his shoulder. Grunting under Walters' weight he went toward the new-found tunnel. If he could get out in time, Arrow thought, it would be the closest Grumpy had ever come to the Heaven he had mentioned.
"Think you found something?" Walters asked suddenly.
Arrow was silent. Grumpy tried to slip to his feet. "No you don't!"
"I feel like a weak-kneed old grandma," Grumpy protested.
"And I feel like a pack horse. It's the only way out."
He reached the tunnel and plunged into the darkness. Fifty feet from the entrance the chipped walls narrowed down to less than three feet in diameter.
"Guess we'll have to crawl from here on." He let his load down easily. "Take it easy, fella."
"About time," Grumpy mumbled. He wriggled along ahead of the lanky Arrow. The tunnel climbed swiftly and grew smaller as it went. Finally Walters stopped. His head thudded against solid rock. He swore loudly in the dark.
"Finish," he said shortly. "This is the end of the damned thing."
Lawson lighted a match. The old man was right. They had stumbled into a small chamber barely four feet across. He tried to stand up and to his surprise the roof lifted above his head. He stretched carefully and helped Grumpy to his feet.
"Looks like the bottom of the well."
Above them the light of his last match flared high, its yellow light flickering against the void. It faded and went out, but not before Lawson saw the row of rusted spikes driven ladder-like up the smooth wall above.
Walters knew what he was thinking.
"Sorry," he grunted. "It's your show from here on. I couldn't climb a horse."
Arrow had studied the spacing of the spike ladder carefully. Now the match was out he was almost sure that a tiny crack of light sifted down from above. He picked Grumpy up, held his arms around his shoulders and strapped them tightly with his belt.
"Hold everything, Gabriel," Walters moaned. "We're on our way up the golden stairs."
ARROW started to climb slowly.
Pressing his body tightly to the wall he felt the rusted, sharp-edged spike cut his palms. The limp weight of the man on his back told him Walters had fainted. The spikes came up under his reaching hands one by one. Sweat beaded from his face. The muscles of his arms were red hot and twisting under the terrific strain. Then he reached for a hold that was not there. A smooth round hole met his finger tips. He must be fifty feet from the chamber below.
He looked down and thanked God that it was dark. The old dizziness wasn't so bad this way. Still the old fears rushed into his brain and the fingers of his right hand started to slip. He looked up and with widened eyes saw the crack of light broaden slowly. A flash of color crossed it and then paused.
Under Arrow's foot one spike crumbled from the wall and fell. He held on tightly with both hands and felt Walters' body sway with his. The spike hit the floor far below with a loud clang.
Above him the circular plank cover twisted up from the shaft's top and rolled to one side. The light flashed down on his face and a feminine voice called softly.
"Hold tightly—just a minute."
He looked up and tried to grin. A long rope snaked out and tightened around his waist. Lawson's breath sucked in tensely and his fingers stiffened. The spike slipped from his cramped hold and gave away under the weight of their two bodies. He knew the rope was tightening and prayed that it would hold. Then they fell and the breath ripped out of his tortured lungs.
JOYCE WALTERS awakened in the small sick ward opposite the dispatch room. She was dizzy and heartsick. Sitting up, she realized it was late at night. She started to dress quickly and took a deep gulp of cold water from the glass on the bed table. Tossing the heavy mass of blonde hair from her face, she powdered the dark circles from under tired brown eyes.
What should she do now? They had given up all hope of finding her father and Arrow Lawson alive. Yet it wasn't possible that they were really dead. You just couldn't kill men as good as her father and the young truck driver. They were too tough to kill—too good. A lump arose in her throat and she forced the tears back.
Lying against the pillow her eyes stared up at the white clean ceiling. She must do something—anything to keep from going crazy.
Something about the name of Scrag-horn Mountain sent cold shivers playing up her smooth back. The drivers had been talking about the ghost truck for weeks.
"Wouldn't take that Scraghorn run for a million," one of them had said at the terminal only the other night. "Damned ghost truck can have that stretch of road all to itself."
Joyce's chin jutted out in cool determination. Someone would pay dearly for every hair that was harmed on Grumpy's white halo.
The corridor outside was dark. She walked along its silent length toward the elevator shaft. A tiny green light burned over the dispatch room door.
Joyce hesitated. That light burned only when a tela-screen was left open. She went toward it. Just outside the room she stopped quickly and drew into the shadows beside the polarized glass front. Inside the thick glass the figure of a man stood before one of the "outlaw" screens.
The "outlaw" wave lengths were for the use of high officials only. What message was so important tonight that it had to be transmitted secretly?
It was none of her business. Yet, only a few of Masters' highest cronies had keys to the dispatch room door. Masters? She studied the dark outline against the dimmed screen. Yes—it was he.
But it was the face on the screen that covered her body with gooseflesh. The face to which Masters was talking was like yellowed parchment with slitted eyes as black as burned steel. She knew at once that Warren Masters was talking to a Japanese.
STIFFENING, Joyce drew closer to the concealing wall and tried to hear what the mumbling voices were saying.
"The project has been destroyed; what about International Station?" his voice came faintly through the glass wall. The Japanese face remained expressionless, but thin lips moved in reply.
She felt like a fool. Masters had his spies in all parts of the world. This Japanese was undoubtedly one of them. It was logical that they should report on a wave length that would remain undetected.
She turned and went slowly toward the escalator. Safely on the floor below she rang for the express car and dropped ninety floors to the main entrance of the government building.
Jeff; her favorite newsboy, held out the evening paper as she passed. Joyce gave him her small change and tucked the paper under her arm without looking at it. She walked uncertainly along the plastic and stopped at the curb.
For the first time Joyce was completely bewildered. With no one at home to greet her, the trip seemed unbearable.
Warren Masters was leaving the building now. She watched him idly, admiring the Master General for taking his defeat so nobly.
Masters purchased a paper and waited at the curb for a rocket cab, unaware of her presence. He glanced at the front page and laughed audibly. Heavy headlines were spread halfway down its surface.
Curiosity overcame Joyce. She unfolded the paper under her arm and stared at it with slowly reddening face. The headline read:
JAPS CAPTURE INTERNATIONAL STATION
TANK FORCES SPEEDING TOWARD OUR COAST
Flaming anger spread over her face. Liquid eyes froze into pools of ice.
Masters had been talking to a Jap. This news which should have shocked him, was pleasing to him.
Somehow, she decided in that instant, Warren Masters was also responsible for the loss of the test transport. Responsible for any fate that may have overtaken her father. It was utterly fantastic that the Master General of West Station would wreck his own industries—his own trucks. It was just as amazing that Masters should talk to the Jap on the tela-screen. Yet he had laughed aloud at headlines that foretold the probable downfall of his own country.
A brilliantly colored rocket cab flashed up and Masters got in. Joyce knew exactly what she must do. Waving an impatient hand she hailed another cab from across the broad avenue of light. The driver gunned his little job and roared around in a U-turn to her side. He pushed the door open and she jumped in.
"Follow that last cab that left—" Masters was already a mile away on the plastic avenue—"There's a bonus for you if you don't lose him."
The tail of the cab flashed fire and they shot forward at sixty. The freckled cabby grinned over his shoulder.
"I'll run him off the road if you say so, Miss."
JOYCE held her breath. Masters' cab J headed for the foothills of fashionable Outer City. In five minutes they were among the tiny drives that covered his great estate. Her driver stopped at a corner well hidden by an undergrowth of shrubbery.
She got out and passed him three times the normal fare. He doffed a jaunty cap and smiled.
"The other mug pulled up just around the corner," he said blushingly. "If you need any help with the gentleman friend, just give me a short scream."
Joyce blushed guiltily.
"I won't need you, thanks."
"That's good enough for me, lady." He slammed the door and roared away down the silent road.
In front of the low, stucco house Joyce hesitated again. A single light burned in a window far back from the road. Taking a deep breath she walked firmly along the twisting path. The moon threw its shadows through the trees and across the dark lawn.
A high cluster of bushes thrust themselves toward the walk. She went in among them, heard footsteps behind her and halted. Pivoting, Joyce clutched her throat to hold down a scream of fear. Masters stood close to her, a cynical teasing grin on his face.
"I thought I heard a cab pull away," he said. "Nice of you to stop in."
His eyes were narrowed and something in them sucked all the strength out of her.
"I—I was just leaving..."
"Oh," he said. "But you just got here. I know. I've been watching you. Miss Walters—you're a very lovely girl to be going about at night unprotected."
"Please, Mr. Masters," she begged. "I'm nearly crazy with what has happened. Can't you help me?"
"Help?" Masters chuckled grimly. "So you came to me for help?"
She clutched at the straw.
"Oh yes!" she said quickly. "What did you think?"
His eyes glinted in the moonlight.
"Of course you could use help," he said slowly. "But the help you are begging for will have to come from a different source."
His arm swept around her waist and a wet, stinging cloth held in the scream that tried to burst from her lips. She twisted strongly in his grasp and felt the powerful odor of ether cutting into her nostrils. An odd, sleepy sensation thrust itself over her limbs and she sank down limply. She felt wet grass against her cheek and tried to struggle up. Sleep overcame her taut muscles.
MASTERS looked quickly toward the road. He picked her up roughly and walked toward the garage at the rear of the house. Inside the large plastic-car he dumped the girl on the back cushion and closed the door.
In five minutes he was talking by tela-screen to an incredibly lovely oriental girl.
"My Loa See has been patient in staying alone so long," there was a sneering overtone in his voice. "The Master compliments her and feels sorry for her loneliness. He will be at Scraghorn Mountain in two hours."
He flipped the control of the screen off and grinned in satanic glee at his own cleverness.
Shortly, a bright light cut across the lawn from a small studio atop Warren Masters' home. Up into the sky on "outlaw" bands went a message to the Japanese High Command at the recently occupied city of International Station.[*] A message that sent thousands of ponderous land tanks thundering out across the link of Translucent Trans-World Highway toward the unprotected coastline of West Station.
[* When Translucent Trans-World Highway was extended around the globe, it became necessary to build rest and refueling stations at several points.
As far back as 1940, artists were dabbling with their paint and producing dream cities floating in mid-ocean. These drawings never left the dream stage until the beginning of the twenty-first century.
With sailing ships all but forgotten, the floating cities still presented a sound plan for the advancement of transportation. Trans-World Stations were constructed at the three already mentioned points on Americana.
Later—Continental Station on the northern boundary of ancient Spain—and Chungking Station in the Chinese city of the same name, came into being.
With the gyroscopically stabilized pontoon reaching its rightful place in the scheme of living, the great city of International Station came to life in the Pacific. It was located on the International Date-Line. Hence its name.
At the time Masters flashed his message to the High Command, International Station was in the hands of the Japanese war lords. —Ed.]
Warren Masters, with Joyce firmly trussed up in the rear seat, started driving a few minutes later. The plastic-car headed away from the glowing western metropolis, toward the black, for
boding walls of Scraghorn Mountain.
A FAINT faraway gong sounded through thick walls. Arrow Law-son opened his eyes and for the second time in twenty-four hours, wondered how he had escaped death. He sat up slowly and felt thick, soft cushions spread out under him. This room might be Heaven. He would never question it.
Stretching carefully, he felt rested. Discovering the soft blue pajamas that covered his lanky body, his face grew as red as a school boy's who gets washed and tucked into his bed.
The small cell-like room wasn't over eight feet square. Looking for the source of the bright light that had awakened him, he decided it came from the millions of tiny openings in the walls. Indirect lighting such as he had never seen before.
The place was barren except for the vari-colored pillows under his back. There were dozens of them. A woman's touch he decided and blushed again, wondering what she had done with his ragged, filthy riding togs.
The gong sounded again, closer, as though to warn him of someone's approach.
With a rush of emotion Arrow remembered the shaft. The sickening sensation that rushed over him as they fell. Grumpy! Where was he?
He stood up quickly and went to the blank wall. The deep scar around his waist where the rope had cut, was sore and irritating.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Open up—will you?"
His voice bounced around the four walls and the place was silent again. He tried again.
"Let me out," in a mock pleading voice, "I'll be good."
A very soft, sweet voice drifted in over a hidden speaker.
"You must be quiet. You are safe until the others find you. I'll release you if you promise to do as I say."
It must be the girl who had drawn them from the shaft. The "others," whoever they might be, would have kept her from saving him.
"All right." His voice was more quiet. "I'll do just as you say."
A NARROW section of the wall slipped open and he stood at the end of a long hallway.
Standing a few feet from him, her head tipped up slightly to his, was the prettiest oriental girl Lawson had ever seen. She might be Japanese or Chinese. He couldn't decide which. The small smiling face was as creamy and smooth as white ivory. He stared hypnotized into the deep set black eyes that were like ebony swamp water. Arrow was more embarrassed than ever at his own gangly form hidden under the blue pajamas.
The girl took a step toward him and he thought her head bowed to him ever so slightly. The hair—great black coils of it were wrapped in shining rolls atop her perfect head.
"I—I want to thank you for using that rope," he said. "I'm not so good with words—but—well, I value my useless life and after today I owe it to you."
This time she did bow. Her head went low and came up gracefully with the dark eyes staring into his own.
"Simple compliments are always sincere," her voice tinkled pleasantly. "And now if you will follow me?"
She turned abruptly and walked away from him toward the far end of the hall. The brilliant crimson kimono swept against he alluring body, accentuating every lithesome curve. Her feet were hidden entirely by the flowing length of the red gown.
"Your friend is safe and cared for," she was reading his thoughts. "I will take you to him. You must both leave here at once."
"Tell me about this place," he urged. "What's all the mystery about?"
She turned slightly, a finger held to her lips.
"My name is Loa See. This cliff house is home. I am not here by my own choice." She frowned. "More than that I cannot tell you, except for one thing. You are in danger of your life as long as you remain within these walls."
They reached an open archway, leading into a large, richly furnished lounge. High torch-like lamps threw light from each of its corners, softening the pale blue walls and giving the scattered chairs a comfortable and important look. This seemed from its size to be a council chamber of some kind. But for whom? Scraghorn, Lawson decided, had only given up a part of its secret.
Loa See was still a few paces in front of him, her hips swinging gracefully as she walked. Then across the room in sharp outline against the wall, the shadow of a man spread out. The shadow held an upraised weapon. Lawson grasped the girl and drew her back swiftly. Not a minute too soon.
A line of flame shot across the place where she had stood. The shadow stayed there, motionless—waiting.
Crouching against the wall, Arrow whispered softly. He held his lips close to her ear.
"So you have enemies also?"
LOA SEE'S face was filled with fear.
He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and pushed her behind him. Two more shadows joined the first. He knew from the outline of the stiff service caps that they were soldiers. Ignorant ones, if he could judge by the manner in which they displayed themselves to the revealing light.
They were advancing slowly from his right, waiting to turn the guns wide open if he showed himself. Taking a long chance Lawson stepped into their range and then leaped back again quickly.
"Sputtt..."
The gun spit fire across the archway, burning a section of the wall at his elbow. Arrow faked a deep groan and fell forward, his body hitting the carpet with a thud. He hoped it had been a convincing act.
The men ran forward, guns ready. They stood over him, prodding his ribs with heavy boots. He didn't move.
The Jap who had fired at Loa See suddenly pushed his weapon into the holster and kneeled down on the carpet. He rolled Lawson to his back.
Arrow tensed his muscles and sprang. In a lightning motion he jerked the gun away from the bewildered Jap and kicked him hard in the stomach. The man fell backward with a grunt of pain.
Lawson swept the gun around at one of the armed men and sent a searing flame into his chest. The weapon went hot in his fingers and the man slumped forward silently.
Lawson was behind the closest chair, hidden from the two who were left. This was a tough game. He knew the chair offered no protection from their guns.
Dragging himself along the silent carpet he rolled swiftly behind a new position. A flame ripped out and the smell of burned cloth told him a second later would have meant cremation.
His gun sent its death sting flaring toward the man who had fired. The Jap's arm dropped off at the elbow and his weapon rolled on the floor. The armless soldier squirmed in pain and fell behind the protection of a long couch.
Changing his position again quickly, Arrow waited for the third Jap. The soldier had taken refuge in the corridor. Lawson waited, sitting on his haunches. He looked down at his torn, scorched pajamas and smiled ruefully.
When you shoot a rabbit—don't chase it—sit still and wait.
He crouched silently. The place was silent except for the armless Jap who kept moaning from behind the sofa. Then a closely-shaven head moved out from the corner of the hall. Slant eyes studied the room. Arrow didn't have the heart to shoot him in cold blood.
He jumped to his feet and shouted.
"Hey! Let 'er fly."
The Jap came on the run, his face blank with rage. Arrow tripped the trigger back gently and the Jap took the shot of flame between his small eyes. The force of his onslaught carried him into the room, and he pitched forward at full length at Lawson's feet. He didn't move again.
"ARROW!" The cry came from the direction of his cell. Grumpy Walters and Loa See were running toward him. Walters had a long knife in his bands. He was ready to tackle the whole Jap army single-handed.
Arrow waited, hiding himself as best he could from the anxious eyes of the pair.
"Hello, Walters." He waved a hand toward the men on the floor. "Put away your toad slabber. I'm all cleaned up."
Grumpy started to chuckle.
"Look at yourself," he said. "You need some personal cleaning up."
Arrow felt his face growing hot. He looked toward the girl. Loa See was deeply >m pressed by the results of his fight with the Japs.
"You are strange men," she said and her eyes twinkled bewitchingly. "How can you speak lightly when death is so close?"
Grumpy put his fatherly arm around her shoulders.
"You're the best joker in this pack," he reminded her. "Now that we are all asking questions, why did you pull us out that hole in the floor?"
She didn't have time to answer. A rush of sound drifted up from a room far below them. A warning bell rang loudly in the great hall. Loa See took Grumpy's arm and silently motioned for Arrow to follow. They ran back along the hall toward the cell in which he had been locked. She pressed a slippered foot against the hidden spring and the door opened again.
"Inside—quickly." Her voice was taut with fear.
Lawson knew they would have to trust the girl fully. Following Grumpy, he let her close the door behind them.
"Well I'll be damned," Walters snorted. "We sure let that little girl push us around."
Arrow didn't answer. He was walking swiftly around the cell, staying close to the walls.
"I can stand plenty of pushing from her," he said suddenly. "The kid's ace high for my money."
"I'm sure of one thing," Walters sat down on the cushions and scratched his bald dome. "The girl isn't a Jap."
Lawson stopped his pacing and stood very still.
"What makes you say that?"
"Those Japanese are rats, but they stick together like a pack of wolves. She didn't even bat an eye when you killed the three out there in the lounge."
FROM the hidden speaker soft voices were rushing in to them. Before Arrow could catch any words, the sounds faded in a distance. He started to pace again.
"For God's sake stop that caged tiger act," Walters begged. "Take it easy. She'll be able to handle things all right."
"What about the dead soldiers?" Lawson asked tersely. "They're bound to find them."
He stopped walking. A faint click came from the wall beside him. Retracing his steps carefully, he tried again. The sound came again and another secret door opened. It was opposite the one they had entered.
Grumpy sprang to his feet.
"You're the damnedest guy I ever saw to figure things out." He rubbed his scalp. "I'da sat here until hell froze before I thought of that."
"Guess work," Arrow admitted. "I thought there'd be more than one way out of this place."
They went swiftly along the strange hall. It was smaller than the other and led to a blind alley fifty feet from the cell.
"I been thinking about that truck we hit last night," Grumpy said in a puzzled voice.
"Truck—hell!" Arrow turned with blazing eyes. "That was pure mountain air. The force that pushed us off the road came from some mysterious source. Something that instead of crashing into us head on, just pounded against the side of the truck and pushed it over the cliff."
Walters' jaw dropped.
"Never thought of that." A look of dawning understanding came into his eyes. "If we had hit anything solid at that speed, the test job would have folded up like a two-buck accordion."
"Right," Arrow's eyes were icy. "If I'm on the right track, that ghost truck originates from these cave rooms somewhere."
They reached the end of the wall and he searched carefully for another hidden release. Finding the spring more quickly this time, they watched the door open slowly. Beyond was a great, jagged hole in the face of the cliff.
Lawson's breath sucked in. They stood on a natural shelf overlooking the countryside below Scraghorn Mountain. The valley below spread out like a perfect relief map. The Trans-World Highway, hardly wider than a yardstick, darted like a green arrow from the east and faded away toward West Station. They stood in awe of the scene, leaning over the three-foot wall that enclosed the cave-like room.
"When I was a kid," Lawson said slowly, "Dad told me some day I'd see three dimensional movies that wouldn't need a screen. Movies that would throw moving, solid looking people into the air and make them act natural."
Grumpy was silent for a long time. This was too tough for his practical mind.
Then he said.
"But Arrow—how in hell—," Lawson groaned.
"Maybe it's a pipe dream," he admitted. "Damned if I know where the magic machine I dreamed up, is hidden."
SOFT footsteps sounded behind them. Arrow pivoted. Warren Masters stood in the open hall with his feet thrust wide apart. A gun waved at them threateningly.
Lawson took one step forward and stopped. His arms went slowly into the air. Grumpy followed his example. The bald-headed old warrior's chin dropped. His eyes studied the weapon and traveled with utter disbelief to Masters' angry face.
"Warren Masters!" his fists clenched. "I'll be a son of a blue-eyed polecat."
Masters expression was like a bitter mask. He stood stiffly erect never taking his eyes from the tall young cowboy.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. This is a pleasure, although very much unexpected. My faithful Loa See failed to mention your presence."
Lawson knew the girl had been faithful to them. His arms went to his sides again, slowly.
"Whoever your Loa See is," he said evenly, "he knows nothing about us."
Masters seemed to relax.
"I am glad. It might bring unpleasant complications."
Lawson stared at him coldly—without emotion.
"I didn't know the Peace Union allowed mad dogs to run loose."
The man's lips tightened.
"I'd have more respect for this weapon if I were you."
Arrow tried to edge toward the man with a gun. The weapon pushed forward, stopping him in his tracks.
"A snake is brave as long as he has fangs," Lawson snarled. "When they are drawn he'll wriggle under your heel where he belongs."
"Cut the drama, Arrow," Grumpy said shortly. "As long as this rat has his gun he's going to play God. He'll strike at the wrong time, one of these days."
Masters smiled.
"You are a wise man, Mr. Walters." He stepped back against the wall of the passage and motioned them to pass. "Should you attempt to escape—your daughter..."
Walters whipped around with a snarl.
"If you're hurt Joyce...?"
Masters' face whitened. Then the feel of the gun in his hand reassured him.
"Joyce is thus far unharmed. I simply suggest that you do as I say."
"And back it up with a shot in the back if we don't. You are a snake, Masters."
Grumpy turned and followed Lawson back toward the cell.
JOYCE WALTERS sat very quietly J with her slim body slumped forward, elbows against bent knees. Her head ached terribly. She must have been in the barren cell for at least two hours. Masters had brought her to this strange place and she waited now, fearing that at any time he might return for her.
Pushing the tousled mop of hair from her eyes she tried to ease the pain in her head by pressing both fists into her eyeballs. Her gray suit was torn and wrinkled. She knew Masters had brought her here in his car after she had gone to sleep from the ether. She dreaded the outcome of her foolhardy trip to his home.
Faintly on the other side of the wall, a gong sounded. Without knowing why, she stood up and tried to brush some of the wrinkles out of her skirt. A tired blush crossed her cheeks as she noticed the long rip that revealed smooth creamy flesh halfway to her hip. Holding the skirt together as best she could, Joyce tossed her head back proudly and waited.
A door slipped open in the wall. Grumpy Walters stood before her, a pink-tinged bandage around his chest. He was clad in the worst looking, dirtiest blue pajamas she had ever seen. Grumpy whom she had given up for dead, grinning through pale lips.
"Daddy!" Joyce rushed to him with tears of happiness washing down her cheeks. Their arms went around each other and he held her close to him. Then, over his shoulder she saw Law-son.
"Oh!" she said. "I'm—I'm so glad."
Arrow looked worse than her father. His pajamas were burned and filthy, hanging to his long body until he looked like a reluctant scare crow.
"You both look so funny," she giggled a little hysterically.
Masters' sarcastic voice spoiled her happiness.
"A touching scene," he said from behind the men. "But—if I may interrupt?"
"You have a way of interrupting that has become increasingly disgusting." Her eyes flashed and with arms akimbo the girl faced him over the barrel of the gun.
"You are happy to find your father here?" Masters ignored her sarcasm.
She bit her lip, drawing the blood.
"After finding out what a snake you are," she said coolly, "I'm happy to find him alive."
Masters stepped forward quickly and slapped her face with the palm of his hand. Joyce's cheek went crimson under the blow. She didn't flinch.
Arrow Lawson seemed to move only above the waist. Without obvious effort his fist crashed out squarely against Masters' bony chin. The man's head jerked back and he staggered against the wall. His lips curled haughtily.
"Until you did that..." he breathed hard, "I had planned to spare you torture. This forces me to plan otherwise."
Joyce's eyes glowed with a lock of pride that was ample reward for the lanky truck driver. He thought for a minute that Masters was going to shoot him down in cold blood. The gun didn't frighten him.
Joyce had been glad that he, as well as her father, was alive.
Warren Masters backed slowly from the room, and the wall closed. They were alone, wondering what form of hell he would plan for their benefit.
WHEN the two guards came for Lawson, he knew there wasn't a chance to escape them. Without ceremony the men came into the room. One of them covered Grumpy and Joyce. The other lifted his weapon in the air and without expression on his yellow face brought the weapon down with a crushing blow on Arrow's skull. He knew they were dragging him by the arms from the cell. He knew that Joyce was screaming and fighting them like a wildcat, saw her pushed roughly back into the cell room. Then he closed his eyes and felt his arms twist and stretch out until they felt like raw branding irons of red hot flesh.
It was very dark and hot about him and he slept fitfully.
"Arrow Lawson..."
He groaned and tried to turn away from the sound.
"Arrow Lawson..." The voice was soft—pleading. "Please open your eyes."
He became aware of a red-blood fog before his eyes and cool small fingers that brushed it away soothingly. The lump on his head ached fiercely. He groaned and tried to sit up. This time a soft arm crept around his shoulders and helped him. The fog cleared and he was looking into the swamp water that swam blackly in Loa See's eyes.
She crouched beside him on the hard floor. He wanted to throw his arms around her and tell the girl she was the finest thing in the world. This was the way she had come that first time. Soft and so frail looking. Ready to help when he needed her.
"I'm glad..." he started to talk and his own voice sent throbbing pains through the back of his head. Closing his eyes again he knew her soft lips brushed his own. She whispered close to his ear, and he understood part of what she said.
"I'm all right. Get hold of myself in a minute."
He looked at her in the dim light of the strange cell room. She was dressed in a filmy tunic of warm blue that swept the floor. The warm perfume of her flesh came through it and she held his head cradled close to her breast. With a small cloth she wiped the blood from his face.
"Try to stand up," she said, and placed her hands under his armpits. A light of tense purpose was in the girl's eyes. "We must go before the Master awakens."
"The Master?" he looked at her strangely. "Warren Masters?"
She nodded.
"To us he is only a friend who will destroy us all when his work is completed."
Lawson stood up swaying with dizziness. She put the strength of her body under his arm and helped him walk from the room. In one hand she carried a bundle.
"You aren't Japanese?" he said.
Loa See smiled softly.
"To the Master I am of Tokyo blood. To you, I am Loa See, girl who came from nowhere to worship and help you to safety."
She spoke with much more than sincerity in her voice, baring her soul to a man for the first time. Lawson understood.
They went through the hall and she found a strange release to the door half-way toward the lounge room. There was a long, rough-hewn tunnel, like the one Grumpy and he had first entered from the cliff. She drew him quickly from the hall and the door closed behind them. For a time he could see nothing, but followed her along the rough granite. Her tiny hand clasped his fingers tightly.
FAR ahead soft glowing moonlight outlined the outer end of the tunnel. Loa See stopped.
"I cannot go beyond here."
"But I can't leave you," he protested. "If Masters finds out what you've done..."
"Go at once." She pushed him from her. "Here is a bundle. Your clothing and the key to Masters' car are in it."
She tried to draw away from him.
"I'm not a complete heel," he said.
"You want your friends," she answered simply. "They wait for you outside. The car is just north of the tunnel entrance-.'"
"But what will he do to you?"
The girl gave him a little push.
"I have handled Masters before," she said. "But if you will save me punishment, go at once."
"You've been a peach," Lawson said. "I'll be back for you in a few hours."
With a moan she was pressing against him, the fragrance of her waist-long hair in his face. The warmth of her body tightened against his almost savagely. He stood very still in the darkness and with one arm around her waist, tipped her lips to his own.
She returned the embrace with a fury that startled him, released herself and was again out of his reach. He heard her run a few steps back toward the hall they had left. Then she halted and her voice wafted down guardedly.
"The ghost truck has lost its fangs tonight," she said. "But be careful if you return. It will grow them again very soon."
He started to follow her, saw a flash of light as she entered the ball and the tunnel was dark and silent again.
RIPPING the bundle open Lawson found his clothes and donned them quickly. He emerged into the moonlight of the mountain side and felt the key safely in his pocket.
Ahead, against the brush covered cliff were two waiting shadows. He went toward them cautiously and breathed with relief.
"Loa See told me you would be waiting," he said.
Grumpy thumped him soundly on the shoulder.
"Joyce has been all out for defense until you showed up," he chuckled. "Wanted to go back and beard the lion in his den."
Arrow hoped they couldn't see the bright wave of color that still stained his face from his passionate experience in the tunnel.
They found Masters' plastic-car without trouble. Working quietly, Law-son released the brakes. They sped down the rutted mountain road away from the secret mountain hide-out. The moon was bright as Lawson eased the small car swiftly among the dangerously jutting rocks. In five minutes the Trans-World Highway lighted up before them, and he eased speedily into the outer lane.
They'd have to go straight back west and past the spot where the ghost truck had run them down. For the first time since they left the mountain hide-away, Arrow relaxed his grip for a minute and stared at his companion.
"I suppose she told you to wait for me?"
"Right," Grumpy answered, "and I'm darned glad that we're out of that hole. If I get my paws on Masters, I'm going to take a few pounds of his flesh."
Joyce was very quiet. She wondered about the little oriental girl. It was evident that Loa See thought a lot of Arrow. She had risked her life to free him.
Grumpy grew nervous. They were almost opposite the high cliff where the truck had gone over. He chewed hard at his usual cud of tobacco, opened the window and shot a mouthful toward the side of the road.
"I don't like the idea of this," he said. "That damned ghost truck isn't going to miss a chance at us if I'm any judge of this setup."
Arrow smiled softly.
"I don't think we'll worry," he said. "I think the dragon has lost his teeth for the time being."
He was dreaming of Loa See and the way she had clung to him in the cave.
"We'll be back for trouble in a few hours." Under his breath he added "and a poke on Masters' jaw for every time he lays his dirty hands on the girl.'"
THE road dropped to the straight level of coast country and driving grew easier. He pushed the fuel lever forward and watched the speedometer line flash around to 300 m.p.h. Joyce stared at him queerly. He sat the wheel control for the straightaway and turned to her.
"You've been a peach," he said. "I'm sorry you got mixed up in this."
She shook the soft hair back from her face and grinned at him. Her eyes sparkled.
"I'll never forget the way you punched Masters when he slapped me. It isn't often a man will face death as coolly as that for a girl he hardly knows."
Grumpy interrupted.
"Look, you two," his voice was harsh but the twinkle in his eye betrayed him. "Lawson has two women following him around now. For the time being, I want to know what is happening at West Station."
Joyce realized suddenly that they knew nothing of the impending attack on West Station. They had been completely out of touch with the world.
Rapidly she sketched what had happened to her since the tela-screen at West Station had gone blank. The men listened intently. Lawson's face was coldly emotionless. Grumpy grew more excited with every word. When she had finished, Lawson sat very quietly, bending forward against the wheel. He started talking, almost to himself.
"It's clear that Masters built the test truck and his factories as a blind. A camouflage for his activities with the Japs."
"Damned expensive camouflage," Grumpy grunted. "But with the whole world in the pot, he could afford to set the stakes high."
Arrow nodded.
"How long can General Richards and his army defend the coast line without reenforcement?" Arrow asked.
Grumpy tipped his head back thoughtfully.
"Not more than twenty-four hours if there's any size to the attacking force."
Arrow whistled softly.
"That won't give me much time, but I think we can make it."
"Make what?" Joyce questioned him eagerly. "Do you have some plan to help him?"
Arrow turned off the mechanical control and took the wheel again. They entered the heavy traffic lanes of West Station, and sped down the plastic boulevard.
"Maybe it's my imagination," he said, "but unless I'm crazy, there's a weapon on Scraghorn Mountain that will turn on its own creators and wipe them from the earth."
Grumpy gasped.
"I'm not sure I know what you're thinking about," he said, "but if it's got anything to do with that phantom transport, it's powerful enough for me."
"Ready to go back with me and take a chance?" Arrow asked.
"Give me a good club and turn me loose on those Japs. I'll show you how ready I am."
LAWSON drove straight to the high promontory where the Translucent Highway walked stilt-like away from the mainland, and stretched glowingly out across the Pacific. A net of "fire-wire" had been laid across the road. Thousands of strands of it burned white-hot with amperage. The great atom-smashing power station atop West Station Hill was whipping out voltage to sear anyone coming within fifty paces of the stuff.
Stretched across the hillside behind this electric barricade, "Ironsides" Richards, with fifty years of tough army life behind him, had laid out his battle line. The ray cannons, their size controlled by the peace council laws, were pitiful weapons with only enough power to throw death a hundred yards. Lawson realized with an angry twist of his mouth that Masters had enforced these regulations personally.
A sentry stopped the car a half-mile behind the battle line.
"Captain Richards wants no civilians beyond this point," he said. "Sorry, you'll have to turn back."
Then the sentry recognized Grumpy Walters hunched in the back seat and a smile flooded his face.
"Why didn't you say something, Mr. Walters?" His face was red. "The General said if you arrived to show you to his emplacement at once."
In five minutes they were behind the partly buried ray cannon, listening to Hugh Richards tell of the tough spot he was in. The man was a leader from his stiff, bronzed neck to the booted feet that held him erect and proud before them. When Richards talked they became silent, admiring the ringing intensity of his voice.
"And now," he completed his story of his job to have everything in readiness for the attack, "I have three hundred men and a few pitiful weapons to stand off God knows how many of those yellow fiends. Once they cross the bridge head and land, the whole country will go down before them like grass in the wind.
"The voltage fence?" Lawson asked. "That's your main defense, isn't it?"
"Right," Richards shot a glance of admiration at the tall driver. "Once they get the range of the West Hill power station, one shot will blank it from the map. After the wire cools—"
"These pea-shooters of yours won't stop a tank," Lawson finished and stood up.
"What then?" Grumpy asked shortly.
"Well—" Richards' neck turned red. "Dammit, man, you're forcing me to say it—We'll have to blow up the highway."
Joyce's lips parted.
"Oh, no!" she gasped, and then was silent.
RICHARDS looked from one man to the other. His head dropped.
"I know." He said it like a man who had been almost licked and wants to come up for a last round.
"For forty years I've nursed this little army along on what little money I could scrape together. The Union has stopped me at every turn. No money—no weapons—no men.
"Now they are on the spot and so I'm holding the bag. I can't see my own people blasted to hell in front of those super-tanks the Japs are using. Before I'll let them plunge their blunt noses into West Station I'll destroy Trans-World."
Grumpy chewed hard, spat and chewed again.
"I don't blame you," he said. "But once that highway is cut the world has lost its last chance for peace in this century. The world looks to West Station for finished products of all kinds. Without our industries and a way to transport finished materials, the other countries cannot survive."
"Including," Lawson added abruptly, "their ability to stand conquest by the Japs. This will only be the first of their attacks."
Joyce had been listening quietly.
"You told us you had a plan," she reminded him.
Arrow looked at the tense eager faces around him. The men were waiting with an eagerness for anything he might suggest.
"I do have an idea," he said slowly. "It can't be called much of a plan yet."
He climbed the breastwork in front of the gun and stared in the direction of the Pacific. Returning he started to talk swiftly, his mind clear with something he hoped would work.
"Richards, you'll have to keep the Japs away for at least five hours. Whatever you do, don't advance beyond the electric fence. If something doesn't happen to turn the tide of battle in that length of time, why—you'll have to blow the highway."
"But," Richards objected, "I'll have to know what you have in mind."
Arrow looked him squarely in the eye.
"It's so damned fantastic that I'm not even sure myself. Just take my word that I'll be in there pitching with everything I've got, and hope for the best."
The tough old officer shrugged and looked questioningly at Walters.
"Take his word for it, Hugh," Grumpy said shortly. "You haven't anything to lose and tie boy's all right."
Richards nodded. He grasped their hands firmly and said to Grumpy.
"Take care of yourself, Old Timer. We've kicked around a lot in the last twenty years."
"Old Timer, is it?" Grumpy growled. "You ain't no youngster yourself."
Richards turned to Joyce.
"You had better get back to town, young lady. We'll all be pretty busy in the next few hours."
She started to object, then remained silent. There was no time for petty arguments now. They climbed into the car and drove toward West Station.
THE streets were crowded with frightened citizens. Every manner of strange weapon had been dragged from forgotten storerooms. Lawson chuckled dryly when he saw a group of pompous business men armed with the long forgotten Garand rifles, out of action ever since World War II.
Joyce left them at the government building. She climbed from the car and placed a kiss on Grumpy's leathery cheek. Then swiftly her lips met Law-son's and pressed them warmly. The car roared out of sight and she stood alone at the curb. Not for long. A rocket cab zoomed to her side and she climbed in.
"Drive me to the Union Freight Terminal," she ordered. "Don't spare the horse power."
ARROW LAWSON felt right at home behind the shimmying wheel of old Transport Six. He had brought it through with flying colors from the series of mysterious metalode accidents a year ago. It was hard to believe that this rebuilt truck was the same one that had blown to hell under him that night in the highway ditch.
Now with rattles and all, he was happy with Grumpy clinging grimly to the opposite side of the cab. For two hours they were silent, with their thoughts full of West Station and the impending disaster. Walters watched with keen admiration the way Lawson piloted the old truck.
Arrow's plan was vague to the point of being foolhardy. In the back of his mind he thought he might be able to find and transport the mysterious cannon at Scraghorn to the seashore near West Station.
Forcing his thoughts back to realities, Arrow watched for the almost hidden road that led toward the cliff house. He watched for the ghost transport, praying it would remain invisible this trip.
They reached the hidden road and left the Trans-World. The roaring motors of 'Six' took them forward swiftly and he felt the huge truck body bouncing dangerously between the giant wheels.
A single light burned at a small window on the side of the cliff. Slamming down the powerful brakes he felt the job rock back and forth as the wheels stopped dead.
They were a quarter of a mile from the secret entrance.
Climbing from the truck he went forward swiftly. Walters, with both guns drawn, walked close behind him. From the lighted cliff window a single, piercing scream cut into the night. A low moan followed and he knew the tortured cry came from Loa See's lips.
Good God—the devils were beating her. He rushed forward. They found heavy doors of iron hidden against the cliff. To Lawson's surprise they pushed in easily. Evidently Masters hadn't expected company so soon.
Expecting to face the whole Jap army at any minute, the pair went up a long corridor and into the lounge where Lawson had killed the Japs The room was deserted.
From a gallery above, the scream came again, boiling his blood. They found the stairs and went up them three at a time. In the hall above Law-son stopped, breathing hard. Grumpy caught up with him and stood with eyes popping.
The long hall looked as though fires from Hell had purged its walls. At the far end, stacked like red chips, were a full dozen burned and broken cadavers. The men were Jap soldiers, and Arrow had an idea now why Loa See was being punished. Evidently she and Masters were alone here in the cliff house.
If the weapon burned its trail to the far end of the hall, then it must be concealed somewhere behind them. He reeled around and dashed to the other end. Heavy walls stopped him, but he knew what to do. A faint sobbing came from beyond.
Walking toe to heel, he found the secret spring and saw the door swing back.
ARROW gasped at the scene in the room, raised his gun to fire but never pulled the trigger. Masters, his face cold with hate, had been faster. A long black-snake whip curled out and jerked the gun from Lawson's grasp. It clattered on the floor. With his other hand Masters covered them with his own weapon.
"Drop your guns." He re-coiled the whip skillfully. "You're just in time for the show."
But the eyes of the two men were not for Warren Masters at this moment. They looked beyond him at the girl tied by the wrists to a long, high, roof beam. Loa See had been strapped with her toes touching the floor, the kimono dropped loosely to her waist. Across the smooth back and hips blood dripped out of long deep welts in the flesh.
The girl had fainted and with head dropped forward, the long black hair drifted down to her waist. It partly-covered the tear-stained face. She twisted and turned from the force of the lash, her body quivering from the last blow.
Arrow sucked his breath in sharply and the muscles of his hands flexed the long, bloodless fingers.
"Masters," he said in ironic fury, "I'm going to kill you a dozen times for every whip lash you've laid on her body."
"You'll be in no condition to kill anyone," Masters sneered. "Get down on your knees and tell me you'll hurt no one."
He raised the whip and brought it down across Lawson's face. Arrow sank down, holding his hands up to protect himself. A shiver of pain crossed his body and he stayed on bended knees.
The whip sang out again, but before it struck, Lawson had judged its speed. With lightning speed he grasped the thongs that were meant for his back.
Masters didn't have a chance. Law-son fell back flat, jerking with all his strength. Before the other man could let go of the handle, he pitched forward on his face and the gun spun from his fingers. Arrow was up, retrieving the whip in quick overhand motions.
Grumpy leaned against the wall, his face split with a grin of ecstasy. He spat brown tobacco juice full in Masters' face as the man came upright. Masters retreated to the wall and crouched, his eyes on the fallen gun. The whip \lash shot from Lawson's tough arm and sang out loudly on Masters' face.
With a moan of pain Masters tried to crawl across the floor to the gun. The whip lash came down again across his reaching fingers and he jerked his hand back, nursing it between swollen lips.
"Give me a drag at that whip before you throw it away," Grumpy said. "I'd like a little blood for myself."
Lawson passed the whip to him.
"Every time you hit him," he said, "remember what he just did to the girl."
Masters stretched full length on the floor.
"Please," he begged. "Not again."
The whip cracked down and he squirmed. Grumpy spat brown juice again as his aim improved.
ARROW went to the girl. He took her tenderly in his arms and drew the kimono around her hot, suffering body. Feeling the bare flesh above her heart, he knew she was still alive.
Grumpy, his arm tired and his soul revenged, helped cut the thongs that bound Loa See. They carried her to the hall and put her down carefully.
Arrow bathed the wounds with water Grumpy found below. Then, lifting her head in his arm, he forced cold water between her lips.
Loa See opened her black eyes and smiled at him.
"It is good that you came back," she said. Smiling wanly she closed them again. He gave her more of the water.
"I feel better now, except for the pain." She put a small arm around his neck and sat up. "Masters? Have you captured him?"
Grumpy motioned toward the room they had just left.
"He'll lie still for a while," he grunted.
"The soldiers?" Arrow asked. "Did you kill them?"
Grumpy interrupted him.
"Richards will blow up the highway in half an hour," he said. "We've got to work fast."
"I'm trying," Arrow silenced him. "Listen, Loa See. You killed those men with the cannon?"
She shuddered.
"Then you know...?" and before he could answer, "... it was necessary, to save you."
"Then Masters has got the atom cannon hidden here?"
Her eyes lifted.
"You—know?"
Lawson smiled softly.
"Only part of it," he answered. "I know the phantom transport must be a movie of some kind that can show pictures in the air. I know that a powerful gun is focused to synchronize with the pictures so that it will fire when the ghost truck hits a metal object. You will tell me the rest."
It was Grumpy's turn to protest. His jaw dropped.
"You didn't tell me..." he sputtered.
Lawson helped the girl to her feet.
"You've seen everything I have," he told Walters. "I've just been thinking things out."[*]
[* The atomic cannon, although Lawson did not realize its full construction details at the time, was a simple instrument to construct. One question arises. How could the image of a moving truck be projected without a screen? At the present time, complete blueprints exist of a machine that will send pictures three thousand feet into the sky and project clearly against the clouds. This machine proved so satisfactory that several advertisers contracted for its use. It is tied up in the law courts by three interests, all determined that it will not be used.
Three-dimensional pictures are simple things. To project them against dust particles and atom dust in the air is feasible. Even more so when we consider the atomic storm that was covering the world at the time Lawson fought Masters and his backing power.
How can the picture be projected without a telltale beam of light from the projector?
Black Light, to state the case simply, is manufactured in a mercury tube in the same manner as early tubes of the fluorescent type. It is screened through a special glass, and emerges invisible to the human eye.
If projected against a fluorescent object, the light becomes visible within the human spectrum.
As early as 1940, scientists threw movies with Black Light against a fluorescent screen and they appeared clearly at a distance of fifty feet.
The atomic cannon had two barrels. One for the picture. One for firing its projectile of force. They were constructed to work in unison. When the ghost truck of light struck a metal object, it released a shaft of atomic power that struck with uncanny accuracy.
This—then—was the ghost machine of Scraghorn Mountain.—Ed.]
Lawson looked at Loa See questioningly.
"Well?"
"Yes—yes." Words poured out eagerly. "I have been here for many months. Masters constructed the atom cannon to prevent his own test truck from working." He also used it to slow up the transportation of supplies. The Japanese War Lords provided him with funds to insure the success of their war on this country. He has been promised the rule of this land when it is powerless to fight longer."
"That's in ten minutes," Grumpy reminded them wryly. "I think we'll hold this talk until then. Where is this cannon?"
"Come quickly."
LOA SEE held Lawson's arm and they went back toward the room in which she had been tortured. At the door she stopped, her eyes turning questioningly to Walters. "Masters?"
Grumpy pushed by her and looked around the place. It was empty.
"I'll be damned," he said slowly. "Didn't think that crook would move for a week."
"We've got to find him," Arrow shouted. "Before..."
"It's too late!" Loa See's voice was dead—expressionless. Lawson pivoted at her side. The slab of wall had peeled back and they stood before a heavy glass partition. It was diamond hard and more than a foot thick.
Beyond it stood Warren Masters and his atomic cannon. Lawson knew the man was on the same balcony he and Grumpy had found before. Over his head they could see the long emerald band of the Trans-World Highway.
Masters ignored them as he crouched over the weapon. It was shaped like a huge packing box, constructed of steel and hidden under black paint. Two eight-inch cannon barrels projected from it and pointed down across the valley.
Masters was fumbling hastily with the control board that winked its colored lights from the base of the machine. He sat down in a small chair attached to the cannon and watched the lighted screen before him. Focusing it carefully he stood aside so they could see the image he had brought in.
The girl on the screen was Joyce Walters. Her face was streaked with dirt behind the wheel of a truck. Then the screen faded and the entire truck was in its viewfinder. The screen blanked.
Grumpy turned pale.
"The devil," he howled. "He's going to send that damned ghost truck after her."
Lawson dashed at the glass, pounding against its glittering face with his bare fists.
Masters grinned at him with satanic delight. His voice came over the speaker softly.
"You like pictures," he purred. "This one should be interesting."
He sat down, twisted the dial and the machine started to hum with power. Nothing visible occurred at the mouth of the cannon, but down across the valley a truck appeared against the surface of the Trans-World.
"Phantom Transport," Walters whispered through dry lips.
Lawson watched closely. Joyce knew about the ghost truck. If only she would...
THE double barrel was swinging slowly bringing the trucks closer. Then Loa See smiled. By the Grace of God, Joyce had been on guard. Her transport stopped slowly. The door flashed open in the moonlight and her tiny figure shadowed against the green plastic. She was running across it into the heavy pine forest beyond.
The trucks met in a sickening flash. Power roared from the machine and sent Joyce's transport reeling out of sight into the canyon beyond the road. Masters stood up from the machine and snapped off the power.
"She escaped," he said without bitterness. "But like chess, the moves were fascinating."
"Hell will be interesting for you," Lawson said. "And you'll have plenty of time to finish your game there."
Masters laughed. It was cruel—emotionless.
"For a rat in a trap," he said evenly, "you talk like a lion with teeth."
Joyce was in the forest somewhere close to cliff house. If she could only find the tunnel—perhaps... ? Lawson would have to stall for a while.
"You're not as safe as you think," he said. "There is a whole troop of soldiers following that girl. They know about this place."
Masters chuckled.
"Look," he said, and switched on the tela-screen. "I know exactly what goes on between here and West Station."
He turned the dial, letting them watch as the entire length of highway unreeled on the screen. A hopeless silence fell upon them. Not a truck marred the surface of Translucent Highway.
"In a moment," Masters said, "I will reap the harvest I've watched grow these past years."
Loa See clutched Arrow's hand.
"The cannon," she whispered. "It is powerful enough to blow West Station from the map."
"I know." Arrow's eyes were on the weapon. "That's why I had to come back."
Grumpy stared at him.
"Thats why you asked Richards to wait." He drew out his watch and looked at it. "Five minutes..."
AS though anticipating their thoughts, Masters switched the screen on a new picture. In miniature they saw the Trans-World Highway at West Station, where it went to sea. For miles the highway swarmed with mono-steel tanks, flashing under powerful searchlights. The tanks had advanced within a hundred yards of the white hot electric fence and were waiting with their snub noses pointed toward West Station. Waiting to swarm over the country like a vast colony of locusts, spitting death at everything in their path.
"You see," Warren Masters talked like a professor to his class, "the gun's real purpose is to knock your atomic power station from the map. With one well placed shot I will cool those wires and lay your country open to the Japanese army."
"And you call yourself an American," Walters spat disgustedly at him through the glass.
"Do I?" Masters looked at him with mock surprise. Then he grinned sarcastically at Loa See. "What do you think, little daughter of the cowardly dragon?"
His words clipped short, and she did not answer. They were staring at each other through the glass wall.
Lawson saw a sudden movement against the wall behind Masters. How she came there he couldn't guess, but Joyce Walters was approaching Masters' back stealthily, a large pine club in her hand. She edged toward him slowly, inch by inch, her face white and bloodless with fear.
If he could keep Masters from turning around?
To keep Masters' eyes on them, Law-son turned suddenly on the girl. Loa See's eyes flew wide open as he slapped her cheek gently with his hand. Then she saw him wink deliberately and knew it was some sort of a game.
"Dog," she cried in mock fury. "You turn on me who has been your friend."
"I'm no friend of a Jap," Arrow said. He knew she had seen Joyce by now, and felt Masters' eyes on his back. The game was working. "You can't feed me a line like..."
Thud...
Lawson turned toward the glass. With a cry of pain Masters went to his knees, arms thrown over his head in bewilderment and pain. The club came down again and Joyce was standing above him, the club hanging limply in her hand. She looked toward them, dropped the club and started to sob.
"There is no time to lose," Loa See rushed to the wall. "Miss Masters," she shouted, "quickly. The row of buttons on the wall. Press the third one."
PUZZLED, Joyce followed the girl's finger toward the wall switch board. She pushed the button and the glass wall went up smoothly into the rock. Loa See ran swiftly to the cannon and sat down before it. Walters grunted as he lifted Masters and tossed him into a far corner. Then he picked up the stout club Joyce had dropped. Spitting on his palms he rubbed them, and shook the club threateningly.
"If he comes around this time..." The tela-screen glowed at once under Loa See's experienced fingers. Hugh Richards would throw the switch and destroy the Trans-World in just five minutes. On the screen, the Jap tanks were firing swiftly, battering at the great metropolis of West Station. The power house had already fallen. The electric wires were cooling—almost black. In a few minutes...
Loa See worked feverishly over a large, delicately balanced wheel on the side of the machine. She motioned Lawson to her side.
"Turn," she ordered. "Turn it swiftly."
He clutched the wheel and sent it spinning. They must depend on the girl now. Joyce stood with her arm around Grumpy's waist. The cannon barrel grew out of itself in telescoped sections, until its long length was twenty feet from the face of the cliff. Under the fingers of Loa See, the switch board flashed and glittered with light.
The barrel swung around full length toward West Station.
"The switches," she cried. "Turn them all on."
Arrow ran to the wall. He slammed the row of switches down with all the speed he could muster. Power started to hum through the room.
The machine was connected with great dynamos below in the cliff. Atomic power was collecting in the magazine of the cannon. Now the place was getting hot. Steam poured away from the gun, and the room throbbed with power.
Lawson admired the business-like way Loa See handled the big gun. Her long hair was still falling to her waist, and the dainty white hands moved so fast against the black of the gun controls that he could hardly follow their motions.
Grumpy and Joyce were standing close. They all realized the life of a nation rested now on these small, dependable shoulders.
A sigh escaped her lips.
"We are ready," she said simply, and stood up. Lawson bent forward and looked into the small sight.
"My God," he gasped.
The end of the highway stood out clear and sharp on the glass. The gun was aimed straight at the line of tanks that swept along the oceanic bridge.
He stepped aside and waited. Grumpy looked at his watch.
"One minute," he said, and licked his lips to moisten them.
Lawson looked at Loa See.
"It is your privilege," she said. "I have done my work. This is man's glory."
Looking into her heart, Arrow understood. He sat down quickly and pushed his finger against the trigger.
"When you are ready," she said.
THE room was like an oven now, motors under them roaring powerfully. Masters, forgotten in the corner, tried to arise. Grumpy tapped him absent-mindedly with the club and he groaned.
Arrow took one more look at the scene on the glass. Tanks by the thousands were streaming through the blackened wire at the head of the highway. He tipped the trigger back gently, eyes glued to the sight. The light in the room dimmed. The hum of a death ray sounded powerfully. The motors stopped short, thrown off by the force of the cannon.
The rebound of the gun shook the room as though it were hit by an earthquake, and Lawson hoped it was built to stand the strain.
His face lighted with What he saw on the sight-glass. The trigger stayed where he had drawn it, draining the full power from the cannon.
At West Station the night went suddenly white with flame. He remembered with a sigh of relief that the ray affected only steel. Japanese tanks melted down to raw metal and dripped, white hot, over the surface of the highway and into a boiling sea. The flame of the gun, invisible here, was roaring along the Highway toward the sea as far as the human eye could see. Not more than sixty seconds had elapsed since he released the trigger. Yet the highway was cleared of the invader. He turned away slowly, sweat standing on his face.
Grumpy bent over the sight. The ray cannon seemed to die as its power drained. Only the sight remained clear.
"Jumping Jerusalem!" Walters exclaimed. "Cleaned every last one of 'em off the map."
Lawson was watching Loa See and Joyce Walters, his eyes narrowed oddly.
"I'm thinking," he said suddenly, "that we owe this whole thing to you girls."
Loa See smiled.
"Miss Walters saved us," she reminded him. "We would have never used the gun if she had not found the secret hallway after Masters left it open in his haste to reach the gun."
Joyce threw her arm around the girl's waist.
"I suppose," she answered, "in letting us escape after saving Arrow and Dad, and showing us how to use the gun, you didn't do your part!"
"Old Hugh Richards will be wondering what the hell has happened, and thinking it's a pretty good world after all," he said. "Let's get out of here and back where we belong."
His eyes fell on Masters and going to him, Walters jerked the man roughly to his feet.
"Good God," he muttered. "It's no wonder he made that crack about being an American."
Masters threw a feeble hand in front of his face, trying to hide it from them. Walters smashed a thick fist to his chin and Masters twisted around, arms at his side.
The heat of the room had melted the thin, waxoid mask from his features. It was hanging to his chin like a gutted candle, and the smooth delicate cheeks had vanished with it.
Warren Masters was Japanese. Slanted eyes, scarred yellow face, leered at them like something unclean and terrible.
Loa See looked at him unsmilingly.
"You see, Masters," she said softly, "I have worked long to unmask you. You should have known you couldn't win against our country."
"Our country is right," Grumpy told her warmly. "From now on you're a full fledged American, and you'll get every medal I can find in the government building."
Joyce was watching Arrow with laughing eyes. Her hair had fallen thick and rebellious about a tired face. The smile on her lips was a question.
He crossed the room and held her at arms' length.
"You've been a great sport," he said quietly. "If you hadn't knocked Masters out of the ring, we'd all be pushing up wild flowers."
She grinned teasingly.
"I had to take care of Grumpy," she said, and her father snorted. "He never could get around without me."
There was a deeper meaning to her words. A warning that words of apology were not wanted.
Loa See stood a few feet away. There was a sad aloofness about the girl that gave her the touch of a goddess. She smiled as they turned and the expression of hopelessness was gone.
Fingering the folds of her kimono she swept forward and went to her knees before Lawson. The garment fanned out and her head dipped to the floor. Looking up again, her eyes were for him alone.
"I bow to a strange, brave man," she said in a low whisper. "You have helped me redeem myself and I shall be eternally grateful for one moment of ecstasy."
Dead silence held them as she arose and walked toward the door.
"WAIT a minute," Grumpy said, and took her arm. "This is no time to leave."
"I have work that is not done," she answered and drew away from him. "It is your task to dispose of him."
She pointed a rapier-like finger at Masters. Before Grumpy could hold her, Loa See had slipped away and was gone down the long stairs.
Grumpy grinned oddly.
"So she wants me to take care of the skunk, does she?"
He leaned over Masters and planted a heavy kick in his ribs. Then turning, he started to speak to Lawson and found he had gone.
Joyce waved an airy arm toward the door.
"He's a good man," she said with a grin. "Let's take care of this scum."
Walters drew out a heavy jack-knife. He opened the blade that was six inches to the hilt. Masters started to groan and sat up.
"Shut up," Grumpy ordered. "I ought to shoot you with your own cannon, but I'd be insulted to pull the trigger."
He tossed the heavy knife at the man's feet and turned away. Taking Joyce by the hand he led her to the door. Over his shoulder he said to Masters.
"There's an old custom in your country that's pretty handy." He looked back meaningly at the knife. "You might save us the trouble."
He closed the door and waited. A movement came from within the room. Then a low moan of pain and Masters' body hit the floor with a thud.
"Let's get out of this mess," Joyce said. A shiver ran through her body. "I'm going to keep an eye on you from now on."
"Nuts," Grumpy answered. "You're not out of the cradle yet, yourself."
ARROW LAWSON searched the rooms below the gun chamber, but could find no trace of the girl, Loa See. His head was swimming with emotions entirely strange to one who usually had an answer for everything.
Leaving the tunnel entrance he heard light footsteps going away ahead of him on the gravel path. He found her kneeling over a mountain brook, her shoulders bathed in moonlight. Walking silently he stopped behind her.
"That's a fine way to walk out on me," he said.
The girl jumped, startled by his presence. She had been bathing her face in the water. Without looking around, she said in a soft puzzled voice.
"You followed me here—why?"
"Do you have to make me answer that?" He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to force her gently around toward him.
"No, wait," she eluded his grasp and looked away toward the moonlight over the valley. "You do care for me, this way?"
He was puzzled.
"I don't know what you mean by this way," he said. "But ever since that night in the tunnel, I've known you were mine."
Her hands went slowly to her face, and he was afraid she would cry.
"Then," she said in a tenderness that overwhelmed him, "perhaps you will be as glad to find me unmasked as you were surprised at Warren Masters."
Sweeping around, she faced him with a glowing, radiant smile. Loa See was no more an Oriental. The lips that met his were wet and warm, the cheeks flushed, but her eyes were round and the cruel makeup splints that held them slanted, were gone.
Sometime a little later he said in a mock serious voice,
"Thought you were smart, fooling me that way."
She only held him closer, and whispered in his ear.
"I had to be smart. I'd rather have lost you than know you wouldn't have taken me as I was."
Then—slowly....
"But it is good to be an American girl again. I had almost forgotten."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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