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  Title: The Lost Oasis

  Date of first publication: 1933

  Author: Kenneth Robeson [Lester Bernard Dent] (1904-1959)

  Date first posted: Mar. 30, 2016

  Date last updated: Mar. 30, 2016

  Faded Page eBook #20160329

  This ebook was produced by: Alex White & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

  The Lost Oasis

  A Doc Savage Adventure

  by

  Kenneth Robeson

  First published Doc Savage Magazine September 1933

  Contents

  1 A MILLION-DOLLAR MYSTERY

  2 THE FLUTTERING DEATH

  3 THE HORROR TRAIL

  4 TWINS OF EVIL

  5 TROUBLE BUSTER, INC.

  6 GRIM QUEST

  7 PHANTOM PURSUIT

  8 NIGHT SNARE

  9 AIR MONSTER

  10 PERIL’S STOWAWAYS

  11 FIGHT IN THE SKY

  12 THE LOST OASIS

  13 SLAVES OF TERROR

  14 SIEGE

  15 THE LIVING SHIELD

  16 SLAVERY

  17 THE BREAK

  18 SUICIDE

  The Lost Oasis

  Chapter 1

  A MILLION-DOLLAR MYSTERY

  The New York water front was in the grip of excitement. Expectant, curious crowds milled in the district, and more were arriving.

  Nearly every pier end—these offered the best views of the harbor—held a cluster of staring individuals. There was much talk, and the watchers bought numerous newspapers.

  Perfect strangers argued over the headlines as though they had been life-long acquaintances. These discussions always ended with both participants fixing intent stares upon the bay surface.

  The absence of a moon made the early evening darkness rather murky. Many spectators secured binoculars and telescopes from hawkers who offered these articles for rent. Newsboys were yelling themselves hoarse. Peanuts, pretzels, hot dogs, and soft drinks were selling fast. But even the peddlers frequently took off long enough to scamper out on the piers and gaze at the bay.

  Taxi after taxi crowded down to the water front, horns blaring, and unloaded passengers. Often as not, the drivers deserted their machines and hurried out on the wharves to watch.

  Many of the taxi riders were newspaper reporters and cameramen, the latter burdened with equipment for taking flashlight pictures.

  In the general hubbub, it was doubtful if any one noticed one cab which behaved differently than the others. For one thing, this machine did not head for the center of excitement, but made for a spot where warehouses cast deep shadows.

  Once, in signaling a turn, the driver held out his hand. The hand was enormous. Indeed, it was such a huge hand that a motorist, an observant fellow, who chanced to be driving behind, blinked in amazement.

  The cab pulled to a quiet, furtive stop in the gloom.

  A traffic cop hurried up, calling: “Hey, fella, who d’you think you are? This is no-parking zone along here!”

  The amazingly big hand of the driver swung out of the window, the massive thumb jerked expressively at the rear seat of the cab, which was in darkness.

  The cop was puzzled, but he obeyed the invitation to inspect the taxi passenger. He tugged the door open, and used his flashlight. When he saw who occupied the cushions, his eyes flew wide. He stepped back and executed a smart salute.

  “Begging your pardon, sir!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know who it was! You can park anywhere, of course!”

  * * *

  The mysterious personage in the rear of the cab did not speak.

  Shifting his flashlight from one hand to the other, the officer seemed to be striving to swallow an overpowering curiosity. But it got the best of him.

  “I thought—that is, the newspapers have been saying you were out of town,” he stated uncertainly. “No one has been able to find you!”

  “I returned to the city less than an hour ago.” The mysterious man in the cab had a remarkable voice. It was pleasant, yet it possessed a quality of vibrant power which was instantly impressive.

  The cop saluted again. “If I can tell you anything about this strange business, I’ll be glad to do it!”

  “Do you possess any information the newspapers have not published?”

  “No, sir. The darn newspaper reporters know as much as we do, and they’ve smeared it all on the front pages. That’s why there’s such a crowd down here.”

  “I have read the papers,” said the personage in the taxi.

  The officer shifted uneasily, then finally mastered the determination to suggest, “The police are naturally curious about this affair, so we’d be mighty glad to know anything you can tell us.”

  A pleasant laugh came from the man in the cab. “This is as much a mystery to me as to anybody, officer.”

  The cop offered: “I thought perhaps your five associates——”

  The driver—he of the enormous hands—interrupted in a voice so deep it almost sounded as if a lion had started roaring.

  “We don’t know anything more than the newspapers!” he declared. “A radio message came from the steamer Yankee Beauty, in mid-ocean, seeking to get in touch with Doc Savage. It was signed simply, ‘Imperiled!’ We radioed back that Doc was out of town, and that nobody could locate him. The next thing we knew, this ‘Imperiled’ person had gotten in touch with the newspapers and offered the reward.”

  The officer peered at the big-fisted driver. “You are Renny—Colonel John Renwick, the engineer, aren’t you? I should have recognized those fists.”

  “That’s right,” said Renny.

  Once more the policeman addressed a salute to the personage in the rear of the cab. “Anything you wish me to do, Mr. Savage?”

  “Just don’t advertise the fact that I’m around here!”

  “Very well, Mr. Savage!”

  The cop drifted away.

  * * *

  There was some movement in the taxi. Then the remarkable passenger got out. From time to time, the headlights of distant cars splashed faint luminance over the vicinity. These sporadic glows disclosed the figure of Doc Savage.

  A great man of bronze! His appearance was the more striking because, having shucked off a robe, he stood clad only in a bathing suit!

  The muscular development of the bronze man was such as to command attention anywhere. Sinews wrapped his form like great cables. Their size, the way they seemed to flow like liquid bronze, denoted a strength little short of superhuman. Yet, because all the muscles in his giant figure were developed to an equal degree, Doc’s form possessed an unusual symmetry. There was none of the knotty, bull-necked look of the professional strong man about him.

  Perhaps the most impressive thing about him were his eyes. They resembled pools of fine flake gold. And there was in them a quality of power and determination. They seemed to radiate limitless energy.

  Doc took from the cab a bag which was fitted with a waterproof fastener.

  Renny, still seated in the cab and with both big hands resting on the wheel, asked: “Want me t
o wait here?”

  “That’s right,” Doc told him.

  It was only a few seconds later that Renny glanced around, some question on his tongue. But he did not ask it. He blinked.

  Doc Savage was gone—swallowed silently by the evening darkness. There was no sound, no stir, to show what direction he had taken. After the one blink of slight surprise, Renny settled back to wait. He was accustomed to the uncanny silence with which Doc Savage moved.

  Long association with Doc had made Renny—and also the other four men who comprised Doc’s group of five aides—accustomed to the unusual things which the giant bronze man did. Feats which, if given publicity, would have been good for newspaper headlines, were taken without undue surprise by the five.

  A man of mystery, the newspapers called Doc Savage. This was because it was next to impossible to interview Doc. To the reporters, he was one of those rarities—a man who really did not want to see himself splashed all over the front pages.

  Rumors about Doc’s feats were plentiful, however, and from these some of the most inventive scribes had turned out yarns which, although a bit careless of the facts in spots, made interesting reading. They ascribed to Doc the ability to do almost anything. Since the bronze man was something of a phantom, about whom few facts were obtainable, the writers let their imaginations run riot.

  Few knew it, but the laugh was on the reporters. This man of mystery, this strange giant of bronze, was a personage every bit as remarkable as they depicted. The truth would have surprised nobody more than the reporters.

  Doc Savage was, had the facts been published, a man of wonders, as well as probably being the supreme adventurer of all time.

  * * *

  Renny, seated in the cab, was not thinking of these facts. He was straining his ears to understand the headlines the distant newsboys were shouting. The words were loud enough, but the newsies needed a few lessons on how to speak distinctly.

  Renny at length ascertained what they were shouting.

  “W-u-x-tra! P-o-i-per!” they bawled. “Advertisement offers one million dollars reward for information leading to location of Doc Savage!”

  Renny had a sober, puritanical face which habitually bore the expression of a man who greatly disapproved of the world in general. But now a wide grin warped his features.

  “A million reward!” he chuckled. “I don’t wonder that the crowd came down here to get a look at the party who would offer a reward like that!”

  Renny was not exactly awed at the size of the sum—he was considerably more than a millionaire himself. However, the idea of a million-dollar reward was astounding. It was somewhat unbelievable. Privately, Renny thought there must be a joker somewhere.

  His ears suddenly caught a new headline—one which the newsboys were not yelling very much.

  “Ghost Zeppelin sighted in Maine!” was the cry.

  Thoughtfully, Renny’s big knuckles tapped the steering wheel.

  “A ghost airship!” he muttered. “That’s almost as fantastic as this million-dollar reward business! I wonder if the two can have any connection? Probably not! Anyway, somebody up in Maine must have seen a cigar-shaped cloud and let their imagination get the best of ’em!”

  This explanation of the spectral Zeppelin seemed the most likely one. Indeed, several newspaper reporters standing on the end of a pier were echoing exactly the same idea.

  “Forget the Zeppelin!” one scribe snapped at his companion.

  The second news hawk was only a fledgling at the game, a cub newly out of journalism school.

  “But the airship is a good story!” he objected. “Think of it! A mysterious Zeppelin! What could its mission be?”

  “Maybe it’s comin’ down from the north pole to get a bunch of dumb cubs and take ’em on a visit to Santa Claus!” gritted the older head.

  “But that Zeppelin——”

  “Shut up!” roared the other. “When we get back to the city room I’m gonna drown you in a paste pot! Zeppelins! Zeppelins! Blazes with ’em! Here’s the hottest story of the year, in case you don’t know it! And it seems you don’t!”

  “Publicity stunt!” jeered the cub. “Probably this Doc Savage offered the reward to himself, just to get his name in the paper!”

  The older reporter made a gesture of tearing out his hair in rage. “Am I burned up! Am I a cinder! Your head will never make anything but a paperweight!”

  The cub was not fazed. “It looks like a publicity stunt to me! The idea of anybody offering a million dollars to get hold of any man is ridiculous!”

  “Did you ever interview Doc Savage?” the other asked fiercely.

  “No.”

  “Did you ever hear of anybody who had interviewed ’im?”

  “No.”

  “Then shut up! Doc Savage hasn’t been interviewed because he don’t go for publicity. That shows this is not a stunt!”

  * * *

  The cub scratched his head. He was obviously impressed.

  “Just what kind of a bird is this Doc Savage?” he asked curiously.

  “Didn’t you read my by-line story in the bulldog edition?” snorted the other.

  “Yes. You told me to do that so I’d know how a good reporter writes, but I don’t mind telling you I thought it was lousy. Was what you put in the story all you know about Doc Savage?”

  “Just about,” replied the older head, deciding to be patient with his understudy. “Savage don’t brag about himself; but people who have met him—people he’s helped—have told plenty. Some of it is hard to believe.

  “For one thing, they claim this bronze guy is qualified as a specialist, not only in surgery and medicine, but in electricity, chemistry, geology, engineering—in about everything else! A specialist, mind you! Not a dabbler! They say none of the big shots in those lines are superior to Savage in learning. He can tell ’em all things about their own rackets.”

  “I don’t believe it!” confided the cub.

  “Well, that’s your privilege. They say furthermore that Samson was a piker alongside this guy Savage when it comes to physical strength. They say Savage can take a horseshoe and tie it in knots.”

  “I don’t believe that, either!” said the cub.

  The other glared. “D’you believe anything I tell you?”

  “No,” grinned the cub. “They told me at the office that you were the biggest liar on the paper.”

  The veteran gnashed his teeth, but his mock rage gave way to laughter.

  * * *

  The searchlight of a tub swept the bay at this moment, and both reporters staring at it, forgot their conversation.

  A short distance from shore, a small steamer was visible. The vessel was primarily a freight carrier, but her superstructure held passenger accommodations. She was neatly painted. As the searchlight swept the craft, the lettering on the bows was momentarily readable:

  YANKEE BEAUTY

  “That’s the tub!” ejaculated the older reporter. “We’ve got to get aboard and interview the mysterious party who signed himself ‘Imperiled!’ and offered the reward. Imagine what a story must be behind that! I’d give a lot to scoop these other birds on the yarn!”

  “Why isn’t the steamer tying up at the pier?” asked the cub.

  “The company which owns her is small and has only one pier, which is occupied by another boat of the same line until midnight; then the boat sails. The Yankee Beauty will come alongside the dock when the midnight boat leaves and makes room.”

  The veteran reporter cast a wily glance at other gentlemen of the press and their photographers, who were near by. Then he nudged the cub. “Let’s go!”

  The cub exclaimed, “But what——”

  “Sh-h-h-h!” The journalist dean guided his satellite away from the other scribes, taking care that their exodus attracted no attention. When well out of earshot, he made explanations.

  “I’ve got an idea!” he whispered. “We’ll rent a launch and go out to the Yankee Beauty. We’ll interview whoever offere
d that reward, or know the reason why!”

  “But the captain of the Yankee Beauty sent a radio message saying he would not let any reporters aboard! And when the ship reporters tried to go aboard down the bay, when the boat stopped at quarantine, they were prevented.”

  “I know all that. The steamer captain was helping the person or persons, who offered the reward, to avoid publicity.”

  “They’ll kick us off if we try to go aboard!” declared the cub.

  “Not me!” boasted the other. “I’ve never seen the place yet that I couldn’t get into!”

  The two newspapermen moved off in search of a small craft which they could rent. They kept in the shadows, so as not to be seen by other members of their profession.

  They were passing a darkened warehouse when the cub gave a violent start. Leaning forward, he peered into the murk.

  “Hey!” he ejaculated. “I just saw a naked man!”

  “Where?” demanded the other.

  “Over there!” He pointed—but there seemed to be little more than a heavy gloom. He explained: “I didn’t get much of a look——”

  The older man snorted unbelievingly.

  “First it was ghost Zeppelins, and now it’s ghost men!” he growled. “You didn’t see anything! Come on! We’ve got to find a small boat!”

  The cub permitted himself to be led off. He was not positive he had actually seen a form.

  The young fellow had forgotten to mention the most important detail—the unusual bronze color of the man he had seen. Had he spoken of that, his more experienced companion would have known instantly that the phantom figure was real—that it was Doc Savage!

  Chapter 2

  THE FLUTTERING DEATH

  When the two reporters had moved on, Doc Savage appeared from a recess into which he had stepped to avoid discovery. He approached the water, keeping to the shadows. His bathing suit was almost the color of his bronze skin, and both blended well with the night.