Chapter VII

40

STRANGE FISH

“You didn't tell me there was a man murdered.”

“I was excited. I should have. I told you there was a shooting, though. I remember I told you that.”

“Yeah, you did. But you didn't say anything about a murder.”

“I'm sorry.”

“That all you know?”

“Yes. No. That is, I can describe them. And I saw where they buried the rifle.”

“Okay. Let's get busy.”

THEY went over and looked at the dead man. Doc Savage was not as close now. He could not hear what they said, not all of it. He did hear the Sheriff ask his deputies if any of them knew the victim. They didn't.

Then the stiff−backed man, Laudbecken, conducted the posse to a nearby ditch. He dug around in the sand in the bottom of the ditch and came up with a carbine rifle.

“This is what they shot the man with,” he said loudly.

Two of the posse ran to look into the plane. They looked inside, then one climbed in.

Shortly the one who had climbed in put his head out and bellowed.

“I found some thirty−thirty shells in here,” he shouted. “What calibre's that gun?”

“Thirty−thirty.”

Doc Savage had cold chills for a while. He thought he had been scared before, but it was nothing to what was happening to him now. He didn't tremble visibly, but he examined his hands to see if he was.

He crawled back, being very, very careful not to be seen, and found Monk and Ham.

He told Monk and Ham, “We walked into the quickest frameup I ever saw.”

“We didn't shoot the fellow!” Monk blurted.

“It would take a month of Sundays to prove we didn't right now,” Doc said.

“Did we have any thirty−thirty shells in the plane?”

“No.”

“How did they get in there?”

“Planted. They must have done it while we were lying in the ditch expecting to be shot at any minute.”