Free Doc Savage: The Ice Genius (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 12) by Kenneth Robeson, Lester Dent, Will Murray

once more exhorted them to surrender, matters took a strange new direction.
    Out of the East came reinforcements.
    Another batch of Mongol riders were coming hard. Possibly, they had held back to see which way the warlike winds ended up blowing, with the intention of stepping in, and turning the tide of combat if the battle went against their brethren.
    Among the riders was an unusually tall and thin man with a shaggy mop of hair.
    Doc Savage, possessing extraordinary visual acuity, was the first to recognize him.
    “They are bringing Johnny along,” Doc told his men.
    Ham produced a pair of binoculars, and trained them on the oncoming riders.
    “Johnny, all right. And he looks like he’s been roughed up pretty bad.”
    “Wonder he wasn’t killed,” grunted Renny.
    Ham studied the archeologist’s bony frame. There was not much to Johnny but bones.
    “He looks more brittle than usual,” he commented.
    The new arrivals piled up to the scene, brought their charging ponies to a dusty halt, then dismounted, fists bristling with firearms, ready for battle.
    One strode up to the tall chieftain who was holding Monzingo Baldwin at his mercy. A vigorous conversation ensued.
    Then the new arrival went back and hauled Johnny off his pony, parading him about for all to see.
    The gangling archaeologist was made to kneel beside the blubbering midget.
    A long-barreled pistol was placed against his temple, and all eyes went to the watchers at the plane windows.
    “We’re in for it now!” moaned Renny.
    Doc Savage told them grimly, “Now, we have no choice but to surrender.”
    The bronze men’s unequivocal pronouncement caused their tongues to freeze in their mouths. No one questioned their leader’s order. If any of them had been in Johnny’s position, the others would have risked anything and everything to ransom his life. They would perforce surrender, and take their chances, hoping to turn the situation back to their advantage.
    Doc Savage went first, flinging open the door.
    Stepping out, he began treating with the bandit chieftain in his own language.
    The Mongol leader almost fainted from surprise. He did not expect a white man, even one as bronzed as Doc Savage was, to speak his native tongue as fluently as himself.
    A short exchange ensued, after which Doc Savage came down the stairs with his hands held high.
    The size of the bronze giant impressed the assembled Mongols most profoundly. They trained their weapons on him, and actually looked somewhat awestruck in their impassive way.
    Monk and the others soon followed, their hands also held in the air.
    They were roughly searched at gunpoint, and relieved of any small items on their possession. They had naturally left their supermachine pistols behind, locked in storage, not wanting them to immediately fall into the hands of their enemies.
    The Mongols showed no signs of boarding the plane in order to loot it. At least, not just yet. They seemed more interested in knowing what the big bronze man’s business was in Mongolia.
    In their own language, Doc Savage told them. He spoke the truth. He repeated himself often, emphasizing certain points. He made it very clear that his only interest was in rescuing his colleague, Johnny Littlejohn, who was present.
    “You are all now my prisoners,” proclaimed the Mongol war chief, who gave his name as Chinua. It meant wolf. His mother had named him well. He had a wild, windy face.
    Chinua laughed rather roughly when he said this. His sheepskin-clad men joined in.
    While they were convulsing in their triumphant laughter, strong bronze hands whipped out like lightning, and seized Chinua’s rifle from his fingers.
    Swapping the weapon in his hands, Doc pointed the long muzzle directly at Chinua’s chest. It was an unnerving move, and so uncharacteristic of Doc Savage that even his men were taken aback.
    Every rifle muzzle swept in the bronze man’s direction. Hammers were rocked back, pistols cocked.
    “You should have held