Doc Savage: Skull Island (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) by Will Murray Page A

Captain Savage went to a spot where the mainmast was anchored below the decking. He carried with him a brass key.
    “Where did you get that?” asked Doc, curiously.
    “From my pocket. Your grandfather gave me this long ago.”
    Doc watched with impassive interest as the elder Savage inserted the brass key into what appeared to be a knothole in the surviving butt of the missing main mast.
    A click resulted and, when the captain withdrew the key, a block of wood came with it. The block proved to be hollow, one side of which was a hinged lid.
    Setting this on a chart table, Captain Savage opened the terminal lid. It was cunningly wrought, obviously of Oriental construction, but the box opened to his manipulations.
    Out came a curl of parchment. Captain Savage unrolled this item and laid it out on the scarred table.
    “A map,” said Doc.
    “Yes,” Savage Senior growled. “But practically useless now. See for yourself.”
    If it were a map, the important section had been obliterated. The lower portion of the chart was a dark smear of ink. Salt water had destroyed its writing so that now it was unreadable.
    But the top half of the map had been drawn in a differently-colored ink, one which had withstood the ravages of salt water.
    This took the form of a drawing. It appeared to show a knoll or hill whose top had been eroded into the semblance of a human skull. Above this bald knob floated what appeared to be two seagulls soaring on outstretched wings.
    “A landmark,” said Doc.
    “Aye. A landmark such as I have never heard tell of in all my years at sea. Looks like a headland, judging from the circling seagulls.”
    Doc looked closely. “Those don’t look like gulls.”
    “Of course those are seagulls. Look at their relationship in size to the fearsome hill.”
    Doc remained unconvinced. The drawing was crude, but the details were interesting. The bird’s beaks were unusually long and pointed, like those of storks.
    “The top is very rugged, more akin to a mountain peak,” Doc suggested.
    “If this is a mountain,” the elder Savage insisted, “then those are the largest seagulls known to man. They would put an albatross to shame.”
    Doc ran a sensitive fingertip over the drawing, like a blind man reading Braille dots. “I wonder if those birds are vultures. Look at their heads—bald with predatory beaks.”
    “Buzzards are not common in this part of the world.”
    “Can we assume this map relates to the Indian Ocean?” asked Doc.
    “We must, until proof otherwise presents itself.”
    Doc was forced to agree. But still… those birds resembled carrion birds of prey.
    “This map may be a clue to the last landfall of the Courser, ” Captain Savage insisted. “We must proceed on that assumption.”
    “No argument there,” agreed Doc. “But where might it lie?”
    “Sumatra, perhaps. Or Java. These are the largest land masses hereabouts.”
    “If so, wouldn’t we know of such a natural formation? It would be famous the world over.”
    “Perhaps you are correct. We can safely rule out India to the north and Australia to the southwest.”
    “Could be an island,” suggested Doc.
    “There are no islands known to possess such a landmark. No. More than likely this is a rock formation of a wild, unknown country. ‘Death’s Head.’ We will call it that for now.”
    Carefully rolling up the map, Captain Savage mounted the companion to the bright morning sun, Doc following.
    After the close darkness of the hold, the climbing tropical sun dazzled their eyes.
    They blinked the piercing rays out of their sun-sensitive retinas.
    Doc’s alert eyes went to the rail. He failed to see the grappling hooks by which they had first boarded the old clipper ship.
    Rushing to the spot, he looked down to where the Orion should be.
    His musical trilling piped up, wild and excited, tinged with fury.
    “Sir, the ship!”
    Captain Savage arrived at the rail, puzzled of countenance.
    “What is it?” Then he saw the awful