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

so with a man, if he did not completely die.”
    “If true, then it is a wondrous thing,” breathed another bandit.
    Chinua strode about the chunk of ice with his sharp kilij sabre, and used it to chip away at some of the roughest spots, smoothing them out. The others joined him in this work. Unhitching the ropes from the pack ponies, they turned the block over twice, smoothing out every rough spot with the edges of their keen blades.
    When Chinua was satisfied, the ropes were reattached to the wooden saddles, and the caravan continued its solemn march.
    This time, the chunk of ice scraped along more smoothly, and ceased to lose jutting shards of loose ice.
    “We will reach camp by dawn,” predicted Chinua.
    “Dawn,” mused one man. “Will not the rising sun cause this block of ice to melt?”
    “If it does,” replied Chinua calmly, “then it is meant to be.”
    “If it is meant to be, it is meant to be,” intoned another Mongol fatalistically.
    As they trudged along, swaying in their ornate wooden saddles, Chinua led them in song again.
    “This song was old when Timur was a mere boy,” stated a bandit. “I wonder if he should live again, will he join us in our singing?”
    “Not join,” corrected Chinua. “But lead. He will lead us in song. Song—and much, much more.”

Chapter XII
    THE BAIL OUT
    DAWN WAS STILL more than an hour off when Monk Mayfair turned the big flying boat around, sending it in a sweeping circle to the south.
    The apish chemist had found a spot that was sheltered by low mountains and set down there to conserve precious fuel while Doc Savage and Johnny performed their reconnoiter of the ground. Now he was back in the air.
    Boredom having seized them once more, Monk and Ham had fallen into their perpetual “quarrel.”
    Monk was berating Ham for his choice of profession.
    “You are the most shystery excuse for a lawyer ever to come out of Harvard. And, believe me, that’s sayin’ a lot.”
    “Do not disparage my alma mater,” warned Ham, separating his cane into two sections, revealing the keen blade of Damascus steel.
    “Or what?” growled Monk.
    “Or I will trim every bit of rust from your hide to show the world what a hairless baboon you truly are.”
    “Try it and I’ll wrap that blade around your throat so many times people will think you’re wearing an old-fashioned starched collar.”
    Renny was in the control bucket next to Monk, and quickly grew tired of the overloud exchange.
    “Knock it off, you two!” he thundered. “It’s times like this when I wish you both had brought your durn pets, if only to keep you out of our hair.”
    “I did not think it wise to bring along my Chemistry,” sniffed Ham.
    Chemistry was a small ape the barrister had collected on an adventure long ago. Ham had adopted the unclassified creature due to its remarkable resemblance to Monk Mayfair, but in miniature. The ape was subject to becoming airsick, so Ham rarely included him on long trips.
    “That reminds me,” muttered Monk. “Habeas should be wakin’ up by now.”
    “What!” howled Ham.
    “Don’t listen to him,” Long Tom barked. “He’s just trying to get Ham’s goat. That pig is nowhere on this crate.”
    “Hey, Habeas!” called back Monk. “Are you awake yet?”
    A snuffling grunt, very much muffled, could be heard from in back of the plane.
    Long Tom plunged from his seat to investigate. He located the source of the sound. It was Monk’s portable chemical laboratory. He undid the latches, flung up the lid.
    Out bounded Habeas the pig, shaking his long-eared, narrow-snouted head. He rushed up to the aisle and joined Monk in the cockpit, where the shoat received a vigorous scratching.
    “You smuggled him on board!” Renny exploded. “How’d you manage that?”
    “Aw, I knew that he wouldn’t stand the long flight none too well, so I fed him some food laced with a sleeping preparation. This way he’d be in a better humor when we got here. It was due to wear