them. More than one mouth had white flecks of foam on it as the mad crowd stormed toward the jail.
Now, individual shouts could be made out.
“Bring ’em out!”
“They killed Morel! We’ll kill them!”
“String ’em to the nearest tree!”
Nellie stared at Mac. “Mac—the rats, those people! They’ve been treated with some of the hate serum Morel invented!”
“Looks like it,” said Mac. “Maybe in the town water supply. Ye were right. This jail is the real trap. If we were missed by the rats, we were to get hung by the crazy mob outside.”
“Mac, what are we going to do!”
The Scot shook his head. “I ha’ no more gas pellets save a couple that produce death instead of unconsciousness. We can’t kill anyone in that crowd. They’re decent citizens, turned crazy by Morel’s drug. It’s not their fault.”
No, not their fault; but it would be Nellie and Mac’s death if the mob got their hands on the two!
There was a sudden battering at the door. The portal split clear down the center. They had a battering-ram or something outside.
“String ’em up, they murdered Morel! Sheriff said so.”
“Kill ’em! Kill—”
Incarnate hatred held that mob. Murderous hatred!
“So?” said Nellie evenly.
“I guess the trap has worrrked,” burred Mac, eyes steady, though his freckled face was pale.
CHAPTER XIII
Dollar War
“Wouldn’t it,” said Cole Wilson, “have been better if we had come up with Mac and Nellie instead of sending them on ahead?”
He and The Avenger were in the cabin of another of Benson’s planes, with Kinnisten, Maine, just over the skyline.
Dick shook his head, pale eyes fixed on the altimeter.
“You were out, and I couldn’t leave my laboratory for several more hours; so I sent Nellie alone. I wouldn’t have come up with you, now, but there have been no reports from them. I don’t care so much for that.”
“It was a dangerous thing to try—walking right into a trap,” sighed Cole.
Wilson was absolutely fearless, himself. Walking into a trap was precisely the sort of thing that appealed to his reckless nature. But, like so many fearless persons, he could always feel fear for others’ safety. The Avenger himself was like that.
“Some day,” said Dick evenly, pale eyes lambent and icy-clear, “all of us will have to die. Now or fifty years from now. Fifty years is a short span in the history of the human race.”
Cole nodded his comprehension. What the man with the colorless, deadly eyes meant was that no one could go on indefinitely cheating death as he and his helpers did in their crime battles. Some trap some day would close on one or all of them—and stay closed!
“I hope this isn’t the day for—” Cole began.
Then he stared ahead and downward.
“There are the lights of Kinnisten. And a red light, an uncertain light— One of the buildings is afire!”
Benson nosed the plane downward and, at the same time, shut off the twin motors. With only the shriek of the wind sounding, he planed toward the fire.
“It’s the jail,” he said crisply. “And there’s a yelling mob around it,” he added, a moment later.
“Nellie and Mac are supposed to be at Morel’s laboratory, miles from here,” Cole said uncertainly.
But The Avenger kept right on going down toward the blazing building. When there was trouble in a district, with his aides anywhere in the vicinity, the trouble was apt to be whirling right around the aides.
And a mob is always a murderous thing to be stopped.
The Avenger’s steely right hand went out to stop them; went toward the instrument panel where a small knob glistened among innumerable dials. The dials were standard for planes of this type. The knob was not. Only this one plane had that knob.
The Avenger pulled it out on a sliding rod and zoomed down straight for the milling people. Some looked up, saw the plane and shook fists at it in blind frenzy. The rest paid no attention at all. They cavorted like maniacs
Now, individual shouts could be made out.
“Bring ’em out!”
“They killed Morel! We’ll kill them!”
“String ’em to the nearest tree!”
Nellie stared at Mac. “Mac—the rats, those people! They’ve been treated with some of the hate serum Morel invented!”
“Looks like it,” said Mac. “Maybe in the town water supply. Ye were right. This jail is the real trap. If we were missed by the rats, we were to get hung by the crazy mob outside.”
“Mac, what are we going to do!”
The Scot shook his head. “I ha’ no more gas pellets save a couple that produce death instead of unconsciousness. We can’t kill anyone in that crowd. They’re decent citizens, turned crazy by Morel’s drug. It’s not their fault.”
No, not their fault; but it would be Nellie and Mac’s death if the mob got their hands on the two!
There was a sudden battering at the door. The portal split clear down the center. They had a battering-ram or something outside.
“String ’em up, they murdered Morel! Sheriff said so.”
“Kill ’em! Kill—”
Incarnate hatred held that mob. Murderous hatred!
“So?” said Nellie evenly.
“I guess the trap has worrrked,” burred Mac, eyes steady, though his freckled face was pale.
CHAPTER XIII
Dollar War
“Wouldn’t it,” said Cole Wilson, “have been better if we had come up with Mac and Nellie instead of sending them on ahead?”
He and The Avenger were in the cabin of another of Benson’s planes, with Kinnisten, Maine, just over the skyline.
Dick shook his head, pale eyes fixed on the altimeter.
“You were out, and I couldn’t leave my laboratory for several more hours; so I sent Nellie alone. I wouldn’t have come up with you, now, but there have been no reports from them. I don’t care so much for that.”
“It was a dangerous thing to try—walking right into a trap,” sighed Cole.
Wilson was absolutely fearless, himself. Walking into a trap was precisely the sort of thing that appealed to his reckless nature. But, like so many fearless persons, he could always feel fear for others’ safety. The Avenger himself was like that.
“Some day,” said Dick evenly, pale eyes lambent and icy-clear, “all of us will have to die. Now or fifty years from now. Fifty years is a short span in the history of the human race.”
Cole nodded his comprehension. What the man with the colorless, deadly eyes meant was that no one could go on indefinitely cheating death as he and his helpers did in their crime battles. Some trap some day would close on one or all of them—and stay closed!
“I hope this isn’t the day for—” Cole began.
Then he stared ahead and downward.
“There are the lights of Kinnisten. And a red light, an uncertain light— One of the buildings is afire!”
Benson nosed the plane downward and, at the same time, shut off the twin motors. With only the shriek of the wind sounding, he planed toward the fire.
“It’s the jail,” he said crisply. “And there’s a yelling mob around it,” he added, a moment later.
“Nellie and Mac are supposed to be at Morel’s laboratory, miles from here,” Cole said uncertainly.
But The Avenger kept right on going down toward the blazing building. When there was trouble in a district, with his aides anywhere in the vicinity, the trouble was apt to be whirling right around the aides.
And a mob is always a murderous thing to be stopped.
The Avenger’s steely right hand went out to stop them; went toward the instrument panel where a small knob glistened among innumerable dials. The dials were standard for planes of this type. The knob was not. Only this one plane had that knob.
The Avenger pulled it out on a sliding rod and zoomed down straight for the milling people. Some looked up, saw the plane and shook fists at it in blind frenzy. The rest paid no attention at all. They cavorted like maniacs
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