by Lee Falk
"But how on earth. . ." he began.
"Save your breath," the Phantom told him. "Explanations later. Just start crawling."
Slingsby sighed and followed on behind Devil. The two men started off down the tunnel.
Up in the office, Warden Saldan and Chief Officer Larsen were roaring with laughter. A bottle of champagne was open on the warden's desk and Larsen was in the act of handing his chief a cut of prime salt-beef.
"Great, sir," he chuckled. "It was fantastic how we got out of that."
Larsen's cigar smoke rose up straight into the air and he eased himself forward to accept another glass of champagne from the proffered bottle.
"It certainly shut up that uppity colonel," Saldan said. "Remind Mattock to ask me for a bonus. His sleight of hand was masterful."
He sipped at the champagne with enjoyment and closed his eyes to inhale the flavor.
"I don't think we'll be hearing much from the Jungle Patrol after this," he said. "It must be unique, a patrolman being framed in front of his boss!"
Saldan's eyes narrowed and he modified his mirth.
"All the same, we must be careful," he said. "I leave for Mucar's slave market soon."
"How long will you hold Slingsby, Warden?" Larsen asked.
"Forever if necessary," the warden said. "While he's here, the Patrol's helpless."
Outside the prison, well on their way back to Masara, Weeks's jeep bucked along the dusty roads. Ricketts was driving and Weeks's face was grim as he sucked an empty pipe.
"They must have found out Slingsby was in the Jungle Patrol and framed him," said Ricketts, breaking silence for the first time on the journey.
The colonel nodded, his blond hair glinting in the dawn.
"What do you think, sir?" said Ricketts, spinning the wheel deftly to avoid a big rut.
"Is it the warden or the guard?"
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"It must be the guard," said Weeks, his eyes looking worried. "Problem is, what do we do now? The commander doesn't like bungled work."
The dawn light was strengthening on the hilltops, but it was still dark around the prison and along the shoreline as Saldan and Larsen quickened their pace toward the common cell. They let themselves through from section to section. The guards appeared to be exhausted from their night-long exertions.
"We'll just see how Slingsby's doing and then we'll make plans," said Saldan, arriving at the cell door before the other.
A moment later, a shout escaped his lips.
"He's gone!"
The warden's surprise was so complete he had forgotten the need for caution. Larsen went back down the block to reassure the guards while Saldan opened the door with suddenly trembling fingers. When Larsen rejoined him, the warden was master of himself again.
"The block was loose!" Saldan hissed to the big chief guard. "Slingsby found the escape tunnel."
Larsen turned toward the cell door.
"I'll ring the escape alarm!"
"No, you fool!"
Larsen recoiled before the other's blazing eyes.
"Use your head, man," said Saldan. "We're the only ones who know about this tunnel, apart from a handful of picked men. We'll go to the kennels. We've got about half an hour of this dawn light left before full day.
We may just catch him. Bring two rifles and ammo."
The two men hurried off toward the prison kennels where Saldan picked the two fiercest dogs in the prison pack. They were enormous mastiffs, highly trained and noted for their savagery. The guard in charge of the kennels was in the warden's pay, so he merely handed the leashes to Saldan without question. The two men and dogs set off on the track of the missing guard.
In the dawn's strengthening light, the Phantom and Slingsby had gained the cave entrance with Devil. They had remained there for some while, debating their position, waiting for full daylight. But it was still dark within the ring of somber crags which surrounded them.
"You think this is the way all the prisoners escaped?" Slingsby asked.
The Phantom nodded an affirmative.
"I've got to get to Patrol HQ and report this," said Slingsby, starting up.
The Phantom pulled him down again. Slingsby marveled at the tremendous strength of the man. He felt that the Phantom could have plucked his arm off like a straw if he'd so desired.
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"Why do you think I'm waiting here like this until daylight?" the Phantom asked calmly. "We'll see who comes to search for you here. And then we shall know who's behind the breaks."
Slingsby's eyes widened.
"Sorry," he said. "You ought to be in the Jungle Patrol with your brains and initiative!"
The Phantom chuckled and took the youngster's proffered hand.
"Well, I might just apply for membership one of these days if a vacancy turns up," he said.
He smiled again and turned to look back toward the tunnel entrance. A faint scratching was beginning to make itself audible above the dull pounding of the surf.
The Phantom and Slingsby ducked down behind the bushes as two dark shapes became slowly visible against the darker mass of the foliage leading to the secret cave. The Phantom and Slingsby went farther back into a belt of trees and waited. It was darker in here and they would be able to see any attackers coming in against the light.
"Time to release the dogs," Saldan grunted to Larsen. The big man hesitated. "These dogs are trained to kill without mercy, Warden," he protested. "I didn't figure it would come to this."
"You should have figured earlier," said Saldan, rage flaring up in him again. "You never had any scruples when it came to accepting money from the Mucar expeditions. Do you suppose slaves didn't die en route or at the hands of their new masters?"
Larsen licked his lips.
"This is different, Warden," he said. "This is just plain murder."
"So was the other," said Saldan. "Except that you weren't there to see it."
He put his hand significantly on his revolver holster.
"Release the dogs," he said.
Larsen hesitated a second longer, looking down to where the warden was calmly unbuckling the holster flap.
"All right, sir," he said. He bent down and released the two snarling beasts who went bounding toward the Phantom and Slingsby's place of concealment.
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CHAPTER 8
WOLF VERSUS DOGS
Slingsby staggered back as the menacing forms of the two savage dogs hurtled through the bushes. His face was white and his eyes wide as he turned to the Phantom. To his astonishment, his gigantic companion had a faint smile on his face. He stood with his powerful legs braced, one hand on his revolver holster and sized up the situation as the two huge dogs covered the ground between them. Devil stood immobile at his heels. His yellow, unwinking eyes were fixed upon the hounds and a deep snarl sounded far back in his throat.
The noise sounded so menacing that Slingsby momentarily felt a stab of fear. He instinctively moved a pace or two as the two dogs prepared to jump. They were no more than fifteen feet away now.
"Stay where you are if you value your life!" the Phantom snapped.
"Use the gun," said Slingsby, his nerve cracking.
The Phantom took no notice. He put his right hand down from his revolver belt on to the huge wolf's head.
"All right, Devil," he said. "Attack!"
The big wolf made a blurred streak in the half light of the dawn as he launched himself full-stretch at his enemies, his howling a horrifying sound. The three animals met in an indescribable melee of barking, growling, scratching, and whining and the bushes billowed and shuddered.
"These dogs are trained to kill!" said Slingsby in a wavery voice. He plucked at the Phantom's elbow.
"Quiet. Stop chattering," the Phantom ordered him.
High, thin screams now began to mingle with the snarling and the scuffling of heavy bodies; noises that started to raise the hair on Slingsby's head. He leaned back against the bole of a tree, all the strength
momentarily drained from his body. The Phantom kept his gaze beneath the mask trained fixedly ahead, watching Devil's actions in the center of the swirling dust cloud that surrounded the group of madly contorted animals.
Saldan and Larsen had halted farther back. Larsen's face was white. The warden held an automatic rifle in his stubby hands and there was a light of satisfaction in his eye.
"Listen, Larsen!" he said. He dropped the muzzle of his gun toward the ground.
"That's how they sound when they're attacking!"
He put down the rifle against the trunk of a tree. Larsen felt weak at the knees as he listened to the sickening sounds going on beyond the thick screen of foliage in front of them.
"Jungle Patrolman Slingsby caught by the dogs while attempting to escape," Saldan mused. "Well, well."
He smiled suddenly. It was an unlovely sight in the dawn light.
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"Too bad."
He paused again as the noises redoubled in volume and vigor. There was pain and distress in the screaming cries now and the mingled tones of despair.
"Listen to that," said Saldan exultantly. "The dogs must be tearing him apart!"
Larsen turned aside, sick to his stomach; he was unable to look at the warden's face. The noises slowly died to a feeble whimpering as the dawn light grew.
Over at the far side of the glade, Slingsby was reluctant to move forward as the Phantom started walking over toward the thick screen of bushes. It wasn't until the big man had turned and faced him calmly that the young officer was suddenly shamed; he pulled himself together. When he joined the Phantom he saw an astonishing sight. In an area of about ten square yards in front of them, the undergrowth and grass had been completely flattened, mute witness of the titanic struggle which had taken place there. Small saplings had been cut completely in half by snapping jaws, grass torn out by the roots. Dark blood stained the fronds for yards around.
Lying in the middle of this chaos were the bedraggled remains of what had been two fierce guard dogs.
They lay on their sides, cut and bruised, completely exhausted and whimpering for mercy. Over them the superb figure of Devil stood poised. The great beast, his yellow eyes glowing in triumph, licked his teeth and shot a glance at the Phantom as though for his approval. Then his eyes went back to his two beaten enemies and never left them.
"Well done, Devil!" said the Phantom softly.
Slingsby was staggered.
"Those two man-killers on their sides begging for mercy, sir!" he said. "It's incredible. What kind of a dog is this?"
The Phantom smiled a brief smile.
"No dog, Slingsby," he said. "Mountain wolf raised in the deep jungle. Devil fears nothing that walks, flies, or creeps!"
Slingsby's eyes opened wide with admiration.
"Great, sir!" he said. "We could do with a few of these in the Patrol!"
The Phantom nodded. Humor flickered at the back of his eyes.
"That will do, Devil," he said softly. "They're alive, but barely."
Devil raised himself from his haunches and took up station behind his master. There were one or two cuts under his rough fur, but otherwise he seemed no worse for the encounter.
The Phantom drew closer and bent over the recumbent forms of the dogs. He opened the casing of a ring on his finger. Slingsby stared as the big man impressed something from the ring on to the collar of each of the recumbent dogs. Then the three of them-the two men and Devil- disappeared back into the bushes on their way along the shoreline.
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The light was brighter now. Full dawn was at hand. Every ripple and eddy of the wrinkled sea's surface appeared engraved as in a line drawing. The mist had withdrawn from the shore and the first beams of the sun were sliding their slanting sword-points into the water. The sun burned dimly at the edge of the ocean.
The strengthening light made a rosy glow of Saldan's features, tinged his blond hair an even brighter gold.
He stood by the fringe of trees with Larsen smoking a cigar, his face exuding confidence. He finished his cigar in silence, then ground it out beneath his heel.
"Come on," he said to Larsen. "Time we got the carcass concealed."
The big chief guard seemed like a man broken by the events of the night. He made no move to follow, but stood aimlessly by the trees as Saldan strode toward the thicket. The warden turned back in annoyance, amazement shining in his eyes.
"What the hell's the matter with you, Larsen?" be said. He caught the other by the arm.
"That man," said Larsen, turning an ashen face to him. "Torn to pieces by the dogs. I can't face it now."
Anger flared in Saldan. He slapped Larsen's face until his teeth rattled.
"You'll do as you're told, you chicken liver," he grated. "We've got to get those dogs back on the leash."
He seized the big man's arm and dragged him along without ceremony. The two crept forward through the bushes until they thinned out into a large glade. They soon saw the flattened bushes, the trampled grass, and the blood. Then they turned a corner and came in sight of the dogs.
"Where's Slingsby?" gasped Saldan, his face turning even more purple in the light of dawn.
"What happened to the dogs?" Larsen replied. He seemed to have recovered some of his confidence now.
"Are they dead?"
He stooped over the nearest animal.
"Not dead," he said after a bit. "Badly beaten, chewed up a bit."
Saldan looked incredulous; he glanced round the lonely shoreline uneasily.
"Chewed up? You mean the patrolman did that?"
He walked out abruptly from the screen of bushes as though he feared something might be lurking behind them.
"What sort of man is he?" he said. "How could he fight those two killers?"
He was aroused by a sudden shout from Larsen. He strode rapidly back in among the bushes.
The big guard was kneeling at the side of one of the dogs, his face alight with excitement.
"Look at this, Warden?" he said. "What does it mean?" Saldan bent over him irritably.
"On the collar there," said Larsen. Saldan soon saw what he meant. "A skull mark!" he said.
Larsen stood up. He looked nervously round the glade.
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"The mark of a skull on the collar, sir. What's behind this?"
Saldan's face was a savage mask of mingled hatred and fear.
"I have no idea, Larsen," he said hoarsely, scarcely able to conceal the slight quiver in his own voice.
He turned back toward the edge of the glade.
"We'll send help for the dogs. Let's get out of here."
The two men trudged off through the growing light, both silent with their thoughts.
"How about the escaped patrolman?" said Larsen when they had retraced part of the way back to the cave entrance.
"We can't trail him without dogs, you idiot!" said Saldan. He seemed to have recovered his nerve by now.
He turned toward Larsen sardonically.
"You want to go after him?"
His eyes widened.
"A character who fights vicious man-killers with his teeth?"
The two men passed on and were lost among the bushes. Their voices drifted back.
"What kind of training do they give those men in the Jungle Patrol?" queried Larsen.
The Phantom smiled briefly, revealing strong, broad teeth. He gave an approving glance at Slingsby. The young patrolman, the Phantom, and Devil were crouched behind a thick layer of undergrowth. They waited until Saldan and Larsen had cleared the area before emerging. There was admiration on Slingsby's face as the two men got up from behind the bushes. They walked in silence along the shore for some distance until the Phantom started leading them inland.
"Who are you, sir?" asked Slingsby for perhaps the tenth time during that night. His gaze traveled curiously up and down his huge companion's striking costume. The eyes twinkled behind his mask as the Phantom replied.
"Never mind abou
t that now, Slingsby," he said. "We have to get you back to Patrol Headquarters fast."
He stooped to pat Devil behind the ears, then bent to examine the wolf carefully. He appeared satisfied as he straightened up.
"More problems," he said in his deep resonant voice. "We now know who's behind the secret of the tunnel: the warden and the chief guard."
"But we've no proof," said the young Jungle Patrol officer aggrievedly.
"That's true," the Phantom observed calmly. "They'd merely say they found the tunnel as you did."
"But why would they help prisoners escape from jail?" said Slingsby, his face puzzled.
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"I said there were plenty of problems here," the Phantom replied. "We'll get to them."
"There's another thing," said Slingsby. "What happens to the prisoners? They're never seen again."
"Two excellent questions, Patrolman Slingsby," said the Phantom as the two men and the wolf halted on a bluff commanding an airy view of Masara Prison.
The Phantom stood brooding over the scene before him as though he were the spirit of the place.
"No good answers yet!"
Saldan's face was haggard and the strain of the night was beginning to show as he and Larsen once more regained the interior of Masara Prison. The big man's face was knotted with anxiety. When he had closed the door and was within the privacy of his office, he poured stiff whiskies for the chief guard and himself.
He slumped into the chair behind his desk and loosened his collar and tie.
He drew from his pocket one of the heavy leather collars which had encircled the throat of an injured dog.
The tiny skull motif seemed to wink up at him mockingly.
"There's a lot of things I don't like about this, Larsen," he said. "Or understand."
He reached in his desk for another cigar. "That patrolman fighting our dogs with his teeth."
He frowned, his heavy jaws clamped round the cigar as he lit up.