The Adventure Novella MEGAPACK® Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  SECRET OF THE GOLDEN JAGUAR, by Robert Moore Williams

  SANDED IN SAN DIEGO, by Johnston McCulley

  GRIST, by Murray Leinster

  BOMBS FOR THE GENERAL, by Horace McCoy

  THE EARTHQUAKE GIRL, by Joseph J. Millard

  THE GREAT CIRCLE, by Henry S. Whitehead

  HOK VISITS THE LAND OF LEGENDS, by Manly Wade Wellman

  THE PIRATE OF SHELL CASTLE, by George T. Wetzel

  The MEGAPACK® Ebook Series

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  The Adventure Novella MEGAPACK® is copyright © 2016 by Wildside Press, LLC. All rights reserved.

  * * * *

  The MEGAPACK® ebook series name is a trademark of Wildside Press, LLC. All rights reserved.

  * * * *

  “Secret of the Golden Jaguar,” by Robert Moore Williams, was originally published in Fantastic Adventures, May 1942.

  “Sanded in San Diego,” by Johnston McCulley, was originally published in Top-Notch Magazine, July 30 1914.

  “Grist,” by Murray Leinster, was originally published in Short Stories, July 10, 1924.

  “Bombs for the General,” by Horace McCoy, was originally appeared in Popular Fiction, February 1932.

  “The Earthquake Girl,” by Joseph J. Millard, was originally published in Fantastic Adventures, October 1941.

  “The Great Circle,” by Henry S. Whitehead, was originally appeared in Strange Tales of Mystery and Terror, June 1932.

  “Hok Visits the Land of Legends,” by Manly Wade Wellman, was originally published in Fantastic Adventures, April, 1942.

  “The Pirate of Shell Castle,” by George T. Wetzel, was originally published in The Gothic Horror And Other Weird Tales (1978).

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  With The Adventure Novella MEGAPACK®, we launch a new line of anthologies consisting of longer stories that don’t quite make it to novel length. Novellas and novelets are often considered superior to the short story format by authors because there is more room to develop plot and character.

  The 8 adventures in this volume span continents as well as time and space, offering a selection of great stories by top pulp authors.

  Enjoy!

  —John Betancourt

  Publisher, Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidepress.com

  ABOUT THE SERIES

  Over the last few years, our MEGAPACK® ebook series has grown to be our most popular endeavor. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”

  The MEGAPACK® ebook series (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt (me), Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Shawn Garrett, Helen McGee, Bonner Menking, Sam Cooper, Helen McGee and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!)

  RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?

  Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the MEGAPACK® ebook series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://wildsidepress.forumotion.com/ (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).

  Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.

  TYPOS

  Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.

  If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at [email protected] or use the message boards above.

  SECRET OF THE GOLDEN JAGUAR, by Robert Moore Williams

  Originally published in Fantastic Adventures, May 1942.

  “But Señor Craig,” Lolita Montez vehemently insisted. “I must have your help. Must have it!”

  There were four people in the hotel room, and only two chairs. Craig sat on one chair, the girl on the other. The Indian who had accompanied her stood a little behind her, his dark face impassive and inscrutable. Bat Randall was sitting on the edge of the bed. Randall was a mechanic, and Craig’s inseparable shadow.

  “No,” said Craig. Slowly he shook his head. “Sorry, and all that. But what you ask is impossible.”

  Surprise showed on the girl’s face. “You mean you will not help me?” she faltered.

  “I mean I cannot help you,” Craig corrected.

  “Why?” the girl demanded. “You own the big airplane, do you not? In it, we can fly most easily to where I want to go. So why can’t you help me?”

  Craig was a big man, tall and well built. At the girl’s question, a grimace crossed his face. He twisted uncomfortably in his rickety chair. At the movement, a paper crackled in his coat pocket, reminding him of the reason why he could not help this girl.

  The paper in his pocket was a cablegram. It said, “LAST TWO PAYMENTS OVERDUE. UNLESS PAYMENTS FORTHCOMING IMMEDIATELY WE WILL BE FORCED TO REPOSSESS PLANE.”

  Craig had put every dollar he owned into the big amphibian moored at the docks of Callao, Peru, not two blocks away from the dingy hotel room where he was sitting. Every dollar and a lot besides, arguing a wary finance company into financing the balance for him. He had planned to use the ship, not as a deluxe passenger liner, but to fly freight from the coast of South America to the almost inaccessible inland cities. And freight rates being what they were, Craig had been cleaning up.

  “Sorry, Miss Montez,” the flier said. “Randall and I are packing our bags. Tomorrow we will fly the plane north, turn her over to the finance company.”

  “I would like to do as you ask, but it is financially impossible.”

  “But you will be paid for your trip, Señor Craig.” I will gladly pay your regular rates.”

  “I’m afraid it is too late for a trip at regular rates to interest me, Miss Montez. May I ask why you are so desperate for me to make this trip?”

  A shadow of fear crossed her face, was gone as quickly as it came. “My brother,” she rapidly explained. “He went on an exploring trip and he has not returned. It is to rescue him that I came to you, Señor Craig. You are the only one who has a plane and it is only by plane that we can reach the place where he went. No, do not shake your head. Your big plane will alight on either land or water, will it not? Ah, I thought so. It is what you call an amphibian. The place where my brother went is beside a lake which will provide a perfect landing place for your plane. See I have thought of everything. Now, Señor Craig, will you not make this trip for me?”

  Craig twisted uncomfortably in his chair. It was not easy to refuse an errand of mercy. But—it was not easy to accept, either. In spite of the girl’s claim that a lake provided a perfect landing place he knew that he was risking his plane. If he lost the plane, he would be left many thousands of dollars in debt. Slowly he shook his head. He would like to help this girl but he was caught in the grip of forces more powerful than he was.

  “You—you will not help me?” she faltered.

  “I mean I cannot help you,” Craig corrected. “With all the good will in the world, there is nothing I can do. It is financially impossible. I am sorry, Miss Montez, but I am scarcely my own master in this matter.”

  �
��But my brother, he needs help.” She hesitated, sought for words, flicked an imploring glance up at the Indian who stood beside and a little behind her. She had said his name was Pedro. In this country, most girls had an Indian servant. Pedro said nothing but the girl seemed to read some meaning in his impassive face. She turned back to the flier and breathlessly spoke.

  “Señor Craig, if you will find my brother, and if he has found what he sought, your reward will be all the gold you can carry away in your big airplane!”

  “What’s that?” Craig gasped. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

  Before the girl could answer the Indian leaned forward and hissed a single syllable in her ear. He spoke in Quicha, the native language, and Craig did not understand him. The girl did. She bit her lips and turned an imploring glance toward him. The Indian shook his head. The girl turned quickly to the flier.

  “I spoke without thinking,” she said. “What did the Indian say?” Craig asked.

  “He said I should not tell you—he said nothing,” she quickly corrected herself. Fright was showing on her face, more than fright, stark naked fear.

  “What the devil is this all about?” Craig demanded. “One minute you say you will give me enough gold to load my ship, if I will make one trip for you. The next instant you say you spoke without thinking. What kind of a run-around are you giving me?”

  “I can’t make such an offer,” the girl whispered. “I was frantic. I didn’t notice what I was saying.” Her eyes went to the Indian in an imploring glance, which made Craig wonder about the relationship between them. Obviously Pedro was her servant, but the flier knew that not infrequently the mistress-servant relationship in this country went far beyond the normal tie between employer and employee, the servant becoming advisor and confidant of his employer. Often the servant was a loyal and trusted friend. Apparently this was the relationship existing here. And the loyal and trusted friend was being defied. A swift conversation in the native language took place. Pedro kept shaking his head.

  “I’m going to tell him the truth.”

  Lolita Montez blazed in English. “Do you understand, I’ve got to tell him.” Pedro relapsed into sullen silence.

  The girl turned to Craig. “I am not giving you what you call the runaround, Señor Craig. Please believe me. If you will aid me in finding my brother, and if he has found what he sought, I will give you more gold than you have ever seen. Sir, when my brother went on this exploring trip, he was seeking the lost treasure of the Incas, the tremendous loot that Pizarro sought and did not find when he conquered this country. You will earn enough in this one trip to pay all your obligations. Now, Señor Craig, will you go?”

  Craig came to his feet, his eyes blazing. “The treasure of the Incas!” he gasped. “Do you know what you are talking about?”

  The girl faced him. “Yes,” she said stubbornly.

  “Prove it,” the flier snapped.

  “You—you will not take my word?”

  “I’m not doubting your word but I’m not going off on any wild goose chase, either. I’ve hear the stories in this country of lost and hidden treasure, the legends of fabulous fortunes waiting to be found. Most of these stories are so much hot air and I’m not interested in listening to any cock and bull yarn.

  If you can do what you claim, prove it by showing me the evidence you have.”

  “Very well,” the girl snapped, glaring at him. “I will prove it, Pedro.” She spoke rapidly in Quicha and the Indian resentfully handed her the small bag he was carrying. She opened it and took out a roll of what looked like heavy paper.

  “There, Señor Craig, if you must have evidence, look at that.”

  It was a map. A series of lines indicated a trail leading from the coast far inland. Landmarks were given and directions were written in archaic and almost illegible Spanish. The trail ended at a lake far away in the mountains. The material of the map held Craig’s eyes. It was not paper. It was the skin of an animal, probably a deer. And it was yellow with age.

  It was old, old, how old he could not guess. The skin was frayed, the leather cracked and pitted. Craig ran his fingers over it.

  “How did you come into possession of this map, Miss Montez?” he asked.

  “It was made by my great-great-great-grandfather. The first Montez,” she said proudly, “came to Peru with Pizarro. It was he who visited the place where the gold is hidden and it was he who made this map.”

  “Very interesting,” the flier said. “And if your esteemed forbear knew where this gold was hidden, why didn’t he get it?”

  “Because he could not,” the girl said. “It was most dangerous. The place where it was hidden was well guarded. He was most fortunate to escape alive—Señor Craig, you do not believe me!” There was anger in her voice.

  “Frankly, no,” Craig said.

  “You think the map is a fake, no?”

  “Not necessarily. The map looks genuine enough. But it doesn’t prove anything. Sorry, Miss Montez, but you have to do better than this.”

  “Sir, you are insulting.”

  “I don’t mean to be,” Craig said. “But this map is meaningless. Anybody could have made it…And even if it is genuine, it isn’t enough for me to risk my plane.”

  “You want more evidence, no?”

  “If you have it, yes,” Craig answered. “Very well. I do have it. Pedro. The bag.” She gestured at the Indian to hand her the small bag from which she had taken the map. As soon as the map had been removed, Pedro had taken the bag again.

  Pedro refused to give it to her.”

  “No!” he grunted, shaking his head.

  “Pedro!” The ringing tones of command were in her voice. “Do you understand me? Give me that bag.”

  “Nagarsh,” the Indian said. “Taboo. Gold bad.” He thrust the bag behind him and stood defiantly facing his mistress.

  She got out of the chair so fast Craig scarcely saw her move. Smack! She slapped the Indian. A white spot appeared on his cheek where her small hand had hit.

  “Give me that bag!”

  Sullenly, reluctantly, Pedro handed it to her. He didn’t want to do it. Something about that bag scared him right down to the floppy sandals he was r wearing. But this girl was his mistress and he could only defy her so far. He gave her what she wanted.

  She removed from it a small object wrapped in tissue paper. Stripping off the tissue paper, she set the object on the table. Craig leaned over to examine it.

  It was a tiny statuette, about three inches high, a model of a crouching beast that resembled a jaguar. It was perfectly carved, even to the tiny, blood-red stones that were its eyes. Every muscle stood out, from the forepaws, drawn up ready for the spring, to the hind legs, which were tensed ready to hurl the beast forward, So excellent was the workmanship that Craig had the impression he was actually looking at a tiny but unquestionably real jaguar.

  “There!” said Lolita Montez. “That came from the place where the gold is hidden. It is made of gold.

  “Is that enough evidence for you, Señor Craig?”

  The flier picked it up. Instantly a galvanizing shock passed up his arm. He dropped it.

  “The thing is charged,” he gasped. “Charged?” Lolita Montez asked. “I do not understand.”

  “It is charged with electricity,” Craig explained. He brushed his fingers over it, bracing himself against the surge of current. No surge came.

  “What the devil is this?” he said bewilderedly. When he had first picked up the statuette a shock similar to the shock from the spark plug of a motor had passed up his arm. The second time the shock did not come. He lifted it, examined it. One thing was immediately obvious: the statuette was made of solid gold. There was no mistaking the dull yellow color.

  “Is that enough evidence to make your trip worthwhile?�
� Lolita asked.

  “Well—” Craig said thoughtfully, “I—What are you doing?”

  He spoke to Bat Randall. The mechanic had risen from his seat on the edge of the bed and was tip-toeing across the room. Randall was short and squat and built on the general lines of a gorilla. With curious eyes on him, he laid a finger on his lips, leaped across the room, and jerked open the door.

  Two men fell into the room.

  “Ah,” said Randall, in a satisfied tone of voice. “Visitors.”

  The mechanic had two loves. One was a motor, the other was a fight, any kind of a fight. He grinned and cocked a ham-like left fist.

  Craig saw Randall strike at one of the two men. The fellow dodged and the blow glanced off. The mechanic drew back to let go again. Craig saw the other man run around the mechanic to strike him from the rear.

  “Look out, Bat.”

  Crack!

  A blackjack came down across Randall’s head. As if he had suddenly come unjointed, the mechanic slumped to the floor.

  Craig dropped the statuette on the table and leaped across the room. Under his breath he was cursing Randall for not telling him there was someone at the door. He smashed his fist home on the face of the man who had struck the mechanic, felt a throb of satisfaction as the man grunted with pain. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that Pedro had snatched the girl against the wall and was crouched before her. From somewhere in his clothing the Indian had drawn a knife with a blade that looked at least a foot long.

  The glance that he took to make certain the girl was safe was fatal. The man that Randall had hit leaped at him, swinging a lead-filled leather pouch. Craig saw it coming. Only an upflung arm kept him from being knocked instantly unconscious. With stunning force the pouch came down across his head. He staggered backward, stars exploding before his eyes, stumbled into the wall, and fell heavily.

  Click!

  The lights went out.