Pat's progress through the woods was swift, aided by the pencil thin light from
one of Doc's mini-flashlights, which focused its beam narrowly rather than
diffusing it, making it more difficult to be spotted.  Less than 15 minutes after
she had left the autogyro, she lay supine in the long grass before the warehouse
which contained her quarry.  From her vantage point, the light coming from the
windows of the warehouse, though weak, was enough to reveal that the property was
probably not in regular use.  The parking area was overgrown with weeds, which
swayed slightly in the light breeze, while the building itself seemed in poor
repair, with many broken windows. There was only one door on the side of the
building which faced Pat, located near the parked sedans.

The glow of twin cigarettes betrayed the presence of two men standing guard next
to the door.  The light was too dim for Pat to make out anything more than vague
shapes where they were standing; though listening intently, she could catch the
murmur of voices above the chirping of crickets, the splash of fish in the water
and the occasional hoots of a lone owl in the forest.

Silent as a bronzed ghost, Pat drifted towards the sedans, watching for any sign
that she'd been discovered.  Neither of the men at the building's entrance made
any movement indicating they were aware of her approach. Croaching down beside
the sedan closest to the warehouse, a mere 20 or so feet from the guards, Pat
reached carefully into her utility vest.  From this distance, Pat could tell that
the indistinct voices she heard were not those of the guards, who were smoking in
silence, but were coming from inside the warehouse.

Extracting several small, round objects from the vest, she tossed them at the
guards.  A light, tinkling sound, as of fragile glass being broken, could be
faintly heard.  Both men looked down but saw nothing.  "What the hell was..." one
of the guards began to say, but the sentence was never finished, as both he and
his fellow collapsed to the ground.  Pat remained beside the sedan for another
moment, before gliding out towards the door. Sprinkled on the ground at the foot
of the guards were tiny glass shards, the remains of the glass capsules Pat had
thrown at them.  These capsules, one of the inventions relied on most by the Man
of Bronze and his men, contained a powerful anesthetic gas which dissipated
swiftly upon exposure to air.  Although it had knocked the guards out nearly
instantly, the minute Pat had spent by the sedan after their collapse had been
sufficient to diffuse the stuff to the point where Pat was unaffected by it as
she stood near the door.

Pat felt like clapping with joy.  So far, things were going perfectly. "If only
Doc could see me now!" she wished, before quickly changing her mind.  If Doc
could see what she was up to, he would probably have used his gas grenades on her
to stop her from getting into further trouble! After lightly trying the door and
finding it locked, Pat crept along the side of the warehouse to a broken window. 
Rising her head, Pat peeked in through the window.  One quick glance was enough
to confirm Pat's suspicions that the warehouse was generally deserted, as the
interior was in an advanced state of disrepair.

A dozen or more men were scattered about the ramshackle interior of the building.
 A few were seated around a crate, playing cards.  Others lounged on cots,
seemingly asleep.  Still others were clustered at a table 30 or so feet away from
the window, talking among themselves.  Guns were everywhere.

Pat inhaled sharply as she recognized one of the figures at the table as the
handcuffed man she had seen tossed into a sedan!  An elderly gentlemen,
greyhaired with a bushy beard, this individual was still handcuffed, and more,
was tied to his chair.  Even from her distance, Pat could see the fear in his
eyes, the sweat that blanketed his face and soaked his shirt.

Pat strained to catch the conversation at the table, but she was too far away,
catching occasional words--"radio" being repeated on more than one instance--but
not nearly enough to get any sense of what was being said. Increasing her risk of
discovery, Pat turned her head slightly and pushed part of it forward through the
break in the window, hoping to hear more. Her efforts would have paid off, as the
voices from around the table immediately became more distinct, but before she
could make out anything of interest, an argument flared up among the group of men
playing cards. Though not violent, their voices obscured those of the men at the
table.

Cursing her luck, Pat tried harder to overhear something of what was being
discussed at the table.  This singlemindedness proved her undoing.

Without warning, a pair of hands grabbed her from behind!  "What do you think
you're doing!?" a voice bellowed out in her ear as she was roughly pulled away
from the window.

Taken by surprise as she was, Pat's reflexes were superb.  One hard elbow jabbed
back into the ribs of her captor, while a heel stomped forcefully down on his
instep.  With a cry of pain, the man loosened his grasp enough for Pat to whirl
around, grab his arms and throw him through the air with a judo move she had
learned from Monk.  Her assailant hit the ground with an "Ooooff!", his head
striking hard on the ground. Pat's assailant, however, was not alone.  His
companion was a hulking brute of a man and he shouted to his fellows inside the
warehouse as he advanced upon Pat.  Nearly double Pat's mass, he clearly
underestimated his foe.  One bronzed fist shot out and sank into his midsection,
another smashed against his face, splitting his lip.  Staggering back, spitting
blood from his mouth, he faced a metallic tigress.  Darting here and there, Pat
rained blow after blow upon him, agilely dodging his fists which, if they had
landed, would likely have put a quick end to the fight.

Pat exulted in the combat.  After the first couple of seconds, she had no doubt
in her mind that she would win.  Her well-placed punches were keeping her
opponent off balance, wearing him down.  Unfortunately, in the excitement, she
forgot about the first foe she had dispatched. Jumping backwards to avoid the
brute's grasp, she landed on the man on the ground and went sprawling.

"I've got you now!" the giant cried triumphantly and sprang towards her. His cry
was drowned by the bullfiddle roar of one of Doc's supermachine pistols, clenched
in Pat's hands, spewing bullets into his body.  He dropped like a stone.

Pat sprang to her feet but before she could move, the door of the warehouse burst
open.  Drawn by the sound of the conflict, men poured out of the warehouse. 
Lights came on, illuminating the field in which Pat stood, betraying her presence
for all to see.  A handgun cracked out its song of death in Pat's direction,
bullets screaming past her bronzed tresses.  Pat unleashed a hail of bullets from
the supermachine pistol, felling a few of the men as they ran towards her,
driving the others back into the warehouse or causing them to dive for cover
behind the sedans.

A quick glance convinced Pat that her odds of making it across the field without
getting shot were slim, and she sprinted for the warehouse.  The sound of gunfire
followed her as she reached the building, crouching down behind a pile of loose
bricks.  Pat sent another stream of bullets towards her foes, keeping them pinned
down.  For the next few minutes, the night air was split by the sound of
occasional shots from various handguns and rifles and the roar of the
supermachine pistol.

By the end of that time, Pat's ardor for adventure was beginning to wane a bit. 
She had devised and discarded several different options for getting out of this
jam, none of which seemed likely to get her out alive.  Popping in a fresh ammo
drum, Pat sent another burst of bullets whizzing over the heads of her opponents,
who were slowly pushing one of the sedans towards her as they crouched behind it.
 Although Pat's firearm made a tremendous din, her foes had finally realized that
the bullets were not penetrating the metal of the sedan.  Though they did not
know it, this was because the ammo drums Pat was using were filled with mercy
bullets, rather than regular ammunition.  These bullets were designed to break
the skin and deposit a powerful anaesthetic, knocking out an opponent in seconds.
 Doc Savage's creed was to never take a human life it could possibly be helped,
and mercy bullets were the standard ammo for his supermachine pistols.

Cursing herself for having not taken a few drums of Doc's explosive ammo along
with her, Pat had pretty much decided how she was going to make a break for it
when she was jerked off her feet, the pistol falling to the ground!  A noose had
lowered from the roof of the warehouse, been dropped over her head, and was then
yanked up!  Pat clutched at the rope around her neck as she was lifted off the
ground.  Men called from the roof to their fellows down below, yelling for them
to rush her!

Pat pulled frantically at the rope, desperately trying to loosen it and gulp more
oxygen.  Taken by surprise as she was, she hadn't had time to grab a proper
breath.  Spots began to swim across her gold-flecked eyes as she battled to
breath, swinging a few feet off the ground.  It was no use. Just as the first men
reached her on the ground, Pat's world went dark.

At a word from the men around Pat's hanging body, the rope was loosened and she
fell to the ground.  A couple of the men grabbed her, none too gently, and hauled
her, as well as their unconscious fellows, into the warehouse.

As the door to the warehouse closed, the outdoor lights went out, leaving the
field once more in darkness.  After a few moments, the crickets and the owl
resumed their interrupted symphony of the night.