Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur - Страница 30
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it stretched an area of low red sand hills. Thankfully Jake increased
speed and the column sped towards a sunset that was inflamed by the
dust-laden sky until it filled half the heavens with great swirls of
purple and pink and flaming scar lets The desert wind dropped and the
air was still and heavy with memory of the day's heat.
Each vehicle drew a long dark shadow behind it and threw up a fat
rolling sausage of red dust into the air above it.
The night fell with the tropical suddenness that is alarming to those
who have known only the gentle dusks of the northern continents.
Jake calculated that they had covered less than twenty miles in a day
of travel and he was reluctant to call a halt, now that they had hit
this level going and were bowling along with engine temperatures
dropping in the cool of night and the drivers" tempers cooling in
sympathy. Jake took a bearing off Orion's belt as the easiest
constellation, then he switched on the headlights and looked back to
see that the others had followed his example. The lights threw a
brilliant path a hundred yards ahead of Jake's car, giving him plenty
of time to avoid the odd thick clump of thorn scrub, and occasionally
trapping a large grey desert hare, dazzling it so that its eyes blazed
diamond bright before it turned and loped, long-legged, ahead of the
car, seemingly unable to break out of the path of light, dodging and
doubling with its long floppy ears laid along its back, until at the
last instant it ducked out from under the wheels and dived into the
darkness.
He was just deciding to call a halt for food and drink, with a possible
further march later that night, when the sand hills dropped away
gradually and in the headlights he saw ahead of him a glistening white
expanse of perfectly level sand, as smooth and as inviting as the
Brooklands motor-racing circuit.
Jake changed up into high gear for the first time that day, and the car
plunged forward eagerly for a hundred yards before the thick hard crust
of the salt pan collapsed and the heavy chassis fell through, belly
deep, floundering instantly so that Jake was thrown violently forward
at the abrupt halt, striking his shoulder and forehead painfully on the
steel visor.
The engine shrieked in the frenzy of high revolutions and lifting
valves before Jake recovered himself, then slammed the throttle
closed.
He dragged himself from the turret to signal a halt to the following
vehicles, and then mournfully clambered down to inspect the heavily
bogged vehicle. Gareth walked out across the snowy surface of the
pan,
and stood beside him surveying the damage silently.
"Let him make one crack " Jake thought through the mists of his anger
and frustration. He felt his hands curling into big bony hammers.
"Cheroot?" Gareth offered him the case, and Jake felt his anger
deflate slightly.
"Good place to camp tonight," Gareth went on. "We'll see about hauling
her out in the morning." He clapped Jake's shoulder. "Come on,
I'll buy you a warm beer."
"I was waiting for you to say something,
anything but that and I would have swung on you. "Jake shook his
head
grinning with surprise at Gareth's perception.
"You think I didn't know that, old son?" Gareth grinned back at him.
Vicky woke in the hours immediately after midnight when human vitality
is at its lowest, and the night was utterly silent except for the
gentle sound of one of the men snoring. She recognized the sound from
the previous evening, and wondered which of them it was.
something like that could influence a girl's decision, she thought,
imagine sleeping every night of your life in a saw mill.
It was not that which had woken her, however. Perhaps it was the cold.
The temperature had plunged in that phenomenal temperature range of the
desert, and she drew her blankets tighter over her shoulder and settled
to sleep ,again when the sound came again and she shot upright into a
rigid sitting position.
It was a long-drawn rolling, rattling sound, quite unlike anything she
had ever heard before. The sound rose to a pitch which clawed her
nerves, and then ended in a series of deep gut-shaking grunts. It was
so fierce and menacing a sound that she felt the slow ice of terror
spreading through her body. She wanted to shout to the others, to wake
them, but she was afraid to draw attention to herself and she sat
frozen and wide-eyed in the next silence waiting for it to happen
again.
"It's all right, Miss Camberwell." Vicky started at the quiet voice.
"It's miles away. Nothing to worry about." And she looked round to
see the young Ethiopian, still wrapped in his blankets watching her.
"My God, Greg what on earth is it?"
"A lion, Miss Camberwell,"
Gregorius . explained, obviously surprised that she did not recognize
such a commonplace sound.
"A lion? That is a lion roaring?" She had not expected it to sound
anything like that.
"My people say that even a brave man is frightened three times by a
lion and the first time is when he hears it roar."
"I believe it,"
she whispered. "I truly do." And she picked up her blankets and went
to where Jake and Gareth slept on, undisturbed. She lay down carefully
between them, and felt a little easier that the lion had now a wider
choice, but still she did not sleep, Count Aldo Belli had retired to
his tent with the sincerest and firmest resolve that in the morning he
would press forward to the Wells of Chaldi. The General's pleas had
touched him. Nothing would check him now, he decided, as he composed
himself to sleep.
He woke in the utter dark of the dog hours to find that the
Chianti he had drunk at dinner was now exerting internal pressure.
Where a lesser man might have slipped without ceremony from his bed to
deal with this problem, the Count did things in greater style.
He lay back on his pillows and let out a single loud bellow, and
immediately there was the frantic activity in the night, and within
minutes Gino had arrived with a bull's-eye lantern, hastily dressed in
a camel-hair gown, and tousle-haired and owl-eyed with sleep. He was
followed by the Count's personal valet and his galloper, all in the
same state of freshly awoken bewilderment.
The Count stated his physical needs, and the dedicated group gathered
around his bed solicitously. Gino helped him up as though he were an
invalid, the valet held a dressing gown of quilted blue Chinese silk,
embroidered with ferocious scarlet dragons, and then knelt to place a
calf-skin slipper on each of the Count's feet, while his aide hastened
to kick the Count's personal guard awake and fall them in outside the
tent.
The Count emerged from the tent and a small procession, well armed and
lighted, filed down to the latrine which had been dug exclusively for
the Count's personal use. Gino entered first and checked the small
thatched edifice for snakes, scorpions and brigands. Only when he
emerged and declared it safe did the Count enter. His escort stood to
attention and listened respectfully to the copious outpouring taking
place within until they were interrupted by the sky shaking
earth-rattling, heart-stopping roar of a male lion.
The Count shot from the latrine, his face a startled glistening white
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