Behind Mt. Baldy (35 page)
The fire accentuated how dark it
had become. Graham and Peter returned and added more sticks to the pile. From
out in the darkness Stephen chuckled loudly then called, “Well, I’ve found it.
We can all go home now,” he said.
“Found what?” Peter asked.
Stephen walked into the light
grinning. With a flourish he held up a huge bone about half a metre long and so
thick he could not get his fingers around it.
“The Thigh Bone
of St Joris.”
This produced a shout of laughter
from them all. Even Roger thought it a good joke. It was so obviously a bone
from a dead cow that it did not bother him.
Stephen tossed the bone aside and
dusted his hands. “Will we eat first or put up hutchies?” he asked.
“Hutchies,” Graham answered. “We
won’t feel like it later.”
“I don’t feel like it now!” Roger
groaned.
“Why bother?” Peter asked. “There
are stars coming out.”
“That cloud on the mountain could
build up,” Graham cautioned.
They set to work clearing sticks
and rocks from between trees selected as suitable for erecting the plastic
shelters. It was nearly dark by then. As the shelters were being tied to the
trees Peter bent down and picked something up.
“Sorry Steve. We have a problem,”
he said. He held up another large bone. “We have another Thigh Bone for St
Joris. One must be a fake. How will we tell which is the authentic one?”
“Ass!” laughed Graham.
“No. Ox,” Stephen corrected.
They all laughed.
As soon as the two hutchies were pegged
down the boys returned to the fire and sat down. Roger undid his bedroll and
sat on it. Then he unlaced his boots.
“Ah! That’s better,” he sighed as
he pulled off his socks.
“Phew! What a pong! Put them on
again Roger,” Stephen cried.
Roger ignored him and gently
massaged the toes and soles. To his surprise there were no new blisters but his
feet were certainly red and tender in places.
“My poor feet!
How far have we walked today? Must be thirty kilometres,” he said.
“A bit over,” Graham replied.
“At least it is all down hill
tomorrow,” Roger said.
“Don’t forget old ‘Baldy’,” Peter
reminded.
Roger swore, but only
half-heartedly. He felt immensely pleased with himself as the realization
dawned on him. ‘I have walked more than thirty kilometres!’ he thought.
And he had kept up all day! ‘I will make it through the hike now!’ he
told himself. As he rummaged in his gear for food he began to hum happily.
Darkness set in. Apart from the
occasional vehicle on the highway they seemed to have the world to themselves.
A gentle breeze sprang up. It developed into a very pleasant evening. Only as
he was finishing his desert did Roger feel cool enough to put on his pullover.
He ate a huge meal:-Chicken soup,
Rice and Savoury Mince, Milo, Peaches and Condensed Milk, more Milo, then a
chocolate and another cup of Milo. He slowly relaxed and, while his muscles
trembled from time to time, he did not suffer any cramps.
The friends sat around the fire
talking for a while but all were tired. By 8pm Roger was yawning. Soon after
that he excused himself and moved his gear and bedding into the hutchie he was
sharing with Graham. Ten minutes later he was asleep.
Roger hardly stirred all night.
So soundly did he sleep that when he woke he found his left arm had ‘gone to
sleep’. As he blinked in the darkness he found he was shivering with cold and
was half out of his sleeping bag. He snuggled down to get warm and checked his
watch. It was 05:25. Time for another hour’s sleep he decided; but then found
that sleep would not come. To add to his exasperation Graham
lay
beside him, breathing the slow, steady breaths of deep sleep.
Roger shifted position. He lay on
his side and adjusted his pack to make it a more comfortable pillow. But the
more he tried, the more wide awake he became. Equally annoying was a growing
and persistent urge to go to the toilet. After ten more minutes Roger gave up.
He crawled quietly out and pulled on his socks, tipped his boots upside down to
check for scorpions or spiders, then pulled them on. He laced them tight and
gingerly stood up.
To his surprise he felt stiff but
not too sore. The air was quite chilly so he added his field jacket. It was
still dark but a faint lightening in the sky indicated dawn was not far off.
The low, dark shape of Peter and Stephen’s hutchie was just visible between two
nearby trees. The fire had burned itself down to grey-black ash.
After retrieving his toilet paper
from his pack Roger walked quietly up to the gravel road. He paused to listen.
Not a sound; not even wind in the trees. The air was completely still and there
was a light mist. He stared up and down the grey ribbon of road.
‘Which way?
Right or left?’
Right, he decided. There was a
bit of a thicket near the cattle grid which was well away from the camp and
offered some privacy, Roger being sensitive about such things. He walked that
way, his boots crunching on the sand and gravel. Once across the grid he made
his way among the She-Oaks and ferns a few metres off the road to do his
morning business.
While he squatted there it grew
rapidly lighter. The sound of a car coming from Herberton along the Highway
disturbed the stillness. Roger watched its headlights flicker through the
trees. It raced past and out of sight up towards the pass. Silence settled
again as the vehicle went over the crest.
Roger had finished and was
buttoning his trousers when he heard the quiet crunch of footsteps coming from
the direction of their camp. He looked and could just make out two figures in
the misty half-light. Was it Graham and Peter?
Or Stephen and
Peter?
In the gloom he could not tell. Still adjusting his clothing he
walked out onto the gravel road and stopped in surprise, a cheerful greeting
left unsaid.
Two armed men in dark uniforms
were at the grid. Both men carried rifles. The front one was looking down
watching his footing but the one behind saw Roger and cried out in alarm.
Roger froze in shock. His mind
took in the weapons, webbing, dark green trousers and jacket and a green cloth
forage cap with some sort of badge on it. He saw the first man look up, his
eyes and mouth open in surprise. Then the second man cried out again.
“Soldat!” he cried as he threw up
his weapon.
‘KSS!’
Roger’s mind shouted. In panic
he threw himself sideways. His eyes registered a flash from the rifle. The
sharp crack of the bullet was overlaid by the duller bang of the weapon going
off. At the same moment there was a loud cry of fear, followed by a scream.
Roger rolled into a low ditch
among some ferns as another bullet tore through the undergrowth beside him. His
whole being gripped by terror he yelled, “Graham! Graham! Peter! KSS!
Help!”
There was a thumping and rustling
noise near the fence and another scream of pain. Roger glimpsed the first man
writhing on the cattle grid. The second had dived for cover into the grass
beyond the road.
To Roger’s immense relief he
heard Graham yelling. “Roger! Roger! What’s going on?”
Roger saw the man in the grass
jerk his head round in surprise at the sound of shouts from his rear. There was
another piercing yell of agony from the first man, who was still in a
struggling heap on the grid. Roger scrambled behind a log. He was on the edge
of panic.
Again he yelled, his voice
cracking with near hysteria. “Graham! Help! Two armed men. Be careful. They’ve
got guns.” His voice went high pitched on that last bit and he flushed with
shame. As he shouted he saw the second man spring to his feet and look his way.
For a moment Roger dissolved in terror as the man swung the rifle round. Then
the man ran to his companion and reached down to haul him to his feet. This
provoked an even shriller scream of pure agony.
There were more yells from Graham
and the others and Roger heard their boots thudding through the bush. The
second man heaved at his companion who had now slumped unconscious. Failing to
free him, the second man darted fearful glances towards Roger’s hiding place
and over his shoulder, then released the injured man and fled. Roger glimpsed
him bolting up the slope through the She-Oaks.
Dark figures flitted through the
trees from the direction of the camp, then vanished as Graham ordered them to
take cover. “Roger! What’s going on?” he called.
Roger tried to reply but his
voice quavered too much and he had to pause and wipe spittle and sweat from his
mouth.
“Th...Th...There are two
men...with g
..guns
. One has run up the hill to your
left. The other is here at the grid. I think he’s hurt himself.”
This was confirmed by the man
emitting a loud groan and calling angrily after his companion in a foreign
language.
Kosarians?
“Keep down!” Graham yelled. “What
is he doing Roger? Can you see?”
Roger was shaking with fright and
did not want to look but he raised his head. He saw the man’s rifle
lying
on the road at least a metre from his clawing hands.
The man groaned again then called out. Then he swore; or it sounded like it to
Roger.
There was a rush of boots and
Graham appeared at the fence. He went under it in a diving roll and was on his
feet and running in an instant. Passing Roger he scooped up the rifle and kept
on going, to dive behind a tree on the other side of the track.
“I’ve got his rifle. Wait a
minute while I work out how to use it,” he called.
Roger let out a great sigh and
shuddered. He wiped cold sweat from his eyes and crouched, ready to run. His
eyes searched the bush in all directions for any sign of more of the men. The
man on the grid moaned again and curled up.
Graham called: “Can anyone see or
hear the other man?”
“No,” Roger croaked in reply.
“Steve, you watch back towards
our camp and up the slope. Roger, you watch out towards the highway and down
the slope. Pete, you come and search this bugger. I will cover you,” Graham
ordered.
Graham moved into a kneeling fire
position among the ferns near the grid. Peter rose from the grass twenty metres
away and walked forward. He approached the man very cautiously and looked all
around before bending down to start searching the web equipment the man was
wearing.
Peter looked up. “He’s fainted.
He’s got his leg jammed in the cattle grid. I think he has broken it.”
“Get his webbing off and search
his pockets, quickly,” Graham ordered. He looked around in momentary indecision,
then
turned to Roger. “Roger, help Peter. Empty
everything out of his pockets and put it in a plastic bag or something.”
Shakily Roger got to his feet. He
licked his lips and wiped sweaty palms. He felt chilled and was shivering all
over. Despite his fear he found himself walking toward the man while half his
mind rebelled. The reality of it was only now sinking in. ‘Search a man!’ he
thought. He had been trained to do it and had done it often enough on cadet
exercises but this seemed quite different.
Peter called out as Roger reached
him. “I can’t find any other weapons, only a pocket knife. There is live ammo
in these basic pouches though,” he said. He pulled the webbing off and
tossed it to the edge of the road near Graham.
Reluctantly Roger knelt and felt
the man’s shirt pockets, every nerve tensed for flight. He forced himself to
unbutton the pockets and to push his fingers inside. With shaking fingers he
scooped out a pencil, notebook, pen, some coins and a compass from one pocket
and a wad of folded papers and a notebook, all in a plastic bag, from the
other. He placed these on the ground.
Peter pointed to the man’s shirt
collar. “Look at those badges,” he said. Roger looked. Two rhomboid shaped gold
lozenges, each with a small silver ‘pip’ in the centre, were pinned on, one on
each lapel.
From where he crouched behind a
tree Stephen called, “KSS?”
Peter shook his head and picked
up the green cloth peaked cap from the dust. “Don’t think so. This bloke is all
dressed in green, and look; this badge on his cap. It is a gold eagle with a
crown on it,” he said.
Roger stared at the badge. The
eagle had its wings bent down, just like the one on the cover of the History
Book. His pulse raced with interest. “Kosarian Royal Guard,” he said with
certainty.
“Could be.”
Peter emptied a map pocket on the
man’s trousers: map, toilet paper, an Aide Memoire book. Roger dug in the right
trouser pocket and fished out a dirty handkerchief and some coins. Then he felt
in the man’s right map pocket. The man moved and emitted a groan.
Roger sprang back.
