Tunnel in the Sky (16 page)

   
“Your count.”

   
“Fifteen-six, fifteen-twelve, a pair, six for jacks and
 
the right jack. That's going to cost you another million, my friend.”

   
“One of those jacks is a queen,” Rod said darkly.

   
“Sure enough? You know, it's getting too dark to play. Want to concede?”

   
They adopted Jim's scheme. It gave more time for cribbage and ran Rod's debt up into billions. The signal fire was kept burning on the shelf at the downstream end, the prevailing wind being such that smoke usually did not blow back into the cave- when the wind did shift was unbearable; they were forced to flee, eyes streaming.

   
This happened three times in four days. Their advertising had roused no customers and they were all get'ting tired of dragging up dead wood for fuel and green branches for smoke. The third time they fled from smoke Jimmy said, “Rod, I give up. You win. This is not the way to do it.”

   
“No!”

   
“Huh? Have a heart, chum. I can't live on smoke- no vitamins. Let's run up a flag instead. I'll contribute my shirt.”

   
Rod thought about it. “We'll do that.”

   
“Hey, wait a minute. I was speaking rhetorically. I'm the delicate type. I sunburn easily.”

   
“You can take it easy and work up a tan. We'll use your shirt as a signal flag. But we'll keep the fire going, too. Not up on the shelf, but down there- on that mud flat, maybe.”

   
“And have the smoke blow right back into our summer cottage.”

   
“Well, farther downstream. We'll make a bigger fire and a column of smoke that can be seen a long way. The flag we will put up right over the cave.”

   
“Thereby inviting eviction proceedings from large, hairy individuals with no feeling for property rights.”

   
“We took that chance when we decided to use a smoke signal. Let's get busy.”

   
Rod picked a tall tree on the bluff above. He climbed to where the trunk had thinned down so much that it would hardly take his weight, then spent a tedious hour topping it with his knife. He tied the sleeves of Jim's shirt to it, then worked down, cutting foliage away as he went. Presently the branches became too large to handle with his knife, but the stripped main stem stuck up for several meters; the shirt could be seen for a long distance up and down stream. The shirt caught the wind and billowed; Rod eyed it, tired but satisfied- it was unquestionably a signal flag.

   
Jimmy and Jacqueline had built a new smudge farther downstream, carrying fire from the shelf for the purpose. Jacqueline still had a few matches and Jim had a pocket torch almost fully charged but the realization that they were marooned caused them to be miserly. Rod went down and joined them. The smoke was enormously greater now that they were not limited in space, and fuel was easier to fetch.

   
Rod looked them over. Jacqueline's face, sweaty and none too clean to start with, was now black with smoke, while Jimmy's pink skin showed the soot even more. “A couple of pyromaniacs.”

   
“You ordered smoke,” Jimmy told him. “I plan to make the burning of Rome look like a bonfire. Fetch me a violin and a toga.”

   
“Violins weren't invented then. Nero played a lyre.”

   
“Let's not be small. We're getting a nice mushroom cloud effect, don't you think?'

   
“Come on, Rod,” Jacqueline urged, Wiping her face without improving it. “It's fun!” She dipped a green branch in the stream, threw it on the pyre. A thick cloud of smoke and steam concealed her. “More dry wood, Jimmy.”

   
“Coming!”

   
Rod joined in, soon was as dirty and scorched as the other two and having more fun than he had had since the test started. When the sun dropped below the tree tops they at last quit trying to make the fire bigger and better and smokier and reluctantly headed up to their cave. Only then did Rod realize that he had forgotten to remain alert.

   
Oh well, he assured himself, dangerous animals would avoid a fire.

   
While they ate they could see the dying fire still sending up smoke. After dinner Jimmy got out his cards, tried to riffle the limp mass. “Anyone interested in a friendly game? The customary small stakes.”

   
“I'm too tired,” Rod answered. “Just chalk up my usual losses.”

   
“That's not a sporting attitude. Why, you won a game just last week. How about you, Jack?”

   
Jacqueline started to answer; Rod suddenly motioned for silence. “Sssh! I heard something.”

   
The other two froze and silently got out their knives. Rod put Colonel Bowie in his teeth and crawled out to the edge. The pathway was clear and the thorn barricade was undisturbed. He leaned out and looked around, trying to locate the sound.

   
“Ahoy below!” a voice called out, not loudly. Rod felt himself tense. He glanced back, saw Jimmy moving diagonally over to cover the pathway. Jacqueline had her dart gun and was hurriedly pumping it up.

   
Rod answered, “Who's there?”

   
There was a short silence. Then the voice answered, “Bob Baxter and Carmen Garcia. Who are you?”

   
Rod sighed with relief. “Rod Walker, Jimmy Throxton. And one other, not our class . . Jack Daudet.”

   
Baxter seemed to think this over. “Uh, can we join you? For tonight, at least?”

   
“Sure!”

   
“How can we get down there? Carmen can't climb very well; she's got a bad foot.”

  
 
“You're right above us?”

   
“I think so. I can't see you.”

   
“Stay there. I'll come up.” Rod turned, grinned at the others. “Company for dinner! Get a fire going, Jim.”

   
Jimmy clucked mournfully. “And hardly a thing in the house. I should have baked a cake.”

   
By the time they returned Jimmy had roast meat waitmg. Carmen's semi-crippled condition had delayed them. It was just a sprained ankle but it caused her to crawl up the traverse on her hands, and progress to that point had been slow and painful.

   
When she realized that the stranger in the party was another woman she burst into tears. Jackie glared at the males, for no cause that Rod could see, then led her into the remote corner of the cave where she herself slept.

   
There they whispered while Bob Baxter compared notes with Rod and Jim.

   
Bob and Carmen had had no unusual trouble until Carmen had hurt her ankle two days earlier. . . except for the obvious fact that something had gone wrong and they were stranded. “I lost my grip,” he admitted, “when I realized that they weren't picking us up. But Carmen snapped me out of it. Carmen is a very practical kid.”

   
'Girls are always the practical ones,” Jimmy agreed. Now take me- I'm the poetical type.”

   
'Blank verse, I'd say,” Rod suggested.

   
“Jealousy ill becomes you, Rod. Bob, old bean, can I interest you in another slice? Rare, or well carbonized?”

   
“Either way. We haven't had much to eat the last couple of days. Boy, does this taste good!”

   
“My own sauce,” Jimmy said modestly. “I raise my own herbs, you know. First you melt a lump of butter slowly in a pan, then you-”

   
“Shut up, Jimmy. Bob, do you and Carmen want to team with us? As I see it, we can't count on ever getting back. Therefore we ought to make plans for the future.'

   
“I think you are right.”

   
“Rod is always right,” Jimmy agreed. “'Plans for the future-' Hmm, yes. .. Bob, do you and Carmen play cribbage?”

   
“No”

   
“Never mind. I'll teach you.”

   
The decision to keep on burning the smoke signal and thereby to call in as many recruits as possible was never voted on; it formed itself. The next morning Rod intended to bring the matter up but Jimmy and Bob rebuilt the smoke fire from its embers while down to fetch fresh water. Rod let the accomplished fact stand; two girls drifted in separately that day.

   
Nor was there any formal contract to team nor any selection of a team captain; Rod continued to direct operations and Bob Baxter accepted the arrangement. Rod did not think about it as he was too busy. The problems of food, shelter, and safety for their growing population left him no time to worry about it

   
The arrival of Bob and Carmen cleaned out the larder; it was necessary to hunt the next day. Bob Baxter offered to go, but Rod decided to take Jackie as usual. “You rest today. Don't let Carmen put her weight on that bad ankle and don't let Jimmy go down alone to tend the fire. He thinks he is well again but he is not.”

   
“I see that.”

   
Jack and Rod went out, made their kill quickly. But Rod failed to kill clean and when Jacqueline moved in to help finish the thrashing, wounded buck she was kicked in the ribs. She insisted that she was not hurt; nevertheless her side was sore the following morning and Bob Baxter expressed the opinion that she had cracked a rib.

   
In the meantime two new mouths to feed had been
 
added, just as Rod found himself with three on the sick list. But one of the new mouths was a big, grinning one belonging to Caroline Mshiyeni; Rod picked her as his hunting partner.

   
Jackie looked sour. She got Rod aside and whispered, 'You haven't any reason to do this to me. I can hunt. My side is all right, just a little stiff.”

   
“It is, huh? So it slows you down when I need you. I can't chance it, Jack.”

   
She glanced at Caroline, stuck out her lip and looked stubborn. Rod said urgently, “Jack, remember what I said about petty jealousies? So help me, you make trouble and I'll paddle you.”

   
“You aren't big enough!”

   
“I'll get help. Now, look- are we partners?”

   
“Well, I thought so.”

   
“Then be one and don't cause trouble.”

   
She shrugged. “All right. Don't rub it in- I'll stay home.”

   
“I want you to do more than that. Take that old bandage of mine- it's around somewhere- and let Bob Baxter strap your ribs.”

   
“No!”

   
“Then let Carmen do it. They're both quack doctors, sort of.” He raised his voice. “Ready, Carol?”

   
“Quiverin' and bristlin'.”

   
Rod told Caroline how he and Jacqueline hunted, explained what he expected of her. They located, and avoided, two family herds; old bulls were tough and poor eating and attempting to kill anything but the bull was foolishly dangerous. About noon they found a yearling herd upwind; they split and placed themselves cross wind for the kill. Rod waited for Caroline to flush the game, drive it to him.

   
He continued to wait. He was getting fidgets when Caroline showed up, moving silently. She motioned for him to follow. He did so, hard put to keep up with her and still move quietly. Presently she stopped; he caught up and saw that she had already made a kill. He looked at it and fought down the anger he felt.

   
Caroline spoke. “Nice tender one, I think. Suit you, Rod?”

   
He nodded. “Couldn't be better. A clean kill, too. Carol?”

   
“Huh?”

   
“I think you are better at this than I am.

   
“Oh, shucks, it was just luck.” She grinned and looked sheepish.

   
“I don't believe in luck. Any time you want to lead the hunt, let me know. But be darn sure you let me know.”

  
 
She looked at his unsmiling face, said slowly, “By any chance are you bawling me out?”

   
“You could call it that. I'm saying that any time you want to lead the hunt, you tell me. Don't switch in the middle. Don't ever. I mean it.”

   
“What's the matter with you, Rod? Getting your feelings hurt just because I got there first- that's silly!”

   
Rod sighed. “Maybe that's it. Or maybe I don't like having a girl take the kill away from me. But I'm dead sure about one thing: I don't like having a partner on a hunt who can't be depended on. Too many ways to get hurt. I'd rather hunt alone.”