Tunnel in the Sky (23 page)

   
Rod realized, as clearly as Grant did, that the group had to pull together. But Cowper was asking him to shore up his shaky administration, and Rod not only resented him but thought that Cowper was all talk and no results.

   
It was not just the unfinished wall, he told himself, but a dozen things. Somebody ought to search for a salt lick, every day. There ought to be a steady hunt for edible roots and berries and things, too- he, for one, was tired of an all-meat diet. Sure, you could stay healthy if you didn't stick just to lean meat, but who wanted to eat nothing but meat, maybe for a life time? And there were those stinking hides . . . Grant had ordered every kill skinned, brought back for use.

   
“What are you going to do with those green hides?” he asked suddenly.

   
“Huh? Why?”

   
“They stink. If you put me in charge, I'm going to chuck them in the creek.”

   
“But we're going to need them. Half of us are in rags now.

   
“But we're not short on hides; tanning is what we need. Those hides won't sun-cure this weather.”

   
“We haven't got tannin. Don't be silly, Rod.”

   
“Then send somebody out to chew bark till they find some. You can't mistake the puckery taste. And get rid of those hides!”

   
“If I do, will you take the job?”

   
“Maybe. You said, 'See that orders are carried out.' Whose orders? Yours? Or Kilroy's?”

   
“Well, both. Roy is my deputy.”

   
Rod shook his head. “No, thanks. You've got him, so you don't need me. Too many generals, not enough privates.”

   
“But, Rod, I do need you. Roy doesn't get along with the younger kids. He rubs them the wrong way.”

   
“He rubs me the wrong way, too. Nothing doing, Grant. Besides, I don't like the title anyhow. It's silly.”

   
“Pick your own. Captain of the Guard. .. City Manager. I don't care what you call it; I want you to take over the night guard and see that things run smoothly around camp- and keep an eye on the younger kids. You can do it and it's your duty.”

   
“What will you be doing?”

   
“I've got to whip this code of laws into shape. I've got to think about long-range planning. Heavens, Rod, I ve got a thousand things on my mind. I can't stop to settle a quarrel just because some kid has been teasing the cook. Shorty was right; we can't wait. When I give an order I want a law to back it and not have to take lip from some young snotty. But I can't do it all, I need help.”

   
Cowper put it on grounds impossible to refuse, nevertheless . . . “What about Kilroy?”

   
“Eh? Confound it, Rod, you can't ask me to kick out somebody else to make room for you.”

   
“I'm not asking for the job!” Rod hesitated. He needed to say that it was a matter of stubborn pride to him to back up the man who had beaten him, it was that more than any public-spiritedness. He could not phrase it, but he did know that Cowper and Kilroy were not the same case.

   
“I won't pull Kilroy's chestnuts out of the fire. Grant, I'll stooge for you; you were elected. But I won't stooge for a stooge.”

   
“Rod, be reasonable! If you got an order from Roy, it would be my order. He would simply be carrying it out.”

   
Rod stood up. “No deal.”

   
Cowper got angrily to his feet and strode away.

   
There was no meeting that night, for the first time. Rod was about to visit the Baxters when Cowper called him aside. “You win. I've made Roy chief hunter.”

   
“Huh?”

   
“You take over as City Manager, or Queen of the May, or whatever you like. Nobody has set the night watch. So get busy.”

   
“Wait a minute! I never said I would take the job.”

   
“You made it plain that the only thing in your way was Roy. Okay, you get your orders directly from me.

   
Rod hesitated. Cowper looked at him scornfully and said, “So you can't co-operate even when you have it all your own way?”

   
“Not that, but-”

   
“No 'buts.' Do you take the job? A straight answer: yes, or no.

 
  
“Uh. . . yes.

   
“Okay.” Cowper frowned and added, “I almost wish you had turned it down.”

   
“That makes two of us.”

   
Rod started to set the guard and found that every boy he approached was convinced that he had had more than his share of watches. Since the exterior security committee had kept no records- indeed, had had no way to- it was impossible to find out who was right and who was shirking. “Stow it!” he told one. “Starting tomorrow we'll have an alphabetical list, straight rotation. I'll post it even if we have to scratch it on a rock.” He began to realize that there was truth in what Grant had said about the difficulty of getting along without writing paper.

   
“Why don't you put your pal Baxter on watch?”

   
“Because the Mayor gave him two weeks honeymoon, as you know. Shut up the guff. Charlie will be your relief; make sure you know where he sleeps.”

   
“I think I'll get married. I could use two weeks of loafing.”

   
“I'll give you five to one you can't find a girl that far out of her mind. You're on from midnight to two.”

   
Most of them accepted the inevitable once they were assured of a square deal in the future, but Peewee Schneider, barely sixteen and youngest in the community, stood on his “rights”- he had stood a watch the night before, he did not rate another for at least three nights, and nobody could most colorfully make him.

   
Rod told Peewee that he would either stand his watch, or Rod would slap his ears loose- and then he would still stand his watch. To which he added that if he heard Peewee use that sort of language around camp again he would wash Peewee's mouth out with soap.

   
Schneider shifted the argument. “Yah! Where are you going to find soap?”

   
“Until we get some, I'll use sand. You spread that
 
word, Peewee: no more rough language around camp. We're going to be civilized if it kills us. Four to six, then, and show Kenny where you sleep.” As he left Rod made a mental note that they should collect wood ashes and fat; while he had only a vague idea of how to make soap probably someone knew how. . . and soap was needed for other purposes than curbing foul-mouthed pip squeaks. He had felt a yearning lately to be able to stand upwind of himself . . . he had long ago thrown away his socks.

   
Rod got little sleep. Everytime he woke he got up and inspected the guard, and twice he was awakened by watchmen who thought they saw something prowling outside the circle of firelight. Rod was not sure, although it did seem once that he could make out a large, long shape drifting past in the darkness. He stayed up a while each time, another gun in case the prowler risked the wall or the fires in the gap. He felt great temptation to shoot at the prowling shadows, but suppressed it. To carry the attack to the enemy would be to squander their scanty ammunition without making a dent in the dangerous beasts around them. There were prowlers every night; they had to live with it.

   
He was tired and cranky the next morning and wanted to slip away after breakfast and grab a nap in the cave. He had not slept after four in the morning, but had checked on Peewee Schneider at frequent intervals. But there was too much to do; he promised himself a nap later and sought out Cowper instead. “Two or three things on my mind, Grant.”

   
“Spill it.”

   
“Any reason not to put girls on watch?”

   
“Eh? I don't think it's a good idea.”

   
“Why not? These girls don't scream at a mouse. Everyone of them stayed alive by her own efforts at least a month before she joined up here. Ever seen Caroline in action?”

   
“Mmm . . . no.

   
“You should. It's a treat. Sudden death in both hands, and eyes in the back of her head. If she were on watch, I would sleep easy. How many men do we have now?”

   
“Uh, twenty-seven, with the three that came in yesterday.”

  
 
“All right, out of twenty-seven who doesn't stand watch?”

   
“Why, everybody takes his turn.”

   
“You?”

   
“Eh? Isn't that carrying it pretty far? I don't expect you to take a watch; you run it and check on the others.”

   
“That's two off. Roy Kilroy?”

   
“Uh, look, Rod, you had better figure that he is a department head as chief hunter and therefore exempt. You know why- no use looking for trouble.”

   
“I know, all right. Bob Baxter is off duty, too.”

   
“Until next week.”

   
“But this is this week. The committee cut the watch down to one at a time; I'm going to boost it to two again. Besides that I want a sergeant of the guard each night. He will be on all night and sleep all next day . . . then I don't want to put him on for a couple of days. You see where that leaves me? I need twelve watchstanders every night; I have less than twenty to draw from.”

   
Cowper looked worried. “The committee didn't think we had to have more than one guard at a time.”

   
“Committee be hanged!” Rod scratched his scars and thought about shapes in the dark. “Do you want me to run this the way I think it has to be run? Or shall I just go through the motions?”

   
“Well . .

   
“One man alone either gets jittery and starts seeing shadows- or he dopes off and is useless. I had to wake one last night- I won't tell you who; I scared him out of his pants; he won't do it again. I say we need a real guard, strong enough in case of trouble to handle things while the camp has time to wake up. But if you want it your way, why not relieve me and put somebody else in?”

   
“No, no, you keep it. Do what you think necessary.”

   
“Okay, I'm putting the girls on. Bob and Carmen, too, And you.”

   
“Huh?”

   
“And me. And Roy Kilroy. Everybody. That's the only way you will get people to serve without griping; that way you will convince them that it is serious, a first obligation, even ahead of hunting.”

   
Cowper picked at a hangnail, “Do you honestly think I should stand watch? And you?”

   
“I do. It would boost morale seven hundred percent. Besides that, it would be a good thing, uh, politically.”

   
Cowper glanced up, did not smile. “You've convinced me. Let me know when it's my turn.”

   
“Another thing. Last night there was barely wood to keep two fires going.”

   
“Your problem. Use anybody not on the day's hunting or cooking details.”

   
“I will. You'll hear some beefs. Boss, those were minor items; now I come to the major one. Last night I took a fresh look at this spot. I don't like it, not as a permanent camp. We've been lucky.”

   
“Eh? Why?”

   
“This place is almost undefendable. We've got a stretch over fifty meters long between shale and water on the upstream side. Downstream isn't bad, because we build a fire in the bottleneck. But upstream we have walled off less than half and we need a lot more stakes behind the wall. Look,” Rod added, pointing, “you could drive an army through there- and last night I had only two little bitty fires. We ought to finish that wall.”

   
“We will.”

   
“But we ought to make a real drive to find a better place. This is makeshift at best. Before you took over I as trying to find more caves- but I didn't have time to explore very far. Ever been to Mesa Verde?”

   
“In Colorado? No.”

   
“Cliff dwellings, you've seen pictures. Maybe somewhere up or down stream-more likely down- we will find pockets like those at Mesa Verde where we can build homes for the whole colony. You ought to send a team out for two weeks or more, searching. I volunteer for it.”

   
“Maybe. But you can't go; I need you.”

 
  
“In a week I'll have this guard duty lined up so that it will run itself. Bob Baxter can relieve me; they respect him. . . .. .” He thought for a moment. Jackie? Jimmy? “I'll team with Carol.”