'That's just what I don't know,' said Lucas.
'Maybe we'll think of some way by tomorrow,' said Bubonovitch.
'You ain't a-goin' to leaf me up here all night!' wailed the ball turret gunner.
'I'll get him down,' said Clayton.
There were no vines depending from the tree in which Shrimp hung that came close enough to the ground to be within reach of Clayton. He went to another tree and swarmed up the vines like a monkey. Then he found a loose liana some fifty feet above the ground. Testing it and finding it secure, he swung out on it, pushing himself away from the bole of the tree with his feet. Twice he tried to reach a liana that hung from the tree in which Shrimp was isolated. His outstretched fingers only touched it. But the third time they closed around it.
The strength of this liana he tested as he had the other; then, keeping the first one looped around an arm, he climbed toward Shrimp. When he came opposite him, he still could not quite reach him. The gunner was hanging just a little too far from the bole of the tree.
Clayton tossed him the free end of the liana he had brought over with him from an adjoining tree. 'Grab this,' he said, 'and hang on.'
Rosetti grabbed, and Clayton pulled him toward him until he could seize one of the chute's shrouds. Clayton was seated on a stout limb. He drew Rosetti up beside him.
'Get out of your chute harness and Mae West,' he directed.
When Shrimp had done so, Clayton threw him across a shoulder, seized the liana he had brought from the nearby tree, and slipped from the limb.
'Geeze!' screamed Rosetti as they swung through space.
Holding by one hand, Clayton seized a waving branch and brought them to a stop. Then he clambered down the liana to the ground. When he swung Rosetti from his shoulder, the boy collapsed. He could not stand. And he was shaking like a leaf.
Lucas and Bubonovitch were speechless for a moment. 'If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it,' said the pilot.
'I still don't believe it,' said Bubonovitch.
'Shall we look for the others?' asked Clayton. 'I think we should try to find them and then get away from the plane. That smoke can be seen for miles, and the Japs will know exactly what it is.'
They searched and called for several hours without success. And just before dark they came upon the body of Lieut. Burnham, the navigator. His chute had failed to open. With their knives they dug a shallow grave. Then they wrapped him in his chute and buried him. Jerry Lucas said a short prayer. Then they went away.
In silence they followed Clayton. His eyes were scanning the trees as they passed them, and it was evident that he was searching for something. Quite spontaneously, they all seemed to have acquired unlimited confidence in the big Englishman. Shrimp's eyes seldom left him. Who may say what the little Cicero mucker was thinking? He had not spoken since his rescue from the tree. He had not even thanked Clayton.
It had stopped raining and the mosquitoes swarmed about them. 'I don't see how you stand it, colonel,' said Lucas, slapping at mosquitoes on his face and hands.
'Sorry!' exclaimed Clayton. 'I meant to show you.' He searched about and found some of the plants he had discovered earlier in the afternoon. 'Mash these leaves,' he said, 'and rub the juice on all the exposed parts of your body. The mosquitoes won't bother you after that.'
Presently, Clayton found that for which he had been looking—trees with interlacing branches some twenty feet above the ground. He swung up easily and commenced to build a platform. 'If any of you men can get up here, you can help me. We ought to get this thing done before dark.'
'What is it?' asked Bubonovitch.
'It's where we're going to sleep tonight. Maybe for many nights.'
The three men climbed slowly and awkwardly up. They cut branches and laid them across the limbs that Clayton had selected, forming a solid platform about ten by seven feet.
'Wouldn't it have been easier to have built a shelter on the ground?' asked Lucas.
'Very much,' agreed Clayton, 'but if we had, one of us might be dead before morning.'
'Why?' demanded Bubonovitch.
'Because this is tiger country.'
'What makes you think so?'
'I have smelled them off and on all afternoon.'
S/Sgt. Rosetti shot a quick glance at Clayton from the corners of his eyes and then looked as quickly away.
Chapter 3
THE Englishman knotted several lengths of chute shrouds together until he had a rope that would reach the ground. He handed the end of the rope to Bubonovitch. 'Haul in when I give you the word, Sergeant,' he said. Then he dropped quickly to the ground.
'Smelled 'em!' said S/Sgt. Rosetti, exuding skepticism.
Clayton gathered a great bundle of giant elephant ears, made the end of the rope fast to it, and told Bubonovitch to haul away. Three such bundles he sent up before he returned to the platform. With the help of the others, he spread some on the floor of the platform and with the remainder built an overhead shelter.
'We'll get meat tomorrow,' said Clayton. 'I'm not familiar with the fruits and vegetables here except a few. We'll have to watch what the monkeys eat.'
There were plenty of monkeys around them. There had been all afternoon—chattering, scolding, criticizing the newcomers.
'I recognize one edible fruit,' said Bubonvitch. 'See? In that next ree, Durio zibethinus, called durian. That siamang is eating one now—Symphalangus syndactylus—the black gibbon of Sumatra , largest of the gibbons.'
'He's off again,' said Shrimp. 'He can't even call a ant a ant.'
Lucas and Clayton smiled. 'I'll get some of the fruit of the Durio zibeth-whatever-you-call-it,' said the latter. He swung agilely into the adjoining tree and gathered four of the large, prickly skinned durians, tossing them one by one to his companions. Then he swung back.
Rosetti was the first to cut his open. 'It stinks,' he said. 'I ain't that hungry.' He started to toss it away. 'It's spoiled.'
'Wait,' cautioned Bubonovitch. 'I've read about the durian. It does stink, but it tastes good. The natives roast the seeds like chestnuts.'
Clayton had listened to Bubonvitch attentively. As they ate the fruit, he thought; What a country! What an army!
A sergeant who talks like a college professor—and comes from Brooklyn at that! He thought, too, how little the rest of the world really knew America —the Nazis least of all. Jitterbugs, playboys, a decadent race! He thought of how gallantly these boys had fought their guns, of how Lucas had made sure that his crew and his passenger were out before he jumped. Of how the boy had fought hopelessly to save his ship.
Night had fallen. The jungle sounds and the jungle voices were different now. There was movement everywhere around them—unseen, stealthy. A hollow, grunting cough rose from the foot of their tree.
'Wot was dat?' asked Shrimp.
'Stripes,' said Clayton.
Shrimp wanted to ask what stripes was, but so far he had addressed no word to the Britisher. However, curiosity at last got the best of pride. 'Stripes?' he sasked.
'Tiger.'
'Geeze! You mean they's a tiger loose down there?'
'Yes. Two of them.'
'Geeze! I seen 'em oncet at the zoo in Chicago . I guess it wouldn't be so healthy down there. I heard they ate people.'
'We've got to thank you, Colonel, that we're not down there,' said Jerry Lucas.
