collapse in which they had found her, although she was haggard and
pale, and the torn rags of her clothing were filthy, stained with dried
blood from the long flesh wound between her breasts. She was helping
Sara with the boy who lay on the floorboards of the cabin, and she
looked up with an expression which told of regained strength and
determination.
'How is he doing? 'Gareth asked, leaning forward through the open rear
doors. The boy had been hit twice and been carried back from the
killing-ground of the gorge by two of his loyal tribes men.
'He will be all right, I think,' said Vicky, and Gregorius opened his
eyes and whispered, 'Yes, I'll be all right.'
'Well, that's more than you deserve,' grunted Gareth. 'I left you in
charge not leading the charge.'
'Major Swales.' Sara looked up fiercely, protective as a mother. 'It
was the bravest-'
'Spare me from brave and honest men,'
Gareth drawled.
'Cause of all the trouble in the world.' And before Sara could flash
at him again he went on, 'Come along with me, my dear. Need you to do
a bit of translating.' Reluctantly she left Gregorius and climbed down
out of the car. Vicky followed her, and stood close to Gareth beside
the side of the hull.
'Are you all right? 'she asked.
'Never better,' he assured her, but now she noticed for the first time
the flush of unnatural colour in his cheeks and the feverish glitter in
his eyes.
Quickly she reached out and before he could prevent it she took the
hand of his injured arm. It was swollen like a balloon, and it had
turned a sickly greenish purple. She leaned forward to sniff the
filthy stained rags that covered the arm, and she felt her gorge rise
at the sweet stench of putrefaction.
Alarmed, she reached up and touched his cheek.
'Gareth, you are hot as a furnace.'
'Passion, old girl. The touch of your lily-white, 'Let me look at your
arm, 'she demanded.
'Better not.' He smiled at her, but she caught the iron in his voice.
'Let sleeping dogs lie, what? Nothing we can do about it until we get
back to civilization.'
'Gareth-'
'Then my dear, I will buy you a large bottle of Charlie, and send for
the preacher man.'
'Gareth, be serious.'
'I am serious.' Gareth touched her cheek with the fingers of his good
hand. 'That was a proposal of marriage, 'he said, and she could feel
the fiery heat of the fever in his finger, tips.
'Oh Gareth! Gareth!'
'By which I take it you mean thanks, but no thanks.' She nodded
silently, unable to speak.
'Jake?'he asked, and she nodded again.
