“Come on, girl,” Andy coaxed. “Will…you…just…please…stop fighting?” Andy tugged on the rope, trying to force the mule down the muddy trail, but the mule barely inched forward, evidently more frustrated than soothed by Andy’s efforts. Abigail, who was ahead with the others, noticed that Andy was lagging behind and came back to see what was wrong.
“She’ll only get more stubborn the harder you pull,” she advised. Andy’s face was beet red from effort, and sweat stood out on his forehead.
“Fine, you give it a try,” he said, flipping the reins to Abigail. The girl moved close to the mule and began whispering soothingly into its rabbitlike ears. The whites around the mule’s eyes slowly vanished. Petting the mule’s head, Abigail reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of dried fruit. She handed it to the eager animal, which happily began to trot forward.
“Well, that was pretty impressive,” Andy said.
“My dad had horses when I was little. I learned that patience is pretty important when trying to get them to do anything.”
Andy, Abigail, and the mule walked on. They were quite a bit behind the others, but they found that the trail Rusty had blazed was easy to follow.
Andy swatted a mosquito that had landed on his neck. The deeper they went into the humid jungle, the more the bugs seemed to thrive. As annoying as the insects were, they were nothing compared to the nagging suspicions about Rusty that were growing in Andy’s mind.
Andy glanced over at Abigail. He wondered if it was okay to share with her what Bartlemore had told him. Abigail seemed to be lost in thoughts of her own. Andy couldn’t help noticing just how pretty she was. The dappled sunlight played on her cheeks, and her hair was up in a loose bun. Abigail never wore jewelry, and she wasn’t a fancy dresser, but there was something about her spirit, her determination and conviction, that Andy admired.
“What?” Abigail asked suddenly.
“What, what?” Andy replied.
“You were staring,” Abigail said.
“Oh, uh…sorry,” said Andy. “I was just thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
Andy bit his lip. Bartlemore worked for the government, and he had told Andy about Rusty in confidence. Would Andy get in trouble for talking? But the more he wrestled with his secret, the more he couldn’t resist the comfort that would come from sharing it with someone. And, glancing around, he saw that there was no one else in earshot. He decided to try a subtle approach.
“How long have you known Rusty?” Andy asked.
Abigail glanced at him. “Rusty and my father met during the war. They served in the same battalion. Rusty actually fought the Red Baron, did you know that? My father was an airline mechanic back then, and he helped keep Rusty’s plane in the air.”
“Wow,” Andy said. “Has Rusty ever told you about it?”
“Not really,” Abigail said. “He tends to keep a lot to himself. I guess he lost a lot of friends in the war and doesn’t like to talk about it. My father told me that Rusty was an ace who shot down over thirty planes.”
Andy’s mind swirled. How could a military veteran with such an impressive record be working as a spy for criminals? It just didn’t make sense.
“Why do you ask?” Abigail asked. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you came back with Bartlemore. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
It was an opening Andy couldn’t resist. After breathing a heavy sigh, he said, “When I was with Bartlemore, he told me that he’s a special agent for the government and Rusty is a spy for the Collective.”
It all came out in a rush. Abigail’s eyes widened at the news, and then, to Andy’s surprise, she burst out laughing.
“You’re kidding! Rusty a spy? Bartlemore a government agent? And you believed him?”
Andy felt his cheeks redden. “He was pretty convincing. He showed me his badge and everything.”
Abigail’s smile faded. “You’re not joking. Okay. Well, first of all, Rusty is the Jungle Explorers’ Society’s most loyal member. What about all the things he did in the last mission? Remember?”
Andy’s expression was troubled. “Of course I do. But…but what if all of that was an act? What if he’s secretly working with the Collective, and what Bartlemore says is true? My grandfather said that there was a spy leaking information to them. How would Bartlemore know that unless he’d talked to Ned himself?”
Abigail was quiet for a few moments before replying. The only sound among them was the sucking sound the mule’s hooves made in the wet earth and the distant sound of branches snapping and insects buzzing. Andy was starting to grow worried that he’d offended her somehow when she replied, “If there’s anybody I don’t trust at this point, it’s Bartlemore. How he knows so much about us and found us so conveniently back at our camp is suspicious in and of itself. I’m actually surprised that he doesn’t think I’m the spy. I would be the most likely candidate, considering the fact that I worked with Professor Phink and the Collective before.”
Andy nodded. He felt a little better now that Abigail had pointed out Rusty’s stellar record of loyalty. “You’re probably right about Rusty. And by the way, Bartlemore isn’t one hundred percent convinced that Rusty is the spy. He seems suspicious of everyone. Maybe we should be more suspicious about him.”
“That’s what I think,” said Abigail.
But in spite of her feelings on the matter, Andy couldn’t help thinking about how official Bartlemore’s credentials had looked and how convincing he’d been. He was ashamed of himself for letting Bartlemore sow seeds of doubt about his friends, but he couldn’t shake the thought that there was a possibility the actor turned agent might be right.
Andy was miserable. His head was full of suspicions that he could not confirm or deny. But he supposed there wasn’t much he could do now either way. So, plodding along beside the mule, he tried to pass the time by making light conversation with
