There was a table beside the skeleton’s chair and to the right of that was a narrow bed. Animal skins had been piled at its foot.
“Think he skinned those animals?” Jacob blurted, eyes casting about the place.
“No, he is in a more advanced state of decomposition than the hides.” Van Resen peered around and took another step, and a distinctive cracking sound came from underfoot. “Oh dear!”
The scientist dropped to a knee and then nudged Jacob aside so the light from the open door could enter.
Jacob gasped, “Oh, they’re baby bones!”
“Drat it! And I have stepped on them.” Van Resen studied the specimens. “Tiny bones of a baby—human? But the skull. Wait! More breaks and fractures there, evidence for the cause of death, and that the bones have been disturbed before.” He glanced up at the skeleton in the chair and hummed worriedly. “So sad—or is it?”
“Dr. Van Resen...” Jacob was shocked. “Of course it’s sad.”
“Of course, and yet,” the scientist said indicating the small bones by running a fingertip over the protruding jaws on the little skull. “There is much to be considered before assigning any judgment.”
“Wait now!” Jacob said. As his eyes had continued to adjust, the wall to his right had taken shape. “A fireplace, and a grand one at that.” He pointed. “And a big armchair.”
Van Resen looked over.
“And hunting trophies, I see.” The scientist gestured to the colorful fur pelts, sets of horns, antlers and skulls adorning the wall. “Most curious.”
“Is this his place?” Jacob jerked his thumb at the skeleton in the chair. “So...he’s dead and... We can stay!”
“I should think so,” Van Resen answered, moving across the room to the pile of smelly skins. “However, someone else has been here.” He knelt to peel up the top few hides and larval bugs tumbled out of the poorly tanned skins. “These are of various ages indicated by their different states of decomposition.”
Jacob nodded.
Van Resen rose and stood by the rough bed and mattress beneath the hunting trophies where he bent to lift a coarse woolen shirt from the floor.
“There is dust upon and beneath this sailor’s tunic. So it has been moved over time, perhaps recently—and from this angle, the light from the door shows that the open floor space is relatively clean, though cobwebs, dust and dirt there is aplenty in the corners of the room. Someone was living here at a time after our skeletal doorman came to his end. Could he be a castaway like ourselves—or a victim of a shipwreck?” He looked at the tunic in his hands, and then his eyebrows shot upward as something beside the bed caught his eye.
“Wait now...” He dropped the garment and leaned over the mattress to reach down between it and the wall. There was a hard knocking and scrabbling sound, and then he lifted a large wooden mask into view. It had been skillfully shaped to resemble an oversized human skull with a pair of long bones crossed tight beneath its chin.
“Most interesting,” Van Resen said, frowning at the mask. Then he bent to reach into the space again and lift out a wooden, leaf-shaped shield. Upon its polished surface were still more skulls.
“Savages!” Jacob hissed, stepping back. “We should leave.”
“And go where, my friend?” Van Resen said, rising with a glance toward the open door. “We have no choice but to collect the others and our possessions and stay here. We would not long survive unprotected in this jungle.”
“But the mask and shield!” The butler’s face was desperate.
“The evidence is provocative,” Van Resen agreed. “But there is still enough here to suggest that it might not be a savage who calls this home.”
Jacob moved cautiously across the yurt before halting by the door to peer out. “And if he comes...”
“Then, we will avail ourselves of his Christian kindness,” Van Resen said, coming forward to set a comforting hand upon the man’s shoulder. “And failing that—consider joining his religion.”
Jacob looked anxiously at the mask in the scientist’s hand.
“Come now, we have shelter—I know it will lift our friends’ spirits,” Van Resen said reassuringly. “Certainly Mrs. Quarrie will consider this the work of providence. Whoever lives here has already offered us sanctuary and hope—though I admit he is unaware of his charity. Savage or not, he knows how to hunt, so if our meager rations run out; he might be convinced to extend his generosity to feeding us.”
They left the yurt and hurried back toward the beach. The sun was rising higher still but the day would go quickly, and then come the night.
CHAPTER 4 – Better than Steerage
Clive Quarrie looked around the unusual cabin and nodded his head at the animal skulls, horns and colorful pelts that had been hung on the wall. Then with a sidelong glance at his wife, he clenched his hands behind his back and moved over to the fireplace.
“Damned fine, Abby!” he said, smiling at her and gesturing broadly. “If it wasn’t for the shape and rustic character of this place I’d say it was a Texan who built it. Look there are his hunting trophies, and he’d stand here by the mantel with a glass of bourbon and a cigar.” He pantomimed holding both. “Yurt sweet yurt!”
“Clive, please,” his wife scolded. “Hush your foolishness.”
“It isn’t foolish, it’s hopeful, my dear,” he said, walking toward her and taking her hands. “I cast about and see the work of a civilized man in all this jungle, and I’m encouraged.”
“Indeed, Mr. Quarrie,” Dr. Van Resen said, carrying in one side of a crate opposite Phillip Holmes. “Your theory is admirable and your attitude most conducive to survival.”
Van Resen knew that optimism was the key to success. If it did not see them home, then it would see their dignity remained intact until the end, whatever form that took.
The scientist had also pondered the decoration inside the yurt wondering if it was the work of a man who intended to return to the culture
