“It’s not that,” Ansell said quickly. “I’d trust him with my life. It was her fault. You ought to have seen the tricks she did. They were remarkable. I’ve never seen…”
I got to my feet. “We’re getting guns and we’re going right over there and we’ll bring her back. Do you get it?”
Bogle’s eyes popped. “Just the three of us?” he said faintly.
“Just the three of us,” I returned. “Get horses, while I get the guns.”
“You heard what I said about the knives?” Bogle said. “Great big stickers, as long as my arm.”
“I heard,” I returned. “We got this girl into the mess. We’ll get her out of it.”
I left them and dug out the innkeeper. “What have you got in the way of guns, pal?” I asked, after we had shaken hands and patted each other.
“Guns?” His little eyes widened, then seeing my look, he grinned. “More trouble, senor?” he said. “Always trouble with the white senor.”
“Slow up on the chatter and give me some action,” I said shoving him towards the house.
I got action and I got three express rifles and three .38 automatics.
By the time I got back the other two had found horses. I gave than a gun and automatic each and then climbed on to my horse.
“You wouldn’t like to put it off until to-morrow?” Ansell said hopefully. “It’s going to be hot on the plateau right now.”
“It’ll be hot all right,” I said and rode out of the patio. The way to the Indian settlement lay across the exposed plateau which was broken only by patches of forest. There was hardly any shade.
After an hour of heat and flies we came to the Indian village. The sordid settlement shocked me. There were six mud huts, thatched with banana leaves. They stood forlornly in the bright sunlight and the whole place seemed deserted.
I jerked my horse to a standstill and sat staring at the huts. Doc and Bogle came up and halted their animals by my side.
“Is this it?” I said. “Are you sure this is the place?”
“Yeah,” Bogle said, wrinkling his nose. “Not like Palm Beach, is it?” He rested his arms on the saddle and leaned forward. “Not the kind of glamour parlour Goldiocks is used to.”
“Button up!” I said, feeling furious with Ansell for even bringing Myra to such a dump, let alone leaving her here. If I’d gone with them, we wouldn’t have gone through with it.
Ansell slid off his horse and walked slowly down the beaten path between the huts. Neither
Bogle nor I moved. We sat, with our rifles forward, watching him.
“No one about,” Ansell said, coming back. “Maybe they’re hunting or something.”
In spite of the heat, I suddenly felt my flesh creep, as if a cold hand had touched me.
“You’d better find her,” I said quietly.
“Quintl’s got a place further in the forest,” Ansell said, urging his horse forward.
We followed him.
At the edge of the forest, amid scrub and stones, stood a solid little building made of grey rock.
“This is it,” Ansell said, dismounting.
Bogle looked round. “This ain’t a country to live in,” he said uneasily. “There’s something about this dump I don’t like. Do you feel it, Bud?”
“Don’t be a damned baby,” I said sharply, although I, too, disliked the dank atmosphere of the settlement. I guess it was the complete tillness and the silence that gave me the jumps. Even the trees were motionless.
I dismounted and walked up to the rotten wooden door of the building and thumped on it with my clenched list. The heavy silence was broken only by the sound of my fist.
I stopped and listened. Sweat ran down my face with the exertion of beating on the door. Ansell and Bogle stood a few yards behind me, watching.
“There’s no one there,” I said, stepping back. “They’ve taken her away.”
“I can smell something like a dead horse,” Bogle said suddenly, and he began drawing great breaths of air through his nose.
Ansell said: “For God’s sake, keep quiet.” He joined me at the door. “There must be someone there,” he went on, pressing against the door. “There’s no lock. It’s bolted on the inside.”
I drew back and aimed a kick at the door. It shivered but held firm. I don’t know why it was, but I suddenly felt scared. I felt that something was going to happen over which I had no control, but in spite of this I was going to get into that hut.
I turned to Bogle, “Get off that damned horse and help me, you useless punk.”
Glad to have something to do, Bogle hurriedly dismounted and came over. He examined the door and then drawing back, he crashed his shoulder against it. The door creaked loudly and Bogle’s second charge shattered the bolt and the door crashed open.
A violent, nauseating smell seeped out of the hut. We staggered back before it.
“What is it?” I said, holding my hand over my mouth and nose.
“Someone’s been dead in there for quite a time,” Ansell said, his face going pale.
Bogle turned green, “I gotta weak stomach,” he wailed, sitting down abruptly on the grass.
“I can’t stand this. I’m going to heave.”
I glared round at Ansell. “She’s not dead, is she?” I said.
“Don’t get excited,” Ansell said, struggling with his own nausea. “You wait here. I’ll go in.” He drew a deep breath and peered timidly into the darkness. His eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, could see nothing.
I shoved him aside. “Get out of my way,” I said, and walked into the awful, stinking oven of darkness.
I stood just inside the room, breathing through my mouth, feeling the sweat running from me. At first, I couldn’t see anything, then as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I made out a figure sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall. It was Quintl.
The old Indian was wrapped in a dirty blanket. His head was sunk low on his chest and his hands lay stiffly on the mud floor. I fumbled for a match and with a shaky hand, I scratched a light from the rock wall. Moving forward, I peered down at the Indian, holding the little flame high above my head.
The whole of Quintl’s face moved in putrefaction. Even the hair on his head seethed with putrefying life.
I started back, dropped the match and half blundered to the door. I had never seen such a disgusting, sickening sight and it seemed to draw my nerves into tight, writhing wires.
I stood gulping in the doorway, too sick even to speak. Ansell shook my arm. “What is it?” he said, his voice was high pitched. “What are you looking like that for?”
“It’s the Indian,” I said, trying to control my heaving fluttering stomach. “He’s dead. Don’t look at him. It’s the filthiest thing I’ve seen.” I looked back into the darkness, my heart pounding against my side. “Where’s Myra? There’s no one in there—just the old Indian.”
“There’s another room,” Ansell said, “Look, over to the right.”
I fumbled for another match, struck it and went into the room again. I didn’t look at the Indian. I could just see a dark opening at the far end of the room and I walked slowly towards it. Ansell followed me.
I paused at the doorway and peered in. The light from the match pierced the thick darkness for a few feet. I moved forward slowly and I stopped just by the door. The flame of the match flickered and went out.
I had a sudden feeling that this wasn’t real. It was like a nightmare of ghostly unknown things that pressed round me in the darkness. If I had been alone, I should have run away. I should have turned and stumbled into the bright sunlight and I would never have gone back into that ghastly, frightening darkness. But Ansell was behind me. I could feel his hand on my arm and somehow I felt I could stand there with him so close to me.
“Do you hear anything?” he whispered.
I listened. The silence was so complete that all I could hear was the pounding of my heart and the little hurried gasps from Ansell.
I fumbled for a match and the bright flame lit the mom for a moment, then it died down and the shadows closed in on me again.
In that moment of light I had seen a long starved shadow glide away from the light of the match. It was soundless, like a frightened spirit, and when the flame flickered and went out I was scared.
“There’s someone in here,” I said. “Doc, where are you?”
