Dash and Dingo

by Catt Ford

  Whether they ended up taking the cubs—Henry knew they could fight that out, but they would do it fairly and aboveboard. He didn’t know if Dingo felt the same way about him now that everything was out in the open, but he couldn’t allow this disagreement to drive a wedge between them. He hadn’t yet had enough of living his dream. And besides, it wasn’t honorable in his book to force the issue this way.

  Henry stood up. He had to find Dingo.

  He turned to backtrack his steps. If he knew Dingo, the man would be following him to ensure he didn’t get lost. Perhaps they could discuss it away from the tigers’ lair or shelve the discussion until later so they could follow the tigers and see….

  Dingo froze as a haunting shriek of despair slashed through the usual background of jungle noises, silencing all of them. The strangled howl echoed again. For one heart-stopping moment, he thought it might have been Henry, screaming in pain, having stumbled somehow into Hodges’s clutches. Then he realized just what it was.

  “Tassie!” Dingo exclaimed, barely remembering the need to keep his voice down. He turned and started racing through the jungle toward the lair of the thylacines, leaping over fallen logs and sliding between the trees with the sureness of a man with long experience in the wild.

  He caught a flash of white in the distance and hoped that it was Henry running as well, although the other man wouldn’t be as quick, not having developed the same level of sure-footedness in the forest.

  Without caution Dingo charged into the small clearing where the thylacines had nurtured their cubs in a shallow cave. The two adult thylacines had to be about somewhere but were well hidden as another mournful cry split the air only to break off into ominous silence.

  Dingo lifted his head and emitted a howl of rage and despair at the sight that greeted him, the tiny body of one of the cubs swinging at the end of a rope wrapped around its neck, its body quivering with the last desperate attempt to breathe.

  He sprang forward, catching the body of the cub and supporting it so he could free it. Frantically he worked the rope loose, but it was too late. The body was still warm in his hands, the eyes half-closed and dull, its teeth bared in a final grimace. It didn’t move. Dingo massaged the tiny chest, trying to get it to breathe, but there was no response.

  In despair, Dingo sat heavily on the ground, cradling the furry body in his hands.

  A primitive shriek shook Henry from his thoughts. Without thinking, he found himself running through the trees back to the clearing. His foot caught in a branch, and he crashed to the ground, lying there stunned for a moment.

  The thought that Dingo could be hurt—after he had felt that they were being watched—Henry picked himself up and started to run in the direction of the screams. The third one choked off suddenly, but there was a quality to the cry that reassured him that it wasn’t Dingo making those horrific sounds. That small comfort was dashed as Henry realized if it weren’t Dingo, it had to be the thylacines. Dread gave swiftness to his efforts, and he sprinted for the clearing, stumbling to a halt when he saw Dingo slumped on the ground.

  Another step brought him close enough to see that Dingo wasn’t hurt himself but was cradling a small, striped body in his two hands.

  “Dingo—” Henry managed to croak, his chest heaving with exertion and emotion. “Is it—is it—dead?”

  Dingo looked up, and Henry took in a shuddering gasp of air. Dingo’s face was wet with tears and his eyes were blind. Henry had never imagined that Dingo, his cheerful, optimistic, courageous Dingo, could seem so desolate, so beaten.

  “He killed it.” Dingo’s voice cracked with emotion.

  Henry went to his knees and crawled closer, stretching out one trembling hand to stroke the caramel fur. “Who—how did it die?”

  “Hodges. You were right. Somehow he got close enough—he must have seen us,” Dingo said. “I was too distracted—I should have—but I didn’t—”

  Henry put his arms around Dingo’s shoulders, holding him tightly. Looking down at the lifeless body lying so still, he felt the hot spill of tears trickle down his cheeks. A cub that he had watched tumbling awkwardly with its siblings little more than an hour ago…. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he’d had a personal relationship with the animal, like a pet dog. Blinking fast, he realized the cub was the one they’d been calling Corry, short for Wrong-Way Corrigan, because of its tendency to wander away from its parents. And now it was dead.

  “It’s not your fault,” Henry murmured.

  Dingo shook his head hopelessly. “If it’s not mine, then whose would it be? No, I’ve failed, and another of these miraculous creatures is dead because of me.”

  Henry swallowed hard. “Then I’m as much to blame.”

  Dingo looked up at Henry as if seeing him for the first time. “Yes.”

  Oddly, it relieved Henry to be permitted to share some of this burden of guilt. His impulse to apologize and explain would have to be shelved for another time, however. “Dingo, if Hodges is nearby, we can’t stay here. We have to lead him away from the thylacines. They must have carried at least one of the other cubs to safety—”

  “Two, there were two others,” Dingo insisted.

  “Two, then. But if we stay here, Hodges might find the parents and the other cubs. Let’s not make it easy for him, right, mate?”

  Dingo nodded dully, still holding the cub’s body as if he could not bear to let it go.

  “Dingo, its mother will come for it, don’t you think? Put it down,” Henry instructed, beginning to feel alarmed by Dingo’s continued lassitude.

  “She won’t let the devils eat it,” Dingo confirmed. “She’ll nose at it, trying to wake it. They’ll—they won’t know—why it won’t respond—”

  “Come along then. We’ll put it there, under those bushes, where she can get at it without having to show herself. We have to deal with Hodges,” Henry urged, careful not to snatch the body from Dingo even though the need to do something about Hodges was becoming more urgent.

  Dingo wiped his cheeks on his sleeve and rose effortlessly from his cross-legged position. He stooped to place the small body where Henry had indicated and stood up, squaring his shoulders. “When I heard the first cry—I thought Hodges had you—”

  Henry’s heart soared with joy; even if they were both culpable in the murder of the cub, at least Dingo still cared despite their argument. “I thought he had you. I’ve never run so fast in my life.”

  Dingo nodded. His smile was but a tragic echo of his usual cocky grin. “So you came rushing to the rescue again, Dash, eh?”

  “Yes.” Henry smiled, wondering if he looked as shaken as Dingo. “I was already coming back, though you needn’t believe that. I wanted to tell you I was wrong.”

  “I may have been wrong too.” Dingo sighed regretfully. “We had better move, and quick. It’s possible that Hodges may have located our camp, in which case, we’ll have to rough it. And I want a squint at that guide of his. I can’t understand how they managed to track us.”

  “Can we—can we say a few words first?” Henry asked, hoping that Dingo wouldn’t laugh at him.

  “I’d like that,” Dingo said quietly.

  Henry groped in memory for some Psalm that was fitting. “‘Be glad, earth and sky! Roar, sea, and every creature in you; be glad, fields, and everything in you! The trees in the woods will shout for joy….’”

  The lump in his throat made it impossible for him to go on. He took a deep breath and looked up at the canopy of trees above them, tears shining in his eyes.

  “Sleep well, little tiger,” Dingo murmured. “Come on, Dash, we’d better go.”

  Henry swallowed. “Right. Lead the way, Dingo.”

  As they walked away, Henry heard a soft rustling in the bushes, but he did not look back.

  “Dingo.”

  “Yeah?” Dingo didn’t stop walking, slipping silently through the trees.

  “We can’t just stroll back into our camp as if nothing had happened.” As he spoke,
Henry realized that they were heading in the opposite direction from their camp. He almost wanted to congratulate himself for recognizing it but felt that he should have caught on quicker.

  “We’re not.”

  Henry opened his mouth and shut it again resentfully. Once again, Dingo hadn’t shared his plan, so here he was trailing along uselessly behind him, feeling like a clumsy lout because he couldn’t manage to move soundlessly like Dingo and because apparently his opinion of what they ought to be doing next made no difference whatsoever as it had not been solicited.

  Too busy brooding to pay attention, Henry walked into Dingo when the other man stopped. Dingo reached back to steady him, giving his arm a squeeze, which made Henry feel a bit better.

  “Hear anything?” Dingo whispered.

  Henry listened. “All I hear are the usual noises.”

  Speaking quietly, Dingo said, “Might as well take a load off. It’s getting dark.”

  “I realize I don’t move as quietly in the dark as you do—” Henry started huffily.

  “Dash, we’re going to stay here for the night. Even I can’t prowl around in the dark if I can’t see where I’m going. If Hodges weren’t about, I’d take the chance perhaps, but as it stands, we rest up for morning.”

  Dingo started for a huge gum tree and circled it with Henry following him.

  “I know I said I thought someone was watching us—”

  “I saw him following you away from the tigers when you took off,” Dingo said. “I tried to draw him off and double back after you. Hodges is out there, but he’s behaving oddly. He could easily have shot all the tigers and been done with it. I think he was sending me a message.” He found a split in the bark and stooped to peer inside. “I hope you don’t mind a few bugs.”

  “Bugs? What kind?” Henry shuddered. He wasn’t particularly fond of bugs at the best of times.

  Dingo crawled inside the cavity and turned to stick his head out. “They won’t bite. Us, anyway.”

  “Right.” Henry squared his shoulders and crawled in after Dingo, surprised to find such a hollow inside the tree. It felt warm, almost humid compared to the chilly night air outside. “Who made this?”

  “Nobody, it happens naturally as the tree ages,” Dingo explained. “At least we’ll be out of sight, and we can both get some rest.”

  Henry’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he could just make out that Dingo was holding his arms out invitingly.

  “Get over here, you nong.”

  Gratefully Henry nestled into Dingo’s embrace and slid his arms around Dingo’s waist. He was quite certain that he needed the comfort of the other man’s arms tonight, and the way Dingo was holding him, he suspected that Dingo might as well.

  “What do you suppose Hodges is trying to tell you?” Henry asked after racking his brain in vain.

  “If I knew that….”

  Henry could feel the movement as Dingo shrugged. Apparently either Dingo really didn’t know or he wasn’t going to say. They sat curled together in silence. Henry was convinced that Hodges had killed the cub to draw them out, to find out where they were. And perhaps now they had become his prey, rather than the tigers. If so, he had to be toying with them, the way they’d raced through the woods making all kinds of noise. Or perhaps whatever he had planned couldn’t be done in front of witnesses.

  When the haunting calls of the adult tigers began again, he could easily picture the pair of thylacines, sitting on their haunches, gazing at their dead cub, pushing at it with their muzzles to rouse it. They had to know it was dead; they were predators.

  He recognized their voices; even his brief acquaintance enabled him to tell their calls apart. The male made little noise; it was mostly the female who mourned. The jungle was silent, save for the unearthly cries, as if all stopped to respect the tigers’ grief.

  He’d come here to save the tigers and instead, one was dead. Guilt consumed him; if he hadn’t insisted on coming here, would that have saved the life of the murdered cub? Hodges would most likely have stayed out of the jungle if he hadn’t been following them. The thought that he might be unwittingly to blame crushed Henry.

  The only thing that would be worse was if Dingo—cold fingers of fear squeezed Henry’s heart. Hodges was still out there.

  Henry woke early, glad to remain in the circle of Dingo’s arms until he awoke as well. Dawn filtered uncertainly into the center of the tree, and Henry could see daylight where there were a few holes. Finally Dingo gave a snort and sat up suddenly, wrenching himself out of Henry’s hold.

  “Morning,” Dingo said gruffly, and Henry was reminded of his father’s observation that he was not a morning person ’til he’d had his coffee. Resolutely he pushed the thought of coffee and food away, trying to ignore the gnawing pit of his stomach.

  “What do we do now?”

  “We have to keep Hodges away from the tigers.” Henry’s question seemed to have the effect of sharpening Dingo’s wits, although not his stomach, which grumbled ominously. “And we need some food.”

  Henry nodded. “Should we circle back to our camp?”

  “Probably not the best plan. I doubt Hodges could find it on his own, but for him to have followed us this deep and high onto the mountain, his guide has to have some skill.”

  Henry could barely see Dingo’s face, but he could hear the grim tone in his voice. “So we’re dodging two men out there.”

  “Maybe more, but first things first. We need some breakfast.”

  Dingo moved to block the light coming from the entrance, presenting Henry with a splendid view of his arse, if it hadn’t been to dark to see or if Henry had been in the mood. Right now, food was more of a priority. He didn’t question Dingo; their journey had given him plenty of reason to trust the other man’s resourcefulness.

  As he followed Dingo out of the tree, Henry suppressed a moan and stretched to his full height, his muscles sore and cramped from spending the night in tight quarters.

  “Wait for me here.”

  “Where are you going?” Henry demanded, his voice rising in fear. What if Dingo took it into his head to go after Hodges alone? He was fully capable of it, and Henry wasn’t going to be left behind and protected like that.

  “I’ll be back in a tick,” Dingo said. “Don’t worry.”

  Henry had to admit that he still couldn’t move like Dingo as he watched the other man slip through the trees. He listened for any sound that might indicate that they were not alone.

  A twig snapped behind him, and Henry jerked around to find Dingo emerging from the brush, his hands cupped as if he were carrying something. “Dig in.”

  Henry reached for the pink berries immediately, finding them tart and sweet. “What’s that lump?”

  “Better you don’t ask. It’s called bush bread.” Dingo took a bite and chewed.

  Henry steeled himself to try it. “It really does taste like bread. What is it?”

  “A fungus.” Dingo grinned at the grimace on Henry’s face.

  The two men ate quickly, and then Dingo led the way to a rock with water dripping from it. When they’d drunk their fill, Henry asked, “What do we do now?”

  “We have to split up,” Dingo said. “Hodges seems to be more interested in what we’re doing than the tigers. If we can lead him further into the forest, maybe we can… discourage him.”

  Assimilating the dire implications of that statement, Henry asked, “And what about his guide?”

  “Maybe we can reason with him.”

  “Get rid of him too?” Henry growled.

  Dingo sniggered at Henry’s bloodthirstiness. “Bribe him to keep his mouth shut. After all, he’s probably only in it for the bounty.”

  “It seems like Hodges has anything but the bounty on his mind. The tigers aren’t that plentiful any more, and they’re well away from the farms up here,” Henry argued. “Hodges has gone to a great deal of trouble to keep tabs on us.”

  Dingo looked away. “Let’s just say I’ve known him a
long time.”

  Henry didn’t want to think that this meant what he thought. “You mean you two….”

  Dingo looked at him kindly. “You have to stop doing that, Dash. I really don’t have quite the checkered past you’re imagining for me. It’s nothing like that.”

  “We’d better get going,” Henry said, feeling the heat color his face.

  “I’m going to head for our camp. I need a gun and my compass. You head northwest, that way, toward the Tenna River. There’s a good chance that after he chased the rumored tiger sightings to Maydena he followed the river inland. He always pitches his camp too close to the water. Maybe you can nip back ahead of him to warn me if you find him heading back this way.”

  “Right,” Henry said confidently, remembering the map Dingo had sketched in the dirt for him the day before, but then he hesitated. “Then what do I do if I find him? I mean, should I confront him?”

  “No, of course not, it’s too dangerous. Wait for me. I’ll find you. We’ll face him down together.” Dingo gave Henry a wink and started to walk away.

  Henry watched him go instead of striking out on his own, and he was glad he did, because Dingo turned and came back, enveloping Henry in a tight hug.

  “Stay safe,” Dingo instructed.

  “You too.” Henry didn’t want to let him go, but he felt a bit better. This time he turned and headed toward the Tenna River instead of watching Dingo walk away from him, trying not to think that it might be for the last time.

  His slow progress frustrated him, but Henry tried to imitate Dingo as he moved toward the river. He stayed under the cover of the ferns, avoiding dried sticks or leaves that might give away his position. He paused frequently to listen. That eerie feeling of being watched hadn’t returned, but he was taking no stupid chances. While he walked, Henry couldn’t help thinking about how the goals of this expedition changed hourly. The main goal to locate the living animals had been achieved, although it seemed that not only circumstances but Dingo himself stood in the way of bringing the animals out of the forest.