Sword in Sheath

by Andre Norton

  And there was a trail, wide and firmly packed. The men whose feet had beaten that road had had no reason to be afraid of anything. But the men from the Sumba did not follow it Both the Americans nourished unpleasant memories of the surprises to be found along just such thoroughfares in Burma, and van Bleeker was not ignorant of the man traps which ring in the villages of head-hunters in the island world. They were wary of easy trails and kept to the bush.

  Which meant swinging bolos again. But, Kane comforted himself, if their coming had not yet been noted by spies, the cave dwellers must be blind, deaf, and idiotic. A little noise couldn’t damn them now.

  With Fortnight leading they single-filed in the direction of the cliffs. Suddenly the Samoan stopped and gestured the others to look into a clearing.

  Regular lines of plants cut the dark soil, a soil clear enough of weeds to testify that this garden was well tended. Van Bleeker identified the find in a harsh whisper, “Camates.”

  Camates, the sweet potato of the tropics, the staple rough food of the natives from the Philippines south. A camate patch, well kept, and with its potates about ready to harvest, meant a settled community.

  “Almost ready to harvest — ” Islandwise eyes marked that fact as important, and Kane wondered why.

  “Nine months here at least then,” went on van Bleeker.

  So that was it — nine months of tending meant that the cave dwellers had been here at least that long. But if they numbered among them the survivors of the bomber in the lagoon — why had they not hailed the Sumba?

  “This garden patch runs east to the cliff base — ” pointed out Sam. “Shall we work along it?”

  But there was something in the silence of the tree-ringed clearing which made Kane uneasy. Sam and Fortnight slipped away toward the cliff, not waiting for agreement. Van Bleeker appeared to be inclined to shuffle after them, his tail of native seamen with him. But Lorens still lingered. Then the Netherlander stepped out into the soft earth of the bed and studied the ground, remaining there until Kane joined him.

  It was easy to see the spoor which had held Lorens’ attention. A heel print traced in the soil. Someone, wearing European style shoes, had set his foot there — recently.

  “What — ” began Kane. But he didn’t get his answer from van Norreys.

  Did the sharp crack of sound come before the blow on his shoulder whirled him off balance — or after? He groveled into the rich muck of the garden instinctively, even before he felt the stinging burn of the furrow cut into his flesh.

  “A sniper!” He attempted to pull the Reising into firing position. But there was no target. Only madly waving fronds showed where the Sumba’s men had taken cover.

  Spitting mud, Kane raised himself on his elbows and began a careful check of the jungle front. Whoever the sniper was — he must be an old hand at this particular game, though even an amateur could have found excellent cover anywhere around here.

  The burn on his shoulder was steadying into an ache. And when he moved his arm molten fire bit deep. But the start he gave when a palm fell against the small of his back made him set his teeth just in time against a real cry of pain.

  “Slide back.” The order was a half-whisper which was almost a hiss. “Pass me your gun — ”

  Kane relaxed his hold on the Reising as Lorens’ hand gripped the butt. Slowly he made a worm’s progress back to the full cover of the jungle. Once the green veil there closed about him, he turned over and pulled himself up with his back against a tree bole.

  The damage, he decided, a moment later, was not much although he was gory enough. Blood was soaking through his shirt, and he could feel it trickling down back and ribs. He was afraid to touch the wound with his earthy hands, nor did he dare to pull the cloth away from that point on his shoulder halfway between arm and neck. If he could avoid infection, there was certainly nothing to play the baby over.

  “Dutch! What is it?” Sam wriggled to him just as Lorens backed up, still facing the garden.

  Kane spat out more mud. “Just got me a crease. That guy over there must be a rotten shot. Luckily he picked the left shoulder. Any of you fellows have an idea where he’s roosting now?”

  “That would be hard to say.” Van Bleeker came crashing up. “I have told Fortnight to scout. But you, my friend, must return to the Sumba. Yes, that I insist upon — as should your own good judgment. In these lands we do not trifle with wounds, even the smallest. It must be treated against infection. Also, we must plan better. As it is, these cave people can hide out and pick us off at their convenience. As I have said from the first, we must discover their back door to win the game — ”

  Using more precautions now, they retraced their steps and crossed the stream to head for the hook of land where they had first come ashore. Fortnight did not join the retreat. And the fact that they had heard no more shots was no proof that the Samoan had not been ambushed. There were many ways to kill or trap a man in the jungle — without resorting to bullets.

  “It’s stopped bleeding.” Sam had fallen a step or two behind to see the taller man’s shoulder.

  “I said it was just a scratch, didn’t I?” demanded Kane heatedly. “Twist a handkerchief over it and it’ll be all right. I’d like to know where Fortnight is — ”

  “Do not worry about him.” Van Bleeker wasn’t, that was plain. “He is clever and knows what he is doing. He may bring news which will save us much trouble later.”

  They passed the bones of the anoa and crossed the last strip of open land. But the boat was not waiting for them. Van Bleeker scuffed impatiently through the sand to the water’s edge. He turned to give an order to one of his men just as the scow came into sight, creeping along the shore at a snail’s pace although two men in it labored at the oars with an effort which could almost be shared by the watchers on the shore.

  One of the rowers was the chief engineer. His face was scarlet to its second roll of chin, and as soon as he saw the captain his mouth began to open and shut as if he were delivering a message which he had not the strength left to shout aloud.

  “Where’re the other men?” Sam narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun on the water. “I can only see two.”

  “There’s someone in the bottom of the boat.” Lorens shaded his eyes with his hand. “They must have had trouble too — ” They had, the sort of trouble which sent van Bleeker a little mad with rage. What touched the Sumba and her crew touched him — and in his most sensitive feelings.

  “What happened?” His demanding bull roar drowned out the first of Bridger’s words. The chief pawed at his dripping face and tried again.

  “Sniped us — ” he bawled. “Shot Kanaka and Red. Red’s hit real bad. But we saw it first! They’ve got a sub ’round there, Cap’n, a real sub!”

  Van Bleeker splashed through the shallows, the rest not far behind him.

  “What about Fortnight?” Kane winced as Sam and Lorens boosted him over into the boat. “We can’t leave him — ”

  “He’s an eel in the water.” The young Netherlander came down beside the American without a jar. “If we can’t send back for him, he’ll swim out — ”

  Van Bleeker was down beside the two men in the bottom of the boat. One was very still and limp, but the other moaned, clutching at one arm with his other hand.

  “A sub.” Sam repeated the word almost unbelievingly. “What kind of a hornets’ nest have we blundered into anyway?”

  14

  ENTER THE MORO NAVY

  The main cabin of the Sumba was furnace-hot, and the faint corruption of spilled blood tainted what air there was. Felder worked over the unconscious Red, shaving off his crest of coarse flaming hair and capping the injured skull with a thick turban of bandages. Kanaka, Red’s fellow in suffering, was sitting up now, grinning a little crookedly, his splinted arm in a sling. Kane buttoned a clean shirt over the patch of cotton and tape which was his battle decoration, intending to escape as soon as possible to the deck where a wandering breeze might settl
e his sudden squeamishness.

  “Now what is this about a submarine?” Van Bleeker stood, hands on hips, in the doorway of the improvised hospital, to challenge Bridger. But the chief was more intent on Felder’s first aid than on any report to his captain.

  “Oh, there’s a sub there right enough. How about it, Felder? Is he — ?”

  The second mate straightened to his full height. “With head wounds one is never sure, you understand. If the bone is not touching the brain — he will wake with the headache, a bad one. But without x-rays — how can one be sure?”

  “Move him to my cabin — if he can be moved?” Van Bleeker waited for the second officer’s verdict. “Sing can look after him and call us if we are needed. But, Bridger, this submarine now — of what navy was it?”

  “German, I think. She wasn’t American by th’ look o’ her rig, nor one o’ th’ Dutch or English either. I had good sight o’ all them durin’ th’ war. Nor was she like that Jap what shelled th’ Carrie O. Fact — don’t think I’ve ever seen one jus’ like her before. So maybe she’s German — ”

  “Do you mean,” Kane broke in, “that there’s harborage for a sub on the other side of the island? Then why didn’t we see her from the mountain?”

  “Maybe cause’ she’s under water,” returned Bridger calmly. “She’s got about six feet o’ water over her — only her tower must be awash at low tide. Looks as if someone run her in an’ jus’ left her there — ”

  “Which,” Sam countered, “may be the truth, at that. Suppose a Nazi sub was caught in these waters during the end-of-the-war confusion. Remember all those stories about high-up Nazis trying to escape to Japan on planes or subs? Well, a sub can’t refuel herself. This might have been as far as one could go, having taken a roundabout course to dodge allied ships. It all adds up!”

  “Which would put her crew ashore to be our cave dwellers,” Lorens mused. “We shall have good reason to go carefully if that is true, Captain. I have come against such hold-out groups before — they call them ‘were-wolves’, and they are utterly vicious. For them there will be no quarter given.”

  “How long would you say the sub had been there?” Kane asked.

  “How can I tell? Maybe weeks, maybe months. Before we had a chance to get a really good look at her they started shootin’. Red got his right away, and when Kanaka went down we had to get out quick. They coulda picked us off like we was ducks in a shootin’ gallery.”

  “Could it have been there as long as the plane in the coral reef?”

  Bridger shook his head. “Can’t say. Only I don’t reckon so.”

  “Nazis — if they are Nazis — ” Lorens was following his own stream of thought. “They will be desperate men — and will fight hard. Only we shall win — ”

  Sam regarded him curiously. “You’re sure of that?”

  The Netherlander’s lips curled in what was more of a snarl than a smile. “Yes. You see, I have met this breed many times before. And they can always be defeated by the unexpected — because they think in a regular pattern, and if their opponent does not follow the rules, they are lost. When they come up against guerrilla forces, against the Underground, they are on the defensive — and many times they are bewildered. They understand mechanical warfare perfectly and excel at it, because with machines they are at home. They admire and revere the orderly sweep of a Panzer drive. But use against them the gadfly technique, stab and away, confront them with an army which melts into thin air after each attack, an army which will not stand up to a pitched battle, and they lose first their tempers, and then their confidence, and then they are ours.”

  “The old Red Coat vs. Frontiersman stuff,” Kane said. “Well, it won us two wars. And it still works. All right — how can we use it here?”

  “Plans must wait until Fortnight reports.” Lorens’ voice was crisp; there was authority in it. He was on his own ground now. “If our cave dwellers are Nazi sub sailors they must have some natives under their control. To contact them would be a good move — ”

  “Sure. After some months of life with the gentle Nazi they should be only too glad to help us get rid of them,” Sam agreed. “Only, what if the natives are Japs? Don’t forget that they know the islands, and that garden and such may be their doing — ”

  “We must find the back door!” Van Bleeker was back on his favorite theme. “Climb the mountain and hunt for it there — ”

  “No Jap or Nazi would make an offering to Siva,” Kane said thoughtfully. “That seems to indicate that there are some natives here also. Maybe the path down the mountain to the other side is their secret, and the sub men don’t know of it. We could scout around and see.”

  “With a sniper or snipers laying for us?” inquired Sam. “They must have a lookout of their own up there now — they’d want to keep an eye on the Sumba. We can’t hope to have another undisputed climb. And do any of you fancy doing that bit up the cliff from the old road while some trigger-happy Johnny takes pot shots at you? It won’t be any picnic. If we had a plane and could jump — ”

  Van Bleeker seriously considered that suggestion for a whole moment before he shook his head. “It would take too long to fly a plane here. I shall radio Besi the situation and have the message relayed to your people in Manila. But it will be a long time before they send assistance.”

  “Now that the war’s over the red tape merchants have moved in — sure, we all know that,” agreed Sam. “Suits me. We can do this job without the marines. Only we ought to case it first — ”

  “Case It?” repeated Lorens in puzzlement.

  “Look it over, map it out,” translated Kane. “I wish Fortnight would turn up.”

  “I have a man stationed to watch the shore for him,” van Bleeker said. “If he signals we’ll send a boat for him. Yes, I, too, would like to hear his report before we move again. Only — I still believe that our solution lies in the mountain.”

  It was not only the ship’s lookout who caught the first sight of the returning Samoan. Lorens, Kane, and Sam busied at arms inspection on deck all saw the tall man break out of the jungle cover and trot down the scrap of beach. He hesitated at the water’s edge for only a moment, then before the ship’s boat could cast off for him, he waded into the sea, holding his rifle over his head.

  When the boat picked him up and headed back for the Sumba, most of her officers, all of her passengers and as many of her crew as could find excuse, were waiting on deck for him to come overside. Almost before his feet touched deck planking he called out to the captain, “Schooner coming in, sir — straight for the reef break — she seems to know the course.”

  With one vicious spat of order van Bleeker sent a seaman up to the lookout’s post.

  “Sure it’s a schooner and not a prau?” asked Sam.

  Fortnight paid no attention to the interruption.

  “I give her half an hour, maybe a little more. She’s a trader, well equipped and sailing under engine. There’s something familiar about her too — ”

  “How did you sight her?”

  “From up there.” Fortnight jerked his head toward the mountain in answer to Kane’s question. “I was on my way back when I saw her first.”

  “Then there is a way over the mountain from the other side!”

  The Samoan half smiled. “Yes. But one I would not care to use again. It is both known and guarded.”

  “You say that the schooner’s familiar,” van Bleeker cut in. “Can’t you remember where you’ve seen her before?”

  Fortnight shrugged. “I have been cruising these is- lands for years and have seen many ships. But I think that it is not long since I saw her last.”

  The lookout shouted, his deep-throated cry bringing him all their attention. He repeated his information, and van Bleeker gave a visible start.

  “So that is the way of it!”

  “What’s the matter?” Kane voiced their common question.

  “She is the Drinker of the Wind, old Hakroun’s flagship and personal yac
ht. And she’s heading straight for here.”

  “So the old Moro is going to take a hand in the business?” asked Sam. “That’s all we need to complete this party — three parties of us taking pot shots at each other and a naval engagement in the lagoon!”

  “How do you know that Abdul is not backing the cave force?”

  “I don’t. But it is more likely that that diver we picked up was one of Hakroun’s men. And did he look as if he had the good will of anyone? It’s my reasoning that the old boy has come to start a private war of his own.” Sam hesitated, then stopped, because he discovered that he had the full attention of his audience. Even van Bleeker was listening to every word.

  “You may be very right,” the captain observed. “We shall prepare for action, but then we shall wait for Hakroun to give it to us. For his objective may be ours also, and he is an old hand at such games — an ally not to be despised.”

  “If you win Hakroun as an ally,” Lorens pointed out, “then you have won your war. I do not think he is coming here with less than a full expeditionary force. If all the tales they tell of him are true, he may even produce a tank or a bomber. He has his methods of finding just what he needs and wants.”

  The Drinker of the Wind seemed to lose a little of her confidence when she sighted the Sumba. It was Sam’s contention that she backed, as might a startled cat when rounding a corner to confront a dog. The Moro schooner made no attempt to enter the lagoon. Instead a boat was lowered, and several well-armed natives tumbled down into it. They took to oars with a will and set a course for the reef break, riding in on the roll of the waves with the ease of voyagers who had performed that trick successfully many times before.

  Once inside the reef they made for the Sumba, hailing her as soon as they came within voice range.