Then Junior spotted four figures digging with shovels and pickaxes. He knew immediately that these were no ghosts. He was sure they were thieves, and he knew what they were doing. According to legend, the Spanish had buried treasure here.
His father was a medieval scholar who taught at the university. He knew all about the legend, and a lot of other things, too. He had tried to get his father to come along today and tell the scouts about the history of the caves and the ancient people who used to live there. But, as usual, his father was too busy to be bothered with a bunch of kids. Besides, he said, North American archaeology wasn’t his field of expertise.
Junior looked over the four men as well as he could. One of the men was smaller than the others, and now he could see that he wasn’t a man at all. He was a kid, and he wasn’t much older than they were. But he looked pretty tough.
“Roscoe, hold the lantern up,” one of the men snapped at him.
The man who had spoken was dressed in a leather jacket with fringes. He wore a hat with the rim turned up on one side, and he looked like a Rough Rider. The man on the other side of Roscoe had thick black hair that cascaded over his shoulders. An Indian. No. A half-breed.
The last man was on the far side of the other three, and in shadows. He wore a leather waist jacket and a brown felt fedora.
Junior moved soundlessly ahead a couple of steps to get a better look. He signaled Herman. He heard him breathing loudly and glanced back to quiet him. Herman’s mouth was open, and sweat was pouring down his forehead.
I hope he doesn’t puke again. Not here.
Herman’s foot slipped on a loose stone. It made a soft, crunching noise, and Herman slapped the wall to regain his footing.
Junior hunkered down low, trying to make himself as small as possible, trying to blend in with the shadows. Herman followed his example.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Junior winced and shushed Herman with a wave of his hand.
The man with the fedora turned slowly, raised a lantern, and looked their way. They could see his face now for the first time. “Thought I heard something,” he muttered, then turned his back again.
The boys were frightened, yet mesmerized. They watched with rapt attention as Fedora poured water from his canteen over a mud-shrouded object. In the light of the lantern Junior could see that it was a gold cross encrusted with precious jewels.
Fedora’s buddies leaned close. “Look at that! We’re rich!” Roscoe shouted.
“Pipe down. Not so loud,” Half-breed chastised.
“You wait. Soon enough. That little darling is gonna fetch top dollar,” Rough Rider said in a hoarse whisper.
Fedora turned the cross in his hand, silently appraising its beauty and value. He seemed aloof from the others, somehow superior to them.
Junior touched Herman on the shoulder, unable to contain his excitement and concern. “It’s the Cross of Coronado!” he whispered. “Hernando Cortés gave it to him in 1520! It proves that Cortés sent Francisco Coronado in search of the Seven Cities of Gold.”
Herman looked baffled. “How do you know all this stuff anyhow, Junior?”
Junior shifted his gaze toward the men and watched them a moment longer. “That cross is an important artifact. It belongs in a museum. And, do me a favor, don’t call me Junior.”
“That’s what Mr. Havelock calls you.”
“My name’s Indy.”
He hated being called Junior. It made him sound like a kid in short pants. But his father just ignored him whenever he mentioned the matter of his name.
They watched a minute longer, and Indy’s demeanor hardened into a look of resolve as he reached a decision. He turned to Herman. “Listen, run back and find the others. Tell Mr. Havelock that men are looting the Spanish treasure. Have him bring the sheriff.”
Herman didn’t look as if he was listening. His mouth was moving, but no words came out as he stared wide-eyed and horror-struck at a snake that was slithering across his lap.
“It’s only a snake,” Indy said as he matter-of-factly picked it up and tossed it aside. “Did you hear what I said, Herman? It’s important.”
“Right. Run back. Mr. Havelock. The sheriff.” He nodded and gazed past Indy toward the men. “What are you going to do, Jun . . . Indy?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. You better get going.”
Herman dashed along the passageway, retracing his steps, as Indy returned his attention to the thieves. They had set the cross aside and were busy searching for more artifacts. Slowly Indy worked his way along the wall until he was within an arm’s length of the cross. Even in its tarnished state, its jewels sparkled in the lantern light and captured his attention.
He reached out, grasped it, and as he did, saw a scorpion clinging to the cross. He tried to shake it off, but the deadly creature seemed to be glued to the cross. He cursed under his breath, still shaking his hand. The scorpion dropped off, but he’d given himself away.
The thieves turned as one, spotting him. “Hey, that’s our thing,” Roscoe shouted. “He’s got our thing.”
“Get ’im,” Half-breed yelled.
Indy hurtled blindly down the passageway, clutching the cross, his heart hammering against his ribs. He glanced back once, to see one of the thieves stumble and fall and two others crash into each other as they tripped over him. He stopped a moment as he reached a chimney the gold miners had cut into the ceiling. Faint rays of light filtered down through it, and a rope hung down to within a couple of feet of his head. He looked back to see if they were going to let him go. But no such luck. He saw Fedora cast a disgusted glance at his companions and bolt down the tunnel after him.
Oh, damn. He tucked the cross under his belt and leaped for the rope. He missed, tried again, and grasped it with one hand, then the other. He worked his way up the chimney, hand over hand along the rope, and from one foothold to the next. He saw Fedora and the others race by, and felt relieved. He could take his time. A moment later, he felt a tug on the rope and looked down. Fedora had backtracked and was deftly scaling the chimney.
If only his father were here, Indy thought as he struggled to reach the top. Dad would take care of those guys. He imagined his father pointing an accusatory finger at the thieves and the men shrinking away. Yeah, he’d do something like that.
The light was getting brighter, and finally Indy reached the top. He gasped for air as he crawled from the chimney into brilliant daylight. He paused, squinted, and shielded his eyes as he caught his breath. He glanced about in every direction. He realized he was standing on a boulder not far from where they had entered the cave.
“Herman! Mr. Havelock! Anybody! Where are you?” He shook his head. “Damn, everybody’s lost but me.”
“Here we are, kid.”
Indy turned and saw Rough Rider, Half-breed, and Roscoe scrambling up a rocky trail toward him. He ran toward the edge of the rock and spotted a ladder sticking up. Instead of climbing down, he quickly calculated the distance to the next boulder. He charged the ladder, pushed off, and vaulted the gap.
The three thieves raced to the edge of the rock and stopped abruptly. They glanced around in confusion, wondering how to catch him.
Indy, meanwhile, had reached the far side of the next boulder and was uncertain what to do. This time there wasn’t any ladder, and the ground was twenty feet below him. Then he saw the horses resting in the shade, where the scout troop had left them. He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled for his steed. The horse shook its mane and trotted over.
Indy glanced back and saw Fedora charge past his companions and leap the chasm. Once he was on the other side, he paused long enough to look back at the others with obvious disdain. Then, shaking his head, he pushed the ladder over to them.
Indy crouched, preparing to drop into the saddle, but the horse wouldn’t stand still. He hesitated, but heard footsteps. “Stand still, boy,” he yelled. “Don’t move. Good boy.”
He leapt, and at that m
oment the horse pranced ahead, and Indy missed the saddle. He landed on his feet and rolled over, breaking his fall. The impact jolted his body, rattling him from his heels to his teeth. The cross dropped from his belt into the dust. He scooped it up, shoved it in the saddlebag, and mounted the horse.
As Indy galloped off, he glanced back to see Fedora standing at the edge of the boulder watching him. He grinned, kicked the side of the horse, urging him on. He had to get to the sheriff as quickly as he could so the thieves wouldn’t get away.
Fedora put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. None of the horses moved. Instead, two automobiles roared out from behind the next rock outcropping. One of the autos, a convertible, circled around and skidded to an abrupt stop beneath Fedora, who immediately vaulted from the boulder into a cloud of dust. As the air cleared, the car pulled away with Fedora perched on the top of the backseat.
He adjusted his hat with an expression of satisfaction, and yelled, “Giddyup!”
The driver prodded the gas pedal, and the car surged rapidly ahead. The second car lagged behind, as the driver waited for Roscoe, Rough Rider, and Half-breed to catch up.
Indy raced across the desert, cutting through the dry air as cleanly as a blade through butter. The sun blazed down without sympathy, scorching the earth, baking him into the saddle. Behind him the two automobiles were rapidly closing the gap.
The desolate mountain in front of him wasn’t getting a bit closer. It seemed as if the horse were galloping in place. The only things moving were the cars, which were pulling up on either side of him. He felt like a sandwich, and he and the horse were the meat.
Indy glanced to his right and saw a man in a Panama hat behind the wheel of a cream-colored luxury sedan. He wore an expensive white linen suit, and his face was concealed by the wide brim of his hat. In the window of the backseat Roscoe grimaced and shook his fist at Indy. As the driver reached toward his leg, Indy spurred his mount and for a moment gained a few feet.
His extraordinary effort was useless, though. The autos quickly regained the slight margin he had achieved. They were not only keeping pace with him, but were squeezing in on him like a giant vise on wheels. Only the hot wind and the dust separated him from the speeding vehicles. Indy crouched low and leaned forward in the saddle, intent on escaping. His heart pounded, his adrenaline pumped, and he flew forward.
On his left, Fedora climbed over the side of the convertible and stepped onto the running board. Indy looked down into his face. The man grinned up at him as if to let him know he was enjoying the chase. Then, he sprang gracefully onto Indy’s horse.
But Indy was just as quick and equally as daring. Before Fedora could reach him, he hurled himself onto the hood of the sedan to his right. He landed on his knees, braced himself by hanging on to the edge of the roof. Rough Rider and Roscoe crawled out the windows and were reaching for him when Indy suddenly realized that he no longer had the cross. His head snapped toward the horse; he spotted the cross hanging half-out of the saddlebag.
Fedora, however, was unaware that the cross was within inches of his hand. He looked irritated and leapt on top of the sedan. He thrust an arm toward Indy, but Indy bounded back onto the horse, avoiding his grasp and slipping away from Rough Rider and Roscoe, who knocked heads as they lunged for him.
Indy pulled back hard on the reins, slowing the horse as the two automobiles sped past. Inside the shroud of dust, he veered in a new direction and galloped toward the railroad tracks, where a train was quickly approaching. Behind him the autos swung into wide turns and resumed the chase.
As Indy reached the tracks, the train was barreling alongside him. There was something odd about the train, he thought. The railcars were a blur of color rather than the usual brown and gray. But he didn’t have time to consider it because the two autos were catching up to him. He had only one choice.
He tucked the cross into his belt, rose up in his saddle, and grabbed on to the ladder of the nearest railcar. He started to climb to the top, but changed his mind when he spotted a nearby window that was open. He clutched the side of the car like a spider and worked his way toward it. He glanced once over his shoulder, to see the autos pulling up to the train.
Indy reached the open window and tumbled through it. He landed on something soft, voluminous, like a bed of marshmallows. But it was a human marshmallow. He sank into rippling, undulating folds of flesh. He pulled away and realized his head had landed in the copious cleavage of an immensely overweight woman.
Startled and embarrassed, Indy jumped up. The massive woman was seated on a wide bench large enough to accommodate her four hundred-plus pounds. He backed away, smiling. He heard someone laughing and spun around. His jaw dropped open.
Gawking at him were a host of the strangest looking people Indy had ever seen in his thirteen years. There were pinheads, a bearded lady, dwarfs, a rubber man, a boy with flipper feet.
Of course. It was the circus train headed for town.
“Ah, hello. I hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this.” He kept turning around as he spoke. “I couldn’t really help it. I had a horse, but ah . . .”
He stopped as a dwarf approached him. “You mean you jumped on the train from a horse—like a circus trick?” The man spoke in a tiny voice that matched his size.
Indy smiled. “Yeah, I did.”
“I didn’t see any horse.”
“He’s lying,” someone else said.
“I bet you want to join the circus,” the dwarf said, poking him in the stomach.
“He’s too normal looking,” the rubber man groused.
“Leave the kid alone,” said the bearded lady, running her fingers through the hair on her face.
The dwarf, who was eye level with Indy’s belt, leaned forward and examined the cross.
“What’s that?” he asked, frowning a little.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Can I have it?”
“No.” He said it too quickly, too loudly. “I’m taking it to a museum. That’s where it belongs.”
“A museum,” the dwarf repeated. “Uh-huh. I bet.”
Indy sat down on a box so the dwarf would stop eyeing the cross. He figured he would slip off the train when it passed near his home. Once they were in town, the thieves wouldn’t dare bother him. They would be too afraid of getting caught. If they tried anything, he would just yell for help. And once he got to the house, he would explain everything to his father.
It was going to be okay, he told himself. His father would be proud of him. He was always complaining about people who looted archaeological sites. And now his son, Junior—Indy, I’m Indy—had caught four of them red-handed.
He felt someone tapping him on the shoulder, and he turned to see the dwarf, who was now nose to nose with him. “I’ve got another question.”
“What’s that?” Indy asked.
The dwarf pointed past him. “Did he come on a horse, too?”
Indy jerked around and saw Fedora staring at him through the window.
TWO
Circus Tricks
“MAKING NEW FRIENDS?” Fedora asked with a grin.
Indy stood up and started backing away. “Yeah, sure am.” He kept his eyes on Fedora but spoke to the others. “Watch out for this man. He’s a thief.”
Fedora climbed in through the window and tried to squeeze around the fat lady.
“Now just a minute,” she said, pushing herself to her feet and blocking Fedora’s way. “We don’t want your kind on this train.”
Indy seized the opportunity and charged for the door at the end of the car. He pushed through it and leapt onto a flatcar. In the center of it was an impressive calliope with rows of shiny steam whistles rising behind a pearly keyboard. He ducked around it and glanced back to see Fedora crashing through the door with the bearded lady clinging to his throat. Fedora threw her off and vaulted onto the flatcar.
Indy grasped a lever on the side of the calliope for support, but the lever moved and the calliope burst i
nto life. Steam and noise blasted from the pipes. Fedora’s companions, who had boarded the flatcar from the auto, stopped in their tracks and covered their ears against the horrendous off-key honks and squeaks. They staggered back and were nearly blown from the train by an explosion of steam.
Indy, meanwhile, scrambled to the roof of the next car and clambered along it until he reached a trapdoor. He threw open the lid and lowered himself onto a catwalk suspended from the ceiling of the car. Several feet below were numerous vats that looked as though they contained every species of snake, lizard, alligator, and crocodile. It was a virtual Noah’s Ark of the reptile world.
Indy stared into the vats, fascinated and horrified. The last thing he wanted to do was end up down there. His only hope was that the others would somehow miss seeing the trapdoor and would keep going to the next car. But the moment he thought it, the door flew open and Half-breed and Roscoe dropped down onto the catwalk.
Now what?
Indy scurried toward the rear of the car, wondering what he was going to do when he reached the end of the catwalk. No matter how brave and strong he thought he might be, he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle both of them. Hell, Roscoe alone could be trouble. He was the sort of kid who would fight dirty, would do things like give up and then jump on you when your back was turned.
He noticed a second trapdoor above him at the end of the catwalk. Great. He’d slip out before they cornered him. Sure. It’d be a cinch. But before he could take another step, a metallic screeching sound pierced the air. The catwalk started shaking. He looked up, and dread filled him like a poison gas. Their combined weight was too much for the structure, and one of the bolts holding it to the ceiling had begun to pull loose. The catwalk was slipping and swaying, threatening to dump them into the vats of slithering reptiles.
The three of them froze in place, fearing that a single step would send them tumbling. Indy glanced up at the trapdoor. It was a step away, and there was a handle next to it. He could grab it, swing up, kick open the door, and swing out onto the top of the car.
The Adventures Of Indiana Jones Page 36