Already the police all over the country must have been alerted to keep a look-out for him. If he were captured, a life sentence was a certainty—or, most probably, worse. Grimly he recalled Aberuque’s telling him that prisoners who had committed particularly heinous crimes were, unofficially, executed and it was then given out that they had been shot while trying to escape. Unless Hunterscombe did survive to clear him, he thought his chances of saving himself looked about as good as of his becoming Prime Minister of Britain.
To abuse the man who had let him down so badly was futile; so, with a heavy sigh, he said, ‘What a bloody fool I was ever to let myself get involved in this and, from what you say, it seems I’m still in it up to the neck. But while there’s life, there’s hope, and I’m sure there’s plenty of life in you yet. For both our sakes I’ll be praying that you don’t take a turn for the worse before I can get up here tomorrow. Anyhow, if you hadn’t pulled Chela and me out we’d both be dead; so I’ve at least that to thank you for.’
‘Decent of you to … to take it like that,’ Hunterscombe murmured. ‘Don’t worry too much. I’ll stick it out. Only warned you just in case … Good luck, chum.’
Turning away, Adam walked over to Chela. She was still unconscious. He felt her pulse and found it was very slow, which was far from reassuring. Grasping one of her wrists, he heaved her up in a fireman’s lift so that her head and arms dangled over his left shoulder and her long legs over his right. In his free hand he held the torch and scanned the ground ahead for the path by which the goatherd reached the cave. After a few minutes he found it. Planting each foot firmly, he followed its downward course.
When he had covered only a hundred yards it forked and he took the path that appeared to lead more nearly to the valley. Ten minutes later Chela came to and began to moan; so he put her down and tried to comfort her. When she asked where Hunterscombe was, he told herl that now their friend was clear of the sulphur fumes he stood a much better chance of living through the night than if he had continued to aggravate his wound by lurching along with them. On that assurance she made no further protest at their having abandoned him.
Adam gave her the other half-tablet of morphia, then, after resting for ten minutes, picked her up and resumed his trudge down the winding path. For half an hour he staggered on, resting from time to time, generally at places where the path forked, as it did at quite frequent intervals, so that it seemed as though the whole mountainside was a maze of goat tracks. Three times he took long pulls from the flask of brandy, now more than ever selfishly glad that he had not risked Hunterscombe’s killing himself with it. Only those gulps of the sustaining spirit restored his energy enough for him to go on.
As they descended, he realised dully the change in the terrain. Soon after leaving the plateau with the cliff and cave, they were passing tufts of coarse grass and, here and there, bushes. Then they entered an area of man-made terraces where low, stone walls supported narrow strips of cultivation. But the way down the mountain seemed endless. Slender as Chela was, she was tall for a woman and her weight on Adam’s shoulders caused him to bend almost double. In spite of the cold, he was sweating profusely and his legs ached intolerably.
When he set her down for the eighth time, he knew that he could carry her no further. To attempt it meant that, at the next rough patch, he would stumble and fall. Then they would roll down the steep path together and, perhaps, be unable to save themselves at the next bend from going over the edge of a ravine.
For a while he sat hunched beside her, savouring the bitterness of defeat. Then he roused again, struck by a new thought. If he left her there and went on alone, he might yet find a farm at which he could get help. He told her of his idea, and she replied in a hoarse whisper:
‘Darling, I’ll hate your leaving me, but no ordinary man would have got me so far; so I’d probably have died up there. Now we are in cultivated land a farm can’t be far off, if only you can find it. Try to, while I wait here for you, but … but will you ever be able to find me again?’
He handed her the torch. ‘I will if you can prevent yourself from passing out, or falling asleep. Flash this every four or five minutes, then I’ll be able to locate you.’ Even talking now was an effort; so he kissed her on the cheek, got to his feet and torced his aching legs to carry him down the track.
The moon was now low in the sky, but its light saved him from blundering on uselessly until he dropped from sheer exhaustion. All sense of time had left him, but he could not have covered much more than three-quarters of a mile when he happened to glance to his right and saw a cluster of low roofs, which he would have passed had not the moonlight revealed them to him.
Halting, he stared at them uncertainly for a moment, suddenly becoming conscious of a new danger. Soon after he had arrived in Mexico City he had been told that recently an aircraft bound for Acapulco had had to make a forced landing on the mountains. Primitive Indians from a nearby village had robbed the passengers and crew of all their possessions, then stripped and murdered them. Here, in this remote valley, the Indians might prove equally hostile and pitiless.
But there could be no going back now, with Chela up there alone on the mountainside. Whatever the risk, he must take any chance that offered to secure help to get her down. Bemused as his mind was with fatigue, he then remembered that he still had Alberuque’s pistol in his pocket. Taking it out with shaking hands, he withdrew the magazine and found that only one bullet had been fired from it. Ruefully, he realised that in his present state he would be incapable of taking proper aim with any weapon. But if the Indians did prove hostile, the sight of it might at least overawe them.
He took another pull from the flask of brandy, straightened himself up and, with dragging feet, walked towards the silent group of buildings. As he approached, a dog began to bark, then a cock crowed raucously. Ignoring them, he went-up to the door of the largest of the squat dwellings and, with the butt of his automatic, hammered hard upon it.
As soon as he heard sounds of movement inside, he put the pistol back in his pocket, so that he would not be taken for a bandit. A light then showed through some cracks in the door, there came the noise of a wooden bar being pulled back on the far side and the door swung open. Just inside it an Indian was standing, sideways on, holding up a lantern on a level with his head. Twelve feet away stood two others, covering Adam: the one with an old Service rifle, the other with an antiquated shotgun.
At the sight of him, their mouths fell open and their eyes opened wide with amazement. Lowering their weapons, they hastily crossed themselves, fell on their knees and bowed their heads.
For a few seconds he was equally nonplussed; then the explanation came to him. The lantern, shining full upon him, revealed his height and golden hair and beard. Added to which, although he had left his featherwork robes with Hunterscombe, he had since become so dazed with fatigue and anxiety that he had not thought of taking off the ear-rings that had been clipped to the lobes of his ears, the bracelets on his wrists or the splendid serpent insignia that hung by a thin chain on his chest; and all of them were flashing with jewels. They took him for Quetzalcoatl.
Rallying his strength, he spoke to them in Spanish, telling them that they had nothing to fear and that he needed their help. All three shook their heads, obviously not understanding. He then tried with the few words of Nahuatl that he could muster, but that, too, proved useless. Anxious to show his pacific intent, he put a hand under the arm of the man who held the lantern and raised him to his feet, then walked forward and did the same to the others. All three of them were trembling, but his smile reassured them. The eldest muttered some words in his dialect, bowed himself double, then left the room.
While he was absent, Adam took in the fact that he had been lucky to come upon a farm of some substance, instead of a native hovel in which a family and their livestock were all crowded together. The living room was quite large. It contained a cooking range, a dresser displaying two rows of cheap plates, a home-made table
, several stools and even an elbow chair. But evidently the men slept there, as there were three tumbled, straw-stuffed palliasses spread out on the floor. Thankfully, he took the weight off his legs and sank down in the only chair.
When the elderly man returned, he brought with him two women. One was an old crone with a face like a wrinkled apple, the other a plump, passably good-looking girl of about twenty-five. The old woman was swathed in black garments; the young one had on a gay, coloured dressing gown and her black hair was done up in curlers. Both crossed themselves, and the mother, as Adam assumed her to be, regarded him with fear-distended eyes, whereas those of the girl showed intense curiosity. Hopefully, Adam addressed her in Spanish.
She replied at once. ‘You do our humble house a great honour, Lord. My father, mother and brothers do not speak the tongue of the Gachupines but my father wishes me to say that we are your servants and everything here is yours.’
Having thanked her, Adam went on, ‘You will realise, señorita, that as a Man-God, when I take human form I have all the weaknesses and needs of any ordinary man. Tonight I have travelled far and am very spent. I started out with a companion—a lady. She is injured and still some way up the mountain. My most urgent need is help to bring her here.’
Rapidly the girl translated. The father issued orders and the two younger men quickly left the house. The girl told Adam that they had gone to knock up a stretcher, then explained that the name of the family was Zupango and hers Juanita.
Displaying respect, but no fear of him, she continued to chatter away. The nearest village, about three miles distant down in the valley, was Xalcatlan and the nearest large town, nine miles off, was Apizaco. Her father and brothers cultivated the terraces on the slope of the volcano and, as these faced south, good crops of maize were grown on the lower ones and of grapes on those higher up. They also had a few cattle, pigs and poultry, and enough fruit trees scattered about the place to supply their own needs. Her first job had been as a waitress in Apizaco; she had then spent four years in Mexico City as a chambermaid in a good hotel. She was at home only because she had returned to marry her fiancé. The district was famous for its wood-carving. He was a skilful craftsman and, now that so many American tourists bought such work, he made good money at his trade.
Her father and mother meanwhile produced tequila, some slices of cold meat, onions, the inevitable tortillas and a bowl of fresh fruit, and nervously offered them to Adam. He was no longer feeling the cold but, loath to hurt their feelings by refusing, he drank the fiery spirit and ate a banana. As he finished, the brothers returned, carrying two stout poles to which they had attached several empty sacks. Their father picked up the lantern and, bowing to Adam, signed to him to lead the way.
Now that Chela’s rescue seemed to be so close at hand, his heart was gripped with a new fear. Would they succeed in finding her? In the past half-hour he had been incredibly lucky. Instead of having to force himself to walk for another hour or, perhaps, collapse from exhaustion, he had come upon a habitation within a comparatively short time of leaving her; instead of it being a peasant’s shack, it had been a well-equipped farmstead; instead of being received with hostility, he had been treated as a god; instead of a single native, three strong men had been available to carry her down to safety; and instead of his being unable to communicate with them, Juanita had chanced to be at home, so was able to translate his need and its urgency.
But would his luck hold? In the past half-hour Chela might have fainted again or, as a result of the morphia he had given her, fallen asleep. If so, there would be no flash of the torch to guide them to her, then in the darkness it would be next to impossible to find her. Again, there were so many tracks on the mountainside, and in the pale light of the setting moon there was no way of telling one from another. If he took a wrong one, it might lead them round a shoulder of the mountain; then Chela might flash the torch for the next hour, but they would not see it.
His fatigue temporarily forgotten in his acute anxiety, he set off at a good pace. Yet very soon he realised that had it not been for his brief rest he would not have had the strength left to make the climb at all. As it was, he had not been in the house for much longer than ten minutes, so before they had gone far he had to shorten his stride. Coming down he had counted it fortunate that the long rivers of lava from past eruptions had, to some extent, smoothed out the sides of the volcano and made the slopes by no means precipitous; but now, going up, it seemed to him that they were almost as steep as the roof of a house.
With labouring breath he rhythmically pushed one foot in front of the other, but a new wave of weariness caused him to start stumbling again every time his eyes left the track to search the heights above for the flash of the torch. At last one of the brothers saw it. Adam’s heart missed a beat, then he sent up a prayer of thankfulness. He had not led them in the wrong direction and Chela had not dozed off. Soon now she would be warm and safe.
But, for him, ‘soon’ was not applicable. He had yet to drag himself up another hundred and fifty yards. When they reached Chela he could do no more than croak out a greeting as he sank down beside her. Then came the descent. It had to be made slowly, lest either of the brothers, who were acting as stretcher-bearers, tripped and fell with her. Yet, even at this modest pace, to Adam the way down seemed interminable. Towards the end he could not even keep his eyes open and the older Zupango had to support him.
Afterwards he could not remember reaching the farmhouse. His gruelling fight with the six priests, the nerve-racking flight in the helicopter, the awful strain of supporting both Hunterscombe and Chela down to clean air, having carried the dead weight of Chela for so far, and his final effort of going down the last slope, then up and down again, had drained the last ounce of strength from his body. When he did enter the farmhouse he slumped to the floor, having passed out cold.
When he woke, memory seeped back to him—the terrible ordeal of the previous night, then Hunterscombe’s last words, conveying that every policeman in Mexico was by now on the look-out for him as the most wanted criminal in the country.
With a groan he raised his head and looked about him. He was lying on a palliasse in a narrow room. A few feet away Chela was lying on another. Between them Juanita was sitting on a stool, knitting.
Seeing that he had woken, she stood up, smiled down at him and said:
‘You have slept well, Lord. Eight hours, and it is close on midday.’
Raising himself on an elbow, he looked across at Chela and asked, ‘How is the Señorita?’
‘As well as can be expected. When they brought her in she was in a high fever. My mother gave her a herbal drink which is better than the doctors in the cities can prescribe. When she became drowsy we looked at her wound, cleaned and dressed it with a healing ointment. The bone of her leg is not broken, but the tendons are torn. She may become a little lame, but she is very beautiful and a slight limp will not lessen her attraction.’
Greatly relieved that Chela was being so well cared for, Adam’s mind turned to his other anxieties. He now cursed himself for having slept so long. His freedom and possibly his life hung on his getting Hunterscombe to hospital and it was now nearly twelve hours since he had been wounded. Lying untended in the cave, his condition would deteriorate with every hour and he might not last out the day. He alone could testify that it was Adam who had enabled him to warn the authorities and, that apart, no effort must be spared to reach in time this friend who had had the courage to arrive alone among the fanatical priests on the top of the pyramid.
Pulling himself together, Adam told Juanita about Hunterscombe and said that as soon as possible a rescue party must go up to get him. She said that her father and brothers had, as usual, been working up on the terraces all the morning, but would shortly be back for the midday meal, and would then be entirely at his disposal.
After his collapse they had taken off only his jacket and shoes before laying him on the palliasse and putting a single blanket over him. As he t
hrew the blanket off and sat up to put them on, he was smitten with a dozen aches and pains from the kicks and blows he had received the previous night. Striving to ignore them and the stiffness of his limbs, he went over to look at Chela. She was very pale from having lost so much blood, but sleeping peacefully under the drug that the old woman had given her. When he felt her pulse it was slow but regular, so, satisfied that her state was somewhat better than he could have hoped for, he asked Juanita where he could wash.
First she gave him two pots of salve, one to rub into his cuts and the other for his bruises, then she led him outside to a shed in which there was a big trough, several buckets of clean water, a bar of soap and some rough towels. After stripping, he put into one of his pockets the jewels he was wearing, then washed off the grime he had accumulated during his terrible night’s journey. His eight hours’ sleep had done much to restore him and the shock of the cold water proved a further stimulant. The herbal ointments, when applied to his abrasions, quickly dulled the pain. By the time he was dressed again, he was feeling in better shape, although by no means his normal self.
On re-entering the living room, he found that the men had returned from their morning’s work and that the midday meal was ready. They were waiting only for him to partake of it first. The urgency of going up for Hunterscombe being uppermost in his mind, he was greatly tempted to insist that they should start at once; but it was thirteen hours since he had had even a snack and he knew that he ought to recruit his strength before setting out to climb the mountain. Moreover, he saw that in his honour his hosts had provided a banquet: chickens, a leg of pork, mutton chops, three kinds of stuffed tortillas, several strange puddings, and flagons of wine. Obviously, during the morning the old mother had performed prodigies of cooking and he had not the heart to refuse her tribute.
Unholy Crusade Page 36