“Oh, really?”
Leaning against the desk, Weeks puffed twice on his pipe. “Lt. Kiwanda of the local police turned up something, but it doesn’t help us much,” he said. “Seems a girl named Peg McWorth showed up in Mawitaan a few days ago trying to hire someone to take her into the Great Swamp.”
“That’s not much of a vacation spot,” said the Sergeant. “What were her reasons?”
“One of the prisoners who was on the train that was derailed last year was named McWorth. According to Kiwanda, the girl said she was trying to find a lost relative,” said Colonel Weeks. “Odds are pretty good that McWorth is one of the Swamp Rats.”
“Was she able to hire somebody?”
“Had a lot of trouble doing it.”
“I’d imagine so.”
“Lt. Kiwanda learned, from one of his informants, that a young man turned up at her hotel claiming to be a guide.”
“Wasn’t he?”
“Nobody’s sure who he is yet,” said Weeks. “He may be exactly who he said he was, or he just might be someone the Swamp Rats sent to the girl.” “Where’s the girl now?”
“Looks like she and her guide headed into the Great Swamp this morning.” He moved to his office door. “I wish the girl had come to me first. I could have advised her.”
“You’d have told her not to go,” said the Sergeant. “She probably didn’t want to hear that.”
Weeks nodded and went into his office.
“If something doesn’t happen by tomorrow . . ” he said to himself.
Corporal Mchanga slowed, put one hand out to brace himself against a tree trunk. He stopped, sucking in air through his open mouth.
Up ahead, Bamum' stopped, too, looking back through the night. “You okay?”
Mchanga had his other hand pressed against his temple. “I guess so,” he said in a dry voice.
The sergeant came back to him. “We been on the go all day,” he said. “We can rest for a while.”
“What?”
“I say we should stop and rest.”
“ . . . I didn’t hear you,” said Mchanga. “Got this damned headache again and I . . . but don’t worry. I’ll be okay in a few minutes.”
Glancing around, Barnum said, “It’s dark and foggy now. We might as well settle down for the night.” “No,” insisted the black Corporal. “We can’t afford to stop for long. Otter and those Swamp Rats know this country. The longer we stay in the Great Swamp, the better their chances of catching up with us.”
“You know the swamp too.”
Mchanga closed his eyes, grimacing. “This headache,” he said. “I’m starting to think . . . maybe I’m in worse shape than I thought. Seems like we’ve been going around in circles . . . should have been out of the swamp long time ago.”
“We’ll make it,” said the Sergeant. “Let’s find a safe place to rest.”
“We haven’t any weapons,” said Mchanga. “Only one little switchblade. What if they catch up to us?” He rested his back against the bole of the tree, swaying slightly. “We haven’t got any weapons..
“You stay right here,” Bamum told him. “I think I saw a place up ahead, a little spot surrounded by trees. Make a safe place to stop for a while.”
“... we haven’t any weapons ...”
Frowning and worried, Bamum went on. He went about a hundred feet from his partner, then stepped in among the trees he’d noticed earlier.
He took five more steps. His right foot didn’t stop when it hit the ground, it kept going down. Sinking into the softness beneath.
He tried to pull his foot free, but couldn’t.
Now his other foot began to sink. “Hey, Mchanga,” he cried out. “Hey, it’s quicksand or something. I’m stuck.”
“But we haven’t any weapons,” said the Corporal. He pitched forward, sprawled out on the ground.
CHAPTER 22
Huge round leaves, a yellowish green in color, dotted the surface of the scummy pond. Thick grass grew up to heights of five or six feet around the pond’s edge, weeds, equally-tall, crowded against the grass. The weed stems were tipped with large, spear-point leaves. As the Phantom, dressed, once again, in his tight-fitting costume and mask, passed by the swamp pool a warty, black frog gave out a creaky croak and jumped into the dark water.
It was dark. The mist was thick all around. It seemed to be churned up out of the pool, spilling into the jungle. The masked man was traveling alone, having left Peg and Eric back at the captured Swamp Rats’ base. They had wanted, the girl especially, to come along with him. But the Phantom wanted to do this himself.
“Otter and his boys are pretty good trackers,” he had to admit.
He halted, knelt beside a patch of saw-tooth grass. He had been following the trail of Barnum and Mchanga. The footprints on the ground here indicated that Otter and two of his men had picked up the trail of the Jungle Patrol men at this spot.
Clicking off his small flashlight, the masked man continued on.
“Yes, they’re definitely closing in on Barnum and Mchanga,” he said to himself a little later.
From what he’d learned at the camp, the Phantom knew that Otter, angry, had sworn he would kill the escaped patrolmen when he found them.
A night bird went flapping by low overhead, a struggling rodent clasped in its claws.
The Phantom moved more cautiously. His jungle-trained senses told him something was going on about a half-mile ahead. There were men up there, several men.
“Otter’s found them.”
The Phantom began to run.
He was still a quarter mile away when he heard two shots.
Minutes earlier Otter had said, “Listen.”
“Someone calling for help,” said Ted.
“Yeah,” chuckled the big man, “sounds like maybe our runaway cops are in trouble. Yeah, it sure sounds like it.” He went stalking forward, Ted and McWorth following.
Ted saw them first. “Over there, beyond that strand of bamboo,” he said.
Otter said, “Looks like the swamp’s caught one of them for us.”
Sgt. Barnum was up to his waist in the quicksand. He hadn’t noticed the approaching men. He was shouting at Mchanga, “Hey, wake up! Try to wake up!
The black Corporal was sprawled out on the ground.
“I told them nobody could get away from the Swamp Rats,” said Otter. “Me and this swamp are partners.”
“There’s still time to save the Sergeant,” said Mc-Worth.
“Save him?” Otter scowled. “Who said anything about saving him? We came to kill these two guys-That quicksand’s taking care of one of them, a bullet’ll fix his buddy.”
“No,” said the old man. “I’m not going to stand here and watch him die.” He brushed by Otter, starting toward the trapped Sergeant.
Otter pulled out his gun. “Leave him be,” he ordered. “You leave him be, Grandpappy.”
The old man ignored him, went on.
“I’ll put a bullet clean through you if you don’t stop,” Otter told Me Worth. He raised his gun and aimed.
CHAPTER 23
Ted hesitated for a second, then he jumped.
He caught hold of Otter’s arm, forcing down his gun hand.
The weapon went off, shaking both men.
Ted put more pressure on the big man’s wrist.
The gun went off once more, the slug digging deep into the soft ground. Otter bellowed and dropped it.
He shook off the younger man, growling in his chest.
Ted went stumbling sideways. He tripped over a clump of spikey brush.
“You’re all through,” promised Otter, rushing at him. “All through, punk.”
Untangling himself, Ted scrambled to his feet.
“I don’t even need a gun for a punk like you,” said the stalking Otter. He was crouched, arms hanging at his sides. “I don’t need a gun because I can kill you with my bare hands.”
Watching him, Ted stood his ground. “You’re mostly talk, Ott
er,” he said. “Mostly bluff.”
“Break you in two. I’ll break you in two and toss you in the quicksand with that stupid jungle cop.”
McWorth had kept on going toward the place where Sgt. Bamum was being slowly sucked into the ground. He stopped briefly beside the fallen corporal, made sure he was still alive.
“Now,” howled Otter. He lunged at Ted.
The younger man jumped aside, dodging the charge.
Otter fell into a bush of scarlet flowers. In an instant he was up, jumping at Ted. This time he got hold of him. His huge fingers closed around his neck. “Where’s all your smart talk now, punk? Where’s all the jokes?”
Ted tried to hit out at the big man, but his arms didn’t seem to be completely under his control anymore. He began to see speckles of brilliant light in the air all around him as he struggled to breathe, to take in any air at all.
“Never should of let you join in the first place,” said Otter. “You and that old lady McWorth. Well, from now on... oof!”
Ted stayed upright for a moment. The big mans hands were no longer at his throat.
Otter was down, flat on his face. A man wearing a skin-tight costume and a black mask stood over him.
Ted tried to thank him, thank him for making the hands stop. He managed only to get out a cough before falling to his knees.
The Phantom left the two men there and ran toward the trapped Sgt. Bamum.
He had hit Otter from above. Jumping from a tree, he had hit the big man square in the back with both booted feet. The force was such that it had knocked the Swamp Rat down and out.
The old man was kneeling just clear of the quicksand, straining to hand a broken-off tree limb out to the Sergeant.
“Too short,” said Bamum. “Can’t catch it.”
The Phantom climbed swiftly up into another tree, went walking out along a low branch. When he was directly over Bamum, he locked his legs around the branch. Next, he cut a length of sturdy vine. He lowered one end straight down to the Sergeant. “Catch hold of this,” he said.
Bamum turned his broad, sweaty face up toward the masked man. “This stuffs got too good a hold on me,” he said. “You’ll never pull me out all by yourself.”
“Take hold.”
Bamum gripped^ the vine tight with his mud-smeared hands.
The Phantom, lips pressed tight together, began to pull in the vine.
For a few seconds nothing happened.
Then Sgt. Bamum began slowly to rise.
The Phantom wound up more of the rope with his powerful arms.
There was a great slurping sound and Bamum was free of the pull of the quicksand.
The masked man pulled the Sergeant all the way up onto the branch with him. “Hold on with your legs the way I am,” he instructed. “Work your way along the trunk. I’ll help you to the ground.”
“Thanks,” said Bamum. “Whoever you are, thanks.”
As the Phantom’s foot touched the ground, Ted shouted, “Otter. He’s got his gun back!”
With a motion so rapid, none of them saw it, the Phantom drew one of his .45 automatics and fired.
A sudden burst of red appeared on Otters hand. He screamed as the pistol dropped to the ground.
Snarling, clutching his wounded hand, the big, blond man spun on his heel. He went crashing off through the brush.
Ted, still wobbly on his feet, turned again to the masked man. “Aren’t you going to go after him?” The Phantom holstered his gun. “His trail won’t be hard to follow,” he said as he helped the muddy Sgt. Bamum to the ground. “There are more important things to take care of first.”
The Sergeant shook himself. “Wonder how I’m going to get cleaned up.”
“I passed a usable pool of water not far from here,” the Phantom told him. “After I’ve taken a look at Corporal Mchanga, I’ll lead you there.”
“He’s in pretty bad shape,” said Bamum. “They caught us in a pit. You know, like you catch animals in.” The masked man went to the still unconscious Corporal. “Yes, the Swamp Rats are fond of that sort of thing.”
“What’s been worrying me,” said Bamum, “is, I
think the fall gave him some kind of serious head injury, a concussion or a fracture, maybe.”
Beside Mchanga, the Phantom checked his pulse, then felt his forehead. He next rolled back the Corporal’s eyelid with his thumb. He moved his fingertips carefully over the man’s head. “No, I don’t think it’s a head injury,” he told the anxious Barnum.
McWorth was watching from nearby. “It’s a fever, isn’t it?”
Nodding, the Phantom said, “I believe so. There are many things in the swamp which can cause it.”
“But what can we do to cure it?” asked Sgt. Barnum.
“If we were near a hospital there are several new drugs that would do the job. Since we’re not. .
“He’s not going to die, is he?”
“No,” said the masked man. “There are other ways to fight fevers like this, older ways.” He rose up. “Certain plants, certain herbs. I’ll round up some.”
“You can find that stuff around here?” asked Barnum.
“Yes, there’s no problem about that. While I’m gone, you can gather dry wood and build a fire.” He un-holstered one of his guns. “Keep this in case any of the Swamp Rats show up.” He left them.
The old man squatted near the Corporal. “That all sounds like black magic to me—native stuff.”
Barnum said, “If this guy is who I think he is, he knows what he’s talking about.”
“Who is he?”
Ted interrupted before Barnum could answer. “Shall I pick up Otter’s gun?”
“Sure thing. We may need all the weapons we can get.”
“I meant,” said Ted, not reaching for the gun, “do you trust me?”
“Yeah, I trust you,” replied Bamum. “I’m pretty sure whose side you’re on.”
Ted, gingerly, lifted the fallen gun off the ground. “I’m still a Swamp Rat. If I go back outside, I know what they’ll do to me.”
“Nothing as serious as you think,” the Sergeant said. “I’m sure going to put in a good word for you. I may have been up to here in that muck, but I know what you did. What both of you did to help.”
“If we should escape the rest of the Swamp Rats,” said McWorth, “I’d like to go back with you, Sergeant. I, well, when I suddenly found myself alive and free of that train, I thought anything was better than a prison. But that was before I lived in the Great Swamp. I was a coward, too, because I knew Otter would kill anyone who didn’t go along with him.” Sgt. Bamum glanced at his partner. “We’ll get out of here okay,” he said. “Then the Jungle Patrol will come back in and gather up whatever Swamp Rats are left standing.”
Shaking his head, Ted said, “I don’t know. See, the reason I came into..
The Phantom had returned. He carried the leaves and stems of several plants in his hand. “They were easier to find than I thought,” he said. “Now I’ll get some water. Sergeant, you can come along and see about cleaning yourself up some.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” said Bamum. “I am starting to look like a statue in the park.”
“We’ll build the fire,” offered Ted. He began searching for wood.
Sgt. Bamum sat up. It was almost dawn. He yawned once, then got to his feet and, as quietly as he could, walked over to where the Phantom was standing. “I
can take over the watch” he said. “You can catch some sleep.”
“I’m rested,” answered the Phantom. He nodded at Corporal Mchanga. “He’s better.”
“That stuff you brewed for him last night helped, huh?” The Sergeant watched the sleeping Mchanga. The Corporal was breathing easily. “Yeah, he looks pretty good. Can we move him today?”
“Yes, we’ll build a rough stretcher,” said the Phantom. “Then I’ll give you a safe route back to the Swamp Rats’ camp.”
“You want us to return there?”
�
��The base was captured yesterday.”
“By who, the JP?”
“No, by a young girl and her guide,” said the Phantom.
“With a little help from you?”
The masked man smiled. “I was along, yes,” he said. “After we’ve made the stretcher, I’ll go on ahead. I should be able to get there a few hours ahead of you.” “You afraid the Swamp Rats may take their base back?”
“Otter is still loose,” said the Phantom. “What I learned last night from talking to Ted and McWorth, there’s a second Swamp Rat search party out hunting for you two.”
“I feel like the fox in one of those old hunting prints my grandfather had in his den,” said Bamum. He studied his feet for a moment, coughed a few times. “I got an idea. I’ve been thinking about you and it seems pretty clear to me...”
“Daylight’s coming,” said the Phantom. “I better round up a few things for breakfast.” He moved silently away into the swamp.
CHAPTER 25
Kitambaa looked at the dawn. He stretched up to his nearly seven feet of height. “Enough,” he said. “We’ve spent enough time searching for those damned cops.” He kicked out with his foot.
Old Kling, who’d taken the kick in his ribs, sat up wide awake. His .32 revolver was in his hand. ‘“What? What?”
“I’m tired of this snipe 'hunt,” said the long, black man. “We’re going back home.”
Kling rubbed his eyes. “Otter won’t like that.”
“The hell with Otter.”
“If those two guys get clean away, they might bring a whole mess of Jungle Patrol cops in.” Using the trunk of an adjacent tree as a prop, the frail old man pulled himself to a standing position. “That wouldn’t be so very good.”
Kitambaa said, “I don’t agree with Otter On everything, but there’s one thing he’s right about. We’re the bosses of this swamp. If we can catch two cops, we can catch a dozen.”
“I think we ought to keep looking.”
“I’m running this,” Kitambaa told him. “I say we pick up and head back to the base. Get the other two guys up and ready to go.”
“Okay,” said the old man. “Okay.”
“Besides,” said Kitambaa,” maybe Otter found them already. There’s no telling what we’ll find when we get back.”
Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 11] Page 7