Behind Mt. Baldy

by Christopher Cummings

  “Roger!” Stephen hissed, fear evident on his face and in his voice.

  “You stay here and hide if you want to,” Roger replied in an angry whisper. He wiped sweaty palms and swallowed. His throat felt suddenly dry. He knew he was scared. He also knew he was being stupid but he couldn’t stop himself. So he continued walking.

  Stephen swore quietly and began to follow. They moved slowly and carefully, scouting as they had been trained to do. Their eyes searched through the undergrowth ahead, then flicked down to scan for dead sticks in their path. There was a fair amount of leaf-litter but otherwise the track was clear.

  On either side of the track the ground dropped steeply away. Some of the jungle was very thick. In other places it was relatively open. Roger strained his ears but could only hear the normal jungle noises; wind in the leaves, an occasional bird, a few rustles in the leaves as lizards scurried away. The most obvious noise was his own heartbeat which seemed to boom like jungle drums. Roger swallowed. He was very scared. But he couldn’t turn and go back now. ‘Stephen will despise me even more if I do,’ he thought.

  Off in the distance, in the direction they were heading, Cockatoos began their raucous screeching. The two boys stopped and looked at each other. Roger nodded with satisfaction. The men must have disturbed the birds.

  Reassured, Roger went on, Stephen following reluctantly ten paces behind. The track curved left, then slightly uphill and back to the right. At the curve a side track went off to the left. Roger walked to it and looked.

  This was an overgrown snig-track. It went downhill very steeply. Stephen joined him. “We’d better not get lost. We should make a sketch map,” he whispered.

  Roger nodded. “I’ll scout. You make the map.”

  Stephen agreed. As a sergeant he was better trained to do this. It was a skill Captain Conkey made the NCOs practise every year. He pulled out notebook and pencil then took compass bearings both ways along the main track then down the side track. After jotting these onto a rough sketch he moved to follow Roger.

  Roger went on along the main track for another fifty paces. It continued to climb gently and curve back to the left. As he reached the bend he froze. His heart thumped wildly and he had to force himself to edge forward. He could see the back of the black car.

  With rapid but cautious steps he went across the track to the right and into the trees, making more noise than he intended. From there he could also see the back of the Four-wheel Drive. Both vehicles were parked on the track, one behind the other.

  Moving very cautiously from tree to tree he edged forward. He heard Stephen following and glanced back. Stephen’s eyes asked the question. Roger shook his head. No-one in sight.

  “Write down the make and number of the Four-wheel Drive,” he whispered. Stephen nodded. He still had his notebook in his hand. To get a clear view of the number plate they had to creep forward level with the black car and only five metres from it.

  By then Roger was sure no-one was there but he kept moving cautiously just in case there was a guard somewhere out of sight. They went on past the vehicles and within ten metres found another track angling downhill on their right. It was also partly overgrown. They crept into the V where the two tracks joined.

  Roger peered through the bushes along the main track. The reason why the vehicles were parked where they were became obvious. A large tree had crashed across the main track. ‘Probably blown down by that cyclone in February,’ Roger thought.

  Waving Stephen to follow, Roger stepped out onto the side track and looked down it. It was quite steep and curved out of sight to the left. Stephen joined him and took a compass bearing.

  As Stephen was writing it down Roger’s heart seemed to stop. His hair stood up on the back of his neck. He found he could not speak so grabbed at Stephen’s elbow.

  Two men had appeared at the bend in the track below them - men in black.

  Roger kept his grip on Stephen and pulled him sideways as he moved to the nearest big tree, on the downhill side of the track. He thought he was going to be sick or faint but he managed to somehow watch where he was going and keep his eyes on the men.

  The boys slipped behind the big tree and began retreating down the slope looking for better cover. Roger looked around. There were no large trees for ten metres, just lots of small saplings, then a wall of wait-a-while. He heard Stephen break a twig and turned to shake his head and gave the signal to get down.

  After another anxious look around for better cover Roger crouched behind the biggest tree. This had a small prickly palm at its base which gave some extra cover. He felt sure the men hadn’t seen them because they had been searching the ground.

  As he crouched there Roger noticed that the tree had a thick layer of moss growing on it and a small liana wound twice round it. He crouched, peering through the palm fronds, and tried to control his trembling.

  For a time he couldn’t see the men but then he heard them. They were speaking in low voices in the foreign language. Roger didn’t dare move. ‘I hope Stephen has a better hiding place than me,’ he thought, breaking into a sweat of anxiety as he did.

  Then he saw one of the men.

  It was Bruno. He was carrying his rifle and a shovel. Then the blond man came into view. Roger was surprised. The man was wearing headphones and was using a metal detector which he waved low over the ground along the sides of the track and around the trees on the other side of the track. Roger also noted with a spasm of anxiety that the man was wearing an automatic pistol on his belt.

  The two men came closer and closer, talking quietly and searching very carefully. From time to time one or both would leave the track and search around the trees. Roger swallowed and began to sweat. ‘If the men search this side of the track like that we must be discovered,’ he thought anxiously. His mind filled with a desperate picture of trying to run downhill through the jungle with bullets thudding into the trees - and into him. He was quite sure the men would shoot them and would bury their bodies in the jungle where they would never be found.

  At that Roger nearly lost control of himself. His vision went hazy with black dots dancing before his eyes and it was with difficulty he controlled his bladder.

  The men were quite close by this, only ten metres away. There was a scuffling noise in the jungle behind Roger. The blond man turned to look, then said something before resuming his search. A wave of hot and cold swept over Roger. He heard the scuffling again and risked a sideways glance.

  It wasn’t Stephen, just a Scrub Turkey. To his dismay he realised he could see the top of Stephen’s back behind a small dead log. ‘Oh my God! I hope they don’t see him,’ he prayed. Roger turned his head carefully to keep watching the men.

  They were right opposite him now. Only five paces away. He could see every detail and hear every word. The men clearly weren’t enjoying themselves and obviously weren’t friends. Roger gained the distinct impression the blond man was giving orders to Bruno.

  Then the tree blocked them from sight. Roger resisted the temptation to move. He waited till they had gone on a few more metres up the track. Then he had to move. He found his legs were starting to cramp.

  ‘I won’t be able to run,’ he thought. Very slowly he eased himself around, moving leaves and twigs with his fingers then shifting his feet. He ended up half leaning on the tree and half kneeling but able to look around the other side of the trunk.

  The two men kept searching until they came to the track junction, which was only about twenty metres away. Roger could just see them. When they got there they stopped searching and stood together in the middle of the track. The blond man took off the earphones and pulled out his cigarette packet and lit a cigarette. They began to talk, looking idly around.

  Roger heard a faint rustle behind him. He looked back and saw Stephen cautiously lift his head to peer over the log. Roger met his eyes and shook his head while pointing to where the men were. Stephen nodded and lay still.

  Roger was in a real state. If the men
searched their side of the track the same way they had just searched the other they must be found. ‘Should we try to creep away?’ he wondered. After a careful study he decided it could not be done without them being seen or heard. They would have to take the risk and stay.

  CHAPTER 9

  WHAT ARE THE MEN SEARCHING FOR?

  Roger eased himself around into a more comfortable position so that he was sitting with his side against the tree. Very slowly he stretched and rubbed each leg. The two men made no move to leave. As the tension eased Roger became bored. He shivered. An occasional rustle indicated that Stephen was also changing position.

  As the minutes ticked by a new worry came to Roger. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter past three; over an hour since Graham and Peter set out for the Forestry Barracks. ‘They must surely be back by now,’ he thought unhappily. ‘They will be worrying about where we are.’

  He risked another look. Bruno had sat down but otherwise nothing was changed. Was it possible they could sneak away undetected? There was doubt and that made Roger stay where he was. He saw Stephen peering at him. From his eyes and a pointed finger Roger guessed Stephen was thinking the same thing. He shook his head emphatically.

  More time passed. Roger became bored and stiff. The sweat dried and he realised he was thirsty. A noise in the leaves caught his attention. A large centipede was trekking along but it wasn’t headed for him so he ignored it. The call of a whip-bird sounded down the slope. A tree trunk rubbed against another as the wind moved it. It was all very peaceful.

  The sound of different voices roused Roger. He looked up through the trees and saw the other two men appear. They joined the blond man and Bruno. A discussion began which Roger could hear quite clearly but of which, because of the language, he could not understand a word.

  What was plain was that the old man with the hard face was the boss. It was also obvious there was disagreement. The blond man pointed down the side track with emphatic gestures and did a fair amount of gesticulating. Bruno and the man with glasses made almost no contribution.

  It then occurred to Roger that this was their chance to creep away. He looked around to check the best route. It would have to be downhill South West, which was away from the road. Stephen had his head up and was watching the men. Roger was about to attract his attention when the men began a real argument.

  The old man began to shout. Roger was so astonished at the reaction of the other three men that his withdrawal plan slipped out of his head.

  The three men had formed a single line and stood at attention!

  The old man continued to speak but lowered his voice. It sounded pretty venomous whatever it was. Roger studied the situation anew. The men had heads up, shoulders and elbows back and their hands flat against their trousers, fingers pointing down, as though they were soldiers being dressed down by an angry superior.

  It was so unexpected in that context Roger actually gaped. Who were these men? Or, what were these men? And what were they doing here in the Danbulla State Forest? Searching for something that was buried Roger assumed. But what?

  The old man snapped a command and the other three relaxed their positions. The blond man dug into a pocket in his trousers and extracted a plastic bag with various articles in it. One of these was a notebook. It was taken out and the older man carefully read it.

  Roger could clearly see the lines of concentration on their faces. Then both men took out compasses and took bearings which seemed to be off to his right. A map was opened and studied. There was more discussion. This ended abruptly with the old man turning and walking back the way he had come. The other men followed, the blond man first shrugging and pulling a wry face to Bruno behind the old man’s back.

  The four men detoured through the rainforest around the roots of the fallen tree. For a moment this brought them clearly into view through a gap in the trees. To Roger’s relief they vanished from sight over a low knoll.

  Stephen rose to his knees, then to his feet, brushing leaves off as he did so.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he hissed.

  Roger shook his head. “I want to see where they go.”

  “Don’t be stupid Roger. If you get seen...” Stephen didn’t finish the sentence. Neither said anything for a moment but Roger was determined.

  “I’ll be OK,” he said.

  “You’re mad. Besides Graham and Peter will be wondering where we are.”

  “Then you go back and tell them.”

  “No. That’s even sillier. We must stay together. Come on!” Stephen replied.

  “No. I’m going to follow them,” Roger said with finality. He began walking uphill through the jungle. Stephen shook his head and swore softly, took off his glasses and cleaned them, put them on, then followed.

  Roger made his way to the place where the men had vanished from sight. A faint footpad showed their route. This led up onto the main timber track but here it was in more open scrub and was overgrown with waist high grass.

  The men had trampled a path which was easy to follow. Ten metres further on it crested a low knoll. Roger walked up to the rise, every nerve alert. Here another side road went off downhill on the left. Trampled grass led in both directions. Roger paused, unsure which way to go.

  The screech of cockatoos told him. He moved forward a few paces and could just see over the rise. He stopped and crouched behind a bush.

  The timber track went downhill for about fifty paces then entered a large clearing at least a hundred metres long by half as wide. Beyond this it tunnelled back into a forest of tall white gums further along the ridge. The cockatoos were in the gum trees. The clearing had been bulldozed as part of the timber hauling some years before and was now either bare red clay or small bushes.

  Near the closest edge three of the men stood with their backs to Roger while the blond man paced deliberately on a compass bearing. He was counting aloud and suddenly stopped and turned to face the others. They at once began walking to join him.

  Stephen had joined Roger by this. “What are they doing?” he whispered.

  “Counting paces. I told you it was a treasure hunt. Look. Now they’ve got their metal detector to work,” Roger replied.

  They watched as the man with the glasses quartered the ground systematically with the detector. He stopped from time to time and Bruno dug but only threw aside several small rusty metal objects. After circling up to ten metres from where the blond man stood the operator stopped. He took off his earphones and shrugged.

  There was some discussion. Then the old man gave quick orders. Bruno set to work chopping at a bush. The man with the glasses and the blond man both began walking back towards the boys.

  “Here they come! Quick, into the trees,” Roger hissed. He pushed at Stephen to move and keep down. His heart had leapt into his mouth and the adrenalin pumped.

  The boys moved on hands and knees as fast as they dared. Roger paused to reach behind him to stand the tall grass back up then followed Stephen. They just had time to push into the undergrowth amongst the closest trees when they heard the men’s voices.

  Roger gestured to lie down. “This’ll do. Keep still!” he hissed. They lay flat, hearts thumping.

  The men walked up over the rise talking angrily. They looked neither left nor right and were clearly in a bad mood. As they went past Roger shuddered with relief. From where he lay he got glimpses of the men as they skirted the fallen log. To keep them in sight he moved and raised his head. He could just see part of the four wheel drive beyond the track junction.

  The men went to the vehicles and the boys lost sight of them but heard doors open and close and metallic noises.

  Stephen tugged at Roger’s sleeve. “Come on Roger. Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, pushing his glasses back up his nose with one finger.

  “Not yet. This is interesting. Let’s just creep down through this thick patch to see if we can get a clear view of that clearing.”

  Stephen shook his head but followed him as he
began a careful crawl down around a thicket of spiky palms. Suddenly he gripped Roger by the ankle.

  Roger froze but no explanation was necessary. The two men were returning from the vehicles. The boys were now a good ten metres in from the old road and quite safe from observation. They waited till they heard the men pass down into the clearing before continuing to creep forward.

  “Ah!” Roger breathed. He had found just the spot. As the slope dipped again yet another old snig track went off down to the right. Here there were thick bushes on the bank above it and a clear view out into the clearing. The boys crouched behind them and peered through their leaves.

  “Digging a hole,” Stephen observed.

  “Yes. They must have found it,” Roger replied. Once again he was a-tingle with excitement. The men had brought machetes and another shovel and mattock. They began to clear the bushes and then marked out an area indicated by the old man.

  Bruno then began loosening the hard, red clay with the mattock.

  “He’s not enjoying that,” Roger sniggered.

  Stephen didn’t reply. After a while Bruno stood aside and the other two shovelled the loosened soil away. Roger glanced at his watch. It was ten to four! Reluctantly he decided it was time to go. But he did want to be there to see the treasure unearthed!

  He was just about to tell Stephen when Bruno handed the mattock to ‘Glasses’ and, on the instructions of the old man, picked up his rifle and began walking back up the track.

  For a horrible moment Roger thought they must have been seen or heard but as he watched he decided that Bruno had been sent on another errand. He waited till Bruno passed from view then whispered to Stephen. “When he comes back we will get out of here.”

  “About time too,” Stephen replied.

  They lay and watched the digging. The old man just stood and looked on. The other two took turns. That it was very hard digging was plain from the slow progress and the size of the clods hacked loose. Both diggers discarded their shirts and sweated freely.