“Bruno’s taking a long time,” Stephen muttered angrily.
“Yes he is,” Roger replied. He looked at his watch again. Ten past four. Twenty minutes. Where could the man be? What could he be doing? A horrible suspicion formed in Roger’s mind that Bruno might be stalking them. This caused such a flutter of panic that for a minute or two he couldn’t think straight. He forced himself to calm down. ‘Stop it you coward!’ he told himself. ‘Be logical. If those men thought we were here they would take much more direct action.’ He turned to Stephen.
“Let’s go. We will find out what he’s doing.”
Roger again led the way. He crawled back for twenty metres until positive they could not be seen from the clearing. Then he slowly rose to his feet, his joints protesting and sore muscles stiff. Then, careful step by careful step, he made his way around the side of the hill to near the roots of the fallen tree.
What he saw at once relieved and dismayed him. Bruno wasn’t stalking them. He was sitting on the bonnet of the four wheel drive with his rifle cradled across his lap, looking back along the track towards the main road.
Stephen crept up beside Roger. “What can you see? What’s going on?” he whispered.
“Bruno. He’s sitting there on sentry duty. At least he looks like he’s on guard. Strewth, I hope Graham and Peter don’t come looking for us,” Roger replied.
“Then we’ll have to go round him,” Stephen replied. Roger nodded.
Stephen now took charge. He took out his compass and set it for West. Then he began slowly making his way down the steep slope in that direction.
It was difficult to move silently. There were so many dead twigs in the leaf-mould and Bruno was only fifty metres away. Step by step the two cadets edged downhill, gripping small trees for support, avoiding vines and spiky bushes. They had to weave around fallen logs and through a patch of wait-a-while.
Here Stephen got caught up. He avoided the more obvious thicker tendrils but a thin one caught the back of his shirt. He stopped almost at once but not before the bush had been pulled and leaves set rustling. The two cadets froze.
Had Bruno heard them?
After a moment Stephen eased backwards. Both knew what to do. Never pull at wait-a-while! The curved barbs just dug in deeper and the vines are too strong for a human to break. You have to take the tension off then roll gently away. Roger helped by gripping the offending tendril in his fingers, ignoring the sharp pricking.
The slope got steeper as they went down and the undergrowth became thicker with more and more wait-a-while. Stephen stopped. “We are heading into some sort of a creek. Do you think we’ve come down far enough?”
Roger looked back. He estimated they were only about a hundred paces down the slope; perhaps fifty metres.
“No. Twice that distance at least. Keep going,” he murmured.
They resumed their slow descent.
Further down Roger got snagged by wait-a-while. The barbs hooked the sleeve of his shirt. He stopped and backed up, then peeled the tendril off. It came clear of the cloth with a ripping sound. Roger let go of the tendril but it swung from the palm frond overhead. Instinctively Roger put his hand up to ward it off. At the same moment his right foot slipped on the rotting vegetation underfoot.
“Ow! Bloody thing!” Roger cried softly.
He pulled away and stepped back - into another hanging tendril.
“Hold on Roger. I’ll help. You’ve cut your hand,” Stephen said.
Roger looked. Four holes in the skin on the outside of his right palm suddenly had drops of blood appear. These overflowed and a sticky red trickle ran down the fingers. Roger put his hand in his mouth and sucked. The smell and taste of the blood made him nauseous.
“Not your day,” Stephen observed as he unhooked the tendril.
Roger mumbled some swear words then followed Stephen on down the slope. They seemed to be well away from Bruno by this, over a hundred metres but Roger insisted they go on down for another hundred paces.
“Better to be sure than sorry,” he grunted. He was irritated and physically uncomfortable. By now he felt tired, sore and very thirsty and he was eaten up by curiosity about what the men were digging for. The blood trickles on his hand dried up and he forgot about them.
The compass bearing took them out of the re-entrant and down the side of a steep spur-line. They crossed the spine of this and halted for a moment to look. An overgrown snig track went on down it. A trampled plant showed that the men had been down it.
“This will do. Let’s head north to the main road,” Roger said.
Stephen pulled out his map and a pencil and they made a guess where they were.
“About forty five degrees for about three hundred metres, say five hundred paces, should do it,” Stephen decided. He put the map away and set his compass.
They continued their detour, pushing through a clump of huge, broad-leaved plants that were taller than them, then past a tree with huge moss-covered buttress roots, then past another tree caught in the parasitic embrace of a strangler-vine. The bearing led them steeply downhill.
It became so steep they had to use both hands to grip the smaller trees as they went down. Several large clumps of wait-a-while caused detours of ten metres or so. Both boys were sweating freely and became grimy around the hands and neck. A huge butterfly with brilliant blue wings fluttered past.
The bottom of the slope was a small creek bed. There was no running water, just damp leaves and moss covered rocks. They were in the shadow of the next ridge by then and it was quite gloomy. The far side of the small watercourse was so steep they had to look around for a way to haul themselves up.
Stephen dragged himself up into a thicket of small saplings with difficulty. Roger went a few paces up the creek bed towards an easier place.
“Aah!” he cried aloud.
Before he even looked he knew what it was. Fierce waves of sharp pain lanced from his left-hand up his arm.
Stinging Tree! He swore, then cried again and waved his left hand in the air. The blasted bush was obvious when he looked for it. He had brushed one of the heart-shaped leaves with its distinctive serrated edge. There were several stinging trees there he now saw. The thousands of tiny white poison bristles were plain to see.
The pain was intense. Roger gripped his wrist with his right hand while tears flowed down his cheeks. His vision blurred and he hopped around. It took a real effort to stop crying out again. Stephen stood further up the slope waiting. He looked sympathetic and Roger knew there was nothing he could do to help.
If circumstances had permitted Roger would have tried to remove as many of the tiny white bristles as he could. He could see them, like unshaven hairs, stuck in the palm of his left hand. The outside of the little finger had collected the most. Sticking plaster gently eased on might have removed some when it was pulled off; or careful plucking one by one with tweezers. But there wasn’t time (and his tweezers were in his pack).
As the first waves of pain subsided Roger wiped his eyes, swore again then gritted his teeth and reached up to a tree to pull himself up the slope. That hurt too as the bristles were driven in or broken off and he knew he would feel the sting for months to come. ‘Every time I wet my hand or it gets cold the tiny poison barbs will activate,’ he thought morosely.
Trying to ignore the stabbing agony, he hauled himself up to join Stephen who murmured. “I said it wasn’t your day!”
“Just lead on. Aw, bugger it hurts,” Roger replied through clenched teeth. He checked his watch. It was nearly five o’clock! Worry helped push the pain aside. What were Graham and Peter doing all this time?
CHAPTER 10
A LONG WAY FROM HELP
Fifteen hot and sweaty minutes later Roger and Stephen finished their climb up through the jungle. They emerged from a particularly thick patch of wait-a-while onto the main road. Stephen was in front. He crawled up the steep slope and took a cautious look over the top.
“We are just around the bend from
the track junction I think,” he whispered.
Roger, feeling hot and flushed, made his way painfully up to join him. He wasn’t sure if that was from the stinging tree or the start of heat exhaustion. The two cadets climbed up onto the road and looked at the steep slope of the cutting opposite them.
“Which way will we go? We can’t climb that,” Stephen said.
“Just walk around to where we left Peter and Graham,” Roger replied.
“Their guard might see us,” Stephen reminded. He took off his glasses and gave them a worried polish.
“Not if he’s still at their vehicles,” replied Roger. By this time he was too sick and sore to care very much.
Stephen shrugged. He didn’t feel like arguing. The two began walking along the road. There was no breeze and everything was very still and quiet. The tree tops had sunlight on them but they were in the evening shade.
They slowed as they rounded the corner where the timber track joined but there was no sign of anyone. As they reached the actual junction they became even more cautious and went forward a step at a time till they could see down the side track. It was deserted.
“Pssst. Hey! Psst.”
Roger jumped with fright and looked around at the soft noise. At once he saw Graham and Peter. They were up on top of the cutting opposite. He nudged Stephen and pointed.
“Oh, thank God! Come on,” Stephen said.
The pair walked quickly along the road to where the cutting came down to the small re-entrant. Peter and Graham met them there.
“Where the hell have you two been?” Graham hissed angrily.
“We went to have a look; to see what the crooks are up to,” Roger replied.
“You what!” Graham gasped. “You pair of bloody fools. We’ve been sitting here nearly an hour worried sick.”
“Sorry,” Roger replied. “But it was worth it.”
“What did you see?” Peter asked.
Stephen replied. “The men are searching for something.”
“They’re digging up the treasure right now,” Roger added.
“Not all of them,” Peter answered. “Your mate Bruno walked out to the track junction not ten minutes ago. He had his rifle.”
Roger felt ill at the thought of how close they had come to disaster. “He’s on guard,” he replied.
“Well you are damned lucky he didn’t see you,” Graham replied. “He stopped and looked down the slope where you two came from. Then he took something blue off the back of a tree beside the turnoff, looked at it and walked back down the track.”
“Took something blue?” Roger asked. He had to swallow to prevent the words coming out as a croak.
“Piece of paper I think. It was hard to tell,” Peter replied.
The boys were standing just in the edge of the trees at this point.
“Should we move further in?” Stephen asked.
“I need a drink. Let’s go to our webbing,” Roger replied.
“What about watching the turnoff?” Stephen asked.
Graham shook his head. “We will hear their vehicles if they start up.” He looked at his watch. “It’s five twenty. It will be dark in half an hour. We’d better have tea while it’s light and plan our next move.”
“Why? What did the police say?” Roger asked.
“We didn’t get to contact them. There was no-one there. Come on. We can talk about it later,” Graham replied.
Graham led the way back through the scrub above the road. A few minutes walk brought them to where their discarded gear lay scattered on the ground. Roger and Stephen both took out water bottles and drank greedily.
“Where will we go?” Peter asked.
“To the top of the hill. There’s a good spot to camp,” Graham replied.
“Is it out of sight and sound of those men?” Stephen asked.
Graham nodded. “Yes it is,” he replied.
“Not too far. We want to be able to hear if they drive off,” Roger said.
“We’ll be able to,” Graham said. He swung on his gear and started up the slope.
The twilight was setting in fast so they walked quickly, making no effort to be silent, other than talking softly. After about fifty paces the rain forest opened out to be mostly tall, thin trees with almost no undergrowth and a carpet of dry leaves.
The top of the hill came into view after another hundred paces. By then Roger was sweating and puffing. He was sharply reminded of the stinging tree sting after grabbing a sapling to haul himself up the slope.
The crest of the hill levelled out and they came out onto an old timber road. This was thickly carpeted by leaves and obviously had not been used for years. The line of the road was quite clear as no undergrowth grew on it. Roger assumed this was because the overhanging tree canopies blocked most of the sunlight.
Peter looked around. “This is what we want,” he said.
“I think I know where this old road joins the main road,” Roger added.
Graham pointed ahead. “Just down there. We came up it half an hour ago,” he replied.
Peter nodded and added. “This is the old road we walked along during Senior Ex last year, when we went to attack the pretend fort.”
Stephen agreed and they began to discuss the exercise. Graham stopped them when both took off their packs. “We won’t stop here. We will camp just along there, in that bit of a dip.”
He led the way a hundred paces westwards along the old track to where it ran onto a low bench cut. An old bulldozer scrape in a small hollow right on the crest of the ridge provided a convenient flat space.
Graham dropped his pack and looked around in the gathering gloom. “There’s another old track just there. It runs down the spur to where we were watching. We will camp here. The men won’t hear us if we talk but we will still be able to hear their vehicles.”
“Can we light our stoves?” Stephen asked.
Graham nodded. “Yes. They won’t see us from anywhere on the main road. And I don’t think the smell of the hexamine will carry that far. We should be safe here. I don’t think they suspect we are anywhere in the area, unless they saw or heard you two.”
“I’m sure they didn’t,” Roger replied, looking to Stephen for confirmation. He nodded.
Peter suddenly pointed to Roger’s hand. “You OK Roger? What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked.
“Which one?” Roger replied ruefully holding up both hands. He recounted his minor injuries as he eased his gear to the ground.
“I hope it was worth it,” Graham said.
“It was,” Roger replied. He then sat and proceeded to describe what he and Stephen had seen. While he talked they all pulled out hexamine stoves and lit them. The flames gave a cheerful glow which helped restore their spirits.
Roger put on water to boil and had another drink. Two of his four water bottles were then empty. He shook one ruefully then said, “I tell you, when I was standing in the middle of that track and I saw them two blokes come around the corner I nearly wet meself.”
Stephen added his comments. “We had to lie in the bloody leaves for nearly a bloody hour and now I’m starting to itch.”
“Pair of bloody fools,” Graham repeated, but he and Peter were intensely interested in the story.
By the time Roger had made a cup of Milo it was quite dark. The air was very still, with no breeze. Through a gap in the tree canopy he could see there were no clouds. It was very quiet, apart from a few insect noises, crickets and the like.
“I haven’t heard a car for a while,” Stephen observed as he stirred a mess tin of meat and onions.
“No. There hasn’t been one since we left you about two o’clock,” Peter replied. “We hoped one would come along so we could hitch a ride but none did.”
“What happened?” Roger asked. The sweet Milo tasted wonderful.
“We walked back to the Forestry Barracks no trouble,” Graham replied, “but there was no-one there. We looked around, then sat down and wondered what to do. We thought of pho
ning but all the buildings were locked and we didn’t feel like breaking in.”
“So what took you so long?” Stephen asked.
“Well, we sat there for half an hour hoping someone would come along. Then we walked back to the old house beside the road, you know, near Lake Euramo, but it was deserted.”
“Then what?”
Peter answered. “We thought of walking to Robsons Creek but decided it was too far,” he said.
Roger shuddered at the thought of that much effort and drained the last of the Milo.
Graham continued. “We sat for another fifteen minutes hoping a car would come along, tourists or something. But none did.”
“And we tried to come up with a story in case the car was the crooks,” Peter added with a grin.
Graham went on, “Anyway, we just started walking back to here at quarter to four. We came up this track and went down that overgrown one there which I guessed led to the road junction. When we got there we looked around for you and got really worried when we couldn’t find you.”
“I went and checked the gear,” Peter added. He had opened a tin of corned beef and was eating it cold.
Roger took out a tin of Chinese sweet and sour pork. It was now so dark he put his torch in his mouth so he could see while he opened it.
Stephen swallowed a spoonful of food and then asked, “What will we do now?”
Graham answered. “I thought we might walk back to the Forestry Barracks again. The men should have come back from work after five. They should be there now.”
“Who’s going? All of us?” Stephen asked.
“No. Only two. Two can stay and watch; or rather listen,” Graham replied. “I’ll go. Who wants to come with me?”
Roger had a sudden yearning to see electric light and other people. To his own surprise he said he would go.
“You sure Roger?” Graham asked doubtfully.
“Yeah. I need more water anyway.”
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