“You may as well join us,” Roger replied, trying not to get upset.
Stephen looked away, sniffed then looked at his watch. The sunlight lanced down on them. Roger wiped sweat from his face.
“Come on Steve,” he persisted.
Stephen got up and swore again. Then he grabbed his pack. “May as well. We aren’t going to make this hundred kilometres. We may as well just give up and enjoy ourselves.” Muttering angrily he set off down the path.
Roger followed, worrying that he had done more harm than good. They found Graham and Peter undressing on a tiny beach twenty metres downstream where the water gushed and gurgled over boulders.
Graham pulled off his boots and looked from Stephen to Roger. He gestured upstream to the waterfall and pool. “This reminds me a bit of that pool above Stoney Creek Falls where we had the swim.”
Roger shuddered and broke out in goose bumps. It did too. He didn’t want to be reminded of that terrifying experience during a hike to Kuranda two years before.
The boys spent the next half hour having a swim, rinsing their dirty socks and dressing in clean camouflage uniforms. The water was ice cold so they didn’t stay in long. Roger was acutely self-conscious of his physique and painfully aware of all the bruises, chafing and scratches which mottled his white skin. The cold water made the stinging tree bite throb with agony. When Stephen went off into the scrub for a while Peter asked, “What’s wrong with Stephen? He hasn’t said a word, he just scowls.”
Roger related their conversation. Graham’s face clouded with concern. He looked at his watch. “Strewth! Nine fifteen. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun. We’d better get a move on.”
Stephen returned as they quickly dressed. “What’s the hurry?” he asked.
“We need to get moving,” Graham replied reluctantly.
Stephen curled his lip. “That’s what I said. We’ve wasted nearly an hour here.”
“Half an hour,” Graham replied defensively.
“More, three quarters,” Stephen snapped back.
“What does it matter? We all needed a wash, and I feel much better,” Peter replied.
Roger finished tying his damp socks to the back of his pack and looked at his friends. He hated it when they argued.
Stephen persisted. “You’re right. What does it matter? We can’t finish in time. I’ve had this. I’ve hated nearly every minute of it. It’s the worst hike I’ve ever been on. I think I’ll just phone my parents to come and get me when we find a phone.”
The mention of a phone reminded Roger of the need to contact the police. He opened his mouth to remind the others but thought better of it. The four stood in uneasy silence for a minute.
Graham spoke at last. “Suit yourself. I still reckon we can do it. It’s worth a try.”
“It isn’t. It is bloody impossible!” Stephen replied, almost shouting as his temper flared. He grabbed his webbing and put it on. The others did likewise and followed him back up the path, Peter shaking his head to caution the others to say no more.
They climbed back up the track with its hundred or so steps. With the pack this got Roger’s heart really pounding but he refused to fall behind. The march was resumed in silence. It was nine thirty.
The road wound on through the jungle. If anything the forest looked greener and lusher than before and there were patches of road that were quite damp and even soft enough for their boots to sink in a few centimetres. After fifteen minutes walk a patch of sunlight appeared ahead as they rounded a bend. A bridge with a white signpost stood beyond it. The sunny area was an old gravel pit, half overgrown with long grass and lantana.
The sign said: MOBO CREEK.
Graham consulted his map and his watch. “We’ve come about four kilometres since we started,” he said.
“Is that all? It seems further,” Roger said. He instantly regretted the utterance and felt sure he had seen Stephen’s lip curl in disdain.
The road now levelled out and went back into a tunnel of jungle, the gloomiest they had yet been in. Roger realised he was getting sick of rainforest, sick of the feeling of being closed in; of not being able to see far.
As they rounded a bend just beyond the bridge Peter asked. “The road’s quite soft and muddy. Has it rained do you think?”
“No,” Graham replied. “It’s just the dew dripping from the trees in the morning I reckon.”
Ahead of them stretched a vista of several hundred metres of dark shadows. This was lighted by a couple of patches of sunlight. Roger plodded along at the back, peering into the gloomy tangle on either side.
“It looks a bit damp in there,” he said.
“We’re on flat ground here,” Graham pointed out.
“Oh do tell!” Peter laughed.
“Does that mean no more hills?” Roger asked.
Graham shook his head. “’Fraid not. Look at your map,” he replied.
At that moment they were just coming into a small clearing. The sunlight was able to shine through onto the road. This had caused a growth of lantana on both sides. On the right a snig track went off into the jungle.
Peter indicated the turnoff, pointing at the ground. “Pretty soft here, judging by these wheel tracks.”
They all glanced down at where deep wheel ruts went off through churned up mud and grass.
Stephen, who was leading, suddenly stopped, causing the others to cannon into each other.
“What the?” Graham began.
Stephen pointed.
Not ten metres up the side track and clearly bogged was the black car.
“The black car! It’s them!” Roger said in a hoarse whisper. He had forgotten about the men but now interest and excitement gripped him again.
CHAPTER 13
THE BLACK CAR
For a few flustered seconds the cadets stood and stared. Roger had to make an effort to focus his eyes and channel his thoughts. Peter spoke first. “The men aren’t here. I wonder where they are?”
Roger pointed along the track. “Searching the jungle again, I’ll bet,” he said.
“Where’s the other vehicle, the Four Wheel drive?” Graham asked.
Roger pointed. “Up the track. I think I can see wheel tracks,” he said. To get a better look he stepped forward but Graham grabbed his sleeve.
“No Roger. We aren’t going to look,” he said firmly.
“What will we do?” Roger asked.
Peter answered. “Tell the police.”
“Will we all go?”
Graham bit his lip. “Do you think we should do what we did yesterday and leave someone to watch?” he queried.
Stephen now spoke up. “No. Let’s get going, all of us. We will never finish this hike otherwise.”
“I thought you’d given up?” Graham asked.
“I have! This is stupid. Come on. Let’s get going,” Stephen replied. He was so hot his glasses started to fog up. Angrily he pulled them off and began to wipe them, his eyes blinking myopically as he did so.
Roger faced him. “You go. I’m staying to watch. I’ll stay on my own if I have to.”
Stephen put his glasses back on and shook his head, then waved his arms in exasperation. Graham interrupted. “Let’s not have an argument standing here where anyone can see us down that track.”
Roger looked. He could see at least a hundred metres along the track to where a patch of sunlight indicated a clearing of some sort. ‘What drongos we are,’ he thought. ‘We mustn’t let those men see us.’ He started walking, at the same time beckoning the others to follow.
They did so, all striding along as fast as they could go. Roger went along the road for another fifty metres and stopped in the shade on the other side of the small clearing. He then pointed into the jungle on the left. “I’m going to hide my gear in here and find a spot where I can watch the track junction. You others go and get the police.”
“Let’s just keep going,” Stephen persisted.
Roger shook his head. “No. I’m stayi
ng. As you said, the hike is finished so now we should help the police,” he replied firmly. He kept glancing nervously back towards the track junction and into the surrounding rainforest, fearful that the men might suddenly appear and see them.
Graham took command. “We won’t debate this. Roger’s right. Our duty is to help the police. We can always do the hike next holidays. Roger, you and Peter stay here. Steve and I will go for the police.”
“Leave your gear here,” Peter suggested.
“Good idea. Let’s get off the road in case those blokes come out,” Graham said. He led the way into the rainforest on the side opposite the track. The ground here was reasonably open and quite flat. The sound of running water became louder as they made their way in. Once they were about fifty paces in and hidden from the road Graham stopped and dropped his pack.
“This will do. Dump your gear.”
They did so. Graham pulled out his map and jotted down the estimated Grid Reference in his notebook. Then he pointed to a farm marked in the open country about two and a half kilometres further on to the South East. “We will go to this farm. If they don’t have a phone we will go on along the main road to the next one.”
“What if a car comes along?” Stephen asked.
“We will flag it down.”
“What if it’s going back in this direction?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Graham checked his watch. “Just on ten o’clock. We should be there by half past but don’t expect us back before about eleven thirty.”
“What will you do when you get back?” Roger asked.
“I’ll leave that to the police.”
Peter then suggested that one of them be beside the road around the next bend along to stop the police before they drove in. “They might want to surprise them. Otherwise you could drive past that side track before you realised it,” he said.
“Good idea. One of you be there waiting for us from eleven fifteen on,” Graham agreed. “Come on Steve, big drink and then let’s hoof it.”
They all had a big drink. Then Graham and Stephen set off. Roger stood and watched as they went. They paused to look cautiously up and down the road before stepping onto it. Within seconds they had vanished from sight.
“Now let’s find a good possie,” Roger said, tingling with excitement.
“Let’s refill all the water bottles from this creek first,” Peter replied.
Reluctantly Roger agreed. They took out Graham and Stephen’s half full bottles as well and made their way to the small stream. It was a typical jungle creek, crystal clear, cold and fast flowing. Once that was done Roger took a packet of jelly beans from his basic pouch, popped a couple in his mouth, packeted the rest and began making his way carefully through the jungle in the direction of the track junction.
As he crept forward Roger became aware of pains in the chest. He realised he was holding his breath. The excitement made the blood pound in his ears and his mouth went quite dry. He developed a maddening desire to do a pee.
After a few minutes he came to the belt of lantana and was able to find a place which gave him a view across the main road and straight along the side track. He was confident he was well hidden so he crouched down to watch.
Peter crept slowly up to join him. “Can you see anything?” he whispered.
“No sign of the men,” replied Roger.
The two boys sat and waited. They were just back from the edge of the sunlight. It was hot and there was no breeze. Roger looked up. Still no clouds. He watched the ants streaming up a nearby log. There were orange tinted fungi growing on it.
Boredom and frustration rapidly replaced the initial excitement. Peter checked his watch. “Half past ten. They should have reached a phone by now.”
Roger nodded. “I’d love to know what those blokes are doing,” he murmured. He had to blink and wipe his eyes. The bright sunlight and shadows were affecting his eyesight and he felt drowsiness creeping up on him.
Peter gestured to the left. “We’d better start moving back. It will take us ten minutes to get to the RV,” he said.
Roger shook his head. “In a few minutes. We might see something and be able to report - ah! What was that?”
Quite clearly to their ears came the distant clank of metal on metal.
“Sounded like a shovel hitting something,” Peter suggested.
“That’s what I thought. Oh! I’ll bet they’ve found the treasure and are digging it up,” Roger said. He squirmed his toes in his boots with excitement.
“Come on!” Peter hissed, indicating his watch.
Roger shook his head. “You go. I’m going to have a look and see what the men are doing,” he replied.
“Don’t be bloody stupid Roger! Come on,” Peter persisted.
“No! It’s not far. I’m going to have a look. Wait here if you don’t want to come. I’ve got to know,” Roger replied. He rose to his feet, ignoring pains in his knees and leg muscles.
Peter reached forward to restrain him but Roger side-stepped and started slowly walking through the scrub to his right. Peter swore softly and hissed at him to come back then stood and began to follow, his face red with anger.
Roger skirted a large clump of ferns and wait-a-while then made his way to the edge of the road. He was twenty metres from the track junction and could no longer see the black car. He paused for a moment to listen and to study the jungle opposite. Then he walked quickly into the open and across the road.
“Don’t run! Don’t run!” he murmured to himself as his legs seemed to want to take control. He had to consciously control himself as he had been taught to do on fieldcraft exercises. ‘If I run, my boots will drum on the ground and my webbing will thud and flap,’ he reminded himself.
Thankfully he stepped into the shadows between two large trees. His heart beat wildly and he stopped to search ahead and to wipe sweat from his eyes. He looked back and saw Peter gesticulating furiously and angrily at him. In return he beckoned then began to cautiously walk forward.
The rainforest here was quite flat and very damp underfoot. The leaf-litter was all sodden and squashy. Once he was away from the zone of sunlight along the road there was very little undergrowth. Roger could see at least fifty paces and was worried to discover that the black car was easily visible to him on his left - which meant he was visible from it.
About a hundred paces ahead was a much thicker belt of scrub which seemed to mask his view. There was very little wait-a-while and only the occasional fern or dead log. Because of the sodden ground he was able to walk quickly with very little noise.
Roger walked on a route which edged to his right, away from the side track. He could discern the change in light and vegetation pattern which marked its course. Ahead of him loomed the wall of thicker scrub with a brightness behind it which indicated a clearing. As he flitted forward from tree to tree he realised that the wall of scrub was just that. It was a windrow of felled timber overgrown with a tangle of vines and weeds on the edge of a clearing.
The sound of voices made him stop. Tingling with excitement, he crouched down behind a tree and looked. The voices came from beyond the wall of scrub. Even more carefully now Roger crept forward, edging further to the right. The ground underfoot changed to actual mud, a black ooze into which his boots sank. Mosquitoes began to attack him. The voices grew louder.
The men were arguing. Roger made himself go forward. His curiosity was so intense he felt that he just had to see! He found a place where he could see between two trees and through a gap in the felled logs.
Beyond the logs was a muddy clearing about twenty metres across surrounded by the tangle of logs and scrub. In the centre was a large muddy hole like a bomb crater, half-filled with brown water. There were several other holes nearby.
Digging in one, stripped to the waist, was Bruno. Nearby stood the man with the glasses - or without at that moment, as he was wiping mud or sweat off them while scowling. The blond man was arguing with the old man. The blond man had taken off his ja
cket, rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt and had a pick over his shoulder. Roger was thrilled to see that both he and the older man wore black leather holsters on their belts.
Even as Roger watched, the men reached some sort of decision. He couldn’t understand what they said but Bruno clambered out of his muddy hole, cursing and obviously not too happy.
‘It looks like they are packing up. I’d better get out of here while I can,’ Roger thought. He turned and began to move carefully back the way he had come.
Within twenty paces he knew he had a problem as he could hear the murmur of voices moving to his right to where the muddy clearing connected with the snig track. He walked quickly to the next big tree and stopped to look that way.
Around the end of the tangle of logs and scrub appeared the blond man and Bruno, walking side by side. They were obviously walking along the track and were only fifty paces away. Luckily they were engrossed in their conversation and busy watching where they put their feet.
Roger bit his lip and stayed behind the tree. The two men were carrying shirts and tools, and were muttering angrily. All Roger could do was stay put and watch. They went past him towards the car. Unsure where the other two men were Roger remained still.
The sound of a vehicle door opening beyond the wall of scrub told him that the four wheel drive was parked there. Roger looked around, wondering if he should try to rejoin Peter, or stay where he was.
The sound of vehicle engines in the distance came to him. Through the trees he glimpsed the blond man stop to listen. He and Bruno were almost at their car. Roger could just see it. Then the four wheel drive’s motor burst into life. A door slammed, gears grated and the vehicle roared into view, churning through mud almost up to its axles.
Over the noise of its motor Roger heard a shout and was dimly aware of other motors. He peered around his tree and saw that a white Toyota Landcruiser had turned in off the main road and pulled up right behind the black car. Then he saw that the blond man was running back up the track yelling. Blue clad figures seemed to spring out of the Landcruiser.
The police!
Things happened so fast that Roger had trouble later sorting them out. He got a glimpse of Bruno dropping the tools he was carrying and raising his hands; and the blond man diving behind a tree. The four wheel drive stopped. Its doors opened. The driver went out the far side and the old man scrambled out on Roger’s side.
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 13