Path of the Jaguar

by Vickie Britton

  Lenneas's talk with Wesley had left her feeling let down and empty. But then he still didn't really know what was going on. Tomorrow, at the excavation site, she would have a private talk with Wesley, and he could help her decide what to do with the money. But tonight she was on her own. Until then, she had to find a way to keep the money safe.

  Lennea slipped a plastic pillow case cover out of a storage chest and folded the bills into it, carefully wrapping the plastic around them and placing the bundle back into her flight bag. Frank LaTilla had said that some ruins lay only walking distance from here. She would walk to the nearest rise and skirt the area for a place to hide the money.

  Minutes later, she slipped out unto the path behind the huge shed that Frank had pointed out to her earlier. Darkness was an hour or two away. Still, the path was dim and shadowy and she had to muster her courage to keep on walking. Twisted trees grew along the foot trail, knotted and close to the ground, their dense branches blocking out sunlight. She was glad when she reached the first clearing. Huge, scattered stones mingled with the wild underbrush, clues that she must be nearing the ruins.

  Again the path narrowed, again she felt a tightness in her throat. She gripped the flight bag tighter. She was in the real jungle now. The tree were taller and thicker, their heavy branches knit together like clasped hands. She hurried toward where sunlight slanted through a gap in the trees. There, Lennea caught her first sight of the ruins.

  Massive stone walls carved with primitive designs rose up from the twisted sea of undisturbed roots and vines. How many ancient structures had loomed here, how many temples and palaces left to crumble and decay in the vast, endless jungle. A city of the dead. Lennea stared at crumbling arches, hollow doorways, broken columns.

  Her eyes settled on a partial wall of square stones nearby. Some of them looked loose and could easily be pried out. As she drew close to them, she recognized an almost obliterated figure chipped into the stone—a jaguar head. Yes, that she would easily remember! On hands and knees, with fingers that trembled, Lennea worked loose this stone from the others. She took the money, wrapped the plastic around it tightly, and slipped it in the hollow behind the jaguar stone. Then she moved the heavy block back into place.

  There. Hidden. The ruins lay about her, isolated and abandoned. No tourists were likely to stumble upon them. The money would be safer here than in her room at the LaTilla's home. She had thought when she started back that she would feel relief; instead, she felt increased anxiety. The huge purse felt empty now without the money she had guarded for so long.

  Lennea reached the first clearing. She would soon be back now. She felt more uneasy, however, as she started into a gloomy section of path that seemed to narrow and close her in. She stopped to glance fearfully over her shoulder, back at the clearing. Only a glimpse of a form appeared to her.

  Quickly the man ducked back into the forest area. But not before she had seen him. She had clearly recognized him—the broad head and short neck against stocky shoulders. He was here, too! He must have followed her from the Guererro Hotel. With mounting anxiety, she realized that she had been right! This Maya— whoever he was—had been tracking her. He might have even been watching her as she hid the money!

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  "Did you enjoy your walk?" Goldie's innocent inquiry caused Lennea to look up, startled. "I saw you leave from my window," she explained as she passed Lennea a platter of warm tortillas. "Did you go out to the ruins?" Without waiting for a response, she added, "Not much out there. Just a few crumbling walls."

  Lennea felt a tightening in her chest. She hadn't known anyone had seen her leave the house. "Do you ever get any tourists out there?"

  "Oh, no. Not with a big attraction like Chichen Itza so near. There are ruins scattered all over the jungle. Nobody pays them much attention."

  "You'll get your fill of ruins tomorrow," Frank put in. "I can't wait to visit Tikom. Now that'll be something to see." Latilla's eyes gleamed at the prospect; it was obvious that he was looking forward to the trip with great anticipation.

  "Haven't you been out to the site yet?" Lennea asked. She knew that Wesley had been working at Tikom for over a week.

  Frank looked surprised. "Why, no. I don't even know the exact location. No one's been out there but Wesley. Our professor's been very secretive." A playful smile dimpled his heavy cheeks. "What do you suppose he has hidden out there?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well, since I'm going to do the driving tomorrow, I guess you'd better fill me in on the details."

  "I have the map he gave me. I'll show it to you in the morning."

  "I'd like to take a look at it tonight," he said, his smile vanishing. "If you leave it with me, I can map out our route."

  "I hope you like you room, Lennea." Goldie suddenly cut in. "Oh, yes. Of course I do."

  "I know it's a little plain. Delores simply hates it. And here we call it her room. I always thought I'd let her decorate it herself someday."

  "We invited Dr. Hern, too," Frank said. "We wanted him to stay so badly." The lingering traces of hurt in Frank's voice reminded Lennea of the rejected wood carving as he added rather sadly, "But he likes to stay at that dumpy place in the village. He says he likes the privacy. I guess all geniuses like to be alone so they can sit and think." Lennea watched as Frank spooned more hot sauce over his food. He was shaking his head as if Wesley's desire for solitude increased his respect for him.

  Lennea took another bite of the spicy meat wrapped in the flour tortilla, and her eyes watered. Whether it was good or bad, she couldn't say. The sight of Frank still spooning red sauce over beef drenched in chili peppers made her lips and tongue burn even more.

  Lennea's thoughts kept going back to the Mayan man and the hidden money. She would have to go back. As soon as dinner was over she would have to go check, make certain the money had been left undisturbed. "You could take a few flower pots and pictures from the living room," Goldie said suddenly, as if this were the most important thing in the world. "There's plenty. I'm like Delores in liking my flowers and little what-not."

  The way that Frank's wife constantly changed subjects was distracting. Her thoughts still hovering precariously somewhere between Wesley's need for privacy and the hidden money, Lennea replied absently, "There's no need to bother."

  She glanced out of the window beyond the table into the darkness, and felt a chill creep over her as she thought of that long, gloomy walk to the ruins.

  "Is everything all right, Lennea?" Goldie's curious, amber eyes were watching her with some concern. No doubt Lennea must appear to the LaTillas as preoccupied as Wesley had seemed to her. She must make an effort to pretend that nothing was wrong!

  "Everything's fine." Lennea smiled and took a bite of the spicy beef. "The food is delicious." Lennea knew that it was Mexican custom to eat late and linger over the evening meal. She was torn between wishing the meal was over and dreading its ending.

  Goldie was beaming at her now. "It's so wonderful to have you here. We just love company! I look forward all year to Delores' visits. We just go everywhere. She loves to shop. But I can't get her interested in cooking," she finished wistfully. "When I try, she just gets cross."

  Lennea could sympathize. She shared Delores' aversion for the stove.

  "Do you like to cook, Lennea?" Goldie asked hopefully. Lennea realized too late what the question was leading up to.

  A rather preoccupied "no" was forming upon her lips, when she chanced to notice Goldie's expression, anxious, almost adoring. She didn't have the heart to disappoint her. Frank's wife put her in mind of an innocent child whose fragile feelings were in constant need of protection.

  "You'll have to teach me how to cook Mexican food, Goldie," she said with a barely audible sigh.

  "My little wife's the best one for the job," Frank asserted, patting his full stomach with satisfaction. The dinner had finally come to an end.

  •

  After dinner,
Lennea turned over to Frank the map Wesley had given her. Then she asked him to help her put a call through to Delores' mother in Santa Fe. Frank hovered by as Lennea spoke to her. The mother's voice—she had no doubt been the recipient of many such phone calls—sounded dull and uninterested. Lennea cut short her strained explanation. She replaced the receiver, saying as if she wasn't disappointed in the reaction of Delores' mother, "She wants me to call her back in a few days."

  Lennea went back to her room. When she was certain that Frank and Goldie had gone to bed, she slipped out onto the patio. Wind chimes sounded loud to her as she opened the door and stepped out into the night.

  The heat of the day had cooled down to a steamy warmth. The lush, green foliage smelled like rain, and the rich earth beneath her feet seemed damp and spongy. Squishy. The word brought to mind Dad's startled exclamation when she had first told him of her plans to go to the Yucatan. "Why, you can't go down there. There must be a million snakes in that jungle!"

  Lennea tried not to think about crawling things as she approached the first dark, narrow place on the path. She supposed that the fear of snakes was somehow hereditary. Now, thanks to Dad, she imagined them everywhere—crawling through the damp earth, dangling from the low branches of the trees overhead. Lennea increased her pace through the darkness. She was glad when she reached the first clearing.

  She lingered by the scattered stones which lay rooted in the dense, wild underbrush of the clearing, savoring a glimpse of cloudy moon and blue-black sky. Then, with reluctance, she plunged into the heart of the deepest, darkest part of the jungle trail.

  No moonlight now to guide her way. On either side of her the trees grew black and impenetrable, leaving only the barely visible path beneath her feet. For what seemed an eternity she walked through silent darkness.

  With relief, Lennea spotted silver threads of light through the damp, quivering branches. She hurried to the bare spot where the trees ended. Up ahead, she could see the outline of a crumbling stone wall, the rough silhouette of the jaguar head.

  She stopped—dreading to find what she probably would find—the money missing. Taking one last look around, she approached cautiously and knelt beside the jaguar. The empty navy bag that she had brought from the house bumped against her leg as she slid back the loose stone until she could see the edge of the plastic cover deep in the crevice. Just as she had left it. The hiding place had not been disturbed.

  Someone had already searched for the money and had failed to find it! She started to tug at the stone, then having a change of mind, stopped. Why not just leave the money safely buried instead of taking it back to her bedroom?

  Lennea rose, aware again of the darkness, the shifting, restless movements of the night. A jungle filled not with stone jaguars but with real ones. What would she do if one would spring out of the jungle into her pathway?

  A chirp, a rustle of leaves and branches. No other noises. The darkest part of the path lay before her. She quickened her steps, thinking that she would soon be back at the LaTillas. She paused. That sound close behind her, what had it been?

  She whirled around, expecting to see the black form of some animal stalking her. Nothing visible but empty darkness. With each step the path grew harder to follow. The further she went the darker it became until the path ahead became a narrow and impenetrable maze.

  She hadn't remembered the path as winding, as a labyrinth. She told herself that her heightened senses were merely seeing more correctly, in more detail. Now she stopped to make sure, to orient herself.

  Lennea heard the noise distinctly, not far behind her—the snap of twigs, the faint crush of leaves as if something solid, heavy, were moving after her.

  Something was back there! Logic told her it wasn't an animal at all, but a person! She began running. The form was swiftly overtaking her. Human hands grabbed her from behind, hurling her face-down into the underbrush.

  Fear numbed the pain in her wrists and elbows as she fought, struggling to free herself from sharp, whip-like branches. Through the tangle of her own hair she saw him, or at least his shadow, only an arm's length away. Surely, he could see her, too, hear the frightened, uneven rasping of her breath there in the darkness.

  Slowly, on hands and knees, she inched away from that massive shadow. Then she scrambled, spider-like, to shield herself beneath the cover of dark, wet leaves.

  She didn't know how long she crept like some hunted animal through the darkness. She lost all sense of time, place, and motion. When the panic cleared away, she sensed that her attacker was no longer stalking her. For the first time she realized that her blue bag was missing.

  That was the reason she was no longer being pursued! Whoever it was had left because he had already taken what he wanted from her. He had grabbed the flight bag—where he thought she had put the money.

  Lennea walked through the darkness on shaky legs. Had her attacker been the Mayan who she had seen out here before? Or had it even been a man? She had no clue to the identity of the form. She had only an impression of loose, dark garments and strong, angry hands.

  The sharp, acute fear of being followed was gradually replaced by a duller, but no less serious concern. In her haste to lose the man who had been stalking her, she had also lost the path!

  Desperately, Lennea searched for the faint trail that led back to the LaTillas'. She worked her way through leafy darkness, pushing aside tangled vines and thick branches. The further she went, the more lost and frightened she became. By the time she found the trail again, her clothing was torn, her legs scratched and bloody.

  The hacienda's pale walls glowing through the black trees was such a welcome sight that she choked back tears. Silently, she let herself in. This "adventure" of hers was becoming far too dangerous. She could wait for Delores no longer. If she didn't hear from her tomorrow, she was going straight to the police!

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  In the morning, Frank LaTilla was waiting to take Lennea out to Tikom. She could have laughed at the sight of him pacing the floor in full safari gear, complete with khaki hat, shirt, and short trousers. Large tennis shoes drew attention to surprisingly thin legs and ankles so frail that Lennea wondered how they supported Frank's huge, protruding stomach.

  "Ready?" he asked, waving a red thermos. "I've brewed us a little coffee to take along." Frank seemed exceedingly happy. He hummed a little under his breath as they crossed the yard and climbed up inside the battered jeep. It seemed to Lennea as if she had known Frank and Goldie for years. Frank had become so hospitable that she was beginning to wonder if she had only imagined his curtness in town the day before.

  How upset he and Goldie would be if they knew about her terrifying experience in the jungle last night! She wouldn't risk telling them. Her troubles, that hidden money someone wanted so badly, had nothing to do with them. It was best to leave them totally uninvolved.

  "How far is the excavation site?" she asked as the jeep pulled out of the long, rutted driveway. "Not far. About eleven miles beyond Chichen Itza. But from the looks of the map, it'll be pretty rough traveling."

  Thatched huts, chickens, and walls of orange flowers marked the entrance to the nearby village. Frank pointed out the hotel where Wesley was staying, a sprawling, ugly building with cracked adobe walls. Lennea studied the dark, drawn shades of the many windows, wondering which room was his, hating the thought of Wesley staying in such a lonely, gloomy place.

  Chichen Itza lay just beyond the village. Near the gates, under the backdrop of the pyramids, Mexicans set out pottery and woven blankets to sell to the tourists. Lennea raised her eyes, fascinated, to the great mounds of stone.

  "The big one's El Castillo," Frank pointed out. The flat top and steep sides of the massive temple caught golden streaks of sunlight against the faded walls. "Can you believe Goldie once made me climb to the top? " He gave a little groan. "Three hundred and sixty-five steps! One for every day of the year."

  A few miles down the road, Frank pull
ed over to check the map. "Yes, this must be it." He made a sharp turn and the jeep began to climb a steep dirt path.

  Driving became difficult for the trail was rough and winding. A pattern of dips and rises sliced deep ruts into the bumpy, uphill path.

  When they reached the rise of the hill, Lennea saw that they were on the edge of a bowl-shaped ridge. "The site must be somewhere along this valley," Frank said. "Tikom means "at the hollow" in Maya." Down below them real jungle began, trees so tall and thick they seemed almost impenetrable.

  "There it is!" Frank said, unable to hide his excitement. "Tikom!" Lennea counted four hollow stone buildings within the cleared area on the edge of rocky slope, but there were many more partial walls rising out of the jungle below.

  Almost before the motor stopped, Frank was hurrying up the slope toward Wesley and Joseph. Lennea followed more slowly, expecting at any moment to catch sight of Delores. She walked past the brown canvas tent with its huge sunshade, glancing beyond to where a couple of Indian boys Wesley must have hired worked clearing jungle growth. Lennea's hopes vanished—still no sign of Delores!

  Lennea reached the place where Wesley and Joseph stood. Her eyes first fell upon Joseph. Even though the sun beat down furiously, making rings of sweat appear below Frank LaTilla's armpits, even though Wesley's fine hair was already curled in damp ringlets, no sign of sweat appeared upon Joseph's brow or crisp cotton shirt. He wore jeans which, while not tight, had been washed and worn until they molded to his lean hips. He belongs here, Lennea decided. He's a part of this tropical place, at home in its harsh elements as she and Wesley would never be.

  Her eyes moved over to Wesley, and her heart, as usual, missed a beat. His clothing, correct in every detail, still gave the appearance of being casual. The deeply-tinted glasses shielded his best feature, those vivid blue eyes, from view. Joseph was remarkably handsome, yet Wesley's attractiveness went far beyond physical appearance. His compelling smile often brought gazes of sheer idolization from his female students. It was so important to her that Wesley understand that she was different from the rest. She truly loved him!