Читать книгу King of Claw and Fang - Bob Byrd - Страница 4

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JOHN RAND was not aware of the long, bleeding gash in his forearm as he staggered from the wreckage of his plane. His only thought was for the other two who had crashed with him. With a desperate energy he tore at the shattered rear cockpit.

"Constance!" he called hoarsely. "David!"

A thin wail answered him, spurred him frantically on. A moment later he grasped a curly-headed, three-year-old boy and pulled him from the tangle of wood and metal. The child whimpered, more from fright than from pain. There was a swelling lump on his forehead, a long scratch down one cheek.

"Don't cry, son," begged Rand. "We're safely on land, now."

Swiftly he ran his hands over the sturdy little body and was relieved to find that the youngster had received no more than a bad shaking up. Then he jumped back to the plane in search of his wife.

He found her lying with her soft blonde hair pillowed against the crash pad, the heart-shaped oval of her face pallid and her eyes closed. With an ache in his heart he lifted her tenderly from the wreckage and lowered her to the ground beside the plane.

"Constance!" he called huskily. "You're not hurt?"

He raised her head. Her eyelids fluttered, opened. He repeated his anxious question.

Constance Rand's eyes were clouded with pain but she smiled nevertheless when she saw her son staring at her from round, surprised eyes. She reached out, ran tender fingers through his touseled hair in a swift caress. Then she looked up at her husband, still smiling.

"You know, John," she said coolly. "I thought it was the end. I prayed."

John Rand grinned down at her. "And lo! Your prayer was answered. Here we are, all safe and..." A twinge of pain crossed the girl's face. "Hello! You're hurt," continued Rand, suddenly sober.

"Terribly careless of me," said Constance. "But I'm afraid I am. My leg."

"Here--let's have a look," said Rand. Drawing his pocket-knife he hastily slit the left leg of her khaki breeches. Just below the knee the flesh was bruised and swollen. As gently as possible his fingers probed the injured area. And a moment later his face grew grave.

Watching him with anxious eyes, the girl saw. "Is it..." she began tentatively.

Rand nodded his head. "Yes--it's broken," he admitted reluctantly.

With a little sigh Constance sank back. "I was afraid of that," she said.

"Mummy hurt?" asked young David brightly.

Constance nodded and Rand managed a wry grin.

"Cheer up, darling. It's a simple break. We'll have you all mended and about in a short time."

Snatching his helmet from his head, he despatched the youngster to fill it with water from the lake. Then picking up his wife he settled her comfortably in the shadow of the plane's fuselage and began a crude but efficient job of resetting the broken bone.

A small medical kit had been part of the ship's equipment when it had taken off from Johannesburg that morning. But it was a painful ordeal at best. It was sheer nerve alone that kept Constance from crying out. Once--and only once--twin tears squeezed from the corners of her eyelids and coursed in the crystalline drops down her pale cheeks. She concentrated on her set teeth and clenched her tiny fists so tightly that her nails cut into her palms.

It was not until the last splint and bandage was set firmly in place that her mind once more was free to consider their surroundings. Then her heart-felt relief that David had been unhurt in the crash and that her husband had escaped with a minor cut or two, gave way to new fears and doubts. She bathed the swollen lump on her son's forehead as Rand stayed the bleeding of his own arm. It was a curious monkey, who peering down at them and scolding them for their unwarranted intrusion, made her realize the wildness of their landing place.

"John," she asked evenly, "just what part of Africa did you choose to crack up in? Where are we?"

Rand tried to make his voice as casual as hers. "Oh, somewhere in the Belgian Congo," he replied with a shrug.

Constance's arms crept about the youngster in a protecting gesture, drew him close to her. "The Congo," she breathed. "The heart of the jungle." Then: "How long will it take us--how far is it--to--to civilization?"

John Rand could not find it in his heart to answer her question, to tell her how many hundred miles of almost impassable wilderness lay between them and the nearest outpost of the white man. Instead, without looking up, he replied easily: "We don't have to worry about that, darling. When we don't show up in Cairo they'll send a flock of planes out to search for us. One will be along any day now."

And then, as if to mock this calm assurance, somewhere deep in the jungle the mighty Zar vented his rage in a thunderous roar. Young David cocked his head and listened in wide-eyed curiosity. But a low cry broke from his mother's lips. She tightened her grip about the boy.

"John," she said, trying hard to hide the catch in her voice, "if it wasn't for you--I'd be afraid."

Rand leaned over and kissed her swiftly. "You're a brick, Connie. I've gotten you into this mess and I'll get you out." Then he straightened up to his full height. He was a young man, bronzed by the African sun, with wide shoulders and lean hips and muscles of whipcord and steel. The roar of the jungle lord was a challenge and he accepted it.

"Keep your nerve up, Connie," he said easily. "We'll be out of this in a few days. Till then, I have a rifle, two automatics and plenty of cartridges in the plane. We won't go hungry and nothing shall harm you. In a few days you'll be sitting on the verandah of Sheppard's Hotel in Cairo, telling all your friends about your thrilling sojourn in the Congo."

She touched his hand in a fleeting caress. "All right, John," she smiled up at him. "I'll be good. If only I hadn't hurt my leg, I could help you. Now, David and I will simply have to watch you labor."

"That'll be help enough," he answered.

Had he been alone in this predicament, with its promise of danger and excitement, John Rand might have actually enjoyed the experience. It was not the first time in his adventurous career that he had had to call upon his ingenuity and resourcefulness to survive. He had earned the self-confidence which now possessed him.

Hunting through the tangled debris that had been the plane he salvaged their luggage. He regretted that he had taken no such item as an axe with him but he had a stout knife and it would have to serve his purpose. Armed with it, he slashed boughs from the trees that fringed the clearing, tore great lengths from the tough lianas that hung in loops from the branches down to the jungle floor. The plane would never leave the earth again; it was wrecked beyond all repair. So he put the shattered parts to better use.

By the time the sweltering day had drawn to a close he had erected a makeshift but comfortable lean-to under the protecting wing of the plane.

The setting sun lingered a moment atop a distant mountain peak that thrust a jagged cone, sheer and forbidding in the western sky. Its last slanting rays bathed the clearing and the lake beyond in molten gold. Mauve shadows crept out from under the dense trees of the surrounding forest. Then the sun dropped down behind the peak and the deepening shadows encroached upon the makeshift camp.

In front of the shelter, Rand built a roaring fire. From the cot of leafy branches that he had prepared for her, Constance watched him from soft eyes. Like all emotions of childhood, David's first fear had been short-lived. Now he was enchanted with this strange, new environment. With fascinated eyes he watched the birds make their last brilliant flights across the clearing and come to roost in the tops of the giant trees. A scampering monkey made him clap his hands in delight.

Whistling cheerfully, Rand prepared a meal from the scant provisions that they had carried in the plane. A tin of biscuit, bars of chocolate and powdered milk. The latter he mixed with water from the lake and heated in battered tin cups over the fire.

Night comes suddenly in the jungle. The magnificent sunset was followed by a brief twilight while they ate. When Rand went to rinse out the cups at the shore of the lake, a chill wind blew in across the waters. It rustled the leaves of the trees and awakened other noises and murmurs in the forest depths. An incessant chattering rose above the low hum of myriad insects. Some creature--bird or animal, he did not know--occasionally emitted a plaintive wail.

He came back to find David curled up in his mother's arms, peacefully asleep. Getting coats and a tarpaulin from the wreckage of the plane, he covered them both. Then with his rifle across his knees, he sat down with his back against the open end of the shelter, prepared for an all-night vigil.

For a while husband and wife conversed in low tones, careful lest they wake the sleeping youngster. Beyond the circle of light cast by the fire, the jungle was a wall of impenetrable blackness. Once greenish eyes winked back at them. Rand threw another handful of brush on the blaze and the eyes vanished. With soothing words he reassured his helpless wife.

Whether her confidence in him banished her nameless fears, or whether the terrific strain of the day's events had taken its toll at last, he did not know. But the blessed sleep that claimed David stole over Constance at last. And John Rand remained alone at his post on vigilant guard.

At first the myriad noises of the night held his entire attention. Unseen life stirred in the tree-tops. Strange rustlings sounded around the wreckage of the plane. Once, far out on the lake, there was a mighty splash. Twice during the night, deep in the jungle a panther screamed. Both times David cried out and both times Constance awoke to quiet him with a tender hand and murmured words of comfort.

The stars, though of dazzling brilliance, seemed very far away and cold. Gradually the various sounds of the jungle grew more familiar in Rand's ears and his mind strayed back to the events leading up to their disastrous crash.