"Something tells me you'd survive," he said.
"Oh, I imagine so," she told him, smiling. "But it wouldn't be much fun."
Kuching Kangar went out to scout around before the sun went down, while the others settled in to rest a bit before they started on the evening meal. Pike Chalmers made a show of wiping down his big-game rifle with a chamois, maintaining a deliberate distance from the scientific members of the team.
"We should be close now," Dr. Stockwell said, considering his map. "A few more miles will bring us to the western finger of the lake."
"So, what about the Tasek Bera?" Audrey asked him.
"Technically, we're in the region now," said Stockwell, "but the sightings all originate from farther east. We'll look around the lake for tracks and so forth, but I don't expect the great Nagaq to make himself so readily available for photo opportunities."
"I shouldn't think so," Chalmers said with no real effort to conceal his mocking tone.
Professor Stockwell turned to face him. "You're the expert hunter, Mr. Chalmers. How would you proceed from this point on?"
"Depends on what I'm hunting," Chalmers said. "On normal hunts, you've got three options. If you're stalking a specific animal—a local man-eater, let's say—you may get lucky with a fresh spoor from the latest sighting, and go on from there to track the bugger down. Another way is bait, o' course. Fix up a blind or tree stand, stake your bait out in a clearing and be ready with your hardware when some hungry bastard comes along."
"If all else fails, you watch the nearest water source around the clock. No matter what you're hunting for, it has to drink."
"Which method would you recommend in this case?" Stockwell asked.
The hunter thought about it, finally shrugged. "There's been no recent sighting that we know of, and we can't track anything without finding its spoor to start from."
"What if we could find the former expedition's camp?" asked Stockwell.
Chalmers frowned. "We'd have to be damned lucky. If we find the camp, and if there's any tracks remaining, they'd be old by now. As far as picking up a trail that old and making something of it… well, it's not impossible, you understand, but damned unlikely."
"And the other methods you suggested?"
"What I understand," said Chalmers, "you've got no clear fix on what this bloody creature is or might be, other than some kind of prehistoric honker. Am I right?"
"Well—"
"And you've no idea what sort of menu it prefers, except for ravings from a dead man and the disappearing-granddad story, eh?"
"The evidence would seem to indicate a carnivore," said Stockwell stiffly. A tinge of angry color marked his cheeks.
Chalmers snorted in controlled disdain. "You've got no bloody evidence. Native superstition and the last words of a crazy man don't tell me anything. If there's a monster waddling around this patch, I need to see it for myself."
"And that's precisely why we're here," Stockwell reminded him. "We're paying you—and rather handsomely, I think—for your advice on how to make that sighting a reality."
"All right, then, here it is. We can't use bait without knowing what our intended likes to snack on, see? In fact, if it's a bloody carnivore we're after, I'll remind you that the only bait I've seen the past two days is us."
"In which case… ?"
"We can either get damned lucky with a set of tracks," said Chalmers, "or we find a likely place to sit and wait."
"Why can't we simply search the forest?" Stockwell asked.
"You mean go out and beat the bushes?"
"Well… in essence, yes."
"You're not a hunter, are you, Doctor?"
"Well, no, but in theory it should work… "
"I thought not," Chalmers said with thinly veiled contempt.
"Enlighten me, by all means, Mr. Chalmers."
"Beating works all right for birds and other small game," Chalmers said. "You scare 'em up and shoot 'em as they fly or run away. It sometimes works with larger game, as well, if you can place your quarry in a given area and pick your stand, have the beaters run him toward the guns. All clear so far?"
"I follow you."
"Then follow this," the hunter said. "We have no beaters, Doctor. There's the six of us, and no one else. Besides which, I'll remind you that we don't know where this bloody creature is—if he exists at all—and he's got several hundred square miles he can play in while we run around in circles, going nowhere."
"You appear to think it's hopeless, Mr. Chalmers."
"Bloody difficult, I'd say. You knew that going in."
"And what is your advice, in that case?"
"We should check around the lake for tracks, just like you said. That's first. If we get lucky, fine. If not, my guess would be that something really big will make its way down to the nearest water once a day at least. Good pickings by a jungle lake, if you're a hunter. All the grazers come to drink and have a snack some time or other. Big cats watch the water when they're on a hunt. Hyenas, too. No reason why your lizard shouldn't do the same, I'd say."
Their guide returned just then, with nothing to report. They spent the next half hour fetching wood and water, stoking up a fire and laying out the kitchen gear. The evening's fare was freeze-dried stew, complete with stringy shreds of beef and vegetables the consistency of rubber. Remo would have settled for a bowl of rice, and gladly, but he didn't have the choice.
The conversation lagged while they were eating, no one seeming anxious to prolong the meal. Their second day of marching through the jungle had exhausted Dr. Stockwell, and their Malay chaperon was equally fatigued. The trail had left its mark on Audrey Moreland, too, but from the hungry glances she gave Remo, it was evident that she retained a fair amount of restless energy. Pike Chalmers was his normal hulking self, apparently unfazed by roughing it, despite the sweat stains on his khaki shirt.
They finished cleaning up the supper pots and pans in record time, an easy round-trip to the stream, and left the gear to drip-dry on its own for breakfast. Dr. Stockwell couldn't stop himself from yawning as they finished up the chores and sat around the fire. It was full dark now in the jungle, with the night sounds closing in.
"We're getting closer," Stockwell said. "I know we are."
"I hope so," Audrey said, her eyes on Remo.
"If we reach the lake in decent time tomorrow, there's no reason why we can't start searching straightaway."
"We are agreed, I think," said Sibu Sandakan, "that no new species shall be harmed in any way?"
"Of course," Professor Stockwell said. "That's understood."
"You make allowances for self-defense, I take it?" Chalmers asked.
"Legitimate defense, of course," their Malay escort said.
"Because I tend to take a dim view of an animal that tries to eat, me, if you get my drift."