Half-Way Inn
THEYstood silent, four men and a woman numbed by fatigue, and Bony justly proud of having brought them thus far. They watched Lucy leaping like a goat down to the floor of Bumblefoot Hole, and run like a hare to meet the camels, who greeted her with lofty, albeit warm, affection.
“Well, there it is,” Bony said, cheerfully. “We’ll have to go round the rim to take the only path down. This place may not appear to you as such, but to me it looks and feels like home.”
Millie regarded them with assumed unconcern, but Curley spread his rear legs and closed his fore-legs in the unmistakable gesture of impatience. On arriving at the old fireplace, they flung their packs and the water drum from weary bodies, and slumped to the ground.
It was Bony who made the fire and set a billy of water against it.
These four men who had withstood jail routine, and as successfully resisted the utter boredom of confinement in Nature’s dungeons, were now rapidly deteriorating. The woman was still driven by iron determination to survive that she might enjoy rewards she had certainly not earned, and she had been least affected by the Plain. True, Bony had saved her as much as possible, which she had taken for granted, causing him to ponder on the ruthless urge to batten on everyone for her own advantage.
She was sitting now with her eyes closed, still fighting the effects of the odds against her from both the Plain and Bony’s leadership. Jenks merely stared about. Mark Brennan sighed with relief from an ordeal having nothing to do with weariness, and Maddoch had sprawled forward to bury his face in his arms.
Under the circumstances, they had done remarkably well these last few days, when the ground covered had been nearer twenty than fifteen miles per day.
Bony was pouring tea when Lucy came to tell him that both she and the camels were thirsty. He gave her water in the crown of his old felt hat, but foresaw that watering the camels would be difficult. On explaining the difficulty to Riddell, that gentleman said the camels could rot, and this released a violent tirade from Myra, explosively betraying the state of her nerves.
Lucy having failed to aid them, Millie led Curley forward to make known their protest. Now without fettering hobbles, she stalked silently to the camp and stuck her muzzle into the empty billycan. The interested Curley romped through the group, scattering them wildly, and nuzzled the packs as though he could smell bread crusts. And then he stretched his long neck in appeal to Bony, his twitching split upper lip so dry and hot and needing water, his large black eyes pleading.
Bony again called for assistance, and surlily they gave it. It meant keeping the animals at bay with sticks while Bony dipped, with a half-gallon can, about eight gallons of water from the rock-hole to a rock-basin.
The sun had gone to bed and dusk was shrouding Bumblefoot Hole when they had eaten. Bony suggested a cave apiece and sleep, and neither Riddell nor Jenks needed further prompting. Maddoch was almost unconscious, and Brennan dragged him off to another cave, where he rolled him into his blanket and settled into his own.
Then all was quiet and darkening. The camels were down and Bony was weighing in his hands the bag containing the remainder of the flour.
“Off to bed for you too,” he told Myra firmly. “There’s a cave over there just right for you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Bake bread when the fire burns down. How are your feet?”
“Still sore. They need a wash. I need a wash all over. Could I put water into the rock-basin and really wallow?”
“Yes, water’s plentiful. I’ll bale some out of the hole for you.”
“Would I be safe, d’you think?”
“Of course. The camels won’t hurt you.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the camels, Inspector.”
“Well, the men are all tucked up.”
“All except one,” she said, faintly pert.
Anger slowly welled to flush his dark forehead, and his eyes blazed. Saying nothing, he took the can to the water-hole and baled. The girl crouched beside the fire until he came and snatched up a blanket, taking it to the hole and fashioning a rough screen.
She was away for half an hour. She was refreshed of body, and Bony hoped also of mind. He said:
“Stay awhile. I want to talk to you. You need not waste your time on sex innuendo. It’s a language I do not understand.” He stirred the loaf baking in the ashes and decided it required further time. “When Mitski was killed, where were you?”
“I told you, Inspector. In the kitchen.”
She was perfectly composed.
“I recall that is what you told me, but where were you?”
“Well, I can only…”
“I want the truth, Myra. Why are you opposed to admitting that you were with Mark Brennan in the passage to the blow-hole?”
“Because I don’t want to admit I was alone with any one of those murderers, that’s why. I suppose Brennan crowed about it.”
“No. I knew you must have been there, because the draught trapped your scarf and it led me to the outlet above.
“When we reach a civilised point, we shall be surrounded by police and Security men-the latter because it is thought your disappearance was deliberate, and for the purpose of spying into secrets of the rocket range. I can clear you with a word, or I can, and will, have you held for weeks on suspicion-of murder.”
She was stilled, and the flickering firelight danced in her fathomless eyes.
“I want the murderer of Igor Mitski,” he went on. “It’s up to you to clear yourself. From whom, or from what, did you evolve the theory that Mitski’s murderer planned to kill all rivals, so as to be the only lion in the den?”
“It was Havant’s idea. He predicted it would happen, and when we were all looking at Mitski and knew he’d been murdered, he said, ‘Who’s next?’ ”
“Did you kill Mitski?”
“Of course not. He was quite harmless, like you.”
“Do you know who did?”
“Why? Should I?”
“Answer me. Including Mitski, there were six men with you. Who, assuming he was the only one left with you, would you fear most of those six?”
“Riddell.”
“Who, under those circumstances, would you choose to be leftwith, again assuming you intended to preserve your chastity?”
“So modestly put,” she mocked. “I could name Maddoch, but… some spiders bite and some don’t.”
“Then you think it possible that Maddoch killed Mitski?”
“Yes. Riddell accused Maddoch, but then Riddell’s just an animal. I’ll tell you this, dear Inspector. Any one of them would have attacked me if they hadn’t been afraid of being killed in the rush. I like it that way.”
“You include Doctor Havant?”
“I wouldn’t agree to stay behind with him, would I?”
Bony raked the loaf from the ashes, and rebuilt the fire for another loaf. She watched him warily.
“Whatd’youhope to do when you’re free of the Plain… and of me?” he asked.
“The Press boys will bearound, and plenty. I’ve got it all plotted, provided you don’t spoil the show. The men will say their little pieces, never fear. But I’ll work on the angle of the hen among the roosters. They can’t say they seduced me. I’ll tell how I out-witted their persistent efforts. Thatwill be news. I could mention how I had to resist you, but I won’t, because there’s a lot about you that my grandmother would admire. I know a man in Melbourne who’s the king of publicity agents. I’ll script the lot forU.S. A Radio, and go over there to appear onT. V., and he won’t hesitate to back a brave girl. Australia can go hopping. It can buy my leavings from America, same as it buys the leavings of all American and English top-liners. The art is to withhold to create demand. I have the art, plus.”
Bony could easily believe her about mastery of the art of withholding. He spoke ironically:
“It seems we shall not be treading on each other’s toes.”
“Is that all you have to say? Good-night, Inspector. I hope you trust me now.”
“On all counts excepting the killing of Mitski.”
“Ye Gods! You remind me of Nemesis.”
“Others before you have been so reminded. Good-night, Myra.”
He continued to squat on his heels, damping the fire to conserve the precious supply of wood, and he watched the little holes appear in the fine ash atop the baking loaf, and the tiny spurts of steam erupting from them. The fine ash covering the graveyard of his mind broke open, and a voice from the past said: “She’s a tough item.”
Myra Thomas was a tough item. Her trial for murder hadn’t softened her. Her trials in the caverns hadn’t reduced the toughness. It must have been there at birth, and no Pygmalion could have done anything about it.
Well, he would give these people a day’s spell, for the Plain would tax them and wear them down even more. He foresaw explosive situations which would tax all hisacumen, and the condition of these people when those situations arose would be that of utter exhaustion. It was, of course, impossible to place any trust in Myra Thomas. She would continue to use them all when it suited her, and so additional physical hardship for her wouldn’t be amiss.
Lucy came to him and stood gazing hopefully. She had fed well, and could have wanted for nothing. Shortly afterwards, movement behind him made him swivel about, and there stood the two camels, heads low, the upper lip of each lifting like the nostrils of hungry men smelling a delicious dinner. They had been good companions. They might still be. He pondered on whether they could carry the girl and Maddoch without the riding saddles, and concluded it might be managed but would be fraught with difficulties which would cause dangerous delay, so decided against it.
On digging the loaf from the ashes, he set it end up against the billy-can to steam dry, and broke off pieces from the first loaf for the dog to carry to the waiting Millie and Curley.
Having placed the bread where the camels could not get at it, he baled water for himself and bathed. Later, he took his blanket to the shelter of a distant boulder, and there tied the dog to an ankle, and slept the clock round. The sun was friendly when he woke to see the others about the camp fire, and to find the camels missing.
He was greeted almost cheerfully. Later in the morning when they were still disposed to loll about, he advised them to bathe and wash their clothes, as they would have to move on next morning.
Brennan and Riddell objected.
“It would be wise for all of you to stay here until I can obtain transport,” he urged, and was instantly opposed. “Well, it’s up to you, individually. Before sun-rise tomorrow I shall be leaving.”
Riddell continued to grumble, but Brennan surrendered with good heart, as did Jenks. Maddoch was silent, and would still need supervision.
During the afternoon he offered his worn riding boots to Myra, who found she could wear them when her feet were protected with strips of blanket. He did what he could to mend the footwear of the others, who now knew what the saltbush could do to naked feet.
When the sun rose the next morning, Bumblefoot Hole was a full mile behind them.