The Pirates of Shan Part 18

The boys let the sail down and lashed it just enough to keep a sudden breeze from tangling the lines, then took paddles and steered for the small crescent of beach that made a light streak between the sea and the black rock of the volcano. The lights of the village were gradually lost as the jutting rock between the beach and the western land slope blocked their view.

Rick and Chahda timed their paddle strokes to catch a low wave as it sped to sh.o.r.e, and in a moment the vinta's bow grated on sand. Chahda jumped to sh.o.r.e, carrying the craft's anchor--a block of stone with a hole in it for the rope--and hauled the vinta's bow up on dry coral sand. Rick stepped to the sand and paused, ears tuned for any unusual noise. He heard nothing except the sharp barking of a dog in the village.

"If this is like most Asiatic villages, there'll be enough mutts to make it a dog catcher's paradise," he whispered in Chahda's ear. "They'll give us away sure!"

Chahda shook his head. "Leave to me. Have plenty sad experience with dogs. I come ready for them."

Rick wondered how the Hindu boy was prepared, but he realized this was no time for questions. He put his lips close to the hidden radio unit under Chahda's turban and called softly, "Rick to home base."

"Go ahead, Rick," Zircon's voice said faintly through the heavy folds of turban.

"We're on the beach, about to leave the vinta."

"Good luck. We're standing by for a fast run if needed. Be careful."

"We will," Rick promised. "Off for now." He drew the automatic from his sash, pulled back the slide, and let it carry a round into the chamber.

Then he lowered the hammer to half c.o.c.k and made sure the safety was on.

He tucked the pistol into his sash, and loosened the kris in its sheath.

Chahda drew his barong and made a few practice swings. The blade gleamed in the starlight.

Rick led the way, westward along the beach to where the black lava rock lay in tumbled ma.s.ses. If they could climb across the tongue of lava, all would be well. If not, they would have to return to the beach and swim around it.

The lava was in big chunks, and there were ample hand and footholds. It was an easy climb to the top of the flow, only about twenty feet above sea level, and an easy climb down again. The only hard part was moving across the top of the flow, through the ma.s.s of lava boulders.

Presently the two boys stood on soil, still hidden among lava outcroppings. The village was to their left. In front of them, to the west, was a cornfield. Rick wasn't surprised to see the corn. He knew that from the central Philippines south to Sulu there was more corn eaten than rice.

"Keep an eye open for a guard," he whispered to Chahda. "We'll wait a few minutes to see if one shows up. Then, if it seems clear, we'll move along the edge of the cornfield toward the village."

"Good plan," Chahda agreed.

Rick strained to catch sound or motion. When his luminous watch dial told him five minutes had elapsed, he leaned toward Chahda. "No sign of a guard. Let's go."

Apparently the pirates were sure attack could come only from the west, as Zircon had thought.

Undoubtedly they had lookouts on the western sh.o.r.e.

Rick led the way, keeping close to the abrupt rise of the volcanic cone.

He saw there were plenty of gaps and holes in the lava into which they could duck, as well as the cornfield. Knowing they could be out of sight in a matter of seconds gave him confidence, and he moved rapidly ahead.

A slight breeze brought him the scent--or rather stench--of the village.

He wrinkled his nose and suppressed a sneeze. Wow! If the pirates possessed any virtues, cleanliness was not one of them.

The cornfield ran right up to the edge of the village, which was nestled under a point where the volcano dropped steeply for perhaps a hundred feet. It was a good defensive position, Rick saw. The black lava cliff probably could be climbed, and would offer a wonderful location for riflemen. Even heavy weapons would have a hard time dislodging them.

Ahead was a kind of street, a wide gap between rows of houses. Some of the houses showed the yellow flickering light of candles or kerosene lamps, but most were dark. The houses were raised up on piles, in the fashion common throughout the Philippines, and most of them offered little obstruction to the view.

Rick shrank back as a man walked down the street, turned, and went up a ladder into one of the houses. In the dim light Rick could see that he had tight pants, a flat turban, and a rifle in his hand. The boy shuddered. There probably were enough deadly weapons in the village to outfit a regimental combat team. One slip and those weapons would be turned on them.

Chahda put his lips close to Rick's ear. "What we do now?"

"Look for a house with guards, I guess."

It seemed the only possibility. If Tony and Shannon were in the village, they would almost certainly be guarded. Guards probably would be the only clue to their presence.

For long moments Rick debated on how best to approach the problem. There wasn't any easy way. He tapped Chahda on the shoulder. "Let's go."

The two boys stepped out from their concealment against the volcanic wall and walked boldly into the village.

Rick had his fingers crossed for luck, but he was ready to uncross them in a hurry and go for the pistol in his sash. Their disguises had to protect them from casual viewers. He had confidence that the deep shadows of the village would conceal the fact that they were strangers, unless they came face to face with someone.

The street paralleled the face of the volcano, with houses on both sides. For the first few steps they saw no one, then far down the street a Moro crossed, and it took all of Rick's courage to keep walking casually ahead.

Nearby a dog barked, and the noise sent a stream of sweat dripping down Rick's back. The barking continued, drew nearer. Rick half drew his kris, but Chahda whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "Wait!"

A mongrel of indiscriminate breed sidled up to them, hackles raised, teeth gleaming faintly in a snarl. Chahda bent low and murmured. The dog leaped frantically, and Rick's heart caught in his throat. Then the Hindu boy miraculously was petting the vicious mutt.

"What did you do?" Rick demanded in a whisper.

"You remember canned hombargers? I open can and put some in my pocket.

Feed one to dog. He our friend now. Come on."

Rick had to grin. The mysterious Hindu! Behind the mystery was a practical solution to problems. Just stick a couple of "hombargers" in the pocket.

The boy led the way again, Chahda hurrying to catch up. Beside them, the once-fierce dog gamboled like a puppy, hoping for another handout.

In a few moments Rick saw that the two streets of the town formed a huge T, with the stem starting under the mountain and running toward the west. He had an idea that Tony and Shannon would be near the center of the village, in the most protected position--simply because it would be easier to guard them that way. That meant they would be close to the intersection where he and Chahda now stood.

A poke in the ribs from Chahda took his mind off the problem in a hurry, and put it on a new and immediate one. A man was walking directly toward them, coming from the direction of the western sh.o.r.e. Rick couldn't see him clearly; it was too dark in the village. But he could see enough to know that the pirate carried a rifle and had a barong tucked into his belt.

Rick's hand started for the pistol, then paused. He couldn't shoot now.

It would bring the whole village down on them. For a moment he nearly panicked, then with a nod to Chahda he walked directly toward the man.

The bold approach was the best one, he figured. To run was to bring a shot. He had a vague idea of getting within range, then jumping the Moro. Certainly they couldn't stop and talk with him; neither of them knew the language.

The pirate didn't seem uncertain, or alarmed. He walked toward the two boys casually, obviously not yet recognizing them as strangers. He would soon, Rick knew. It was important to get the jump on the Moro first, and prevent him yelling, if possible.

Then, as Rick prepared for a wild spring and a roundhouse punch, Chahda whispered, "Be ready," and lifted his hand in salute. The Moro lifted his hand, too, and said something in the native tongue. It might have been a greeting; neither boy ever knew for sure.

Chahda walked right up to him, muttering something that was probably Hindu double talk. The Indian boy moved so that the Moro swung around, trying to understand what Chahda was saying.

For an instant the pirate's back was to Rick. He moved like a charging panther. The pistol came out of his sash and descended barrel first, all his desperate strength behind it. He felt it slam down on the pirate's turban and connect solidly with the head underneath.

Chahda caught the man as he fell, and in an instant the two boys had hauled him under the nearest house.

Rick found the man's pulse and breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. It was thready and slow, but it was there. The pirate would wake up, but not for some time. The dog sniffed inquiringly at the fallen Moro, but made no noise. Rick took Chahda by the arm and pulled him out into the street again, pausing anxiously to see if the brief and violent meeting had attracted attention. Apparently it hadn't. There were no signs of life in nearby houses, and no one looked out of those with lights farther along the street.

Rick decided they had better conduct their search with all possible speed. The boys moved rapidly along the street at the top of the T, toward the waterfront on the south. The dog trotted alongside, their firm friend now. Rick knew the boat dock must be at the end of the street. That would certainly mean guards, and it wouldn't be wise to go too close.

He had a sudden thought that the scientists might be prisoners on one of the vintas, then rejected it. No vinta they had seen was big enough to serve as a prison, and there had been no sign of the boat the missing men had rented. That could also mean the scientists weren't even on the island. But if not, where could they be?