The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 55

"Certainly. I had better go and make sure"

Before we went on, I turned for another look at the desolate valley behind us and at the cliff that bounded its northern side. The rickety scaffold and those on it were fully exposed to anyone who might be lying in hiding behind the tumbled rocks on the top.

"You and your men are still armed, I observe," I said.

"And will be," Cyrus said grimly. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked up "Yep, that would be a good spot for a lookout. I'll send one of the boys, if you'll go back and sit down."

He gave me no opportunity to argue, picking me up and walking with long strides back to the rug. Emerson was already on the scaffold and Rene was climbing up to join him. Both, I was relieved to observe, wore safety ropes

The sun rose higher and the shade shrank. Cyrus's foresight had provided even for that, his men rigged a little shelter, with piled-up rocks and canvas stretched over it. By the time the men stopped for food and rest, the temperature was well into the nineties. Of them all, Rene appeared most exhausted, which was no wonder, since he had been on the scaffold in the boiling sun for several hours.

As the long afternoon wore on without incident, the uneasiness with which I had faced the day ought to have lessened Instead it mounted, hour by slow hour, until every inch of my skin felt raw and exposed.

I was surprised and relieved when Emerson announced that we would stop for the day. It lacked several hours till sunset: I had expected he would go on, as he always did, until the last possible moment.

The announcement was greeted with a universal sigh of thankfulness. Hands on his hips, fresh as ever, Emerson swept scornful eyes over his sweating subordinates and scowled at Kevin, who was reclining gracefully at Bertha's feet.

"Tomorrow you can employ your detectival talents elsewhere," he announced. "You are a nuisance, Mr. O'Connell, listening to you groan and complain distracts me, and unless I miss my guess, you are on the verge of heat prostration. The rest of you aren't much better. We may as well go back."

Ordinarily the dry baking heat of my beloved Egypt is much more to my taste than the climate of my native heath I may have had a little temperature that afternoon. However, I am more inclined to believe that it was nervousness-for Emerson, not myself-that made me feel so warm and miserable. That sensation lessened as we started on the homeward path I had for once been in error, the danger I expected had not materialized. I reminded myself that it was perfectly in character for Emerson to be distracted from threats to life and limb by an archaeological discovery, but I felt sure he had not abandoned, only postponed, whatever underhanded scheme he had in mind. I would have to watch him closely that night.

Musing thus, endeavoring to antic.i.p.ate Emerson's next move, lethargic from heat, lulled by the ambling pace of the donkey, I fell into a kind of waking doze. I was not asleep. The donkey must have stumbled, or I would not have come close to pitching head-foremost off its back. A hand at once steadied me, blinking, I saw Cyrus's face beside me. "Hang on a little longer, my dear," he said. "We are halfway home."

I looked around. To my right the village of El Til huddled among the palm trees. A faint breeze from the river carried the scent of the cooking fires. The swollen molten orb of the sun hung low over the western cliffs,- Akhenaton's G.o.d, the living Aton, was about to leave the world to darkness and a sleep like death. But he would rise again as he had risen thousands upon thousands of times, to fill every land with his love and waken every living creature to praise his coming.

I am often given to poetic fancies. I could have wished they had not come upon me at that particular time, however. They cost me several precious seconds.

Bertha rode beside me, silent as a statue. The donkeys had drawn ahead of the weary men. I saw them coming along behind us in a ragged procession. Kevin was among the last stragglers, his fiery hair blazed in the rays of the declining sun. Charlie walked beside him, slowing his steps to those of his limping friend. Rene . .

I s.n.a.t.c.hed the reins from Cyrus and brought the poor donkey to a sudden halt. "Where is he?" I cried. "Where is Emerson?"

"He is coming," Cyrus answered. "Just behind. He and Abdullah stopped to- "

"Abdullah. I don't see him either. Or your two guards. Or the cat!"

The truth, the terrible truth, struck like a bolt of electricity. "Curse you, Cyrus," I cried. "How dare you?

I will never forgive you for this!"

I much regretted having to knock him down, but I would never have got away from him otherwise. He was trying to pull the reins from my hand when my parasol struck his arm away. In avoiding a second blow he tripped over his feet and fell. I dug my heels into the donkey's side.

I think it was my scream of pain that inspired the donkey to rapid motion, I had forgotten I was wearing only a slipper on the injured foot. Since no one but the donkey could hear me I allowed myself to use a few expressions I had learned from Emerson. They helped to relieve my feelings, but not a great deal.

They had all conspired against me- Cyrus, Abdullah, and of course Emerson. It was small consolation to know that it had taken all three to get the better of me. How long had they been planning this? Since the previous night, at least, the expedition today had been designed only to put me off the track and wear me out so that by the end of that long tiring day my vigilance would relax. I ground my teeth.

What a dastardly, unsportsmanlike trick!

I have never struck an animal and I did not do so on this occasion. The sound of my voice crying "Yalla! Yallal" was spur enough. Ears back, the little donkey thundered on at a speed it had probably never attained before. Like all the donkeys on all my expeditions, it had been given good care since it came into my hands, and now kindness had borne useful fruit, as the Scripture a.s.sures us it must.

As I rode I strained my eyes in the hope of seeing a moving form among the foothills. I saw nothing, the uneven terrain offered ample opportunity for concealment, and his dusty clothing would blend with the pale shade of the rocks. He had gone that way, I felt certain, following the curve of the bow while the rest of the group headed straight south along the royal road. I could only guess at his ultimate destination, but I knew his purpose as clearly as if I had heard him proclaim it. Somehow, by some means that eluded me, he had arranged for an encounter with our deadly enemy.

I hoped to head him off before he got to wherever he was going. The donkeys had walked slowly, Emerson's pace could equal theirs, even over rough ground. By cutting across the plain at an angle, I intended my path to intersect his, not at the point where I judged he must be at this moment, but at some point ahead of where he would be when I arrived. He could not be far from his intended destination now even Emerson would not be fool enough to tackle such a dangerous foe in darkness. At least Abdullah was with him, and two armed men. Perhaps the situation was not so desperate as I had feared. Nevertheless, I did not regret my action. Emerson's impulsive nature requires the restraint of a cooler individual.

I expected there would be pursuit, but I did not look back. My eyes were fixed on the cliffs, which were rapidly drawing nearer, and as I realized where I was headed a hand seemed to grip my heart and squeeze it. To the left a row of dark rectangles broke the glowing pink of the sunset-brightened cliffs. They were the entrances to the northern tombs, the final resting places of the n.o.bles of Akhenaton's court. To the right, not far distant, was the entrance to the royal wadi. Was it that ill-omened place Emerson had selected for the setting of the last act of the drama?

No, it was not. The entrance was some distance away when I saw him. For once he was wearing his pith helmet, so even the distinctive black hair was concealed. It was a cloud of smoke that betrayed his presence. Perched comfortably on a rock, he was smoking his pipe and watching my approach. Perched comfortably on a nearby rock was the cat Anubis, watching Emerson. On the ground at Emerson's feet was a rifle.

Rising, he brought the donkey to a stop by tearing the reins out of my hand. " 'Ubiquitous' is certainly one word for you," he said. " 'Inopportune' is another that comes to mind."

I was not deceived by the calm of his voice, for it had the low purring note that indicates Emerson's really serious rages, as opposed to his little fits of temper. His eyes moved from my face to that of the rider who was bearing down upon us. Cyrus must have taken Bertha's donkey. I hoped he had not whipped the poor thing, to come so fast.

"Can't I trust you to carry out the simplest a.s.signment, Vandergelt?" Emerson inquired.

Cyrus dismounted. "I will tie her to the donkey. Hold her hands while- "

I brandished my parasol. "The first man who lays a hand on me or the donkey- "

"It is too late," Emerson said. "He, or one of his men, is behind that ridge just north of us. There is another one to the south. It is a safe a.s.sumption that they are armed, and you would be a tempting target on the open plain. He let you approach unharmed so that he could gather us all into his little trap before he pulled the strings tight."

He rose to his feet, stretching. "Get down," I exclaimed.

"Neither of them can get us in their line of fire without exposing themselves to Abdullah or one of Vandergelt's men," Emerson said. "That was one reason I selected this spot. Another reason . . ." He turned. "Behind that little spur of rock there is the entrance to a cave. When I first discovered it some years ago I thought it might be a tomb, but it was never- "

The sharp crack of a rifle interrupted his lecture and cast some doubt on the accuracy of his a.s.sessment of our present situation. Stone chips spattered down from the cliff. Some must have struck the poor donkey, with a terrified bray he bolted, tearing the reins from my hand. The other donkey followed. Pausing only long enough to s.n.a.t.c.h up the rifle, Emerson ran, pushing me ahead of him.

Behind the spur of rock he had indicated there gaped not one but a dozen cracks and fissures, at least three of which were wide enough to admit a human form. Through one of these, which appeared no different from the others, Emerson propelled me. Cyrus was close behind.

The s.p.a.ce within was roughly circular and approximately ten feet in diameter. It narrowed toward the back like a runnel and went on into darkness,- how far, I could not see.

Emerson whirled to face Cyrus. "Abdullah was supposed to be covering that fellow," he said in an ominous growl. "Where are your men, Vandergelt?"

A series of shots struck the cliff face nearby. There was no answering fire.

Emerson drew a long breath. "Well, well. I suppose this weapon you kindly lent me . . . ? Yes, I see.

One bullet in the chamber. A poetic touch, that. I ought to use it on you."

Cyrus stepped forward till the muzzle of the gun touched his breast. The light was almost gone, I could see only their outlines as they faced one another. "That is not important now," Cyrus said coolly. "What matters- " He gestured at me.

"Hmmm, yes." Emerson leaned the rifle against the wall and flexed his hands. "There is another way out of here."

"What?" Cyrus cried eagerly.

"Oh, come, man, you don't suppose I would be stupid enough to lead us into a dead end? I had this in mind as a bolt-hole in case my plans went awry. Which," Emerson said caustically, "they certainly have done. The trouble is, the exit tunnel is very narrow. I barely made it through last time. We can only hope it has not been blocked further since."

"What are we waiting for, then?" I demanded. I had not spoken before because my brain was reeling under the impact of the dreadful implications Emerson's speech had contained. Why had not Abdullah and Cyrus's two men returned the fire of our attackers? The rifles all belonged to Cyrus had the one he had given Abdullah also been rendered ineffective? The suggestion of treachery, from the man I had considered a dear and trusted friend, was almost too much to bear.

That treachery had not been directed against me, for Cyrus had not antic.i.p.ated I would be present.

I knew only too well what motive he might have for wishing to betray Emerson.

But this was not the time for retribution. We were all in peril now, escape was the most important consideration. How glad I was that I had rushed to Emerson's side! "What are we waiting for?"

I repeated.