Behind Mt. Baldy by Christopher Cummings Page A

blood on his lips and at the
back of his throat. He ignored it.
    “Come on,” he said, leading the
way down onto the road.
    The four walked quickly but
cautiously forward to where the vehicles had been parked. Roger stopped, looked
down the side track then scanned the ground. “Both vehicles have gone down
there,” he murmured, pointing to where the wheel tracks showed in the dust.
    “I wonder if they dropped
anything else? ” Peter asked.
    Their eyes quartered the ground.
There was nothing. Roger walked across to get a better look down the side road.
It went gently downhill along the spine of the ridge but curved to the left
fifty metres on. There was no-one in sight and no sound.  He began walking
down it.
    “Roger! Where are you going?”
Stephen called after him.
    Roger turned and hissed
furiously. “Ssh! They’ll hear you. I’m going to see what they’re up to.”
    “Don’t be a fool!  What
about our hike?” Stephen replied angrily.
    “Bugger the hike. It can wait.
This is more important,” Roger replied.
    “Shouldn’t we go and tell the
police?” Peter temporised.
    “Tell them what? We haven’t seen what
these blokes are up to,” Roger replied.
    Graham looked at his watch. “Two
o’clock. We should be getting on,” He said. Then he added, “Besides, I’m not at
all keen to go looking for armed men in the jungle.”
    To Roger it appeared that
Graham’s sense of responsibility was warring with his spirit of adventure.
“Just a little look,” Roger replied.
    “We promised Captain Conkey we’d
keep out of trouble,” Graham replied. “I’m the senior don’t forget and I’m
responsible for your safety.”
    “Why don’t two of us stay here
and watch while two walk back to the Forestry Barracks to contact the police?”
Peter suggested.
    Graham hesitated. He bit his lip
in indecision.
    “I’ll stay and watch,” Roger
said.
    “So will I ,”
Stephen replied.
    Graham gave in. “Alright. Pete
and I will go back. If we don’t meet you here then we will RV on top of the
hill where our gear is. And for God’s sake don’t let them see you.”
    “We won’t. Get going. Hurry up,”
Roger replied.
    Graham and Peter turned and set
off at a brisk walk. Stephen turned to Roger. “Where will we hide, up on the
bank?”
    “I’m going to follow this track
for a bit, just to see where it leads,” Roger replied.
    “Roger! You said we would hide
and watch.”
    “I will too. I don’t want to be
seen,” Roger replied. He glanced around.  Graham and Peter had vanished
from sight. ‘It will take them about twenty minutes to reach the Forestry
Barracks, so I have perhaps twice that long,’ he calculated. Now he was gripped
by an intense curiosity. ‘I just have to know!’ he told himself. After a check
of his watch he started walking cautiously along the track.
    “Roger!” Stephen hissed, fear
evident on his face and in his voice.
    “You stay here and hide if you
want to,” Roger replied in an angry whisper. He wiped sweaty palms and
swallowed. His throat felt suddenly dry. He knew he was scared. He also knew he
was being stupid but he couldn’t stop himself. So he continued walking.
    Stephen swore quietly and began
to follow. They moved slowly and carefully, scouting as they had been trained
to do. Their eyes searched through the undergrowth ahead, then flicked down to
scan for dead sticks in their path. There was a fair amount of leaf-litter but
otherwise the track was clear.
    On either side of the track the
ground dropped steeply away. Some of the jungle was very thick. In other places
it was relatively open. Roger strained his ears but could only hear the normal
jungle noises; wind in the leaves, an occasional bird, a few rustles in the
leaves as lizards scurried away. The most obvious noise was his own heartbeat which
seemed to boom like jungle drums. Roger swallowed. He was very scared. But he
couldn’t turn and go back now. ‘Stephen will despise me even more if I do,’