walking.
“ The thing is, he’s got a lot more people than us. I doubt if
it took two, maybe three hours for them.” Up on the right bank, the
white top of the stump and the scattered chips told their own
story.
As their
resident axe expert, Jeremy spoke up.
“ There’s just no way to cut the trunk, not with half of it
underwater like that. That’s like pounding sand. As for the other
end, God. I think that might take a day or two, even with all of us
taking turns.” For much of the work, they’d be standing on the
boat.
Clambering around on the branches was fraught with peril.
Sooner or later, you were going to fall off in the middle of a good
swing. If nothing else, they’d lose their only axe.
With
just the four of them, there was no way they could ever drag and
lift the boat over it. The thoughts of sinking the boat and trying
to work it under in five feet of water weren’t very appealing. They
were all agreed on that. The trunk was a good six feet thick at the
base…they’d picked the perfect tree and the perfect place to do
it.
The
right bank was steep, albeit only about three or four feet high.
The bank on the other side was lost in mangroves and other swamp
trees and the right side looked like a better bet.
“ What do we do now, Professor?” Melody sat patiently in the
back of the boat, although the rudder was useless at this
point.
Drifting
still, oars shipped, the bow hit the log with a soft thump. Mister
Day began fending her off, holding onto the bark, taking the nose
of the boat over to the right so that they could get out and have a
better look.
Fourteen
miles—fourteen long miles, overland, on an equatorial flood-plain
and with thunderstorms hovering all along the western horizon.
Assuming their map was relatively accurate. Assuming his guesses
were accurate.
Uncle
Harry was in the bow as it pushed low branches out the way, finally
hanging up a few feet from shore.
“ Right. How in the hell am I going to get up there.”
“ Hold on, Uncle.” Going to the back of the boat, Jeremy found a
spare piece of rope.
Mrs.
O’Dell and Mister Day clutched at the bark with their
fingers.
“ Okay, hang on.”
Carefully climbing up and onto the dead tree, Jeremy walked
up the gentle slope, grateful for the rough bark and the sheer size
of the thing. He dropped lightly down to the ground when he came to
land.
He swung
the end of the rope out to Uncle Harry and then fed out some
more.
They had
a good grip.
“ Right. Heave, ho, Mister Day.”
***
They
were extremely fortunate to find the trace of an old trail, and
within a hundred yards there were signs of habitation, overgrown
clearings, rotting shacks and bits of modern trash including empty
tins and bottles scattered around old and cold fire
rings.
The
trail got better as they went along.
Half a
mile after that, they came to the first encampment.
There
was an old man, a middle-aged couple, a couple of younger adults
and a gaggle of children wearing shirts, boys and girls alike, but
nothing else. Only the males had shorts, and the old woman, old
before her time perhaps, a proper if rather shapeless dress. They
were all barefoot and utterly fascinated by their
visitors.
Unfortunately, none of them spoke the language although Uncle
Harry knew a handful of words, having picked it up by sheer
osmosis. The most important word was boat, and the second most
important word was money—good pay for a short paddle to Buena
Vista, a name they obviously recognized. The trouble was that they
didn’t have much money on them, but there was a bank in town—a very
small one, but a bank nevertheless.
Every
coin that they had was given up, with Mrs. O’Dell digging around in
the bottom her purse.
Right
about then the ocelot came racing up out of the bushes. There was
quite the free-for-all, with half a dozen people trying to help
Jeremy catch the beast, one or two young men running to get their
spears and one or two of the women
“ The thing is, he’s got a lot more people than us. I doubt if
it took two, maybe three hours for them.” Up on the right bank, the
white top of the stump and the scattered chips told their own
story.
As their
resident axe expert, Jeremy spoke up.
“ There’s just no way to cut the trunk, not with half of it
underwater like that. That’s like pounding sand. As for the other
end, God. I think that might take a day or two, even with all of us
taking turns.” For much of the work, they’d be standing on the
boat.
Clambering around on the branches was fraught with peril.
Sooner or later, you were going to fall off in the middle of a good
swing. If nothing else, they’d lose their only axe.
With
just the four of them, there was no way they could ever drag and
lift the boat over it. The thoughts of sinking the boat and trying
to work it under in five feet of water weren’t very appealing. They
were all agreed on that. The trunk was a good six feet thick at the
base…they’d picked the perfect tree and the perfect place to do
it.
The
right bank was steep, albeit only about three or four feet high.
The bank on the other side was lost in mangroves and other swamp
trees and the right side looked like a better bet.
“ What do we do now, Professor?” Melody sat patiently in the
back of the boat, although the rudder was useless at this
point.
Drifting
still, oars shipped, the bow hit the log with a soft thump. Mister
Day began fending her off, holding onto the bark, taking the nose
of the boat over to the right so that they could get out and have a
better look.
Fourteen
miles—fourteen long miles, overland, on an equatorial flood-plain
and with thunderstorms hovering all along the western horizon.
Assuming their map was relatively accurate. Assuming his guesses
were accurate.
Uncle
Harry was in the bow as it pushed low branches out the way, finally
hanging up a few feet from shore.
“ Right. How in the hell am I going to get up there.”
“ Hold on, Uncle.” Going to the back of the boat, Jeremy found a
spare piece of rope.
Mrs.
O’Dell and Mister Day clutched at the bark with their
fingers.
“ Okay, hang on.”
Carefully climbing up and onto the dead tree, Jeremy walked
up the gentle slope, grateful for the rough bark and the sheer size
of the thing. He dropped lightly down to the ground when he came to
land.
He swung
the end of the rope out to Uncle Harry and then fed out some
more.
They had
a good grip.
“ Right. Heave, ho, Mister Day.”
***
They
were extremely fortunate to find the trace of an old trail, and
within a hundred yards there were signs of habitation, overgrown
clearings, rotting shacks and bits of modern trash including empty
tins and bottles scattered around old and cold fire
rings.
The
trail got better as they went along.
Half a
mile after that, they came to the first encampment.
There
was an old man, a middle-aged couple, a couple of younger adults
and a gaggle of children wearing shirts, boys and girls alike, but
nothing else. Only the males had shorts, and the old woman, old
before her time perhaps, a proper if rather shapeless dress. They
were all barefoot and utterly fascinated by their
visitors.
Unfortunately, none of them spoke the language although Uncle
Harry knew a handful of words, having picked it up by sheer
osmosis. The most important word was boat, and the second most
important word was money—good pay for a short paddle to Buena
Vista, a name they obviously recognized. The trouble was that they
didn’t have much money on them, but there was a bank in town—a very
small one, but a bank nevertheless.
Every
coin that they had was given up, with Mrs. O’Dell digging around in
the bottom her purse.
Right
about then the ocelot came racing up out of the bushes. There was
quite the free-for-all, with half a dozen people trying to help
Jeremy catch the beast, one or two young men running to get their
spears and one or two of the women
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