The High Fire
The Celebes Sea was dark, with a low swell but no chop. There was just
enough wind to fill the vinta's sail, which suited Rick. At this stage
in the proceedings he was more concerned about silence and safety than
speed. Zircon and Scotty had moved another mile seaward as soon as the
vinta was launched. That was to avoid anyone on the island hearing the
engines in case a sudden onshore wind came up.
Up ahead, Chahda was a dark blur against the sail, trimming it for
maximum efficiency. Presently the Hindu boy came back to the tiller and
sat down near Rick.
Shan's volcanic cone blotted out the stars ahead. There were no lights
of any kind on the mountain itself, and the number of lights in the
village was gradually diminishing.
The water splashed a little under the rudder, and the cordage holding
the mast and sail creaked as a vagrant breeze caught the vinta.
Otherwise, there was no sound. Once a fish jumped nearby, and Rick was
halfway to his feet, hand going to the pistol at his belt, before he
realized what it was. He smiled at his own tenseness.
Rick wiped moist palms on the thighs of his tight pants and strained to
see the first sign of the beach on which he and Chahda would land.
Chahda, according to plan, moved to the bow of the Moro craft in order
to keep a lookout.
The timing was all right, Rick thought. There were still lights in the
village, but not many. Early, when too many pirates were out of doors,
would not be a good time. Later, when perhaps only guards were moving
around, would be even worse. They had tried to time their reconnaissance
for an in-between period, and it looked as though the selection of the
hour was good. Most villagers were in bed, but enough kerosene lamps and
candles burned to show that the two of them probably would not attract
special attention by being out so late.
Chahda came back and whispered, "We drop sail now."
"Okay." Rick was careful to keep his voice at a whisper. He knew sound
carried across the water.
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 shore, and in a moment the vinta's bow grated on sand. Chahda
jumped to shore, 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 cock 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 masses. 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 mass 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 shore.
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 hoarsely, "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 shore. 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?
Chahda's hand on his arm stopped Rick. He saw that they had nearly
completed their inspection of this particular street. The masts of
vintas and the sheen of water among the pirate craft were visible
directly ahead.
He put his lips close to Chahda's ear and whispered, "Let's cut west,
through the houses."
Rick's idea was to go through the quadrant of town they were now
traversing, until he saw the waterfront on the west. Then they could
cross the street that he pictured as the stem of the "T" and turn back
toward the mountain, going through the town on the other side. That way,
if any trouble developed, they would be only a few yards from the
cornfield, and could certainly lose themselves until Zircon and Scotty
could come roaring in.
They passed under a lighted house, and through the split bamboo floor
laths they could see two men drinking _basi_, or some other native
beverage, from sections of bamboo. Now and then the two men talked in
casual, drowsy tones.
Nowhere was there a sign of guards until Rick and Chahda passed
completely through the village and emerged under the great branches of a
mango tree. Ahead of them was a field of grain, probably millet, and
beyond it was the western shore of the island. As they watched, two men
walked along the shore toward each other, met, chatted for a moment,
then turned and walked away from each other again.
"Guards," Rick said softly. "Walking their patrols along the beach."
It was as he suspected. The two guards, patrolling the beach, could see
everything that offered danger by walking from where they had met to
points roughly halfway around the island.
"Maybe they see us in the vinta," Chahda whispered. "But maybe they no
think much about it."
Rick thought he might be right, but the greater probability was that
they hadn't been seen at all, especially if they had approached the
shore while the guards were walking toward each other near the western
end of the island.
"We'll be a little more cautious on the way back," Rick returned softly.
"Is so," Chahda agreed. "What we do now?"
Rick motioned toward the street that led from the volcano to the western
shore. "Cross that and look at the houses on the other side. Come on."
With a quick look around to be sure no one was watching, or showing any
undue interest in them, he moved out from the shadow of the mango tree
and headed past the irregularly placed houses to where the wide strip of
yellow dust marked the street.
They reached the street's edge without incident, and paused for another
quick look before crossing. As Rick glanced up the street a flicker of
yellow high in the air caught his eye. He lifted his head and stared
directly at it. A fire! It was high up on the face of the cliff behind
the village, where they couldn't have seen it from the street under the
cliff.
He wondered. Was it a beacon for pirates who might be out in the vintas?
Apparently it was on a shelf of some sort more than a hundred feet above
the village.
Then, as he watched, a tall, thin figure passed in front of the fire and
was silhouetted briefly against the flames.
He grabbed for Chahda. That was no Moro, not with those long legs and
arms! And no Moro on this island would wear thick glasses, from which
the firelight had glinted momentarily.
That was Howard Shannon!