by Catt Ford
“Get on.”
Before Henry was ready, Dingo had pulled the knife out in one swift, clean jerk. Henry gasped and bit his lip, feeling the surge of blood rush from the wound.
Dingo straightened up and sawed through the rope that bound Henry to the tree. “You’ll have to stop the bleeding. I’ll help all I can—”
“It’s all right,” Henry said soothingly. “I can handle it.” He took the knife, shiny with his own blood, and sliced through the leg of his trousers above the wound. He twisted the cloth and wrapped it around his thigh as both bandage and tourniquet.
“We’d better get going,” Dingo said regretfully. “No telling what Hodges will do next, and he has a gun. Once we’re clear, I know some plants—”
“What do you think he’ll do next?” Henry asked and took a step, staggering a bit when a sharp pain stabbed through his leg.
“He’ll come after us. His obsession, whatever it is, amounts to a monomania, and he can’t let us get back to Hobart to tell our tale. After all, he attacked us without provocation,” Dingo said. “It would be two against one this time.”
Henry stopped limping and put his arms around Dingo. “I thought he’d killed you.”
“I’m a bit harder than that to knock off,” Dingo boasted, but his eyes were filled with emotion.
Their lips met in a quiet kiss of reassurance and thankfulness that they were both alive and together again. Henry pulled away and rested his forehead against Dingo’s. “What do we do now?”
“Come on, we need to fix you up first, you can’t go romping through the forest bleeding like a stuck pig,” Dingo said, putting his good arm around Henry’s waist and pulling him away from the clearing.
“And you,” Henry said. “Is there anything left of our camp?”
“Yes. I’ll bet that’s where Hodges is headed to wait for us to show up,” Dingo said grimly. “But we have to risk it. We need a gun.”
“I found Hodges’s camp, and his guides… have decamped.” Henry bit his lip. “Dingo, I think he killed one of them—maybe both—I came across the body—lashed to a tree—”
“Damn. He’s gotten more reckless than I suspected.” Dingo helped Henry limp along and waited for his partner to say something.
“Reckless?” Henry asked. “He should be in Bedlam.” He noticed Dingo staring at him. “What is it?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me you told me so?”
Henry chuckled painfully. “Do I have to?”
“No, you were right. I suppose I just got used to him.”
“I don’t think I can go much further,” Henry said. He was suddenly feeling unutterably weary, but he chuckled with the sheer pleasure of seeing Dingo again, feeling his arm, warm and strong around him after believing him to be dead.
“Sorry, love, I should have thought—” Dingo led Henry to a fallen tree, helping him down to sit. “I have to get my hands on a gun. You stay here; I’ll be right back.”
“What if Hodges comes back and I’m sitting here like a rabbit blinded by headlights?”
“I don’t think he’ll suspect we would come here, but point well taken. We’ll find you a hideout, where you must wait for me,” Dingo said. He paused. “Could you shoot him if you saw him?”
Henry’s face was troubled as he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, it’s probably a moot point anyway, seeing as we don’t have a gun. He’s probably licking his wounds and contemplating his next move. I did manage to get in one or two good punches. He squealed like a little girl before he gave me the slip,” Dingo said. He gave Henry a hand up.
Henry couldn’t prevent himself from dragging his leg a bit. The pain was made worse by the haunting dread that taking care of him could make Dingo vulnerable to Hodges. Henry didn’t think the government agent had given up that easily. Dingo seemed to know Henry was flagging. He led the way into a clump of ferns that clustered at the base of a tall tree. “I’m sorry, this is the best I can do for now.”
Henry peered through the green leaves. They were so dense he couldn’t see past them. “I’ll be fine here, Dingo.”
“Look, we only have one knife between us. Have you ever thrown a knife before?” Dingo asked.
“No, have you?”
“Of course,” Dingo said, as if it were a primary skill taught in Australian schools.
“It must be an Aussie thing. Hodges was pretty good with it,” Henry said, grimacing as Dingo helped him slide down the tree to sit on the ground.
“Not as good as I am,” Dingo bragged.
“How are you going to throw a knife with your left hand? I’m pretty sure you’ve a fracture at the least,” Henry protested.
“I’ll manage. Trust me. I’ll be back soon. Just wait for me here. Stay put, I need to know where you are when I’m on the move.”
“Go.”
“I’ll hurry.”
Henry nodded wearily. The throbbing in his leg made him feel he couldn’t take another step right now anyway, at least without the provocation of imminent danger. “I’ll wait for you right here.”
The flash of Dingo’s grin showed he appreciated the faint humor, and he hurried off, making far less noise than the two of them had while struggling together. Henry allowed the tension to drain from his muscles. At least blood was no longer running down his leg, but he knew that before long, the carnivores of the jungle would scent the dried blood on his trousers, and he would become an object of intense interest. Much as he longed for another glimpse of the tiger, he vastly preferred to view the animal from other than the position of potential prey.
His head sagged and then jerked up at a sudden sound. Henry felt he owed it to Dingo not to nod off in comfort while the other man was doing all the work in what had become a struggle for their own survival. Suddenly, he wondered at the wisdom of simply giving up and sitting amongst these ferns to await Dingo’s return. What if he didn’t return? At this point Henry had little hope of getting out of the jungle on his own, without a compass or having to elude Hodges.
A sudden rush of adrenaline energized Henry. He stood up and looked around. The rustling noises that had ceased with their arrival were beginning to manifest again.
He realized that he’d been stupid to buy Dingo’s story of going after the gun. It must have been the pain that clouded his head, for he knew now, as clearly as if Dingo had laid out his plan, that he had gone to track Hodges down, to put a stop to him.
With a surge of energy he’d thought was beyond him, Henry started away from his haven, keeping under the cover of the trees as much as he could, and headed toward their camp.
Fear for Dingo lent him strength, and he was barely limping in his effort to close the distance between them.
The murderous plan that would have horrified him only weeks ago seemed reasonable, if savage, considering the malign intent Hodges had revealed to him. A bullet to the brain seemed a clean end compared to what Hodges had designed for his own death, but Henry could not reconcile it with his conscience to force that solution onto Dingo. He must not bear the burden of this by himself; they were partners. And if Hodges had to die that they might live, Henry would shoulder his share of this burden.
He knew that he was going in the right direction. There was no trail he could see, but he had learned enough from Dingo that he’d begun to notice the different shapes of the trees. The forest was no longer an indecipherable green maze to him. He recognized the rock that looked like a kangaroo, and the gum tree with the dead branch hung up in it. Ahead of him lay the sheltered spot where they had made camp.
He peered through the dripping veil of foliage and saw Dingo bent over, searching through their scattered belongings. There was no sign of Hodges. He paused, listening, but there was no sound other than that of the birds and faint noises Dingo made as he picked up the pistol.
Henry stepped out from under the trees. “Dingo.”
Dingo stood up, his face grey when he saw Henry. “What are you doing here?”<
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“I came to help you.”
Their voices were barely above a whisper. “I don’t need help,” Dingo said. He hurried to Henry and forced his fingers around the butt of the gun.
“This isn’t safe. You must come away,” Henry insisted, unable to explain the source of his unease.
Dingo bent down again to pick up a box of cartridges. “I haven’t found the compass yet. We need it.”
“Not if we stick together—” Henry stopped speaking, listening to decipher whatever the sound had been, for it was not one he’d become attuned to during their expedition.
It was the click of metal on metal.
Dingo opened his mouth to argue, but Henry froze, sensing movement in the jungle beyond him, before snapping, “Get down!”
Instead of obeying, Dingo’s head whipped around, and he found himself staring into the end of a rifle barrel with Hodges’s grinning face behind it.
“I might have known I would find you two perverse lovebirds together.” Hodges licked his lips, looking at Henry. “I’ve been sitting here waiting for you. You’re late.”
Dingo leaped for him, and Hodges’s rifle blazed fire from the end of the barrel at the same time that Henry raised his gun and put a bullet unerringly between Hodges’s eyes, without thinking about anything other than saving Dingo’s life.
Henry stood there trembling, his arm straight out in front of him holding the smoking gun, unable to turn away from Hodges’s body, staring sightlessly at the sky with three eyes instead of two.
Dingo shakily got back onto his feet and came to him, gently prying the gun loose from his fingers. “You did what you had to, Henry. It was him or us.” He put his arm around Henry and turned him away. “Let’s get going. The devils will take care of him.”
Henry came to himself with a start. “He shot you!”
“He shot at me and missed. He was always a lousy shot,” Dingo said soothingly.
“Your wrist—”
“It’s fine, Dash.” Dingo grimaced at the weight of the gun, and Henry took it from him, putting it into his pocket.
“I’ll splint it for you.”
“Right. There are some dry sticks over this way.”
Henry realized Dingo was trying to get them moving away from Hodges’s body. Suddenly he felt he couldn’t put enough distance between them and the man who had hunted them so relentlessly. “All right, let’s go.” The burden of taking another man’s life weighed upon him heavily, even though he knew he had to do it in order to save Dingo. That didn’t make it any easier, though. He saw the hole appear in Hodges’s forehead again and replayed the body falling soundlessly to the forest floor. Did he look like he had been surprised at being bettered in the end? Henry could barely see him, all he did was keep falling again and again.
“Come on, Dash,” Dingo prodded him.
Henry shook his head clear, pushing away the vision although he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to keep it at bay. He attempted not to limp, but all at once his wounded leg felt swollen and hot. He was grateful for the tourniquet but wondered how far they would make it in their battered state. “I found Hodges’s camp. I can take you there.”
“Blind leading the blind, eh?” Dingo grinned. “Might as well take advantage of the set-up Hodges left behind. We’ll sleep in comfort tonight before the trek back.”
Henry smiled but shook his head; sometimes it was still uncanny to him how Dingo seemed able to read his thoughts.
A sudden noise behind them and a blood-curdling shriek reminded Henry why they needed to keep moving, before full darkness fell.
“Devils found him,” Dingo said matter-of-factly. “They’ll take care of the evidence.”
“If only every criminal had a clean-up crew like that.”
“Henry, don’t do that to yourself.”
Henry repented at he looked at Dingo’s haggard face. They had enough to contend with to ensure their own survival; he didn’t need to berate himself right now. There would be plenty of time for penance later.
“He was camped by the river, like you said he would.” Henry quickly described the general direction.
“Are you sure you can make it that far? I should have—” Dingo cut himself off.
Stealing a glance at his lover, Henry felt a glad little leap of his heart at Dingo’s thundercloud expression. “I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”
They hobbled through the underbrush, making more noise than they should have, but with both of them injured, it was tough going. Henry led Dingo to the Tenna River, and Dingo had to chuckle wearily when he saw the quantity of equipment Hodges had lugged along with him. Even with the guides, it had to have been hard going. “Too close to the water. Typical.”
“There’s one guide unaccounted for. He’s likely to come back here, you know,” Henry pointed out.
“Not if he witnessed what Hodges did to the other guide.” Dingo shook his head and smiled, trying to distract Henry. “Hodges sure liked to travel in style. How do you fancy tinned corned beef for dinner?”
Henry hobbled to a folding camp chair that Hodges had left by the firepit and sank into it with a sigh. “I don’t care. I could eat a—a roasted tarantula.”
“Too bad, no tarantulas here, or I’d have a shot at catching one for you.” Dingo bent to enter the tent, and Henry heard him grunt in satisfaction. He backed out, gingerly holding a loaded pistol in his injured hand and dragging a lumpy pack behind him. “Tins of food,” he said briefly. “I’ll make a fire.”
“Let me take care of your wrist first,” Henry said.
Dingo sighed wearily. “Yeah, I could use a sit down too.” A flash of his old impudence showed momentarily as he grinned at Henry. “What’ll it be? The other leg of your trousers or a sleeve from your shirt to bind me up? I’d like to see a bit more skin.”
Henry snorted with laughter, wondering how he could laugh so soon after killing a man. “Well, seeing as I’ve already given up one leg, how about giving up a bit of your shirt?” He dragged himself to his feet, waving a hand hospitably at the stool.
“Done!” Dingo let himself down gingerly on the camp chair, holding his injured wrist. “At least the sleeve.”
Henry found several straight branches and carried them back to where Dingo was sitting. Dingo reached up with his good arm and steadied Henry so he could sit in front of him, ignoring the pain from his wound for the moment. Henry stretched his wounded leg out in front of him and let out a sigh. Taking out the knife, he trimmed the branches of twigs and bark till he had smooth sticks to work with.
“All right, let’s see to that wrist.” Henry used the knife to cut off Dingo’s sleeve, and tore it into strips.
Dingo held his arm out. “Just give it a yank, and the bones will go back into place.”
“I know that’s quicker, but if you can bear it, I can do it with less trauma to the surrounding tissue.” Henry’s slender fingers caressed Dingo’s swollen wrist, probing gently to feel the fracture.
“Do what you must.” Dingo set his teeth, determined not to cry out.
Henry massaged his wrist, manipulating the bone and gently pushing it back into place.
It hurt Dingo, but not like a brutal yank would have done. He worried his lower lip between his teeth as he watched Henry’s face, totally absorbed in his task. “Where did you learn to do this?”
“My grandfather was a doctor,” Henry replied. “Sometimes I used to help him.”
“Really?”
“Well, I’m sure I wasn’t that much help, but he would let me roll bandages and sterilize his instruments,” Henry said, smiling. “He showed me a few things, though.”
“He sounds like a kind man.”
“He was. He was very kind to me.”
“He liked having you around.” Dingo smiled at the surprised expression on Henry’s face as he looked up from his task. “Most men wouldn’t take the time to show a boy how to do their job if they didn’t like him.”
“Th
ank you for that.” Henry returned to his work, feeling when the ends of the bone were properly in place. “You’re lucky Hodges fractured this cleanly, although I’m sure it wasn’t his intention.” He reached for his splints, holding them in place as he tied the strips of Dingo’s sleeve around them.
“Your granddad doesn’t sound like your father.”
“He was my mother’s father,” Henry said. “A country doctor.”
“I thought your father was titled.”
“He is. My mother married well.” Henry’s smile was bitter. “She was ashamed of her father and didn’t want us spending time with him. My brother didn’t care about him much, but I loved him.”
“You take after him,” Dingo said.
That surprised Henry. “I’d never thought of that before, but I suppose that I do.”
“A kind man,” Dingo said pointedly.
Henry knew what he was about, and it touched him. He yawned. “How far must we go tonight?”
Dingo shook his head dismally. “I think we’d better tuck ourselves into a hole and get some rest. I’m no good for too much more. If we’re going to make it out of here, we’ll need to filch what’s left of Hodges’s supplies or some other tucker.”
“At least there’s water.” Henry made a cup of bark and limped to where he heard a trickle of water, knowing he’d be unable to balance at the edge of the river to scoop water out. He bent to drink from the rill directly before filling the cup and bringing it back to Dingo.
“I should have gotten that. Your leg—”
“I’m no flipping pansy,” Henry joked. “Are we going to stay here, then?”
“Might as well, for tonight.”
Henry nodded. He was too tired to think about eating. Dingo seemed even wearier, and he wanted to take care of him.
Without speaking, they seemed to be of one mind that they would not sleep in the tent. Henry pulled out the ground cloth and spread it under an old gum tree where the roots seemed to form a cozy half circle that enveloped them in a welcome embrace.
Henry put his arm around Dingo and pulled him closer to rest his head against his chest. He stretched his throbbing leg out in front of him and leaned back against the tree.
