by Max McCoy
"And the skull?" Ulla asked.
"Lost," Indy said. "After being stolen from me, it passed through several hands, then went down aboard a Nazi submarine. But it's in a waterproof canister which may have bobbed to the surface and drifted away at sea."
"Nobody knows where it is?"
"Someone does," Indy said.
"And this somebody who claims to know where it is—they will tell you, but for a price," Ulla guessed. "So the gold is to pay for this information so you can locate the skull and return it to the jungle in hopes of lifting the curse?"
"Yes," Indy said.
"But if they know where the skull is, why don't they just recover it themselves?" she asked.
"Because that would be double-crossing the Nazis, who have already paid him for it once," Indy said. "It's safer for him to sell the information to me, and then let me risk my neck."
Ulla was silent for a moment.
"It sounds rather unbelievable...."
"Believe what you want," Indy said.
The flames of the campfire danced in Ulla's eyes as she struggled with Indy's story.
"This Englishwoman," she said softly. "Did you ever..."
"Did we ever make love?" Indy asked. "No. It may sound irrational, but I think that is the only thing that kept her alive."
"That is sad," Ulla said. "But your problem is not unique. Sex and death have often been associated in mythology as well as in mental illness."
"You think I'm crazy?"
"No," she answered carefully, "but many people who have had similar problems have responded well to therapy."
"I don't need a psychiatrist," Indy said.
"Of course not," Ulla said. "And you don't have a problem with reality, either. You are the famous Indianapolis Jones, who between discovering lost cities and fighting fascism has labored under a curse that threatens to kill your true love."
"When you put it like that," Indy said, "of course it sounds crazy."
"So what's your point, Mr. Jones?"
"The least you can do is refer to me as Dr. Jones!"
"Exactly," Ulla said.
Indy sprang to his feet.
"I've had enough of this," he said as he tied the blanket around his waist and began to gather his still-wet clothes from where they hung from sticks on the opposite side of the fire. "Thanks for saving my life, sister, but if I stay here another minute I will be nuts."
"Sit down," Ulla said evenly.
"No," Indy said. "I can only take so much."
"Sit down, Mr. Jones," she repeated. "Can't you see that we aren't alone?"
Indy froze.
At the edge of the firelight was a man with a gun. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a mop of black hair, and most of his face was hidden by a beard that was as dense and tangled as a blackberry thicket. The gun was an old single-shot rifle, the kind a farmer would keep to shoot varmints, and its barrel was marred and pitted.
"A lovers' quarrel?" the man growled.
"How long have you been out there?" Indy asked.
"Long enough to hear what I needed to," the man rasped. "Long enough to hear you talk about gold. Now, keep your hands where I can see them."
"Gold?" Indy asked.
"Don't lie," Ulla said. "It's unbecoming. Besides, he obviously knows the truth. You may be prepared to die for your precious gold, but I'm not."
Indy's shoulders slumped.
"Keep 'em up," the man warned. "She's right. I'm liable to kill you both."
"Who are you, mister?" Indy asked. "You don't look like the killing kind."
"You're wrong," the man ranted. "I've crossed some kind of line in my head, like I'm no longer human but some kind of animal. That's what life is about, ain't it? It's taken me forty-three years to learn it, but the name of the game is eat or be eaten."
"Things can't be that bad," Indy ventured. "Surely we can work something out."
"You city fellers are always wanting to work out some kind of deal, ain't ya?" the man asked with disgust in his voice. "I'm just a man who lost his farm to the dust and to the bank. My wife run off with the city feller who served the papers on me. So I said to hell with it, I'm going west. So I spent my last dime on a sorry excuse for a car in Tulsa from a city feller who swore it would take me to California. It quit me three days later in New Mexico. The transmission was filled with sawdust to keep the busted gears quiet until I got out of the state. Since then I've been drifting, and every town I come to the city fellers tell me they have laws against vagrants. So I've been living off the land since then, and this is not exactly the kind of land that'll make you fat. Now, what kind of deal are you going to offer me, city feller?"
"You've had some bad luck, all right," Indy told him, his hands still in the air. "But why don't you put down that squirrel gun, have something to eat, and we'll discuss the situation?"
"I ain't discussin' squat," the man said. He lowered the gun a bit as he looked around at the darkness. "Besides, this place scares me," he said in almost a whisper. "It's full of rattlers and panthers and ghosts. Indians, I reckon. We killed plenty of 'em around here."
"You a religious man?" Indy asked.
"What's that got to do with it?" the man snarled.
"Then you read your Bible, don't you?"
"Of course I've read the Bible," he said.
"Then you know about the wilderness," Indy said. "And about how God uses it to test the hearts of men. That's what he's doing with you, right now. This is your test."
"Ain't no test."
"No?" Indy asked. "You're right about one thing. We do have gold. It's over there in that knapsack. Show it to him, Ulla."
Ulla opened the knapsack and took out one of the ingots.
"Shoot," the man said. "I ain't never seen so much gold in all my life. What am I saying? I've hardly seen any gold."
"This would make you rich."
"I'll be able to sleep in a bed again," the man said wistfully. "With sheets. And have breakfast in the morning. Steak and eggs. Then go to the store and buy myself a new suit."
"You'll be able to do all those things," Indy agreed. "But there's only one catch."
"What's that?"
"You're really going to have to kill us for it."
"Mr. Jones!" Ulla said. "Speak for yourself."
"She's right," Indy said. "All you have to do is kill me."
"Naw," the man said. "I'll have to kill you both so's there'll be no witnesses."
"Okay," Indy agreed. "In that case, it ought to be pretty easy, seeing as how all I have on right now is a towel. No knife. No gun. I'm not even wearing shoes. It may be a little harder to kill her, because she may run. Or, I'm guessing, she'll choose to fight. You had better be pretty quick in reloading that antique. But make no mistake, mister, this is not the hard part."
"It's not?"
"No," Indy said. "The hard part comes when you're sleeping in that big bed, and eating your steak and eggs, and buying your new clothes. Do you think you can do that when you know you're a murderer?"
The man thought for a moment.
"Yeah," he said. "I reckon I can do that."
He took aim at Indy's chest.
"I was afraid he was going to say that," Ulla said.
"What the—"
The barrel of the gun suddenly pitched upward and the rifle fired into the night sky.
The gun had been knocked from the man's hands by an oak staff, swung by a bare-chested wild man with gray shoulder-length hair and a wooden cross around his neck. His eyes were wild and across his throat was a poorly healed scar from long ago. He threw aside the staff, took a well-honed knife from his belt, and scrambled atop the would-be killer. With one hand he grasped the mop of black hair while he raised the blade high with the other, in preparation for a killing blow.
"John Seven Oaks," Indy said.
The blade paused.
"Don't kill him," Indy pleaded.
The wild man looked questioningly over his shoulder. It was enough
to allow his quarry to squirm out from beneath him. The man stumbled to his feet and ran headlong into the darkness, leaving his rifle behind.
The wild man shook his head. He got up, his knife still clasped firmly in his right hand. He pointed toward the running man and made a jerking motion with his knife.
"Yeah, he probably deserved it," Indy agreed. "But now he can tell stories about you at the Pine Springs Cafe. That's better, isn't it?"
The wild man smiled.
"Thank you," Ulla said. "I don't know what—"
"It's a little early for that," Indy cautioned her. "Besides, he can't answer you."
"Who is this fellow?"
Indy told her.
John Seven Oaks walked over to the campfire and inspected the gold bar that lay on the ground. Then he nudged the knapsack with a bare toe, and his eyes took note of the other two ingots.
"What's he doing now?" Ulla asked. "Stealing it for himself?"
"He doesn't have any use for gold, except maybe to protect it," Indy said. "I know, because I saw his footprints in the treasure cave." He paused. "No, I'd say that what he's doing now is deciding whether he should take our heads."
"This is awkward," Ulla observed.
Seven Oaks turned to Indy, made a fist with his free hand, and clutched it against his heart. Then he flung his fist toward the ground.
"What's that mean?" Ulla asked.
"Indian sign language," Indy said. "He says that he is very sad—his heart is upon the ground."
"How do you know that?" she asked.
"I was a Boy Scout."
Seven Oaks pointed to the gold and then held up his hand, palm out and fingers spread, and waggled it very slowly.
"He's asking me why I took the gold," Indy said.
"This ought to be good," Ulla whispered. "If I didn't believe it, how are you going to make him understand?"
"He's not deaf," Indy said. "Just mute. He can understand what you're saying. So just keep still for a minute, will you?"
"I should have left you in the cave." Ulla shook her head in disgust.
"Look," Indy said to Seven Oaks, "I'm trying to fix something. I'm sorry that I can't explain this so that you'll understand it, but I need the gold to fight an evil that has been unleashed, in the world where our hearts dwell."
Seven Oaks crossed his arms and eyed Indy suspiciously, as if to ask what he knew of the place where hearts dwelled.
"All people," Indy continued, "are on the same journey. It is called by many names, but there is only one path. Many stray from the path, many walk in the wrong direction, and many simply stumble with their eyes clos—"
While Indy was speaking, Ulla had crept up, planted her feet, drawn back her fist, and expertly struck a pressure point behind John Seven Oaks's left ear.
The wild man went down in the dirt, unconscious.
"What did you do that for?" Indy asked.
"I'd rather die than listen to that explanation of yours again," she said as she took the knife from Seven Oaks's outstretched hand.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Indy sputtered.
"All good Viking girls learn to fight," she said. "We just avoid it until it is absolutely necessary." Then she felt for a pulse on the side of the bronzed man's neck.
"He's fine," she said. "But he'll be conscious in a few minutes and angry. Let's get out of here while we can."
Slewing behind a plume of red dust, the aging cattle truck wheeled from the county road and pulled up to the entrance of the little airfield on the outskirts of El Paso. The truck bounced through a particularly deep pothole, gave a bone-jarring shudder, then came to a tire-skidding stop in front of the hangar.
Indiana Jones jumped from the staked bed of the truck and landed unsteadily on the ground. The knapsack was slung over one shoulder.
"You in one piece?" the cowboy called from the drivers seat.
"More or less," Indy said as he pulled the rest of the bags from the back of the truck. Then he used his hat to knock the straw and dust from his clothes. The manure stains on the back of his pants, however, resisted being dealt with so easily.
"Mister, you said you were in a hurry," the cowboy said. "And like I said, I like to drive fast and not so straight."
"I can only imagine how well you'd do if you had any springs left in this thing," Indy said. He reached in through the driver's window and shook hands with the cowboy.
"My pleasure," the cowboy said, then jerked his thumb at Ulla, who was sitting in the passengers seat. "It ain't often I have a heifer this pretty ridin' shotgun."
"Thank you," Ulla said with a forced smile. "I think."
"That's quite a compliment," Indy told her. "Judging by the smell in the back, I'd say he's hauled his share of cattle."
Ulla offered the cowboy a five-dollar bill.
"I hope this is enough for your trouble," she said.
"Put your money away, miss." The cowboy tugged at the brim of his ragged straw hat. "It's no good with me."
"Thank you," Ulla said and got out.
"Well, gotta run, amigos. The boss is gonna have my hide when he finds out I've been gone for five hours," the cowboy said. "Adios!"
Indy waved as the truck lurched forward. The driver gave a rebel yell as he wheeled around and tore back down the entrance toward the county road.
"Enthusiastic youngster," Ulla commented. "That will be a ride I won't soon forget."
"Me neither," Indy said. "Every time I swallow, I get a little taste of Texas."
"What kind of place is this?" Ulla squinted against the sun as she took in the hard-packed airfield and the paint-blistered hangar that had obviously been a horse barn in the not-so-distant past. An impressive sign over the office door proclaimed, in red-and-gold letters: WARD BROS AIR CARGO. Beneath was a handwritten addendum: We don't ask questions.
"Do they have regular flights out of here?" Ulla asked. "Can I get a plane back to the East Coast?"
"You see that red-and-silver plane out on the field?" Indy asked.
"Yes."
"That's their flight to the East Coast. Or the west. Or Canada or Mexico, for that matter," he said. "It's the only plane they've got. This is a cargo service run by a bunch of guys that grew up in Erbie, Arkansas. It's not a passenger airline."
"You're kidding," Ulla said.
"I never kid, sister," Indy informed her as he paused at the door of the office. "If you want to fly out of here today, you'll be doing it with me."
"Clarence!" Indy called as he stepped into the office. "Donny! Anybody around here?"
There was a Mason jar on the newspaper-strewn desk. Indy picked it up, swirled around the clear liquid it contained, and sniffed.
"Whew," he said.
"Kerosene?" Ulla asked.
"Just about," Indy said. "Moonshine."
"How quaint," Ulla remarked.
"Prohibition's over, but old habits are apparently hard to break."
Indy stepped through the open door into the hangar. Despite the disarray of the office, the hangar was as orderly as an operating room. Rows of wrenches and other tools hung neatly from pegs. In the center of the room a radial airplane engine was hanging from a hoist, and beside it was a table on which its pistons and connecting rods were laid out in a row.
"It looks deserted," Ulla said.
"Not quite," Indy corrected.
He walked over and kicked a pair of boots that stuck out from beneath the worktable.
"Hey!" came the drowsy reply.
"Get up," Indy ordered. "You've got business."
A big man crawled out from beneath the table. He was about the same age as Indy, and on the breast pocket of his blue coveralls was the name Bob.
"Oh, it's you," the man said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was just resting my eyes, thinking about putting the pins in those pistons."
"Sure you were, Clarence," Indy said. "I've smelled your jar of inspiration in the office."
"Now, I'm not drunk," the man said, slurring his words j
ust a little too much to be convincing. "I just keep that stuff up front for snakebite. You know how thick the critters can get on the field."
"Right," Indy said.
"Your name's Clarence?" Ulla asked. "But your name tag..."
"He's Clarence, regardless of what the label says."
"Now, Indy," Clarence protested. "You know I'd prefer to be called Bob. That's why I put it on my coveralls."
"His middle name is Robert," Indy explained. "For some reason, he doesn't like Clarence. Where's your brother?"
"Donny went down to Juarez," he said. "Won't see him for a couple of days, at least."
Indy shook Clarence's hand. Then he unshouldered the knapsack and lowered it to the concrete floor with a clunk.
"What've you got in there?" Clarence asked. "Bricks?"
"Never mind that right now," Indy said. "I need a favor, old friend."
"Oh no," Clarence said. "When you need a favor it usually means trouble. What is it this time, Jones? You're not talking me into flying something out of the Yucatan again. The last time it took me a week to patch up all the bullet holes."
"This is a no-sweat deal," Indy said. "All you have to do is make a short flight for me."
"For us," Ulla corrected. "You're not leaving me here, Mr. Jones. You've already ruined my research expedition to the Guadalupes, at least while Okies and wild men live."
"Who's after you?" Clarence asked.
"Nobody," Indy said. "Well, nobody since I left Kansas. They think I'm dead."
"Great," Clarence said.
"Look, it was just—"
Clarence held his hand up. "The less I know the better. That way, when somebody threatens to break my fingers, I can tell them I don't know a thing about it. Besides, I can't do it."
"You mean you won't do it," Indy said.
"No, I can't," Clarence repeated, and motioned toward the plane on the field. "I've got this job the day after tomorrow running some oil-well equipment to Mexico City, and the crates have already been loaded on Missy out there."
"No problem," Indy said. "You'll be back in time."
"I've heard that before," Clarence said as he picked up a combination wrench from the table and wiped it moodily with a shop rag. "Two days has a funny way of turning into two weeks with you."
"This will be a piece of cake," Indy said. "Strictly a milk run. Do you have a phone around here?"
