Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs

by Max McCoy

  Indy leaned out of the window of the truck.

  "Granger, you drive like a madman."

  "I had to," Granger returned, clenching the stem of his pipe between his tobacco-stained teeth. "I was terrified because I knew you were behind me. Are we ready to cross over?"

  "I'll take the lead for a while." Indy put the truck into gear and eased it forward.

  The road passed beneath the Great Wall through a gate in a fortresslike watchtower that stood four stories high. The gate was open, however, and the watchtower was manned only by crows.

  "This was originally built to keep out the Mongol invaders," Indy said as the shadow of the wall engulfed the truck. "It failed, however. Genghis Khan swept over the wall like the god some said he was, and conquered most of China."

  "So what good was it?" Joan asked.

  "Quite a lot, actually," Indy said, blinking against the darkness. "Its real value proved to be as a magnificent make-work project that pulled China together as a nation, much as the pyramids did in Egypt."

  "We could use some of that at home right now," Joan said.

  A figure darted in front of them and shouted something.

  Indy did not understand the command, since it was delivered in a dialect he had never heard before, but the intent of the rifle-toting figure who had planted his feet in front of the truck on the Mongolian side of the gate was plain enough: his right arm was extended with his palm toward them.

  Indy stood on the brakes and the wheels skidded to a stop. Granger, who was following close behind, was not so quick on the brakes. Although they were only going a few miles an hour, the front bumper of his truck smacked Indy's hard enough to shove it forward a few feet.

  The raked grille of the Dodge had barely touched the greasy pants of the soldier, but he jumped as if the truck had bitten him. His dark eyes burned with disgust. He muttered something about demons in motorcars, then, with the barrel of his fifty-year-old single-shot rifle, motioned Indy out of the truck.

  Indy slid slowly from behind the wheel, his hands in the air.

  "I take it you're not from the Mongolian Traveler's Aid Society?" Indy asked. "Or has living out here made you so stir-crazy that you just throw yourself in front of moving vehicles as a form of amusement?"

  The soldier hissed.

  "Apparently you don't understand English," Indy said.

  The soldier drew a greasy piece of paper from a leather pouch he wore around his neck. He unfolded it, smoothed it out, and handed it to Indy.

  "Can you read it?" Joan asked.

  "Yes." Indy took his glasses from his shirt pocket. "Chinese writing is pictographic, which means it is based on pictures. It isn't phonetic. That's why he carries it, I think, considering the number of dialects that must pass through this gate. This is smudged, but I think I can make it out. What is this spot here. Blood?"

  "Stop teaching school, Jones," Granger called. "Just read the damn thing."

  "It says his name is Feng, and that he's an envoy of the great General Tzi. Feng is to be treated with the respect deserving his position, blah blah blah, member of the Rotary and the Cutthroat Chamber of Commerce. Just kidding. Anyway, Tzi has appointed him as gatekeeper of the south, and all travelers must present themselves for the inspection and approval of Feng before proceeding or they risk incurring the wrath of Tzi himself."

  Indy handed back the paper. Feng held the rifle in the crook of his arm while he tucked it safely back in the pouch, then returned the pouch beneath his shirt.

  "Okay, here we are for your inspection," Indy said. "I hope we meet your approval. I'm Jones, and this is Sister Joan, and that one behind us is called Granger."

  Feng snapped his fingers impatiently.

  "I think he wants papers," Joan suggested.

  "What's the trouble?" Granger called from behind.

  "Stay in your truck, Walter," Indy said pleasantly as he pulled his passport and visa from his jacket pocket and handed it to the soldier. "Don't shoot, not just yet."

  Feng opened the passport, flipped quickly through the pages, then tossed it back at Indy, who caught it in his still-raised left hand.

  "I don't think he can read," Indy said.

  "Then what could he want?" Joan asked.

  "Money, what else?"

  Indy gave Feng his most winning smile and reached slowly for his revolver. He picked it up by the ring on the end of the grip and placed it on the hood of the truck. Then he pointed to the soldier's gun and made a downward motion with his hand.

  The soldier hesitated, then lowered the gun.

  Indy smiled again and reached inside his shirt.

  The gun came back up.

  "Wait," Indy said. "Let me show you what I have."

  Indy took a single gold piece from the pocket of the money belt and held it up. It was an American eagle—a ten-dollar gold piece—and it was a little less than the size of a quarter, but much heavier. Feng grinned, took it, and bit into the edge of it with jagged teeth.

  "Why do they do that?" Joan asked.

  "Real gold is soft," Indy said. "If they can bite into it and leave a mark, they know they've got the real McCoy."

  Feng squatted, but kept his rifle upright between his legs. He placed the coin on the ground and motioned for Indy to join him in a palaver.

  "He wants to talk," Joan said.

  "He wants to negotiate. He figures there's more where that came from."

  Feng pointed at the coin, then pointed at Indy's truck, and with his finger made five marks on the ground. Then he pointed at Granger's truck and made five more marks.

  "Ten," Indy said. "He wants ten gold pieces to let us pass."

  "The man is obviously deranged," Granger said. "Ten dollars is more money than most of these nomads see in a decade, and one hundred is out of the question. I've never heard of this General Tzi. He probably wrote up that little paper himself in order to squeeze some dishonest money out of people like us."

  "Keep your shirt on," Indy called. "We're not done yet."

  Indy shook his head at Feng. He smoothed over the lines Feng had made, pointed to both trucks, and made one mark on the ground.

  Feng hissed and rubbed out Indy's offer.

  He drew seven marks on the ground.

  It was Indy's turn to hiss.

  Feng held his hand up in a conciliatory gesture. He erased the last two marks, then pointed at Joan through the windshield of the truck and grinned wickedly.

  "I think we may have a deal," Indy said.

  "Don't even think about it," Joan spat.

  "Okay, okay," Indy conceded.

  Indy held up two fingers, then pointed at Joan and shook his head gravely.

  Feng held up four fingers.

  "No," Indy said. Then he took two more eagles, placed them on the ground beside the first one, and folded his arms. He took a step back on his haunches, to emphasize that it was his final offer.

  Feng tapped his fingers on his rifle butt. He looked at Indy, then at the trucks, then back down at the coins. Finally he scooped up the gold pieces, wrapped them in a dirty rag, and shoved them deep into his pants pocket.

  "Done," Indy said. "Thirty dollars."

  "It's still robbery," Granger muttered.

  The trucks emerged from the gate onto the Mongolian plateau.

  Feng slunk back to his lean-to against the wall, put his rifle down, and sat next to the cook fire he had abandoned when he heard the sound of the trucks. A rodent was roasting on a spit over the flames.

  A dog chained to the wall paced and watched with hungry, intelligent eyes. Instead of a collar, the end of the log chain was looped tightly around the dog's neck and fastened with a padlock.

  Indy stopped the truck.

  There was something about the dog. It was a purebred Alsatian, Indy judged from its deep chest and head, a breed of shepherd noted for their intelligence and loyalty. This Alsatian was male, and it had blue eyes. It was missing its right ear. The wound had healed, but it bore other signs of abuse;
not only was it starving, as attested to by the painfully thin stomach and protruding ribs, but its back carried a lattice of whip marks.

  Feng tore off a piece of the rodent and popped it into his mouth, chewing contentedly. The dog walked forward until all the slack was out of the log chain, then began to whine for a piece of meat.

  Feng told it to shut up.

  The dog bared its teeth and snarled. Indy had never seen such hatred in the eyes of an animal. It fought against the chain like a wild thing, biting and chewing the links, attempting to free itself.

  Feng muttered and went to retrieve a horsewhip that hung from a peg inside the lean-to. Then, careful not to cross into the radius described by the log chain, he began to whip the dog furiously. Instead of yelping, the dog snarled and attempted with each blow to catch the whip in its mouth.

  Feng cried out in surprise as the end of Indy's bullwhip bit into his wrist. He did not know that Indy had left the truck at the sound of the first blow, and that Indy's whip was bigger and longer than the one he was using to beat the dog.

  "How do you like it?" Indy asked.

  Feng dropped the horsewhip.

  "It hurts, doesn't it?" Indy asked.

  Feng made for the safety of the lean-to, with Indy's bullwhip popping and snapping over his back as he ran. He grabbed his rifle and turned to shoot, but he discovered that Granger was standing behind Indy with his repeating rifle ready for action.

  Feng dropped his gun.

  "You can tell General Tzi," Granger said, "to go to hell."

  Indy took up the spit with the rodent carcass and strode toward the dog. The dog growled, its one good ear going low against its head and the hair on its back bristling.

  "I'd be careful if I were you," Granger said. "That animal looks as if he could tear a man apart, and considering what Feng here has done to him, it would be justifiable homicide. It would be better to put the dog down, considering the sorry shape he's in."

  "We're not going to kill this dog," Indy said as he dropped to his knees. He held out the carcass, and the dog quickly lunged for it and tore it from the stick. Then it began choking down great chunks of meat and bone.

  "Sister Joan," Indy called. "Bring me the bolt cutters from the toolbox in the truck bed."

  Indy reached out to pet the dog.

  The dog snapped viciously at him.

  "I don't want your food," Indy said soothingly. "Just come here. I'm trying to help you."

  Joan brought Indy the long-handled tool, and while the dog finished the carcass Indy slipped the jaws of the cutter beneath the chain at the dog's neck. Then he strained to bring the handles together, and with a chink! the dog was free.

  "I think we'd all better get back in the trucks," Granger said, backing away while holding the rifle on Feng. "I think I'm more frightened of the dog than I am of this character here."

  "Why was the dog chained to the wall like that?" Joan asked as Indy got into the truck. "Is it some kind of barbaric custom?"

  "No custom that I know of, Sister."

  As Indy started the truck Feng began to rant while standing just outside the door of his lean-to. He swore vengeance on Indy, on Indy's children, and his grandchildren. He vowed to make Indy pay for showing disrespect to an envoy of General Tzi, and he hoped desperately that Indy understood him.

  Then Feng spat and threw the gold pieces in the dust.

  Indy popped the clutch. The trucks sped away.

  The dog, suddenly aware that it was free, trotted beyond the perimeter of the chain. Then it made a run for Feng, who dashed inside the lean-to and slammed the door in the dog's face. Then he sat cross-legged inside the shack, his rifle across his lap, shaking from fear and anger.

  After an hour of waiting, the dog looked longingly toward the north, where the trucks had disappeared. Then he glanced at the setting sun.

  The dog trotted off toward the north.

  When Feng was sure the dog was gone, he came out of the shack and dug the gold coins out of the dirt.

  4

  Desolation Road

  "It's time to go."

  Indy nodded, but lifted the binoculars and searched the horizon one last time. They had spent the night without incident in the gently rolling Tabool Hills, and in the bone-chilling cold that came before dawn Indy had climbed a ridge overlooking the Urga Road. On top of the ridge was an obo, a conical pile of stones that travelers had left in appreciation for safe journeys thus far.

  The sun was now well above the horizon.

  "Have you seen anything?"

  "Just that dog," Indy said.

  "The one from the wall?" Granger asked.

  "The dog has apparently been following us," Indy said. "He stays on the horizon, close enough not to lose sight of us, but not within rifle range."

  "Damn," Granger said.

  "You're not going to shoot him."

  "If he comes prowling into camp, I will," Granger vowed. "An animal that has been mistreated as badly as that one is liable to do anything. It could rip your throat out before you even knew what hit you."

  "It had a chance to rip mine out and didn't."

  "You were lucky," Granger said.

  "I hope Wu Han's lucky, too."

  "I'm sure he's fine. He is a resourceful chap, you know. It's my guess the blacksmith couldn't finish the job in one day. Don't worry. Wu Han will be along in time."

  "I hope you're right," Indy said. "Between Kalgan and Urga are three hundred miles of the worst road on earth, and that's not counting parasites like Feng. Do you have a stone?"

  "What?" Granger asked. "You don't expect me to believe in such foolish superstitions, do you?"

  "Come on," Indy insisted. "Fork it over. I know you better than that, and we can use all the help we can get, whether we believe in it or not."

  Granger removed a fist-sized rock from the pocket of his shooting jacket. Indy took it and placed it squarely at the apex of the curious monument.

  At noon the next day the little motorcade pulled into Tuerin, the halfway point on the road to Urga. Nothing moved in the little windswept hamlet as the trucks made their way to the center of a knot of buildings.

  Indy cut the ignition and sat for a moment, listening to the silence broken only by the incessant wind. A dust devil swept down the main street, scattering trash and old newspapers, then disappeared as quickly as it had formed.

  "Is this a ghost town?" Joan asked.

  "No," Indy said. "We're being watched, you can count on that."

  Granger got out of his truck and pulled his rifle out behind him. He slung it over his shoulder and then went to the front of his truck, where he unhooked a canvas bag of water that had hung from the bumper. He knocked the dust from the bag, uncapped it, and took a long drink. Then he wet his bandanna and wiped his face and neck.

  Indy walked over to Granger and stared at the ground. Then he crouched and picked up a corroded brass shell casing. Similar casings were scattered everywhere.

  "Four thousand Chinese soldiers were massacred here twelve years ago," Granger said. "The army was annihilated by a force of three hundred mounted Mongols, under the direction of a Russian baron. The Mongols rode for days to get here and then struck at daylight, after resting their ponies for only a few minutes. In the end they saved their ammunition and clubbed the Chinese to death with the butts of their rifles or ran them through with sabers. The few Chinese who escaped into the desert froze to death. It was forty degrees below zero."

  "The shadow of Genghis Khan," Indy muttered, and dropped the casing.

  Indy took the canvas water bag and handed it to Joan before taking a drink himself. Joan's face was caked with dust and her habit was smeared with mud. The trucks had become mired in a mud hole when the road crossed a narrow stream forty miles back, and it had taken all of them to free the wheels.

  "Are we camping here tonight?" Joan asked.

  "Yes," Indy said. "This is where we buy our camels. We need to set up the mess tent over there, in that little cle
aring, and we will put this on top of the highest pole to announce our presence."

  From his pouch Indy took a strip of blue silk and handed it to Joan. It was a foot wide and three feet long.

  "It's a hata," Indy said. "Sort of like a Mongol calling card."

  In twenty minutes they had the tents pitched and Granger was preparing lunch over a gasoline camp stove in the mess. Lured by the aroma of coffee and sizzling pork, the inhabitants of Tuerin, with their children in tow, had slowly emerged from their homes to inspect the visitors.

  Granger placed the food in the center of the wooden table while Indy poured three mugs of steaming coffee.

  "I hope you made enough for everybody," Joan observed.

  "Don't be preposterous," Granger scoffed. "We can't feed the entire village. We have to make this food last."

  "The children look hungry," she said.

  "Do you think they would feed us if the situation was reversed?" Granger asked.

  "Yes," Joan said calmly, "I think they would."

  Indy placed the pot back on the stove and looked out the open door of the tent to the crowd that had gathered. Most were women and small children, although there were a few old men. They stood a few yards beyond the mess, their hands folded diffidently in front of them.

  "Where are the men?" Joan asked.

  "Two thirds of the male population of Mongolia are lamas," Granger said, getting up. "I could never understand their religion, although I have asked plenty of them about it. Supposedly a special sect of Buddhism, under the rule of the Dalai Lama—the living god, as they call him—but I think it's a rather elaborate con game. A rather cushy life, if you ask me, holed up in their monasteries. I guess they can pray better with their bellies full."

  Granger closed the tent flaps.

  "And the other third of the male population?" Joan inquired.

  "Bandits, of course."

  Indy regarded his plate of meat and vegetables and took up his fork. He stabbed a piece of canned pork and held it to his lips, then threw the utensil down.

  "Granger, I can't eat when those people are hungry."

  "Neither can I," Joan said.

  "Missionaries." Granger looked disgusted. "All right, we have quite a few boxes of powdered milk and more canned pork than I suppose we absolutely need. We can go back to the old system of hunting for our supper when times get rough, I suppose. But I warn you, Jones, we may be eating rodent before this is over."