Fear No Evil

by John Gordon Davis

  He clutched his stomach, and blood welled up between his fingers and he turned and staggered away.

  It was early afternoon when Forsythe reached the Garden of Eden. Three Cherokee men were still furtively following them.

  Forsythe saw all the signs as clear as a book: where Kid Lonnogan had hidden in the trees, his cartridge shell, the place where Rajah had clubbed him to death; they found the bloodstained branch with which Davey had beaten off Rajah, saw his footprints fleeing across the river and back into the forest, and Rajah’s spoor; they found the footprints of Lonnogan and his posse, all their cartridge shells, saw their spoor following Rajah’s—and Forsythe seethed; they found the spoor of Elizabeth and Big Charlie fleeing the cabin, until they separated, where Elizabeth’s spoor headed alone over Paw Paw Ridge toward the mineshaft.

  Forsythe was murderous with rage: that Dumbo had been released, that Jamba had got away, that somebody else had found David Jordan’s hideout before him, that Rajah had been shot.

  It was mid-afternoon. There was no time to lose. There were two important spoors to follow. He divided his team yet again.

  He ordered Frank Hunt and Gasoline to follow Elizabeth’s spoor over Paw Paw Ridge. He took Samson and the rest back to the pasture, and grimly started following Rajah’s spoor, up the mountain toward Thunderhead.

  The Cherokees followed Forsythe.

  part fifteen

  seventy-one

  The infection had set into Rajah’s wounds, throbbing around the lumps of lead embedded in his head and all down one flank, stiff, swollen humps, oozing.

  He rested against a tree trunk, blinking slowly at the pain. He badly wanted to lie down, to take his great weight off his legs, but he dared not, for the agony when he got up again. So he just leaned there, trying to rest. He curled up his trunk with a groan and gently sniffed the wounds, and he tested the wind for the dreaded scent of man.

  He caught the faraway scent of the green pastures of Cades Cove, down in the valleys of Tennessee, and he knew that was where he had to go: he was very hungry, and he could not feed properly up here in the high places because of the pain when he lifted his head to pull the leaves off the trees. He had to get down into the grassy low lands, to feed and to rest.

  It was early afternoon when Jamba crossed Rajah’s spoor, but she did not notice it. She passed within half a mile of where Rajah was resting, but she did not smell him.

  It was late afternoon when Davey spotted Jamba’s spoor, crossing Rajah’s. He examined it excitedly. It was still fresh. He closed his eyes and smiled. He waited for Elizabeth to catch up.

  ‘Jamba’s here. She’s fine.’

  Her eyes widened, and she smiled. ‘Oh, thank God …’

  Davey did not follow Jamba’s spoor. He had to find Rajah before it got dark and get those bullets out of him.

  Half a mile farther they saw him, standing beside the stream, rocking slowing, his trunk hanging, fast asleep.

  Davey pulled out his ashbag and tested the wind.

  It was blowing away from Rajah. He beckoned to Elizabeth. ‘How longwill your C02 gun take to pull him down? There’re only a couple of hours of daylight left.’

  ‘Could be half an hour. Depends on his condition.’

  ‘Can you operate in the dark with your flashlight?’

  ‘If the batteries last.’

  It was no good. She might be able to operate by flashlight, but he could not track in the dark if the elephant ran. ‘Get behind a tree so he can’t see you.’

  He crept silently down the slope toward the sleeping elephant and quickly past him for another twenty paces. He shook his ashbag and took a few paces to one side, positioning himself so that the elephant would both smell him and hear him at the same time.

  ‘Hello, Rajah!’

  Rajah woke up with a lurch, flapping out his ears. He shied backward and turned to flee. Davey called cheerfully, ‘Stop, Rajah. Stop.’

  The familiar voice penetrated Rajah’s panicked mind, and the same instant the familiar smell registered; he came lumbering to a stop, turned around and stared, flanks heaving.

  Davey was coming toward him, smiling, and calling his name, holding out his hands to show him he held nothing.

  ‘Hello, Rajah. Hello, old man …’

  Davey stopped in front of him. The tears were stinging his eyes, for the swollen bullet wounds on his old friend’s face, and the blood.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Rajah …’

  He went forward, arms outstretched, and the frightened elephant extended his gnarled trunk and wrapped it about him, and they hugged.

  Tears were burning in Elizabeth’s eyes too as she tried to examine his wounds.

  ‘Yes, I think I can fix him. But it’ll have to be by daylight. And not here either, with all the moving shadows. It must be open, and with plenty of water. And a fire.’

  ‘I know a place.’

  He took the tip of the elephant’s trunk in his hand.

  ‘Come, Rajah.’

  Less than twenty minutes later, Professor Ford’s trackers, following Jamba, crossed Rajah’s spoor.

  Ford examined the tracks with excitement. They had been searching for almost two weeks for any reliable spoor of any one animal, and now, in one swoop, he had hit almost the whole lot—elephant, gorillas, chimps, bear, the wolf, Jordan’s—and even Elizabeth’s!

  He excitedly ordered his trackers to abandon Jamba’s spoor and to follow the others’, as fast as possible.

  seventy-two

  They trundled down the mountain slowly, so as to keep to Rajah’s groaning pace. Davey held his trunk tip; Elizabeth walked at his flank. The animals were strung out in a line. But at the very back was King Kong, not Sam.

  For King Kong did not like Sam behind him any more. He did not like Sam at all, let alone growling up his backside if he stepped out of line. Now Sam frequently glanced back uncomfortably, at the glowering gorilla breathing up his backside.

  In the last hour of daylight Ben spotted them, strung out in their long line, heading across a glade just a hundred yards ahead. Ford was just in time to see King Kong disappearing into the trees.

  Ben shook his ashbag. The wind was in their favor.

  Five minutes later the gun banged, and the dart smacked into Auntie’s rump. Suddenly there was pandemonium, animals stampeding everywhere. Davey shouted, ‘Herd, Sam!’ and he ran beside the panic-stricken Rajah. Auntie fled, the dart flashing on her rump, and King Kong went galloping after her. Then he thundered to a stop and turned around. He sprang up onto his hindlegs and gave a roar to terrify his enemy with his size and ferocity, to give his troupe time to escape. He tore up foliage and threw it in the air and beat his chest. But he could see nobody, and he turned and went galloping after his troupe again. Then suddenly Auntie collapsed.

  In less than a hundred yards Auntie crashed as if she had been pole-axed, and King Kong tripped over her. He scrambled up frantically and barked at her to run, and he grabbed her arm, but Auntie was a dead weight. He barked at the others to wait, but they were gone, crashing through the forest. Then he flung his arm around Auntie’s middle, heaved her up onto his hip, and started to run again.

  Auntie hung, head down and arms dragging, the silver dart sticking up out of her rump. King Kong staggered down the mountain, grunting, his eyes flashing, stumbling into trees under the saggy weight of Auntie. Then he fell on top of her, got up, heaved her up again, and staggered on. Then he could carry her no longer, and he let her fall.

  He grabbed both her hairy wrists and started dragging her, looking over his shoulder, heaving Auntie on her stomach, over roots and logs and bushes, the silver dart waggling on her rump like a flag; then he tripped and fell. He barked in fury and burrowed both arms under her big belly, and he heaved her up.

  He ran for fifty yards, rasping and lurching through bushes, desperately following the vanished animals. Then he crashed again. He started dragging her. For nearly a mile King Kong dragged and carried Auntie down the mountain;
then he fell for the last time, and he could carry her no more.

  King Kong crouched beside her, rasping, frightened. Auntie lay on her back, face and chest bleeding from scratches, uttering long wheezing groans. His instinct was to give up, to run for his life after the rest of the animals; his instinct was never to give up, to stay with her and fight to the death. He stared fiercely at the forest, but he could see nobody. He knew Auntie was not dead. He lifted her eyelid with his big black thumb and forefinger. All he saw was white. He gripped her neck and shook her. He slapped her face. Auntie just kept on groaning. He put his mouth right next to her ear and barked.

  King Kong sat in exhausted despair. Then, suddenly, he saw Ben and Jonas Ford through the trees.

  He gave a roar, jaws flashing white in furious black face, and he leaped to his full height, and tore up foliage and threw it in the air, and he smashed his hand on the earth, and the men turned and ran.

  King Kong charged on his shaggy hind legs, his eyes flashing, roaring and crashing. Ford looked frantically over his shoulder at the black beast six feet tall with the gaping jaws just ten yards behind, and his long legs bounded as fast as they could, and his glasses bounced off his nose. Then King Kong dropped to all fours like a giant dog, and he galloped. He hurled himself at Ford’s fleeing buttocks and got him in the ankle; his jaws ripped through his boot, and Ford crashed onto his side, wildly kicking and hollering and grabbing for his tranquilizer pistol—and King Kong let go. He could have killed Ford, bounded at his throat and ripped it out in one wrench, but he had routed his enemy and now he had to get Auntie out of here. He let go and turned, and Ben hit him across the head with the rifle butt.

  The gorilla reeled sideways, stunned, his arms up over his head protectively; then he tried to start running again, and Ben hit him again across his shoulders, and King Kong sprawled onto his face. He tried to clamber up, one arm still curled across his head, and Ben swung the rifle again. A voice bellowed ‘No!’ Ford was holding the tranqu-pistol in both hands, his eyes screwed up without his glasses, and he fired.

  The dart smacked into King Kong’s back; he stiffened, then shuddered. He dropped to his four feet, the dart sticking out of his hide, and he tried to run. He ran two hobbling strides and fell. Then he did something that Jonas Ford had never heard of.

  King Kong got up quite quickly, like a man embarrassed by falling down at a party, and he turned to face them; then he began to walk backward on his hind legs—like a cowboy in a bad western, it occured to Jonas Ford—just like a man. He walked backwards ten paces like that, menacing and defiant; then he tripped and crashed onto his buttocks.

  He sat there in a lump for a long moment, his mind swimming; then laboriously he got up, as if he had forgotten about his enemies, grunting like an elderly man getting off a park bench. He turned his back, showing the dart again, and began to plod off the way he had come. Ford and Ben and Sixpence tiptoed after him. One arm reached absently behind King Kong’s back. He groped for the dart, plucked it out. He examined it cursorily, then tossed it aside. He dropped to all fours and headed purposefully in the direction of Auntie.

  Suddenly King Kong’s clouded mind cleared at the sight of his mate, and he remembered everything clearly. He reared onto his hind legs again, whirled around, and saw the men scattering. He stood glowering after them, his chest heaving in fury, and for good measure he gave another bark and beat his chest. Then he turned back to Auntie, and heaved her up to his hip again, almost effortlessly.

  Altogether King Kong dragged and carried Auntie nearly half a mile, grunting and whimpering. He only knew he had to keep going, but he did not know where he was going.

  Finally he crashed for the last time. He sat in a heap, Auntie’s head on his feet; he grunted, and slumped over her body.

  seventy-three

  Davey kept them running until it was dark, until it was impossible for anybody to track them.

  Elizabeth struggled behind Rajah in the dark, her face and arms scratched, lugging her medical bag. She was not feeling the anguish for the missing gorillas any more, nor even hunger, only her exhaustion. She had been walking since long before dawn. It was after nine o’clock when they came into open starlight, into an overgrown orchard. She could make out a log barn beyond and hear the rushing of a stream.

  ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Used to be called Judd’s Place. Cades Cove is a mile down there.’

  The barn was big enough for Rajah, but he stayed under the stars, feeding on the grass.

  Davey built a fire, and Sam stretched out in front of it. Davey took Elizabeth’s flashlight.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she demanded.

  ‘To get us something to eat.’

  ‘But we’ve got enough.’

  ‘Your hands must be steady tomorrow.’

  She sat by the fire, clutching her knees.

  O God, tomorrow … The operation was the least of it. What else was going to happen tomorrow? She closed her eyes tight, trying to shut out the dread.

  Where did he get the stamina? And where was he going to find something to eat? But he would. Of that she had no doubt.

  Twenty minutes later he came back. His shirt was a sodden bundle containing four trout. ‘How on earth?’ she said.

  ‘Netted them. Pulled them with your flashlight.’

  ‘God, you’re clever.’ She wrung out his shirt and put it close to the fire. He pulled a sweater out of his knapsack, and they hunched around the flames while they roasted the trout, skewered on green sticks.

  She looked at him across the fire: sitting on his haunches. He looked gaunt. Yet, somehow, relaxed. And indestructible. Like a … completely philosophical gladiator. Why did she think that? He was the most ungladiatorial man she had ever known. But how could he have been through what he had today and still look so completely self-controlled? And, oh, she wanted a drink. But she wouldn’t. She hadn’t had a drink for a week. Her hand had to be steady tomorrow. He smiled at her gently. ‘Are you starving?’

  She almost gushed like a girl. ‘Aren’t you tired?’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  She felt his shirt impulsively. It was still damp. She held it out to the fire.

  They ate biscuits and dried beef, then the hot trout. First, she nibbled frustratedly, worried about the bones; then she could be cautious no longer, and the juices smeared all over her mouth and ran down her chin. He gave half of his to Sam.

  She wiped her mouth and got up stiffly. ‘I’m going to have a wash.’

  She picked her way out to the stream. She scooped up water and washed her face vigorously. She had left her towel, soap, and toothbrush in the Garden of Eden.

  When she got back to the barn he was scooping some earth out of the floor with his knife.

  ‘For your hip,’ he explained. He unrolled her sleeping bag, over the indentation.

  She was touched that he had thought about her comfort. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re very tired. And you’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.’

  She eased herself down, then lay back, exhausted.

  She turned her head to him. He was staring at the fire, absolutely still. She wanted to cry out: What’s going to happen tomorrow? Then she realized she was not thinking about the animals—Forsythe was going to get them sooner or later, and probably sooner. Thinking of them living free had been but a short-lived dream. Now she was thinking of him. And dear, sweet Big Charlie. What was going to happen to them? She whispered, ‘Davey?…’

  He turned his head and looked at her. She closed her eyes to control her anguish.

  ‘Tomorrow they’re going to catch up with you, Davey. Forsythe was right behind us this afternoon. And Lonnogan’s not far behind!’

  He said quietly, ‘I can outrun them, Elizabeth. Until the job is done.’

  Her eyes were full of tears. ‘Oh, Davey! The job is done! It was beautiful. It was the most wonderful notion I’ve ever known! But it’s over! They’re catching the animals, one by one.’

  ‘They
’ve only caught Dumbo.’ He did not know about Sally’s fate. ‘And he won’t stay locked up in that stockade for long.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Somebody will let him out again, Elizabeth.’

  She stared. For a moment she felt her hopes rise. Then she blurted: ‘You mean the Cherokees? … But you can only pull that trick once, Davey. They’ll be watching a second time. What about Auntie today? And where’s King Kong? Forsythe probably got him too!’

  ‘Don’t be too sure. Big Charlie and his braves are out there. I don’t think any of those circus trucks will get very far when they leave Cherokee with any animals. They’ll be hijacked. And the animals released all over again.’

  She stared. He made it sound so simple. And maybe it was … If Eric Bradman was correct, they were only playing for time. But that was before a man was killed! The animals would never be allowed to stay now that one had killed a man.

  She cried, ‘Davey, you’ve done your best! But they’re hot after you now. You’re a criminal! Lonnogan’s going to keep after you until he gets you. If he doesn’t catch you alive he’s going to gun you down.’

  ‘Give myself up?’ he asked.

  She cried, ‘No! Run, for God’s sake.’ Her eyes were bright. ‘Get out of the mountains. Get right out of America! Keep running until you get to the Andes. Go to Africa and do your wonderful things …’ The tears were glistening on her cheeks. ‘But run. For God’s sake don’t let them gun you down … Don’t let them stick you in prison like an animal yourself.’

  He was looking at her steadily. Then he gently reached out and squeezed her shoulder. He smiled and shook his head.

  She stared at him, her eyes wet; then she slumped back. She lay in the flickering firelight, her arm across her eyes. She took a deep breath and whispered fiercely, ‘Hold me, Davey.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Then she heard him get up.

  He came uncertainly. He knelt down beside her. She lay rigid. Then he gently lifted her arm off her face.