Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs (11 page)

"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 clearing, 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."

"Better to eat a rat than to be one," Indy concluded as he rose to find the powdered milk.

"Can't I even eat my lunch first?" Granger complained.

Joan tied open the flaps. Then she stepped outside and, taking the hands of one somber-eyed little boy and his mother, led them inside and seated them at the table. She took Granger's plate and placed it in front of them.

"No," Joan said. "You can't. Guests first."

The rest of the crowd followed.

For the next hour Indy and Joan were busy preparing food and placing it before the apparently inexhaustible appetites of the people of Tuerin. When the last plate had been wiped clean, an elaborately robed figure filled the doorway of the mess tent.

The man stood at least six feet tall and had a long black mustache that drooped over his pronounced chin. In the crook of his arm was a Russian-made rifle. His black eyes glanced from face to face.

Silently, the women gathered their children and left. Only one old man was left at the table with the American adventurers, and he was busily gumming the last of his pork.

"Who feeds my children?" the man asked in English.

"Who would not?" Indy asked.

The man broke into a laugh and strode into the tent.

"You Americans," he said, gesturing expansively at the surroundings. "Every day is like holiday for you. But I am grateful for your hospitality, even though it should be us that are feeding you."

Indy held out his hand and they shook hands.

"I am Indiana Jones," he said, then introduced Granger and Joan.

"I am Meryn," the man said with a flourish. "My friends will tell you that I am the best camel driver in all of Mongolia. Others will agree that I am the best and quickest thief. And my enemies—ah, if only they could speak from the grave!—they would tell you that I am the fiercest warrior."

"I hope we're going to be friends," Indy ventured.

"Of course we are friends," Meryn roared. "An enemy does not feed your children, even after he takes your wife. But you can have your pick of my wives. I see you have already met three of them."

"Which ones were they?" Joan asked.

"Why, the most beautiful, of course."

"We are in need of a good camel driver," Indy said.

"Then you have found him. Tell me, are you friends of the great Andrews? My father drove camels into the heart of the Gobi for Andrews many years ago, when the Americans discovered the hiding place of the fossils of the great
allergorhai-horhai.
He told me before he died that he would have followed Andrews to the gates of hell itself."

"I knew your father," Granger said. "I am sorry to hear that he is dead."

"The Chinese," Meryn said sadly. "Or the Russians. Then again, it could have been the Japanese, I am not sure. We never found the body. But I am comforted by the certain knowledge that he took many of the dogs with him."

"I'm sure he did," Indy said.

"You speak English very well," Granger observed.

"My father," Meryn explained.

Granger poured a mug of coffee and placed it on the table. Meryn slung his rifle from a tent pole and sat down. "How many camels will you need?"

"Many," Indy said.

"What I don't have I will steal for you," Meryn said, sipping the coffee. "Do you have sugar?"

"Steal?" Joan asked as she placed a tin of sugar before him.

"Just a figure of speech." As he spoke Meryn spooned so much sugar into the mug that the coffee threatened to overflow the rim. Then Meryn pressed his lips to the cup and began to slurp down the syrupy concoction.

"Tell me, have you ever heard of a chap by the name of General Tzi?" Granger asked.

Meryn nearly choked on the coffee.

"Tzi!" he spat. "Where did you learn of the detestable name?"

"We ran into an envoy of his at the Great Wall on this side of Kalgan, a rather unpleasant fellow by the name of Feng," Granger said.

"I hope you killed him."

"Unfortunately, no."

"Tzi the Cannibal," Meryn continued, "calls himself a general and claims that he is a patriot in the fight against the Communists, but he spills the blood of all. He sends his troops out from an impregnable mountain fortress, where he lives under the protection of the False Lama of the Black Gobi."

"What's the False Lama?" Joan asked.

"The lama equivalent of the Antichrist," Indy said.

"The False Lama is the rival of the Living God at Urga," Meryn explained. "In the confusion since the Communists have outlawed the religion, the False Lama managed to attract a small band of followers and marched into the desert. Tzi would be nothing if not for the evil power of the Black One."

"That's comforting," Indy said. "Why do they call him the cannibal?"

"Because he is rumored to eat the hearts of his victims," Meryn said. "He is relentless and tracks his prey using a pack of wild dogs that he feeds human flesh."

Joan blanched. "That's... hard to believe."

"I'm afraid not," Granger said. "Wild dogs are particularly dangerous in this country because many of them develop a taste for human flesh. That's why I was so concerned with the beast Indy freed at the wall. And don't think I haven't noticed, Jones, how you have been leaving food outside the camp for that killer."

"How do they develop this appetite?" Joan wanted to know.

"In the smaller villages, superstition is rampant," Granger said. "Dead bodies are considered so unclean and such a breeding place for evil spirits that when a person dies, they throw them onto the back of a cart. Then the village's bravest man takes off with the cart, going hell-bent for leather across the countryside and never looking back. Eventually the body is bumped off the cart, where it becomes food for the dogs."