Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs (14 page)

"Maybe we should leave her behind with a little bowl of food."

Granger was silent.

"I'm beginning to come around to her view of things," Indy said. "Anybody who is that desperate to find her father deserves to come along on the search. If she were a man we wouldn't think twice about it, would we?"

"Yes, but she's not a man. That's exactly the point."

"What, because she's a woman she can't possibly endure the privations we'll face? Do you know what she did when she ran out of water back there, Walter? She drank her own sweat. Said she read an article in
National Geographic
about the bedouins doing it. How many men do you think would have the presence of mind to do
that
?"

Granger lapsed again into silence.

"Let's talk to Meryn," Indy suggested. "Have him explain the situation to the drivers. Tell them that she's a holy woman—which isn't a lie, now, is it?—and that we need her to find Professor Starbuck. Tell them to make camp, we'll be staying here for a day or two. And tell them if they don't like it, they can march off in any direction they please."

On the morning of the second day the journey resumed, with Joan riding in the truck with Indy. None of the camel drivers had left, but Granger continued to sulk. Meryn had complimented Joan on her courage, and made an extravagant ceremony out of presenting her with a good-luck tassel made from the claw of a leopard to wear from her belt. In return, she gave him her rosary beads.

"Sai!"
Meryn had exclaimed, and held his thumb in the air to show his approval before tacking the rosary to the butt of his rifle.

"Does that mean you've given up your vows?" Indy asked.

Joan did not answer.

They reached the well in the afternoon.

It wasn't much of a well by Western standards, just a pile of rocks around a lopsided hole, but the tracks of men and animals surrounding the little oasis attested to its importance. Indy dropped a bucket over the side and was relieved when he heard a splash as it hit water.

"Thank the gods," Granger breathed. "Now, we must be careful with our use of water. This well is fed by a little underground spring that seeps, instead of flows, so we must be careful not to exhaust it. If we do, we may be sentencing the next poor devil that comes this way to death by dehydration."

Granger prescribed the order in which things would be done: the animals would be watered first, then the drivers could drink and fill their water bags, then the radiators of the trucks were to be topped off. Only then would Granger allow Indy to erect a makeshift shower stall from a couple of squares of canvas and a rope stretched between the beds of the trucks. He declared a strict ration for each bather—there would be a common bucket of water to soap with, and one full bucket for each individual to rinse. The Mongols, of course, thought this entire ritual was insane.

Indy was the last of the trio to shower, and he used his water sparingly. He brushed his teeth and shaved first, then lathered up and poured the bucket of water slowly over his head and body. When he was done he felt better than he had in weeks.

"That was wonderful," he said to no one in particular as he emerged from behind the canvas, cinching on his gun belt. It was a warm afternoon, and he had left his shirt unbuttoned in order to feel the breeze on his skin.

"No kidding," Joan said.

Indy jumped.

She was sitting on the bed of the truck, brushing her long brown hair. A towel was wrapped tightly around her torso, but her arms and legs were bare, and despite the towel's attempt at modesty, it made her figure even more pronounced. Indy paused to speak to her, but was suddenly bereft of words.

The others were far on the other side of the truck.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Indy stammered. "I just noticed how good you smell."

Joan appeared unfazed by this remark. "We all do after a bath."

"No," Indy said. He glanced over and noticed how her bare feet dangled above the ground. "I mean, it's different."

"Dr. Jones." Joan's lips were tight. "Are you looking at my legs?"

"Sorry," he said. "They're nice legs."

"You're just sorry you got caught," she teased. "Have you been in the desert so long that you've resorted to flirting with a nun? At least, I think I still am. I'm not sure. It's been increasingly easy to forget."

"No kidding," he said.

"What I mean is, there's nobody to care what you do out here. It's just the wind and the sky and the desert. Nobody's breathing down your neck trying to tell you how to live or how to get closer to God. Know what I mean?"

"Look, I need to get some work done," Indy said. "I've got lots of things to do that I'd better get right on top of—"

"It's the difference between religion and spirituality, I think," she said. "Religion is an institution. Its business is to perpetuate itself by telling people what to do. But spirituality is an individual's own personal relationship with the Almighty."

"Do you want your clothes? I'll get your clothes for you if you want them," he offered.

"I can get them," she said.

Joan slid down from the bed of the truck, and as she did, the towel she was wearing gathered and rose above her knees. Indy glanced quickly away, and his head was still turned as she walked over and placed her arms around his neck.

"You know what, Dr. Jones?" she whispered in his ear. "I don't think God wants me to be a nun anymore."

Indy swallowed.

"And you know what else?"

"No," he said with a rasp. "What?"

"I think I've succeeded in scaring the daylights out of you." She flicked his earlobe with her finger. "Shame on you for looking at me like I was the blue-plate special. And shame on me for enjoying it."

A moment later Meryn bellowed the alarm.

"Bandits!"

The fast-moving Mongol ponies swept toward the well like the wind, and Indy barely had time to pull Joan down with him beneath the bed of the truck and draw his Webley before the bandits were upon them. The poor Buriat soldier that had been sent to track the expedition on horseback was the first to die, a lance driven through his neck.

Meryn shot the lead bandit out of the saddle with his single-shot rifle, then lunged at the next while swinging the rifle like a club. The butt hit the bandit in the stomach, knocking him from his horse. When he hit the ground Meryn was on top of him with a curved knife, and he slit his throat in one motion.

Then Meryn himself fell as a slug took him in the shoulder.

"You stay here," Indy told Joan.

Indy dashed from beneath the cover of the truck and into the thick of the battle. A bandit rode between him and Meryn and Indy gripped the horse's bit and twisted fiercely, causing the iron to gouge the soft palate of the horse's mouth. The animal fell over in a blur of teeth and flashing hooves, pinning its screaming rider beneath.

Indy reached Meryn, grasped his jacket collar with one hand, and began to pull him toward the safety of the trucks while keeping up a regular barrage with the Webley. They had almost made it when a particularly ferocious-looking bandit on a prancing black pony cut them off.

Indy pointed the Webley at the bandit's head and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with an impotent click on a spent cartridge.

"Time out?" Indy said hopefully.

The bandit shouldered his musket and the muzzle hovered over Indy's chest. Then there was the thunderous report of a large-caliber rifle... and the bandit's blood rolled down onto the front of his shirt.

On top of the bed of the truck, Granger worked the bolt on his 7.5mm rifle and a cartridge flew from the breech. Then, with workmanlike precision, he drove home a fresh round and took aim at another target.

Indy pulled Meryn beneath the truck. Loki was there, with Joan, and he was growling.

"How're we doing?" he shouted to Granger.

"We're losing," Granger said between shots. "There must be thirty of them, and we're down to six. And they've made off with half of our camels."

"Where's your gun, Sister?" Indy asked as he reloaded the Webley.

"Up on the bed of the truck, with my clothes."

Indy stood up, firing as he went, and snatched down the holstered gun.

"You had better start using it if you want to stay alive," he said as he tossed it at her. "If you hadn't noticed, things are serious."

Joan pointed the revolver at the whirling blur of one of the bandits and fired, but nothing happened. Then she shot twice more, and the bandit went down.

"Good," Indy said. "Keep it up."

Suddenly the camp became quiet, but there was so much smoke that Indy could not tell what was happening. Granger jumped down from the bed of the truck and crouched next to Indy.

"What do you make of it, Jones?"

"I don't know," Indy said.

"Perhaps they withdrew."

"I don't think so." Indy shook his head. "They had us where they wanted us. Wait—do you hear that?"

"My God," Granger breathed. "It's the baying of dogs."

"They've brought the dog pack in to finish us off," Indy said. "Quick, we need to get into the cabs of the trucks. It sounds like there are a hundred of them, and we can't shoot them all."

The bandits drove the dogs into camp and the animals surged around whatever was on the ground, including the fallen bandit comrades, and began to shred flesh from bone.

Joan buried her face against Indy's shoulder.

"I can't watch," she said.

Then the dogs discovered the survivors beneath the bed of the truck. Loki vaulted into the pack, and a terrific fight ensued, while Indy and Granger emptied their weapons at the closest animals. Driven by the scent of blood, the dogs were briefly distracted as they fell upon their own wounded.

"Keep shooting," he told Joan. "This is worse than serious."

The dogs were coming from all sides now, snapping at hands and faces and tearing away bits of clothing. Indy and Granger placed Joan between them and continued to fight.

One of the dogs sank his teeth into the heel of Meryn's boot and began to drag the unconscious man from beneath the truck. Granger shot the animal and hauled Meryn back, suffering a number of bites on his own hands and arms as he did so.

"This is a helluva way to die," Granger remarked.

The volley of a dozen rifles shook the camp, followed by a second and then a third volley. The dogs began to scatter, leaving many of the pack behind to die, and then the bandits retreated through the camp, pausing only to fire a shot now and then at whatever was advancing toward them.

In a few moments the camp was still once again, although it now stank of nitrate and was littered with the bodies of men and dogs. Through the blanket of gun smoke that floated at shin level, Indy could see a pair of Mongol riding boots striding toward them.

"The dogs have gone."

Indy and Granger crawled out.

The stranger was tall, elegantly robed, and carried an ornate matchlock rifle in the crook of his arm. On his belt was a knife whose silver handle was studded with gems. He held the reins of a magnificent white horse, an Arabian, and behind him loitered a dozen men like himself.

"We are grateful," Granger said.

"Don't be," the stranger said. "I am leaving you with your lives, but it looks as if Tzi's men have made a shambles of your caravan. It may have been more merciful to let you die quickly now rather than later, and much more slowly, in the desert."

"Thanks for giving us the choice," Indy said.

"I will require something in exchange for my services, since my men do not ride for free. A few camels, perhaps, ammunition. We could work something out if the woman is for sale."

Indy looked down at Joan. She was propped up on her elbows beneath the truck, dressing Meryn's shoulder, and the towel threatened to fall away from her upper body. Suddenly aware of the eyes on her, Joan pulled the towel back up.

"She's mine," Indy said quickly.

"Too bad," the man said. "I have been eager to make the beast with two backs with a Western woman, but I have not yet found one that is willing. Why do you suppose that is? Here in Mongolia, women consider it an honor to share themselves with guests."

"It is our custom," Indy said, "that we do not."

"What a backward race you Americans are."

"I say, are you chaps bandits as well?" Granger asked.

"It is an ugly word," the Mongolian said. "We prefer corsairs, privateers, pirates, raiders, guerrillas, irregulars, mercenaries, or simply, patriots. We steal so that we can continue our fight against the Communists."

"We have a little money we would gladly share with you." Granger held out a fistful of coins.

"Bah!" the man said, and struck the coins to the ground. "What do we care for money out here on the desert! Where would we spend it, what would it bring us? Give us food, water, grain for our ponies, women for our pleasure, and guns and ammunition so that we may slay our enemies. These are the things that make up the life of a man. Do not insult us with the bits of trash you grovel after in the cities."

"Who are you?" Granger asked.

"I am Tzen Khan, a descendant of the great Genghis Khan, and this is my band. We live free or die. We do not ordinarily come to the aid of foreign caravans, but I admire courage above all things. You fought well and sent many of the human dogs to the netherworld where they belong."

Khan stepped forward and peered intently at Indy's face.

"I like you," he said. "I do not know why, but I like you. We have met before, I'm sure, in some other lifetime long ago. I can tell by the fire behind your eyes that you have always been an adventurer, an interloper in strange lands. Who knows? Among the thousand names we have worn, perhaps you were Marco Polo and I, Kubla Khan!"

"Perhaps," Indy said.

"Come to my yurt and we will discuss the battle in detail. My camp is just over those dunes, not more than half a kilometer. It will be cold tonight, and your injured friend should be protected from the elements. And do not fear because I have plenty of goat!"

"Indy," Joan said. "What do we do about the dead?"