Collection 1980 - Yondering (v5.0) Read Online Free Page A

man never knows—never.”
    Misima, although only about twenty miles long and four or five miles wide, was densely wooded, and the mountains lifted from a thousand to three thousand feet, and as the south side was very steep, most of the villages were along the northern shore.
    The boy had walked off and was standing near a palm tree idly tossing stones into the lagoon. Taking off his cap, he walked away from the wharf, wiping the sweat from his brow. He walked back from the shore and then turned and strolled toward the shade, pausing occasionally. The boy had disappeared under the trees.
    At the edge of the trees Dugan sat down, leaning his back against one. After a moment a stone landed near his foot, and he glimpsed the boy behind a tree about thirty yards off. Dugan got up, stretched, and hands in his pockets, strolled along in the shade, getting deeper and deeper until he saw the boy standing in a little-used path.
    They walked along for half a mile. Dugan glanced at his watch. He would have to hurry.
    Suddenly the boy ducked into the brush, holding a branch aside for him. About thirty yards away he saw a small shanty with a thin column of smoke lifting it. The boy ran ahead, leading the way.
    There was a young woman there who, from her looks, was probably the boy’s mother. Inside, an old man lay on an army cot. His eyes were sunken into his head, and his cheeks were gaunt. He clutched Dugan’s hand. His fingers were thin and clawlike. “You must help me. You are with Douglas?”
    “I am.”
    “Good! He is honest. Everybody knows that of him. I need your help.” He paused for a minute, his breathing hoarse and labored. “I have a granddaughter. She is in Sydney.” He put his hand on a coarse brown sack under his cot. “She must have this.”
    “What is it?”
    “It is gold. There are men here who will steal it when I die. It must go to my granddaughter. You take it to her, and you keep half. You will do this?”
    Sydney? He was not going to Sydney; still, one could sell it and send the money to Sydney. He pressed a paper into his hand. “Her name and address. Get it to her—somehow. You can do it. You will do it.”
    “Look,” he protested, “I am not going to Sydney. When I leave Douglas, I’m going to Singapore and catch a ship for home—or going on to India.”
    “You must! They will steal it. They have tried, and they are waiting. If they think you have it, they will rob you. I know them.”
    “Well.” He hesitated. He had to be getting back. Douglas’s appointment at Woodlark was important to him. He would wait for no man in such a case, least of all for me, who had been with him only a few weeks, the man thought. “All right, give me the gold. I’ve little time.”
    The woman dragged the sack from under the cot, and he stooped to lift it. It was much heavier than it appeared. The old man smiled. “Gold is always heavy, my friend. Too heavy for many men to bear.”
    Dugan straightened and took the offered hand; then he walked out of the shack, carrying the gold.
    It was heavy. Once aboard the schooner it would be no problem. He glanced at his watch and swore. He was already too late, and the tide—
    When he reached the small harbor, it was too late. The schooner was gone!
    He stood, staring. Immediately he was apprehensive. He was left on an island with about two dozen white people of whom he knew nothing and some fifteen hundred natives of whom he knew less. Moreover, there was always a drifting population, off the vessels of one kind or another that haunt Indonesian seas.
    Woodlark was eighty miles away. He knew that much depended on the schooner being there in time to complete a deal for cargo that otherwise would go to another vessel. He had been left behind. He was alone.
    A stocky bearded man approached. He wore dirty khakis, a watch cap, and the khaki coat hung loose. Did he have a gun? Dugan would have bet that he had.
    From descriptions he was sure he knew the man.
    “Looks like