‘Forty-eight what, old man?’
‘Rounds of ammunition.’
‘Oh…. I see…. Still, you popped one off at the ocean, didn’t you?’
‘Would you have preferred not to know whether the gun worked?’
Tom ignored the question. ‘Never fired the thing before. What a wheeze! I got it for twenty-two marks fifty in Frankfurt and gave myself a rare thrill smuggling it through the Customs at dear old London Airport. I must say it’s quite a nice little toy.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Avery.
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I say so.’
‘Not good enough, old man. Go play fuehrer by yourself.’
Avery hit him. He was surprised himself at the speed and strength of the blow—a hand-edge chop to the neck that brought Tom down like a sack of potatoes. Fortunately, Tom was too surprised to hang on to the revolver. Avery picked it up quickly—and at the same time cursed himself for being a bloody fool. This was a fine start to building up mutual trust.
He wanted to apologize to Tom, who sat grunting on the sand and massaging his neck. He was on the point of helping him to his feet and finding a few conciliatory words, when Mary spoke.
‘Need you be so—so brutal, Richard?’
‘Yes,’ he said, killing the apology that was almost on his lips. ‘I told him to look around, so he starts shooting things. I told him to give me the gun, but he doesn’t…. I’m just doing the job you gave me to do—my way.’ Barbara went to help Tom to his feet. ‘You’re both a couple of fatheads,’ she said. ‘But Richard is right—in a wrong sort of way. Now stop it, the pair of you.’
Avery held out his hand. Surprisingly, Tom took it. Then he pulled Avery forward and hit him in the stomach. Winded though he was, Avery didn’t let go of the gun. He buckled up, gasping.
‘Two can play at this game,’ said Tom. ‘How does it feel to be on the receiving end?’ He seemed rather pleased with himself.
‘Not nice,’ panted Avery. But oddly he was glad. It had restored Tom’s self-respect. They were equal once more.
‘I’d like my revolver back,’ went on Tom. But he sounded more like somebody who was making a point rather than a request.
‘Sorry,’ said Avery, scrambling to his feet. ‘You’re not getting it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have hit you, but that doesn’t alter matters. You don’t get the gun until I know I can rely on you.’
Tom grinned. ‘You may not live that long.’
Suddenly Mary spoke. ‘You’re behaving like spoiled children. Heaven knows what Barbara and I are going to j do if we have to rely on people like you.’
Avery shrugged. ‘Well said…. Now let’s get on with the job. Tom, you and I must find a spot suitable for pitching camp while they sort out the necessary gear…. Do you know anything about camping?’
‘Used to be a scout, old man.’ The ‘old man’ was emphasized.
‘Fine, you’ve just been appointed camp-maker extraordinary. Come on.’
The piece of high ground that Avery had noticed was ^ not suitable. Tom pointed out its flaws, chief of which was the problem of drainage. But about a hundred yards farther along the beach there was a hillock with a flat, almost circular top covered by fine grass. It also had the advantage of being close to a small stream.
‘This will do,’ said Tom, after a critical inspection. ‘For a start, anyway. We can find somewhere better in the fullness of time.’
Avery gazed back along the way they had come. ‘I suppose we ought to begin the business of fetching and carrying, then.’
EIGHT
The day grew warmer. Presently, the two men stripped to the waist. Despite its weight and the fact that it was rubbing a raw patch on the side of his leg, Avery kept the revolver in his trousers pocket. Tom carried one of the sheath knives.
Avery, conscious of the fact that it was necessary to reduce the hostility between them, took care to consult Tom on all aspects of camp making, and deferred to most of his suggestions—though it soon became clear that Tom’s camping lore was hardly any better than his own.
Although the two women helped as much as possible, it took nearly a couple of hours before the tents, equipment and cabin trunks had been moved to what was beginning to be called Camp One. The trunks were the hardest to move. In the end, the men were reduced to dragging each one, yard by yard, across the soft sand and shingle.
Camp One, thought Avery, as they began to put up a couple of tents, was a good and symbolic title. It indicated the possibility of Camp Two, and so on. In short, the inference was that they were not just going to sit down—a static group of castaways—and consider their grievances. Of course, there was nothing at all that could be done about the most important problem—getting back home. But it was just possible, if contact could be established with the people—or creatures—who had brought them here, that some kind of solution could be worked out. So far, all the evidence seemed to indicate that the kidnappers—whoever or whatever they were— had pretty important reasons for engaging in such an elaborate project. One of the first steps, decided Avery, when he had time to think would be to try to work out intelligently what those reasons were. If that could be done, it might lead to a way of frustrating the project and/or striking a bargain. The possibility looked rather remote, but at least it was a possibility. Meanwhile, there was no time to think things out carefully. There was too much work to be done.
The tents were each large enough to accommodate two people in reasonable comfort; and so Avery decided that for the time being only two of them would be used domestically—one for the women and one for the men. Another tent would be used as a shelter for the supplies, and the remaining one would be kept in reserve.
Having erected the tents—again a symbolic as well as a practical operation—Avery left the task of sorting out the stores and making the accommodation as comfortable as possible to Mary and Barbara. The next problem was what to do about defence. Although the only wild life in evidence so far had been the six-legged ‘rabbit’ shot by Tom, the set of little plastic pictures indicated the existence of several dangerous creatures. It would certainly not be pleasant, for example, to wake up one night and find one of those miniature pig-like rhinoceros things poking its nose into a tent….
Tom’s mind was working along the same lines. He dumped the bundle of sleeping bags he had been carrying and wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘What are we going to do about the bug-eyed monsters?’ he asked. ‘Can’t have the girls crawling up a wall because some dear little five-foot lizard wants to be friendly.’
‘Great minds,’ remarked Avery, leaving the platitude unfinished. ‘I think we are going to have to build a fence of some kind.’
‘Tall order. What about keeping a fire going all night?’
‘That too.’ Avery smiled. ‘But the animals here may be a little different from the ones on earth. They may even like a fire. We shall just have to find out.’
Tom was silent for a while. At length he said: ‘The trunks seem reasonably weatherproof. If we take out the kind of things we’re likely to need in the immediate future; and then lay the trunks end to end round the back of the tents, they ought to make a fairly substantial part of a barrier…. What do you think?’
‘They certainly ought to be used until we can find something better. We’ll have to complete the circle with driftwood—and we’ll want a stack of that for the fire, as well.’ Avery took the revolver out of his pocket and felt the sore patch on his leg gingerly. He put the gun into one of the tents. ‘I’m tired of lugging that thing around with me,’ he said, watching Tom carefully.
‘All hands have to go armed,’ remarked Tom drily. ‘The Fuehrer’s personal orders.’