Orbit 2

Garcia called from behind. “What do you see, Kinross? Why have you stopped?”

“I see one more step and death, I think,” Kinross called back. “It’s a waterfall. We’ll have to climb the bank here if we possibly can.”

He made no move to return, but stared down into the pit. Abruptly the urge came to him to surrender, to let the water carry him over the brink. It was sudden and overpowering, almost sexual, a savage assault on his spirit. He clung desperately to the rock face and muttered a prayer under his breath, “Mother of God, spare me now.”

The compulsion, still powerful, withdrew a little distance. “Garcia,” he called, “start climbing, in the name of God. Keep talking to me.”

“There’s a ledge back here, slanting up,” Garcia said from above. “Come back under me and I’ll give you a hand up.”

Kinross edged back around the rock shoulder and scrambled up to join Garcia. The Mexican led the way up the narrow ledge.

“There’s something up ahead that will take your breath away,” Kinross warned him. “A pit. Wait till you see it. And when you do, hang on to yourself.”

Garcia grunted and kept climbing. The ledge petered out and the way became more difficult and dangerous. Then they were standing on a rocky headland falling steeply on three sides into the great pit that was all around them.

“Madre de Dios!” breathed Garcia. He repeated it several times, otherwise speechless. Both men stood silently, gazing into the pit. Finally Garcia raised a hand and whispered, “Listen!”

Kinross listened. He heard a crackling of brush and a rattling of dislodged pebbles. It came from the left, seemingly not far off.

“Something’s coming up out of the pit,” he whispered. “What’s coming? Kinross, we ain’t alone in this world!”

“We’ve got to go closer,” Kinross said. “Have to know. Walk easy.”

They stalked the sound, retreating from the headland and skirting the edge of the pit. As they neared the source of the noise, the brush became tangled and waist-high and they made noises of their own, unavoidably. Then all was silent and Kinross feared their quarry was alarmed until he heard a snuffling, whimpering noise that set his nerves still more on edge. They crept closer. Then Garcia grasped his arm and pulled him to a crouch.

Kinross strained his eyes toward where the Mexican was pointing. Suddenly, taking vague form in the pattern of silvery light and shadow, he saw a human figure not fifty feet away. “We capture him,” he told Garcia in dumb show. The Mexican nodded. Both men rose and rushed headlong.

Kinross’ longer legs got him there first. The figure rose and fled a step or two before he brought it down with a flying tackle. A split second later the stocky Mexican added his considerable weight to the tangle of arms and legs and then a despairing, agonized scream arose from the captive. Electric surprise jolted Kinross.

“Let go, Garcia,” he commanded. “Get up. It’s a woman!”

She was Mary Chadwick and she had three strong brothers who could clobber any man in Queensland and Kinross and Garcia were beasts and savages and they were to take her home immediately or it would be the worse for them. Then she clung to Kinross and cried hysterically.

While Kinross tried awkwardly to comfort her, day came, less abruptly than usual but swiftly enough to remind Kinross how unaccountably time still ran. The light was harsh and bright and he saw the disk of the sun for the first time. The familiar overcast was gone, the sky clear and blue. Sight of the two bearded men did not seem to reassure the woman.

She was quite young and dressed for riding, khaki shirt and trousers, with laced boots, outlining a tall and generous figure. Honey-colored hair hung loose to her shoulders. Her eyes, swollen with crying, were an intense blue verging on violet. Her fair skin was tanned to pale gold and a dusting of freckles lay across the bridge of her strong nose.

She recovered quickly. “Who are you?” she asked in a clear but low-pitched voice. “What is this place? Nothing like it in the Coast Ranges I ever heard of.”

The men introduced themselves. Kinross failed completely to make her understand the nature of the world around them.

“Ships? Sailors? What rot!” she exclaimed. “You say you don’t understand it yourselves, so go along with that nonsense. All we need do is walk until we find a track or see smoke or — you know all that.”

“Okay, we’re lost then,” Kinross agreed. “We’re somewhere in Australia, I take it?”

“Yes, Queensland, and somewhere on the south fork of the Herbert River. I was riding along and I must have fallen asleep. . where my horse is, I’m sure I have no earthly notion.”

Kinross and Garcia exchanged glances. “Excuse me, Mary,” the Mexican said, his black eyes blazing with excitement. “I just have to talk crazy for a minute to my friend here.” Then to Kinross, “How come? According to the soldiers of Tibesti story the gate should be in the Indian Ocean. Has this world got more than one hole in it, you suppose?”

“That’s bothering me, too. The way I’ve always understood it, without ever believing any of it, mind you, the two worlds are not superimposed. They just have that one small area in common, the gate. .”

“Well, if it opens on land. .”

“I know what you’re thinking. But we’ve got to give Kerbeck and Silva a chance. Anyway, those two.” Kinross turned to the girl.

“Mary,” he asked, “can you remember exactly where in that pit you first found yourself? Did you mark the spot?”

“No, why should I have? I’ll not go back down there for all the mad fossickers in the entire North. Take me to your camp or your diggings or whatever. I hope someone there will talk sense to me.”

The Mexican laughed suddenly. “I just remembered old Bart Garcia, my first ancestor in Mexico, was a prospector too,” he said. “That was a new world and he had a rough time in it. Lead on, Kinross.”

“All roads lead to Kruger,” said Kinross, striding off.

“All but one,” Garcia corrected, looking back at the great pit, shadowed now by slanting sunlight.

The way back was rugged at first, then more gentle. Kinross exclaimed in pleased surprise when a bird fluttered through the brush and Garcia said, “So that’s what I been hearing.” Then Kinross heard it too, a multitudinous chirping and twittering all around them. But the birds, like the indefinite trees and shrubs, were always annoyingly peripheral to direct vision. They were wing flashes, darting colors at the edge of sight.

“Doesn’t it bother you, not being able to look at them?” he asked the girl.

“But I can see them,” she said. “You strange men.

Keck-keck-keck-kee-RACK! came a noise from the brush and Kinross jumped.

“There!” the girl pointed. “It’s a coachwhip. Can’t you see him now?”

Kinross could not. “There,” she insisted, “hopping about in the wattle. Just look, won’t you!”

Garcia saw it first. Finally Kinross believed he saw the small, dark green thrush shape with white throat, long, perky tail and black crest. But he felt uneasily that he was really seeing a verbal description. Keck-keck-keck kee-rack! He jumped again and felt foolish.

As they walked, Kinross questioned the girl. She lived on a small cattle station in the mountains south of Cairns with her father and three brothers. She was twenty-four and unmarried, had spent a year at school in Brisbane, didn’t like cities. Her brothers worked part-time in the mines. This would be first-rate country for running stock and she couldn’t imagine how the land survey had missed it.

“Look at the sun, Kinross,” Garcia said once. “We’re going west. Feels good to be able to say that.”