He was too tired and cold and depressed even to feel exasperated with himself. The sight of Stevens and the knowledge of how it was with the boy had affected him more than he knew. Moodily, almost, he kicked the rope over the side again, slid down the chimney, untied the second rope and sent the spike spinning out into the darkness. Less than ten minutes later, the wetly-coiled ropes over his shoulder, he led Miller and Brown into the dark confusion of the rocks.
They found Stevens lying under the lee of a huge boulder, less than a hundred yards inland, in a tiny, cleared space barely the size of a billiard table. An oilskin was spread beneath him on the sodden, gravelly earth, a camouflage cape covered most of his body: it was bitterly cold now, but the rock broke the force of the wind, sheltered the boy from the driving sleet. Andrea looked up as the three men dropped into the hollow and lowered their gear to the ground; already, Mallory could see, Andrea had rolled the trouser up beyond the knee and cut the heavy jackboot away from the mangled leg.
‘Sufferin’ Christ!’ The words, half-oath, half-prayer, were torn involuntarily from Miller: even in the deep gloom the shattered leg looked ghastly. Now he dropped on one knee and stooped low over it. ‘What a mess!’ he murmured slowly. He looked up over his shoulder. ‘We’ve gotta do something about that leg, boss, and we’ve no damned time to lose. This kid’s a good candidate for the mortuary.’
‘I know. We’ve got to save him, Dusty, we’ve just got to.’ All at once this had become terribly important to Mallory. He dropped down on his knees. ‘Let’s have a look at him.’
Impatiently Miller waved him away.
‘Leave this to me, boss.’ There was a sureness, a sudden authority in his voice that held Mallory silent. ‘The medicine pack, quick – and undo that tent.’
‘You sure you can handle this?’ God knew, Mallory thought, he didn’t really doubt him – he was conscious only of gratitude, of a profound relief, but he felt he had to say something. ‘How are you going –’
‘Look, boss,’ Miller said quietly. ‘All my life I’ve worked with just three things – mines, tunnels and explosives. They’re kinda tricky things, boss. I’ve seen hundreds of busted arms and legs – and fixed most of them myself.’ He grinned wryly in the darkness. ‘I was boss myself, then – just one of my privileges, I reckon.’
‘Good enough!’ Mallory clapped him on the shoulder. ‘He’s all yours, Dusty. But the tent!’ Involuntarily he looked over his shoulder in the direction of the cliff. ‘I mean –’
‘You got me wrong, boss.’ Miller’s hands, steady and precise with the delicate certainty of a man who has spent a lifetime with high explosive, were busy with a swab and disinfectant. ‘I wasn’t fixin’ on settin’ up a base hospital. But we need tent-poles – splints for his legs.’
‘Of course, of course. The poles. Never occurred to me for splints – and I’ve been thinking of nothing else for –’
‘They’re not too important, boss.’ Miller had the medicine pack open now, rapidly selecting the items he wanted with the aid of a hooded torch. ‘Morphine – that’s the first thing, or this kid’s goin’ to die of shock. And then shelter, warmth, dry clothin’ –’
‘Warmth! Dry clothing!’ Mallory interrupted incredulously. He looked down at the unconscious boy, remembering how Stevens had lost them the stove and all the fuel, and his mouth twisted in bitterness. His own executioner … ‘Where in God’s name are we going to find them?’
‘I don’t know, boss,’ Miller said simply. ‘But we gotta find them. And not just to lessen shock. With a leg like this and soaked to the skin, he’s bound to get pneumonia. And then as much sulfa as that bloody great hole in his leg will take – one touch of sepsis in the state this kid’s in …’ His voice trailed away into silence.
Mallory rose to his feet.
‘I reckon you’re the boss.’ It was a very creditable imitation of the American’s drawl, and Miller looked up quickly, surprise melting into a tired smile, then looked away again. Mallory could hear the chatter of his teeth as he bent over Stevens, and sensed rather than saw that he was shivering violently, continuously, but oblivious to it all in his complete concentration on the job in hand. Miller’s clothes, Mallory remembered again, were completely saturated: not for the first time, Mallory wondered how he had managed to get himself into such a state with a waterproof covering him.
‘You fix him up. I’ll find a place.’ Mallory wasn’t as confident as he felt: still, on the scree-strewn, volcanic slopes of these hills behind, there ought to be a fair chance of finding a rock shelter, if not a cave. Or there would have been in day-light: as it was they would just have to trust to luck to stumble on one … He saw that Casey Brown, grey-faced with exhaustion and illness – the after-effects of carbon monoxide poisoning are slow to disappear – had risen unsteadily to his feet and was making for a gap between the rocks.
‘Where are you going, Chief?’
‘Back for the rest of the stuff, sir.’
‘Are you sure you can manage?’ Mallory peered at him closely. ‘You don’t look any too fit to me.’
‘I don’t feel it either,’ Brown said frankly. He looked at Mallory. ‘But with all respects, sir, I don’t think you’ve seen yourself recently.’
‘You have a point,’ Mallory acknowledged. ‘All right then, come on. I’ll go with you.’
For the next ten minutes there was silence in the tiny clearing, a silence broken only by the murmurs of Miller and Andrea working over the shattered leg, and the moans of the injured man as he twisted and struggled feebly in his dark abyss of pain: then gradually the morphine took effect and the struggling lessened and died away altogether, and Miller was able to work rapidly, without fear of interruption. Andrea had an oilskin outstretched above them. It served a double purpose – it curtained off the sleet that swept round them from time to time and blanketed the pinpoint light of the rubber torch he held in his free hand. And then the leg was set and bandaged and as heavily splinted as possible and Miller was on his feet, straightening his aching back.
‘Thank Gawd that’s done,’ he said wearily. He gestured at Stevens. ‘I feel just the way that kid looks.’ Suddenly he stiffened, stretched out a warning arm. ‘I can hear something, Andrea,’ he whispered.
Andrea laughed. ‘It’s only Brown coming back, my friend. He’s been coming this way for over a minute now.’
‘How do you know it’s Brown?’ Miller challenged. He felt vaguely annoyed with himself and unobtrusively shoved his ready automatic back into his pocket.
‘Brown is a good man among rocks,’ Andrea said gently; ‘but he is tired. But Captain Mallory …’ He shrugged. ‘People call me “the big cat” I know, but among the mountains and rocks the captain is more than a cat. He is a ghost, and that was how men called him in Crete. You will know he is here when he touches you on the shoulder.’
Miller shivered in a sudden icy gust of sleet.
‘I wish you people wouldn’t creep around so much,’ he complained. He looked up as Brown came round the corner of a boulder, slow with the shambling, stumbling gait of an exhausted man. ‘Hi, there, Casey. How are things goin’?’
‘Not too bad.’ Brown