I eased myself into — a slightly better position and then cushioned my face in my arms biting down the nausea induced by pain and the smell of my own burnt hair and eyelashes. The head-down angle of my body didn't help either. Nor could I focus properly: the cordite seemed to have seared my eyes and blood dripped into them from the gash in my forehead which the bolt had made.
If I continued to lie where I was, I reasoned muzzily, Rankin might be persuaded that I was indeed dead and come to look for my body. Which wouldn't help me; he'd spot me as soon as he came near the root cage. If he chose to wait — and I had already had experience of his patience — I'd be bound to give myself away sooner or later and he would flush me out. It might be as late as next day, when I wouldn't even have the cover of darkness. Somehow or other I had to break out of the trap. I tried to look at the problem coolly, detachedly, but I was too tense and a solution eluded me. The higher the moon rose the slighter would my chances become. The only way out seemed to be the secret passageway but it would be impossible to reach its entrance in the root cage undetected. In any case, even should I gain the summit of The Hill, Rankin could starve me out without firing a shot.
I worried at the problem from every angle. I decided eventually that it might help if I knew more or less where Rankin was. I slid forward a few inches and lifted my eyes cautiously above my hiding-place. The camp was the same: utterly peaceful, nothing disturbed — and no Rankin: I presumed that he must have returned to his previous loophole. From it he commanded the fire, the cage and the approaches to the secret stairway. As I watched the fire gave a sudden flare but it was not bright enough to penetrate to where I felt sure Rankin lay hidden.
I explored every possibility of a solution again but nothing emerged. When the fire flared again I peered harder, hoping that in spite of my bad vision I would spot something. It was a bigger flare this time and the sparks reached high. The answer came as it subsided and I tried to project myself into Rankin's skin and think what I would do in his situation. The flare must have momentarily dazzled his night-sight and blotted out his picture of my cliff-side. Given one big burst of sparks again it might be possible for me to get clear unseen. The fire had been burning for hours, however, and how could I predict when a flare was coming? As if in reply, it sparked again: a miserable, tiny jet which was no cover at all. I was about to put the slim chance aside and rethink the whole problem from a new angle when it occurred to me that if I could make the fire flare I could pick my own moment to escape in the general direction of the wadi, away entirely from The Hill. Every possible method to achieve this, both practical and impractical, chased through my head. Somewhere, I-felt, there must be an answer. Now that I had almost decided on my course of action it was foolish to risk exposure again. I started to creep back quietly in order to offer the lowest profile possible. The clip of shells in my pocket dug into me. At once I knew the answer: tossed into the fire, the clip would explode and blow sparks and embers in every direction, blinding Rankin. It would also constitute a noisy diversion. Rankin would hardly expect a fusillade of shots within a few feet of his face.
I was excited at the prospect and fingered the clip but held myself back. The two critical factors would be when to toss the five shells into the fire and my aim, which would have to be perfect. There would be no second chance. I would also have to wait for one of the fire's periodic flares so that Rankin would remain unsuspecting when it landed and kicked up sparks. About the faint thud the clip would make in falling I could do nothing.
Grasping the clip, I slithered back into my previous position overlooking the fire. I had barely eased over on my left side to give my throwing arm free play when the fire flared. I was relieved that the pay-off came so soon. I was shaking and sweating. A long wait would have wrecked my efforts. I lobbed the clip at the fire and ducked down hard. I didn't hear it drop. There was nothing but the continuing pregnant silence.
I lay immobile, trembling with anticipation, wondering how long the cartridges would take to explode. I dared not consider a miss. When I could take the strain no longer I peeped from my hide-out. The fireside picture was the same. I felt then that it must have gone wide of the mark and I started to fine-comb the camping-site for it with my wretched eyesight. Without warning the fire erupted like a grenade-burst. There were five shells in the clip; I do not know how many separate reports I heard before I catapulted myself from the funkhole and ran at a tight crouch down the slope towards a path which led behind the rocks to safety. Then followed two heavier crashes in quick succession and Rankin's bullets whined and sang off the cliffs. There was a third, but no ricochet, and I realized that he was firing into the root cage and not in my direction.
I stubbed my foot, tripped, and fell heavily. Breathless, I got to my feet and found myself on the pathway with a great boulder between myself and Rankin. I sped away, keeping it between him and me while more shots crashed and echoed as he pumped shells into my hiding-place of a few minutes before. The ground levelled off and I raced into the open in the moonlight. Rankin-remained within range still, however. I sprinted and jinked in case he saw me but another burst of firing told me he was concentrating on The Hill.
Then I struck the old wall which marked the outer line of fortifications and was over it almost before I remembered the twenty-foot drop to the wadi below. I found foot and handholds and started to work my way down like a fly on a wall. But I slipped and fell, landing awkwardly and heavily in the sand. Had it been ordinary ground I might have broken a limb; as it was, the bream was knocked out or me for the second time that evening.
I lay gasping and before I had recovered properly I hightailed across the wadi into the circle of hills beyond. I followed a shallow ravine to the top and found an agglomeration of rocky outcrops which were perfect cover. The firing ceased and across my sandy moat of safety The Hill reared pallid under the moonlight.
CHAPTER FIVE
I was parched and my tongue felt like leather. I also wanted water to clean up the sticky mess of blood and grit on my forehead. During my escape blood had run from the cut into my injured right eye and now, as I lay quietly among the sheltering rocks, it began to congeal, further hindering my vision. I was badly bruised where the bolt had struck me. My physical discomfort, however, was not as great as my anguish of mind. I cursed that old rifle for letting me down at the moment when everything was going my way. I got to my feet, wondering where I should begin to search for water. The present area was clearly useless. The broken summit, though ideal cover in the cool of night, would become an intolerable furnace by day. I rejected a passing thought of making a wide detour of the fortress and returning to my boat. It seemed too much like throwing in the towel before the fight had begun and I was determined to remain within striking distance of Rankin while I concocted a fresh plan. The faraway glow of my fire was visible from my elevated position and I knew Rankin must be nearby. My task was to find some safe shelter where I could keep watch and later get my hands on him. The focus of my attention was The Hill and would remain so while he was anywhere near it.
I probed for water-bearing plants among the rocks — ghostly in the moonlight which now illumined the circle of hills. I was on a smallish peak at the western extremity while below me, stretching eastwards for a couple of miles, was a wide valley wholly ringed by the chain of hills. From my position on the rim I faced the inside of the bowl. The hills were of a more or less uniform height all round the compass except for one prominent square-cut crag which rose out of the northern group facing the wadi and, of course, across its sand, The Hill. It was the most noteworthy peak in the area with the exception of The Hill itself. Our scientific party had christened it simply K2 but there had been no opportunity to explore it. The moonlight softened the raw terrain and scabbed remains of bush but I knew what a death-trap it could be if I were caught there without water.