Temple of the Jaguar God Read Online Free PDF Page A

stick to his uncle, and Syrmes,
who had a rifle, like the proverbial glue.
    Especially with that damned stone cat crouching there like it
was ready to pounce and nothing more than a thousand-year stare to
show for all of its waiting.
     
    ***
     
    Smoke
from the native cook-fire hung in the trees like a soggy wet
blanket, with dead monkey-meat stinking of being over-cooked and
over-dried. Positively blackened monkey meat, and yet it would
still be raw inside. The natives would eat so much and then hang
the rest over the fire again.
    Jeremy,
after sagging into a wood and canvas deck chair, (thank God I don’t
have to carry it), was unbelievably tired. They’d been going all
day, with nary a sign of Mister O’Dell.
    There
was a kind of nausea—first the fear for O’Dell’s fate, and the sick
realization that he was probably dead, and then there was the
hunger and water deprivation of the last eight or ten
hours.
    Kevin
handed him a warm (very warm) stout.
    “ There, lad, I reckon you’ve earned it.” He snickered quietly
for a moment. “A night alone in the jungle. I am impressed,
Jeremy.”
    “ Oh, God.” Jeremy’s eyes slid over to Melody, seemingly not
very concerned with her husband Peter’s fate.
    She knew
him best, of course, and it was entirely possible that he had
simply gone off on his own! Without so much as a jacket. Maybe that
was her attitude, but if so it was a damned strange one. Meeting
Mister Smith’s eyes for a second, he exhaled in
gratitude.
    Jeremy
wasn’t much for drink, but he had to admit it wasn’t bad. The tang
of the stuff went straight to something deep inside and the head
was all creamy and soft on the palate. Other than that, it didn’t
seem to taste very good. He’d had wine before, of
course.
    “ Thank you, Mister Smith.”
    “ Oh, poor boy. You must have been terrified. I know I would
be.”
    “ Yes, I have to admit I was concerned, ah, Mrs. O’Dell.” Such
formality might seem strange to a woman who appeared to be barely
dressed in what looked like pajama-bottoms or some sort of
sleepwear under her thin housecoat—imagine the native boys lugging
that uphill all the way, and smelling of her all that
time.
    It was
his only defense.
    One had
to wonder what sort of thoughts they might have had—
    “ I might have even panicked for a minute there. I must admit,
the thoughts were not good…standing under that big old tree the
whole bloody night…”
    She sat
up, eyeing Paolo like some kind of a bug, as he sweated and
strained over their dinner less than forty feet away. Grease flared
up and he cursed, (presumably), in Spanish.
    It was
almost inhuman, the way she just didn’t seem to care about Peter’s
disappearance, although Jeremy wasn’t too familiar with people in
shock.
    “ I think you were very brave.” Her face fell, and maybe she was
worried about her husband after all.
    “ Peter will turn up…er, Melody.”
    She gave
him a startled look.
    “ Oh—thank you.” Her fingers plucked at each other and she
seemed very cold, distant and far away at that exact moment in
time.
    Fear.
Perhaps she was trying not to show it.
    As for
Jeremy, he itched all over, although he’d had time for a cool
shower in their canvas stall before changing into something a
little more suitable for dinner. The clothes from the day before
were soaking in a bucket and that was about the best that could be
said for them.
    If
nothing else, he had survived a night in the jungle—a jungle which
had swallowed up an older and much more experienced man.
    He
caught Kevin’s eye again and the fellow lifted an eyebrow, having a
swig at his own hot brew.
    His
uncle came out of the big tent, the attentive Mister Day in tow, as
the pair conferred in low tones.
    “ I’d never really thought about luck before.”
    “ Hmn. Yeah—” That one got a curt nod as Mister Smith dragged
himself upright to go and see if there was anything he could do
about getting dinner moving any