Mike Dixon

„I don‟t know.‟ The old man steadied himself against the
rock face. „I was feeling real crook. My lungs couldn‟t stand
the gas. I was choking on it. I only just got the little girl out.‟
„Was it light when he found you?‟
„Yes. The poor child was so frightened when he came.‟
David glanced at his watch.
„That wouldn‟t have been more than twenty minutes ago.‟
„I did my best,‟ the old man sobbed. „I was feeling so bad.
I thought I was going to die.‟
David looked out over the edge of the escarpment. The
rain had stopped and the line between the mangroves and
the sea was just visible in the growing light. „If the plane‟s
not damaged, they‟ll be able to take off,‟ he muttered under
his breath. „They‟ll be almost there by now.‟
The old man took it as a rebuke. „I did my best.‟
„I know you did. Anne could have suffocated. We‟ve just
got to get down there and rescue her. What‟s the quickest
way?‟
„Down the goat track,‟ the old man replied feebly. „The dog
knows the way. He‟ll take you. We‟ll come along behind.‟ He
turned to the big animal. „Take him to the airstrip, boy.‟
The dog took off and David did his best to follow, stumbling
over rocks and crashing into bushes as he tried to keep
up. His eyes were still giving trouble. Tear gas and lack of
sleep had taken a heavy toll. Tears streamed down his face
and he failed to see the dog when it stopped beside the track.
It barked furiously and he retraced his steps. The big animal
was perched on a large boulder, peering out across the val-
ley. He could not see what it was looking at but he could hear
voices – female voices.
„COOEE!‟
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