Initially they succeeded in putting some distance between themselves and the three carnivores, but this temporary margin of safety began to contract as the spinosaurs levered themselves up onto level ground. The men could hear the meat-eaters crashing through the thick growth behind them.
“We’ll have to find a place to make a stand, Captain!” insisted a sailor as he fought to shove his way through the dense verdure.
“A fruitless notion, Mr. Johanssen.” Though breathing hard, Blackstrap kept up with the younger, more limber members of his crew. “One such monster we might bring down, but not three. Not with rifles and pistols. They be too fast, and they’ll be on us the instant we stop.”
“We have to try something, sir! ” No athlete, Smiggens was having a hard time. Several of the others were likewise beginning to slow. It was obvious from the start they would not be able to outrun their pursuers, designed as the carnivores were by a ruthless nature to run down and dispatch far fleeter prey than the humans.
Once more in the lead, Anbaya let out another cry. This time, however, it smacked of excitement rather than fear. Smiggens could see gray granite looming above the thinning canopy and forced his complaining legs to move faster. What had the nimble Moluccan found?
“There’s a canyon, Captain! Another canyon!”
“For your lives, then, you lazy lot of limp lizard-dung!” Looking back over his shoulder, Blackstrap saw a narrow, fanged snout pushing tiirough the greenery. It was close enough to snap at him. Bits of dead, dried flesh clung to the sharp teeth that just missed his waist sash. A crosswise tree slowed his pursuer, but only for an instant.
Whirling, the captain fired his pistols repeatedly, emptying both fine American revolvers and sending off each shot accompanied by an appropriate curse. The bullets only irritated the lead spinosaur, but the unexpected flash and noise of the guns caused it to pull up short, momentarily uncertain and confused. This sudden stop caused the second monster to crash into the first. Sails flailing, growling and snapping at one another, they tumbled to the ground. Though uninvolved in this brief dispute, the third and last of the carnosaurs was held up by the confrontation that had ignited in front of him.
This unexpected respite proved the pirates’ deliverance. Suddenly they found themselves running past Livistona palms and isolated bushes instead of dense rain forest. Anbaya was frantically beckoning them on from atop a smooth, dinosaursized boulder.
The slot canyon was wide enough to admit their pursuers, but at least it would force a frontal attack. They couldn’t be surrounded now, Smiggens saw. Like the first canyon they had traversed, this one also boasted sheer, towering walls and a fine level floor of sand and gravel. Running was much easier without projecting roots and hidden holes to worry about.
One of the struthies tripped and fell. It lay kicking its hobbled legs as it fought to regain its footing, hooting and squealing piteously. The other members of its family gathered around the fallen one, refusing to move no matter how hard the frustrated pirates pulled and kicked at them.
“What’s the matter with you idiots? Make them move!” Blackstrap roared, scanning the still empty canyon behind them for signs of pursuit.
“Maybe it sprained a leg!” Smiggens suggested loudly. There was no time to find out. Under his direction four of the men picked up the fallen creature bodily and resumed their precipitous flight, supporting the squealing animal between them. The ropes with which it was bound provided excellent purchase for its reluctant bearers.
Encouragingly, the canyon continued to narrow. A dead end would not be so encouraging, Smiggens knew as he pounded along. Glancing in Blackstrap’s direction, he saw that the same thought had occurred to the captain. Both men kept their thoughts to themselves lest they alarm their unimaginative and already frantic companions.
A better running surface underfoot notwithstanding, they knew there was no way they could outpace the three monsters if the dinosaurs chose to continue the pursuit. Sure enough, a pair of fanged skulls soon appeared behind them, peering around a bend in the canyon. An angry, frustrated bellow echoed off the smooth canyon walls as the spinosaurs redoubled their efforts.
“Hurry, hurry! ” Anbaya was shouting from somewhere up ahead. “Canyon narrows, Captain, it narrows!”
Heart pounding, lungs burning, Smiggens offered up a silent prayer to whatever god of geology might be attending their flight. A narrow canyon was just what was wanted now. “Just let it not be a cul-de-sac,” he whispered fervently.
Already the walls had closed in enough to force the spinosaurs to pursue in single file. They were very near now.
Lunging forward through the rapidly narrowing gap, one caught the terrified Treggang by his right ankle with the tip of its mouth and dragged the unfortunate man down. Clawing madly at the sand, the diminutive Malay howled frantically at his fleeing companions. In a fine display of determination and bravery, Mkuse raced back to grasp his shipmate’s wrists, locking them in a steel grip. The Zulu warrior dug his heels into the sand.
It was no use. Treggang might as well have been hooked to a steam winch and not a living creature. Bellowing and roaring, the other two spinosaurs crowded close behind the first, anxious for their chance at prey but unable to pass to either side of their relative, whose robust form now filled the whole of the rocky passage. Tough, knobby skin rubbed dust and small shards of rock from the unyielding walls as the three meat-eaters pushed and shoved.
Suddenly Mkuse fell backward, nearly tumbling head over heels. The spinosaur had lost its fragile grip and Treggang had popped free. Eyes wide, the liberated sailor saw that his boot had been sheared off clean just below the heel, as neatly as if by a cobbler’s saw. A small scrape bled slightly into the sand, but the wound was not serious.
Scrabbling frantically on his backside, he scuttled away from the stymied, enraged meat-eater. The pirates could not understand a word that was being bellowed in the carnivore’s language, but the meaning of those roars was clear enough. “Catch you and eat you!” they were snarling, over and over. “Catch you and eat you, puny humans!”
Only they no longer could. Like the first canyon the pirates had traversed, this one had narrowed to a point where only one or two men could advance abreast. Dig and push as they might against the solid walls, the spinosaurs could not advance another step.
Ignoring Smiggens’s warnings, Blackstrap turned and walked back down the cleft until he was within a few yards of the exasperated, irate carnosaurs. Swirling his contempt within his cheeks, he spat scornfully in their direction.
“That be for thee, you dumb beasts! I’ve watched senile lions with more sense bring down stronger prey than we.” None of the incensed spinosaurs spoke Blackstrap’s language, of course, but his manner and tone were eloquent enough. They redoubled their efforts—grinding their shoulders against the indifferent rock, flailing with clawed hands, raising an impressive cloud of dust—but, despite their rage, penetrating no farther into the canyon.
Spitting a second time into the sand, Blackstrap pivoted on his heel and with great deliberation walked slowly away, indifferent to the frantic teeth and claws that shadowed his retreat.
“Well, Mr. Smiggens,” he declared upon rejoining his men, “it seems that since we cannot go back, we may as well go forward. But first I would rest awhile. My legs insist upon it.” With sighs and whistles of relief the exhausted men sunk down upon the sand. The struthies were no less grateful for the respite.
Tilting back his head, Blackstrap squinted up at the thin line of blue sky that separated the rims of the canyon. Thick clouds interrupted the azure streak, many of them dark and heavy with rain. Was the terrible storm that had driven them upon these shores dissipating at last or still gathering strength? He had no way of knowing.
“Different canyon, Captain,” offered Suarez conversationally.
“I can see that, idiot.”
The sailor tried a different tack, nodding in the direction of the spinosaur-clogged gap behind them. ??
?What d’you think they do?”
“I expect they’ll grow bored and leave.”
“Surely you don’t mean to go back that way, Captain?” Mkuse was eyeing Blackstrap intently.
“Did you not just hear me say that we should go forward, man? We’ll not return to that blasted jungle unless there be no other way out. Meanwhile, we’ll explore the farthest reaches of this timely refuge and see if we cannot convince it to deliver us to the coast.” He twirled one tip of his great mustache.
“Aye,” muttered a spent seaman. “Gold’s no good to the man who doesn’t get the chance to spend it. We’ve teased Lady Luck enough, I think.”
“Yes, back to the ship,” agreed Samuel fervently.
“You know what they say about luck.” Several of them turned to Guimaraes. “It is like a jug with a hole in it. You can still drink from its mouth, but it is a smart man who drinks fast.”
“What think you, Mr. Smiggens?” Blackstrap crouched next to his first mate, who lay prone and exhausted on the sand. “Does this crack in the mountains also go all the way through?”
Smiggens raised himself up on one elbow and considered the enigmatic, winding boulevard of sand and stone. “Only one way to find out, Captain. Only one way.”
“Aye.” Blackstrap clapped him on the shoulder and Smiggens winced. “’Twill be good to see our shipmates and the old tub again.” A few weary cheers rose from the resting seamen.
“We needn’t hurry, Brognar.”
Blackstrap’s expression narrowed as he peered down at his first mate. “What mean you by that, Mr. Smiggens?”
The other man looked away. “It’s just that there’s so much to learn here, Captain. When we depart, who knows if and when we’ll be able to come back this way?”
“Here, now, Mr. Smiggens, what’s all this about not hur-ryin’?” Copperhead dwarfed the spindly first mate. “Have you no care for your life?”
“Of course I do.” Smiggens rose and brushed sand from his trousers. “I want to live as much as the next man. It’s just that I want to learn as much as possible about this place in the event we’re not able to return.”
“What’s so important about ‘learning?’” growled O’Connor. “We’re pirates, we are. It so states in the covenant of the Condor, which each of us has signed.” He glared accusingly at the first mate. “Including you, Mr. Smiggens.”
“Or is it, then,” wondered Watford, coming dangerously close, “that you value learning above the life of an honest seaman?”
Seeing which way the wind was blowing and not liking the smell of it, Smiggens hastened to clarify his position. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He gestured up the canyon. “Best we not linger here, but move on while the light’s still good. The quicker we’re away from this place, the quicker there’s money to be made.”
The ominous expressions on the faces of the two sailors gave way to contented smiles. “That’s more like it, Mr. Smiggens.” O’Connor turned to the others. “A cheer for the first mate, boys!” A few ragged huzzahs rose from the exhausted crew.
Watford clapped him on the back hard enough to rattle his ribs before stalking off through the sand to help with the animals. Moments later the procession had resumed, captives in tow, leaving in their wake three incredibly frustrated but helpless spinosaurs. Their fear now behind them and protected by ramparts of impenetrable rock, the jovial pirates tossed a few well-chosen epithets in the direction of their former pursuers.
Though he maintained his place in line, Smiggens could not keep from glancing repeatedly back over his shoulder. What exotic lands still lay hidden and unseen on the other side of the rain forest? What marvels and wonders, what astonishing creatures were there to be found on the far side of the lake they had seen, or within its crystalline depths? Greater spectacles, perhaps, than any they had yet encountered?
The simple seamen who were his companions lacked the imagination to wonder or to care. Even Blackstrap, with his demonstrably greater intellect, cared nothing for discovery if it could not somehow be turned into gold.
He should be content, he told himself. They had done well, having encountered and survived marvels beyond imagining. Their amazing captives, living dinosaurs, would make all of them wealthy men.
Somewhere in the distance thunder rolled, causing him to glance skyward. If this canyon did not go all the way through the mountains, «it would be an especially bad place to be caught in a downpour, he knew. As long as the floor remained level and flat his confidence stayed high. The sand was soft and warm beneath his boots, a great comfort to his feet after the difficult terrain of the rain forest.
Don’t think so much, Preister Smiggens, and you’ll be a happier man for it. But try as he would, he never had been able to escape his own thoughts.
XVI
the pirates spent a restful night in the depths of the canyon. Swept into mounds like giants’ jackstraws by periodic flash floods, piles of driftwood gathered jagged and broken in hollows and low places. The delighted seamen had only to collect what wood they needed for their fires.
For the first time since they’d entered the rain forest, they felt reasonably safe. It was clear that no carnivore of dangerous size could squeeze into the canyon and reach their campsite. They would be able to sleep in relative comfort. The sandy floor of the cleft was clean and sterile save for the occasional wandering insect. No one objected to the idea of being bitten, as long as the biter was smaller than themselves.
So fatigued were they from their narrow escape that it took an effort of will to prepare and eat supper. Nevertheless, and much to the struthies’ dismay, the ever-cautious Blackstrap posted guards to keep a watch over both ends of the canyon.
With the fall of night the central campfire cast its stained-glass light on the canyon walls, throwing men and dinosaurs alike into eerie silhouette. The reassuring crackle of the fire was broken only by the murmur of conversation and the occasional chuckle of a seaman laughing at a comrade’s joke.
“What do you think, Mr. Smiggens?” O’Connor nodded up canyon, past where the stolid Mkuse stood silent watch. “Does she cut all the way through, then?”
“Blackstrap asked the same question of me earlier.” The first mate studied the few stars visible between the gathering clouds. “There’s no way to tell from our present location, Mr. O’Connor. I believe the floor of this chasm to be at least as low as the one that originally brought us this way, but I’m no surveyor. Still, I think it possible that this entire range of mountains, or at least the portion we are visiting, may be cut by such canyons. We can but hope this is one such.”
Prettykill listened absently to the human babble. Of all the species who inhabited Dinotopia, they alone were famed for talk more than action. Even a garrulous Gallimimus appeared mute beside the least long-winded of them.
Their words meant nothing to her. Despite their verbosity she knew they were not entirely useless. She had heard from others of her tribe that on the rare occasions when they could be safely caught, they were quite good to eat, though one had to watch out for all the small bones.
Turning, she scrutinized the struthies. One of the youngsters noted her stare and began to shiver slightly. She smiled. That was as it should be. Though civilization had come to Dinotopia long ago, it had not succeeded in wiping out every ancestral memory.
In these modern times kills were rarely made. The carnosaurs of the Rainy Basin did not need to hunt. Not when the aged and dying of the civilized regions betook themselves down into the basin to expire. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, allowing the carnosaurs to survive without killing while at the same time permitting the inhabitants of the civilized regions to get on with their lives without having to dig hundreds of graves the size of ships.
But the hunting instinct remained strong within Prettykill and her kind. While its fulfillment took the form of games instead of reality, her skills and those of her fellow juveniles remained sharp.
Crouching quietly in her shackle
s and ropes, conserving her strength, she shut her eyes until only a thin line of yellow was visible. Better this way, she thought. Better a life of freedom and unfettered individuality than the constrictions of a town or farm. What need had her kind for the trappings of civilization? What need for morals and books? They remained true to their wild ancestry, the occasional covenant with the meandering convoys that passed through the Rainy Basin notwithstanding.
She would continue to bide her time. Her jaws twitched, eager to be free of the restrictive ropes. When the moment was right—and she had no doubt there would come such a moment—she would strike. She would show them what even such a young one of her kind was capable of when aroused.
I am the apex predator, she reminded herself. There are none above; all lie at my feet. I have nothing to fear.
“Look at that critter, squattin’ there like a sleeping shark.” Old Ruskin gestured in the direction of their prize captive. “You’d think it were dead, so still it sits.”
“Not that one.” Chumash had lit his last cigar and sat puffing contentedly. “Not sleeping, either.”
Ruskin squinted, his eyes sharp, for an oldster. “You’re wrong, Indian. It’s sound asleep, it is.”
“You think so?” Chumash grunted. “You go give Big Tooth a kiss. Then you see how hard it sleeping.” He took another drag on the battered stogie.
“Wouldn’t matter none. It’s tied fast. The Portuguese made the mistake o’ gettin’ too close when its jaws were loose.” Chumash nodded once. “You bother it too much and captain will take a bite out of you. Healthy it worth ten thousand American dollars. I hear first mate say so.”
Ruskin whistled softly. “’Tis a strange place we’ve come to and a strange business we’re about, even for so much money. I don’t like it here.”
“Eh-tahthe Indian murmured in his own tongue. “You belong to sea. I belong to tall woods. Yet we work these things together in this place. For gold.”