Read Online Danger at Dahlkari by Jennifer Wilde - Free Book Online Page B

looks very capable. He—”
    I cut myself short. Sally gripped my arm. Both of us heard the noise at the same time. A twig had snapped in the jungle, snapped loudly. In the silence the noise was almost like a gunshot. There was a rustling sound now, as though someone were pushing aside a branch. Sally and I both stood up, tense and alert. The native sprang to his feet. He stood very still, listening, peering into the jungle, and then he turned to look at us. The clearing was bathed with a faint, pale silver now as the moon came out from behind a bank of clouds, thin, luminous beams streaming through the leafy canopy above. I could see him clearly, see his grim expression, his tight, resolute mouth.
    â€œHe—he heard it, too,” Sally said.
    The native put his finger to his lips, warning us to be silent, and then he moved across the clearing and disappeared into the jungle, seemed to melt into it as if by magic, making not a sound.
    â€œIt’s them,” Sally said. Her voice was flat.
    â€œPerhaps it was just—just some animal.”
    â€œIt wasn’t. It’s them. I can feel it in my bones.”
    Several long minutes passed. I wondered why I was so calm. I should have been trembling with fear, my pulses leaping, my knees weak, yet I felt none of the things I should have felt. It was as though I had no feeling whatsoever. I stood motionless, hardly breathing, cold, so very cold, and I was as calm and clear-headed as I had ever been in my life. Sally was motionless, too, a hard, determined expression on her face. The jungle was still, silent but for the faint rustle of stiff leaves and the pleasant gurgle of the stream. Perhaps we had been mistaken. Perhaps it had merely been some animal after all.
    Then we heard the cry and the sound of scuffling.
    It was difficult to tell where it came from, near or far, in front or behind. There was a violent thrashing of leaves, the loud, popping crackle of branches snapping, footsteps shuffling, a dull thud as something heavy hit the ground. Two men were in mortal combat, each fighting for his life, a loud groan now, another crash. After a long, tense moment of silence there was a shrill, piercing scream that ended in a hideous gurgling sound, then another, louder thud. Was it the tall native? Had he been strangled to death by one of those deadly yellow rumals? Was the Thug even now on his way to the clearing?
    â€œSomeone’s coming,” Sally said in that flat, expressionless voice.
    She took hold of my hand. That curious, inexplicable calm still possessed me, as though this were a dream and I knew it was a dream and therefore couldn’t really be frightened. Stealthy footsteps approached. Someone moved slowly, cautiously toward the clearing. I stood stiff and rigid, frozen it seemed, unable to do anything but watch calmly as the curtain of flowering vines slowly parted. Sally was gripping my hand so tightly that it seemed she would crush my fingers into pulp. Neither of us made a sound as the tall Thug in white stepped into the clearing and stood there no more than five yards from us.
    He stared at us. He wore a white turban, and his face, clearly visible in the moonlight, was dark like polished mahogany, a mask of evil, the thin lips slowly curling in a smile of anticipation as he pulled the yellow scarf from his waistband, catching each end and stretching it taut between his hands. Legs spread wide apart, sandaled feet firm on the ground, he popped the rumal once or twice, testing its strength, and then that horrible smile vanished and he glared at us with savage resolution.
    â€œKali,” he said, and then he screamed, “Kali!”
    A muscular arm shot out from behind him, swinging around his throat in one rapid, brutal curl that crushed the scream abruptly. The robed native reared back, squeezing with all his strength, and the Thug dropped the rumal and thrashed about in frenzied panic, on his tiptoes now, clutching at that