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any time."
She marched off daintily, leaving Lesage in a state of mute hysteria. What an
ordeal, he thought, slumping onto his sleeping bag. He was lucky he'd come
through it. She was a shrewd interrogator, but he had held his own. Ramsay and
Hyde might suspect he was after them but they had no proof.
He wondered if he should radio back to Dr. Sterling, then thought better of
it. At least one innocent life Elizabeth's was involved in this mess. The
final reckoning could wait at least a day until he'd had a chance to find out
whether she knew what was going on. In the meantime he would lie low and avoid
any radio contact with the museum. Determinedly he switched off his radio and
turned his back on it.
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***
"I've decided to do my project on Indians. I think Indians are scientific no
matter what they're doing, simply because they're Indians and that's that. So
if you don't consider some of my Indians very scientific, remember that they
are. This is called 'anthropology,' and if that isn't scientific I don't know
what is.
"In this project I will concentrate on a special group of Indians. These ones
used to live at a place called Lake Nickaninny, where I am right now. Of
course, they don't live here anymore. Who would? They have moved to New York
and other places.
"How do I know all this? you may be asking yourself. I know because Gus told
me. Gus is really Soaring Eagle and he is a Nickaninny Indian. He lives in New
York with his mom and dad and sister but right now he's here with me."
Bugs looked up from his notepad. "That's all I've got so far. What do you
think?"
Gus stared, eyes round with wonder. "Bugs, that's incredible! I've never
heard anything like it before!"
"Oh, you like it, eh? Good. Anyway, that's enough school. What do you want to
do?"
"How about some food gathering? My dad says our ancestors were food gatherers
as well as hunters."
"That's a good idea," said Bugs. "We can get some heritage done and then come
back here and listen to some music. And if you don't mind, once we've gathered
the food maybe I could have some of it for our camp. My folks and the Veddas
didn't catch any fish today."
Each taking a hollow gourd from Gus's household possessions, the two climbed
out of the cave. Bugs made a cursory survey of the woods around them. "So
where's all the food?"
Gus laughed. "We have to find it. You know-nuts, berries, roots, mushrooms.
Come on. I know where there are some wild berries."
Bugs followed Gus through dense foliage. "I can get into nuts and berries,"
he said, "but you can keep the roots and mushrooms."
Finally they came to a small clearing where they filled their gourds with
berries, which were in abundance.
On the way back to the cave Bugs raved about the triumph the expedition
represented. "We're a couple of food-gathering Nickaninnies, that's what we
are! We picked these berries right up there with the best of them!"
At the mouth of the cave Gus swung a leg inside and froze. He looked from his
own buckskin mocassins to his companion's canvas sneakers. "Bugs, look at this
footprint. Were you wearing boots yesterday?"
"I don't have any boots up here no room in my suitcase." Bugs looked down at
the clear boot print in the soft earth in front of the cave.
"Well, somebody does," said Gus, "and whoever he is, he stood right here and
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had a good look inside."
Bugs turned pale. "Oh no! My dad! If he's found the cave, I'm dead! I'm not
supposed to have my tape deck or drums, or even a cave. He'll kill me!"
"You'd really be in that much trouble?"
"More!" exclaimed Bugs. "Except maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was someone
else like Mr. Vedda. No, he'd just tell my dad. Who else is up here?"
Gus shrugged. "No one, I think."
"I can't ever go back to camp," mourned Bugs. Then he said more brightly,
"Let's listen to some music. It'll cheer us up. I have some good Spoon Rest
you've got to hear it's theirCounting the Silverware album. Come on."
* * *
Jean-Guy Lesage hauled his hissing inflatable boat out of the water onto the
beach and began to drag it towards his tent. He had been on the lake all
afternoon pretending to fish. In actual fact, he had kept the Potter-Vedda
campsite under constant surveillance. He had been staring through binoculars
and making notes on the various activities of the men he took to be Ramsay and
Hyde, and on the comings and goings of the party during the afternoon.
Everything had been all business until Elizabeth came out in a bikini to sun
herself. At that point the notes ended abruptly and his memory was all grey.
He hadn't put down the binoculars until a mishap with his pen had punctured
the boat. Then he had paddled madly for shore to avoid sinking.
Exhausted and hungry, he entered his tent and lit the camp stove for supper.
Stew, he thought. Yes, beef stew. He turned to his food supply and gasped in
disbelief. Gone a metre-high pyramid of canned goods, all gone! While he'd
been out in the boat someone had stolen all his food!
Who could have done such a thing? There was only one answer: Ramsay and Hyde
and their party were the only people in the area. And even though he had been
watching their camp, they hadn't all been in view at the same time. They must
have suspected he'd been watching them and stolen his food to chase him away!
What could he do about it? Not much, maybe, but he could go over there and
pay back that awful woman's social call. And while he was there he would let
them know ever so subtly that he knew they had stolen his food. Why, they were
probably eating it right now!
***
"Ma," asked Peter, "if we're having our Toasty Flakes for supper, what are we
going to have for breakfast?"
"Toasty Flakes again, dear. I guess it's Toasty Flakes from now on until
Daddy takes us away from this terrible place."
"Please pass the stale bread," said Elizabeth politely.
"If it weren't for those berries David picked this would be inedible,"
announced Mrs. Vedda.
Bugs had brought some of the berries back to the campsite as a peace offering
in the hope that if the boot prints in front of the cave belonged to his
father the gift might soften the blow. At least it had made points in his
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favour.
"Don't worry, everybody," promised Mr. Vedda. "We'll be catching fish again
and shooting game and we'll have lots of food."
"Butthis food stinks," announced Peter.
"I couldn't agree with you more," said his sister.
"It is pretty terrible, Frank," added Mrs. Potter.
"Okay, okay! If you think you can do better,you take over the food
gathering." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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