Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [44]
“Stop the engines!” Emerson called. He caught Selim in an iron grip and pushed him back. “No, Selim! Leave it to…Curse it—Ramses—!”
Ramses climbed onto the rail and dived. He began swimming toward the flailing arms and distorted face of poor Hassan. The boat shuddered to a stop, but the pair were already some distance astern—and beyond them the surface of the water was broken by a triangular wake, with a long ugly head at its apex.
“Throw them a rope!” I shrieked, though to be sure I feared it would not do much good. The crocodile and Ramses were converging on Hassan, or rather on the spot where he had been. There was no sign of him now. Ramses went down after him. And so did the crocodile. Blood stained the muddy surface of the water. Miss Campbell screamed and fainted gracefully into the arms of her brother, who stood staring in paralyzed horror.
Then I realized Emerson was gone.
Not into the water, surely; I would have seen him jump. I was about to call his name when he came running, thrust the watchers aside, including me, and stood with his feet braced and his arms extended. He was holding a heavy pistol.
The water boiled and bubbled, and all three heads reappeared. Ramses appeared to be supporting Hassan, who appeared to be unconscious; the crocodile appeared to be in some distress. It rose half out of the water, jaws snapping. Emerson fired. There was a hideous bellow from the wounded animal. Ramses was swimming, strongly but too slowly, burdened as he was with Hassan. Emerson took careful aim and fired a second and third time. How he managed to hit the thrashing target I cannot imagine, but the third shot finished the creature. It sank like a stone amid a spreading crimson stain.
“Get a rope to them, Peabody,” said Emerson, moving neither his eyes nor the pistol. “I will just make sure the other beasts don’t take a hand. Or should I say a ‘jaw’?”
“How can you jest, sir?” Campbell demanded in a shaken voice. “You should be praising God for his infinite mercy.”
“Well, you see, I don’t know yet how merciful he has been,” said Emerson coolly. “Peabody…”
“Yes, my dear. At once.”
We got them on board. Hassan was a dead weight, unconscious and bleeding heavily. After a quick look at him, Nefret whipped off her belt and fashioned it into a tourniquet. Hassan’s left leg ended in a bloody stump.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped. “The crocodile had him by the foot!”
“Yes.” Ramses dropped to a sitting position, knees raised and head bowed. He was streaming with water and gasping for breath. “How is he?”
“Daoud, Selim, get him to my cabin and put him on the bed,” Nefret ordered. “I’ll operate there. Hurry!”
“He’s lucky to be alive,” Emerson said grimly. “Once a crocodile gets hold, he rolls and drags his victim down. Ramses, how did you persuade the creature to let go?”
“Knife,” said Ramses briefly. He was still short of breath. “Lost it.”
“We will get you another, a better, the best that can be found,” said Selim, his voice unsteady. Hassan was his first cousin. “You saved his life.”
“Not me,” said Ramses. “All I could do was…distract the brute.” He pushed the wet hair back from his face. “Never believed those white-hunter stories…Hassan and I would both be crocodile food but for Father.”
“I was too damn slow,” muttered Emerson. “Should have carried the damned pistol instead of leaving it in my suitcase. But who would have supposed…You aren’t hurt, my boy?”
“No, sir. Thank you for asking,” he added.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow!” exclaimed the Reverend Campbell.
I took Emerson away.
At Wadi Halfa we had to go through the laborious business of unloading and transporting our baggage a second time. The steamers lie to close to the railroad station, but thanks to Emerson’s preference for a semi-derelict vessel, we had missed the Saturday train. There was not another until Thursday.
“All to the good,” declared Emerson, unquenchably optimistic. “It will take a while to make arrangements for Hassan’s care. We cannot simply walk off