The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [125]
“No wonder you wanted so many donkeys,” I said to Cyrus as, with glances admiring on my part and modestly proud on his, we surveyed the scene. “You sent them back after they were unloaded?”
“Figured I might as well. In rough terrain like this a man can scramble around as fast as a donkey can move.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “I hope Emerson isn’t going to throw a fit when he finds out I ordered some of my own men to stay. They don’t know much about excavating, but they have sharp eyes and suspicious natures.”
“Let him throw a fit if he likes. I approve, and I believe I can still bully—persuade, I mean—Emerson to accept the inevitable. How did you manage to convince your crewmen to take on the duties of guards?”
“Money is a great persuader, my dear. We’ll speak no more of that; have a look at your quarters and see if I have forgotten anything you need or want.”
The only fault I could find was that there was an excess of unnecessary luxuries, including soft cushions and a pretty china tea set. “It won’t do, Cyrus,” I said, smiling. “Emerson will wax sarcastic when he sees those ruffled pillows.”
“Let him,” was the sulky reply.
“More to the point,” I continued, “there is not room for a second cot. Bertha will have to share my tent, Cyrus. No“—for he was on the verge of objecting—”there is no alternative, I fear. Far be it from me to cast aspersions on the character of any young gentleman, but I cannot allow the slightest breath of scandal to tarnish an expedition of which I am a part. Gossip of that sort, true or false, would hinder the advancement of females in the profession, and that advancement, as you know, is a matter of great concern to me. Furthermore—”
“I take your point,” said Cyrus with a sigh. “If that’s what you want, Amelia, that’s how it’s going to be.”
Cyrus’s cook was among those who had consented to stay with us. I could only assume Cyrus had bribed him extravagantly, for good chefs can easily find employment and do not have to endure conditions like the ones under which he labored.
I was pouring tea by the fire when Charlie staggered into camp. The poor young American was a sight to behold. His shirt was as wet as if he had stood under a waterfall, and his hair was dripping.
“So how did it go?” I inquired cheerfully. “You have been working on the plan of the tomb, I believe?”
“Part of the time,” said Charlie, in a voice hoarse with fatigue and dust. “I believe I have by now practiced every possible aspect of the archaeologist’s trade. If the professor—”
He was interrupted by the professor himself, who had gone off to inspect the camp. He now came storming up to us, brandishing some object like a club. It was so dark that I did not identify the object until he got close to the fire.
“What the devil do you mean by this, Vandergelt?” he demanded, thrusting the rifle—for so it proved to be—into Cyrus’s face.
“For heaven’s sake, Emerson, point it the other way,” I exclaimed in some alarm.
“It is not loaded,” said Emerson, pitching the weapon away. “But the ammunition is there, along with a half dozen other rifles. What the devil—”
“If you will give me a chance, I will answer you,” said Cyrus coolly. “Nobody is forcing you to pack a six-shooter, but I’ll be consarned if I am going to neglect such an obvious means of self-defense. These are Mauser Gewehrs, with 7.92- millimeter cartridges and a five-round magazine. A sharp shot, which I am, can blow a man’s head off at two hundred yards. And if I see a head I don’t recognize, that’s what I intend to do, with your permission or without it.”
Emerson’s teeth gleamed in the firelight. “I’m sure your speech has made a great impression on the ladies, Vandergelt. It doesn’t impress me; but then that was not your purpose, was it? I hope your eyesight is good. It would be a pity if you happened to shoot Abdullah or me by mistake.”
Hearing Cyrus’s teeth grinding, I hastened to intervene. “No more squabbling, if you please.