12 Cannibal Adventure Page 4

  He took up each egg in turn and put it to his ear. Finally he got one that satisfied him.

  ‘There’s your croc,’ he said. ‘Listen to it. It wants to say hello to you.’

  ‘You’re putting me on,’ said Roger. But he took the egg and placed it against his ear. His eyes grew big with surprise.

  ‘It has the hiccups,’ he said.

  ‘No, you just don’t understand croc language. It says, “I’m coming out.” ‘

  ‘I’ll help it,’ said Roger, and tapped the end of the egg against the edge of the stone bowl. Nothing happened. He tapped harder, still with no result.

  ‘Boy, that shell must be tough!’ He took up a stone and struck the end of the shell a hard blow. It had no effect. ‘WeU, there’s one thing sure. If I can’t break it open the croc can’t either.’

  ‘Give the little fellow a chance,’ said Hal. ‘He’ll show you what he can do. Just listen.’

  Roger listened. Presently he heard a tapping sound. Something hard was striking the inside of the shell. ‘Sounds as if he was using a little hammer.’

  ‘Not exactly a hammer,’ Hal said. ‘It’s his egg tooth.’

  ‘What’s that? One of his teeth?’

  ‘No, the egg tooth isn’t in his mouth. It’s on the end of his nose. Nature has given it to him so that he can break his way out of the shell. After he gets out of there he doesn’t need it any more and Nature takes it back. It falls off.’ , Roger was still suspicious that his brother was kidding him. If what he said was true, it was pretty wonderful.

  Tap, tap, tap. The blows were stronger now. The shell began to crack.

  Then the end of the shell broke and out came the tip end of a croc. On the end of its snout was a little white hammer, the ‘egg tooth’. What an odd place to have a tooth, on the end of your nose.

  Now the eyes appeared and blinked in the strong light of the tropical sun.

  Roger put out his finger to pet his pet. The little beast immediately opened its jaws and clamped his finger between sharp teeth.

  ‘Ouch!’ said Roger. ‘Is that any way to start life?’

  The little croc seemed ready to battle with the world. He let go of the finger, then viciously snapped his little jaws together.

  ‘I still don’t believe he’s any eight inches long,’ Roger said

  ‘He was coiled up as tight as a ball in the shell,’ Hal said.

  ‘Wait till he straightens himself out.’

  Roger waited. He wanted to help, but didn’t care to be bitten again. The little fellow evidently preferred to do things in his own way.

  Roger put the shell and its occupant down on the ground. The croc edged out a little farther. Now its front feet appeared. Then its back, its hind feet, and its tail. It was a good eight inches long. It was a perfect crocodile in every way except for its small size. It was not helpless like a newborn human baby, but seemed quite capable of taking care of itself.

  The woman came out with a bit of fish and leaned over to give it to the crocodile. Hal stopped her and in sign language told her to give it to Roger. Roger took it and dropped it into the small croc’s open mouth.

  ‘Why didn’t you let her give it to him?’

  ‘Because I wanted you to see one of the greatest mysteries

  of Nature. You are about to become a mother.’

  ‘You’re talking in riddles,’ Roger said. ‘What do you mean, me, a mother?’

  ‘The mystery is called imprinting. When an animal is born, the first moving object it sees is printed on its brain. If the real mother is close by she will be the first moving thing that the little fellow sees and he will follow her from that time on. But if she isn’t there when his eyes open, his little brain will be imprinted by Hie first living thing he finds, and that living thing will take the place of his real mother - especially if the living thing feeds him. The first moving thing this little fellow saw was you, and you were the first to feed him. Now you are his mother. Now, put your finger near his mouth again.’

  ‘I’m not anxious to be nipped,’ Roger said.

  ‘I don’t think you will be nipped. Try it.’

  Roger put his hand close to the small jaws. The jaws remained closed. Roger got up and moved a few steps away. The youngster followed him. The boy-mother sat down on a stone. The baby climbed his trouser leg, digging his sharp little claws into the cloth, and sat on his lap looking up into his face. The imprinting had worked. It was a perfect picture of mother and child.

  Roger was still not quite convinced. ‘He probably can’t tell the difference between one human and another. You’re as much his mother as I am.’

  ‘We can soon find out,’ Hal said.

  He put his hand around the small croc’s back and tried to take it away from his brother. The croc held on. When he was finally pulled loose he began to twist and writhe like a snake, his jaws snapping, reaching for Hal’s hand. Hal put him back on Roger’s lap and he was quiet at once.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Roger said. ‘A. human baby doesn’t act that way. It can’t tell the difference between its mother and anybody else. Anybody can pick it up. It takes weeks, perhaps months, before it can tell which one is its mother.’

  Hal nodded. That’s right. But a human baby isn’t as smart as an animal.’

  ‘Oh, come now. How do you make that out? A human brain is a lot better than an animal’s brain.’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Hal said. ‘At the beginning, no. Many newborn animals are ready to take care of themselves at once. You saw how this little croc no sooner got out of his shell than he could see, bite, and walk. Can a human baby do that? A human starts life on milk. This little fellow started out on solid food. Toss him into the bushes and he’ll start right out taking care of himself. Throw a human baby into the bushes and it will die in short order. The animal brain is almost as good at first as it ever will be. The human brain is a very poor thing at the start’ But it has the capacity to improve and grow far beyond the ability of any other living thing.’

  Roger looked at his pet with motherly pride. ‘I’m going to call him Smarty,’ he said. ‘Let’s go on board and show him to Captain Ted.’

  They walked to the river’s edge. The villagers laughed as they saw the little croc waddling along rapidly behind Roger.

  The boys waded into the water, and Roger looked back to see how Smarty was getting along. The eight-inch youngster plunged into the water without hesitation and swam.

  ‘That’s something your human baby couldn’t do,’ said Hal.

  When they came to deeper water the boys also took to swimming. They didn’t mind getting their clothes wet since they wore nothing but trousers, their shirts having been ripped off by inquisitive natives. The trousers would quickly dry under the equatorial sun.

  Reaching the ship, they climbed aboard by the anchor chain. Smarty tried to follow, but his claws weren’t made for climbing a chain and he fell back into the water. He discovered a rope dangling from the deck. Here was something he could dig his claws into. He swarmed up it like a sailor and joined his mother on the deck.

  Captain Ted came forward and stared at the croc. ‘Get that varmint off my deck,’ he exclaimed, and seemed about to kick the small reptile into the river.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch my child,’ said Roger.

  ‘Child? What kind of nonsense is that?’

  ‘Just a case of imprinting,’ Roger said.

  ‘Imp - what?’

  ‘Imprinting.’ And Roger undertook to explain the mystery of imprinting as if he had known about it all his life instead of for about ten minutes. ‘So you see,’ he concluded, ‘I’m his mama.’

  ‘Well I’ll be hornswoggled,’ said the old salt. ‘Never heard anything like it.’ And he looked at Roger as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether he was a genius or an idiot.

  ‘Sure you ain’t been touched by the sun?’ he said. ‘It makes some folks a mite crazy.’

  Chapter 8

  Captain Smarty

&nbs
p; The little croc, now about fifteen minutes old, took over the ship.

  It was hard to say who was captain, Ted or Smarty. Roger’s infant roamed the deck, examining every feature like a government inspector. He explored the cockpit, the wheel, the compass, the rudder, the capstan, and climbed the mast to the crow’s nest. He climbed down and went below decks. The clatter of falling pans came from the galley, and then silence as he found something he could eat.

  ‘What’s he up to now?’ the captain wondered, and stormed below. He suspected the little reptile of invading the stores of food, but found to his surprise that the little rascal, true to croc nature, was swallowing not food but a wrist watch that the captain had left on the galley counter. He seized Smarty by the midriff and squeezed, forcing him to open his jaws and spill the watch. Then he brought the squirming animal up to the deck and tossed it in the tank already occupied by the big croc.

  ‘Crocs belong with crocs,’ he said.

  The monster stared at the midget, then lunged towards him with jaws agape.

  ‘Better act fast,’ Hal said to Roger, ‘or you’ll lose your son.’

  ‘Why?’ Roger objected. ‘A croc wouldn’t eat a croc.’

  ‘Get going,’ urged Hal. ‘Crocs are cannibals. A big male will eat a youngster if his mother isn’t there to protect him. You’re about to see it happen.’

  But Roger wasn’t going to stand by and see it happen. He couldn’t reach Smarty because the little fellow was out is the middle of the tank. There was nothing to do but dive in and swim to the rescue. The splash he made attracted the

  monster’s attention and Roger came up to see two great eyes and a yellow mouth, wide open, coming straight towards him. He grabbed Smarty and flung him on deck, then made for the side of the tank as fast as he could go, splashing vigorously to blind his pursuer. Hal was there to haul him up to safety. Roger lay on the deck, puffing from exertion, heart beating wildly. Gradually he got himself under control.

  ‘That settles it,’ said Captain Ted. ‘That little brat has almost cost you your life and he’s messing up my ship. I’m going to chuck him overboard, right now.’

  ‘You let him alone,’ said Roger, ‘or it will be you who will go overboard.’

  The captain glared. ‘And who do you suppose will make me?’

  ‘I will.’

  Ted laughed. ‘You young sprig,’ he said. ‘You think you’re as smart as your baby croc’ The idea that a fourteen-year-old boy would dare to face up to an old sailor amused him.

  Roger came charging with his head down like a bull in a china shop. The captain stepped back to get out of the boy’s way. His heel struck the coaming of the deck and he stumbled backward into the river.

  Instantly Roger was sorry. ‘I didn’t really mean …’

  ‘He’ll flay you alive,’ Hal said.

  The captain came up spluttering, but laughing. Perhaps it occurred to him that Hal and Roger, having chartered this ship, were for the time being its masters. Anyhow, he was not one to bear a grudge.

  Still chuckling, he let the boys help him back to the deck.

  ‘That was a crummy thing for me to do,’ admitted the penitent Roger. ‘Sorry I lost my temper.’

  ‘No offence,’ said the captain. ‘It was just what I should expect from a mother defending her young.’

  ‘I’ll take care of Smarty so he won’t bother you any more,’ said Roger. He got a line, tied one end of it around the foot of the mast, the other end around Smarty’s neck.

  Everybody was satisfied. For about two minutes. Until the little brat’s sharp teeth had bitten through the line and he was again running loose around the deck looking for trouble.

  Roger was ready to give up. There seemed nothing to do but to drop the little rascal into the river to take his chances of going free or being swallowed by a croc.

  Then he thought of the piano wire that was used to make wire nets. He got a loose piece of the wire and once more leashed Smarty to the mast. The little teeth tried again to bite through the leash, but although they were wonderful they were not quite wonderful enough to serve as a wirecutter.

  The little fellow looked up at Roger as if to say, ‘What did I do wrong, Mama?’ And if there was such a thing as crocodile tears Roger could imagine he saw them in the baby’s eyes. He took his child up into his lap and comforted him. The captain brought a bit of fish and Roger fed it to the youngster. There was peace in the family once more.

  The sun sank behind the mountains. Because New Guinea hugs the equator, the day had been hot. But now, without sun, the air sweeping down from the eternal snows on the mountain-tops was chill.

  Everyone was tired. It had been a big day. Roger especially was ready to relax after his first day as a mother. He could realize now what his own mother must have gone through to bring up two lively boys. He crawled into his bunk and was almost immediately asleep.

  He woke up with a start. Something cold lay against him. Had his brother crawled in with him?

  ‘Is that you, Hal?’ No answer.

  Roger put his hand where the cold thing touched him. He found Smarty. But how did the little rogue get loose?

  He found the wire still attached to the baby’s neck. He ran the wire through his hands to find the place where it had been cut by the sharp teeth. There was no cut or break in the wire. He reached the end of it and found it had been pulled loose from the mast.

  How persistently the little fellow must have tugged and tugged to accomplish this. How determined he must have been to get in out of the cold?

  He remembered now that a reptile has no central heating system. A human being is lucky. The fire inside him keeps his body temperature a little under one hundred degrees in sun or shadow, day or night. But any reptile, whether it is a snake, a lizard, or crocodile, has no internal furnace and takes on the temperature of the outside air.

  So at night, with the snows and glaciers sending down icy cold air, the little crocodile had become stiff and miserable and might die if he could not find warmth. Besides, he probably got lonely. So now he snuggled up close to his mama and he felt like an icicle against Roger’s ribs.

  But Roger did not chuck him out. Instead, he drew him closer, tucked the covers hi behind him and warmed the little icicle with the heat of his own body.

  Both went to sleep and did not wake until the sun came up on another day.

  Chapter 9

  Prison

  The sun also rose over a dreary grey prison on the Australian coast.

  But it did not penetrate the thick strong walls. The only light in the cell came from a weak bulb dangling from the ceiling.

  Kaggs shivered. He was a big powerful man with a sour face and a hunch in his back. Sitting on a stool with the black blanket from his bed wrapped around him and flaring out at the sides like wings, he looked like a vulture about to pounce on a rabbit or a rat.

  The rat in this case was Butch, sound asleep, within reach of the vulture’s claws. Butch, short for Butcher. He was in prison because he had been true to his name. He had been too handy with a flick-knife.

  Kaggs swooped, but only to rip off the blanket covering his cellmate and add it to the one over his own shoulders.

  There was no heat in the cell. No television. No radio. Nothing to read. No pictures on the walls. Only a cold sweat oozing from between the stones. No breakfast yet. When it did come, it would be tasteless slop. Nothing to look forward to but this for the rest of his life.

  It wasn’t fair. He had only committed four murders and attempted two more - but they had failed, so he really shouldn’t be punished so severely. A man had no rights any more.

  No one to talk to. The least this dolt could do was to wake up and talk. Kaggs gave the dolt a sharp kick in the ribs.

  Butch groaned and opened his eyes. He nursed his ribs and whined, ‘What’s the big idea?’

  Must wishing you good morning,’ growled Kaggs.

  ‘It’s not a good morning when the first thing I see is your

>   sour puss. Yesterday morning was better before you came. Why did they put you in here with me anyhow?’

  ‘Just thought you needed pleasant company, I suppose,’ said Kaggs.

  ‘What did you do to get into this stinking place?’

  ‘You mean, you didn’t read the papers?’

  ‘Papers! What papers? I haven’t seen a paper since they put me in here six months ago.’

  ‘Well,’ said Kaggs, ‘you’ve missed a lot if you haven’t heard the story of my life. It’s been all over the place. Everybody knows.’

  ‘Except me,’ said Butch. ‘Go ahead, entertain me.’

  ‘Well, since it’s common knowledge, you may as well have the juicy details. It started with this little trouble I had in San Francisco on Fisherman’s Wharf. A drunk sailor got in my way. I don’t like people to get in my way. It annoyed me, so I killed him. Nobody saw. I slid into a boat and skipped to Sausalito. I hid up in Muir Woods. When it all blew over I came out.

  ‘ft was too easy. So I did it again. Killed two that time, but they nabbed me and I did a spell in jail. But I made them think it was manslaughter, and got out on good behaviour. You’ve no idea how useful a little good behaviour can be.

  ‘But nobody seemed to like me in San Francisco so I took off for the South Seas.’

  ‘Why the South Seas?’

  ‘Because I’d heard a conversation about a fortune in pearls. A big zoologist had a secret pearl farm out there and wanted a young naturalist named Hal Hunt to go and see how it was coming along. All top secret.

  ‘I got acquainted with this Hunt guy - told him I was a missionary going to the Pacific islands to convert the heathen.” Butch laughed. ‘You a missionary? How could you get away with that?’

  ‘It was easy. You see, my old man was a clergyman. I went to Sunday School until it came out of my ears. I can quote the Bible like nobody’s business. Perhaps my quotes aren’t always letter-perfect, but how would anybody know that? My folks even started to make a preacher out of me. So I had no trouble playing missionary. I posed as a minister of the Go-Ye-Forth Church of America bearing glad tidings to the pagans of the benighted islands.