Read 1979 - A Can of Worms for Free Online

I looked around, chose a big flowering shrub some yards from the path and moving silently, I squatted down behind the shrub, out of sight, but with a good view of the tent.
    Mosquitoes buzzed around me. Apart from bird noises, the jungle was silent. I wiped my face, opened the holdall and took a drink from the thermos. I wanted a cigarette, but decided that the smoke might give me away. I settled down to wait. It was a long, sweltering wait. I kept looking at my watch. When the hands crawled to 08.45, I heard a sound that made me flatten out on the ground: the sound of a man, whistling. Then came the sound of the crackling of dead leaves and the swish of vines as they were impatiently pushed aside. Whoever was approaching was confident of being alone. He was taking no precautions.
    Peering through the leaves of the shrub, I saw a man come out of the jungle on the far side of the clearing. He was of medium height, broad shouldered and muscular.
    At a guess he was around twenty-five or six years of age.
    His black hair was long and unkempt. His bushy beard concealed most of his features. He was wearing a long-sleeved dark green shirt and black trousers, tucked into Mexican boots. In one hand he carried a fishing rod, and in the other, two fair sized Black Crappie, already gutted and cleaned.
    As he set about igniting the barbeque, I lay motionless, puzzled. Could this tough looking hippy be Waldo Carmichael? I thought not, but it was just possible that he was. Watching his deft movements, seeing the muscles rippling under his sweat-soaked shirt, I thought it was possible a girl like Nancy might fall for him.
    With the fish sizzling on the grill, he unlaced the entrance to the tent and went inside. He returned into the open after a few minutes, carrying a tin plate and a knife and fork. I watched him eat. When he had finished the meal and was burying the debris, I decided to take action.
    Moving silently, I made a wide sweep and got back on the path again. I started off towards the clearing, deliberately making a noise, by scuffling up dead leaves, and as I reached the corner of the path, leading to the clearing, I began to whistle. I wanted to warn him of my approach. I had an instinctive feeling that it would be bad tactics to sneak up on him.
    As I moved into the clearing, I saw him standing by the tent. He was holding a .22 rifle, and it was pointing in my direction.
    I stopped short and gave him my friendly smile.
    “Hi, there! Excuse me. I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought I had this island to myself.”
    He lowered the barrel of the rifle so that it pointed now at my feet, but I could see he was tense and jumpy.
    “Who are you?” His voice was low and husky.
    I could see I had given him a hell of a scare.
    “Bart Anderson. All right for me to approach? That rifle looks kind of unfriendly.” I smiled again. “It might go off.”
    He remained as watchful as a cornered cat.
    “Stay where you are. What are you doing here?”
    “I’m looking for Blackbeard’s cave,” I said. “Would you know where it is?”
    “There’s no cave on this island. Beat it!”
    “Are you sure? There was a guy at the Neptune bar who told me for sure it’s here.”
    “I said beat it!”
    “Are you a hermit or something?” Still smiling, I began to edge forward.
    The rifle came up.
    “Beat it! I’m not telling you again!” The threat in his voice was unmistakable.
    “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. Don’t you want . . .”
    The gun went off with a cracking sound. The slug churned up the leaves at my feet. It was a one-shot gun. I moved fast. I was on him while he was groping for another slug.
    His reflexes were snake-like. If I hadn’t been trained in jungle fighting, he would have crippled me with the kick he aimed at my groin. The kick, a solid one, landed on my thigh and sent me staggering. He swung the rifle and the butt just missed my face. As he swung again, I weaved into him and landed a short arm jab into his