a wash, above all, and then she
might even feel able to face another
helping of tinned stew and rice pudding.
Or perhaps they might be offered
something a little more appetising by the
people at the finca, she told herself
hopefully, digging her heels into her
horse's side.
The trees thinned, and her spirits rose
mercurially. Her horse's rather ambling
gait quickened too as if he was also
aware that it was nearing the end of the
day and rest awaited them.
It all made the disappointment so much
more acute when she emerged from the
trees and found that they were on the
bank of a river, its waters a dingy brown
and moving sluggishly but in little eddies
which suggested deep and hidden
currents. And that was all—no shelter,
no
cabana, not so much as a
tumbledown shack. Rachel looked
around her and saw that Carlos had
already dismounted, and was taking the
saddle from his horse.
She rode slowly towards him. 'What is
this place?' she demanded.
Carlos shrugged rather evasively. 'Is just
a
place,
senorita,'
he
returned,
obviously trying to sound reassuring. 'It
get dark soon, so we stay here.'
'Here?' Rachel was frankly horrified and
made no attempt to disguise her feelings.
'But you said there would be forestry
service places—and fincas. There's
nothing here at all!'
Carlos' round face was suddenly less
good-humoured. 'There are such places,
but it will take too long to reach them.
We need to build a fire—it will be dark
soon. Tonight we stay in the tent I have
brought.'
'A tent?' Rachel echoed helplessly.
Nothing had been said by either of them
about a tent. And it certainly couldn't be
a large one if Carlos had brought it on
the packs his own horse was carrying.
An odd feeling of distaste swept over
her as she visualised the prospect of
having to share any kind of tent, large or
small, with Carlos in the middle of this
wilderness.
She moistened her lips. 'Nevertheless, I
think I'd prefer to press on,' she said
levelly. 'I find this sort of country a little
wild for camping out in.'
Carlos gave her a sullen look. 'That is
too bad, senorita. It is far to the nearest
finca. We should not reach it before
morning.'
Rachel felt her heart sink, but her
training came to her rescue and she
managed to maintain her cool facade. It
suddenly seemed important not to let
Carlos know her inward alarm. Besides,
her imagination was playing tricks with
her again, she assured herself. It was this
place—the approach of night and the
darkness of the encircling forest. The
sinister swirl of the brown water. It was
—getting to her. Carlos was just an
inoffensive
little
man
who
had-
miscalculated, that was all. Probably she
should have made it clear to him back in
Asuncion that any form of camping was
out as far as she was concerned. If their
departure hadn't been so hurried at her
insistence, she could have paid more
attention to their actual means of travel,
got it all sorted out to her satisfaction
before they ever set out, but she had
allowed her impatience to find Mark to
get the better of her.
As if he sensed her inner hesitation,
Carlos said eagerly, 'This is a good
place, senorita. Better we stay here. I
make a fire.' His smile was ingratiating.
'You may have the tent, senorita.'
Rachel bit her lip. He seemed to have
assessed with fair accuracy the root of
her uncertainty, and succeeded in making
her feel foolish. She gave a slight shrug
and slid out of the saddle.
Carlos was as good as his word. It was
only a tiny tent and soon erected, and
before long he had a fire going too, and a
can of water coming to the boil on it.
The sun had almost vanished by now,
leaving a resplendent sky to mark its
passing, and a definite chill in the air.
Rachel was glad of the blanket Carlos
passed her, and she held it round her
shoulders as she sipped at her mug of
black coffee. The sticks crackling on the
fire and the little darting flames had
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia