Not until the last kitchen utensil was washed, packed, and loaded did Rhonda Terry go to the car in which she and Naomi Madison rode. She was flushed and a little tired as she entered the car.
Naomi eyed her with compressed lips. "You're a fool, Rhonda," she snapped. "You shouldn't have lowered yourself by doing that menial work. We were not employed to be scullery maids."
Rhonda nodded toward the head of the column. "There probably isn't anything in those boys' contracts about chopping down trees or fighting cannibals." She took a paper-wrapped parcel from her bag. "I brought you some sandwiches. I thought you might be hungry."
The Madison ate in silence, and for a long time thereafter she seemed to be immersed in thought.
The column moved slowly. The axe men were not accustomed to the sort of work they were doing, and in the heat of the equatorial forest they tired quickly. The trail opened with exasperating slowness as though the forest begrudged every foot of progress that they made.
Orman worked with his men, wielding an axe when trees were to be felled, marching with the advance guard when the trail was opened.
"Tough goin'," remarked Bill West, leaning his axe handle against his hip and wiping the perspiration from his eyes.
"This isn't the toughest part of it," replied Orman.
"How come?"
"Since the guides scrammed we don't know where we're goin'."