When Roxton and Challenger returned to the treehouse, successful in their quest to fortify the windmill and replace a few of its bamboo and fabric fans, the hunter entered from the elevator and called Marguerite’s name. When there was no responds his attention quickly shot to their table and the quickly written missive.

“She does this sort of thing on purpose, you know.” Releasing the note, Roxton permitted it to float in the air and watched soberly as it landed on the top of their common room supper table. “One day I’ll learn.”

Amused, Challenger stowed the heavy pack he carried on his back and spoke charitably, “She was anxious, Roxton. As long as Marguerite took her gun I don’t think there is anything to fear. Veronica goes out by herself often.”

“And I’m never comfortable with that either.”

Challenger joined Roxton and tapped the side of their empty picnic basket which was also resting on the table, “I think she left it up to you to prepare lunch.”

“Then I better do it.” Roxton said, grasping the basket by its handles. “The sooner I leave here the easier I’ll feel.” He moved to the kitchen.

Reading the concern in his friend’s expression, Challenger thought for a moment then said. “I don’t have anything terribly pressing to do this afternoon, Roxton. While you’re arranging lunch would you like me to go to Malone Rift and see how Marguerite is doing?”

The hunter hesitated for a moment. Thoughts of a romantic supper under the stars, just he and a beautiful brunette, came to the forefront. Yet, Roxton was worried about Marguerite and it did comfort him to know Challenger would be watching her back in his absence. Roxton nodded although his appreciative smile did not quite reach his eyes.

Challenger was not so unsophisticated that he did not understand his friend’s veil of reluctance. “Then, of course, when you eventually arrive … I’ll come back to the treehouse and check on a few of my test tubes …”

“Thank you, Challenger.” Roxton nodded, satisfied, and tossed some apples, bread and cheese into the picnic basket.

***

When she was a little girl someone had sung that lullaby to her.

It was silly, capricious and could be a little frightening, for a precocious five year old, when taken out of context. Yet, Marguerite liked it. The singer was gentle and she recalled her head, ringlets of soft dark curls, being stroked soothingly. Her face had nestled into someone’s supple breasts, while she was being crooned. Marguerite had felt safe. If only she could remember who had done the singing … if only she could remember anything.

Marguerite’s eyes opened and she blinked several times. She was back in the real world. How often was this event to be played out, she wondered solemnly. She did not like waking and not knowing where she was.

Lifting fingers to touch her cheek, Marguerite looked upward. Greenery. Branches … A tree. She wasn’t just looking at a tree. She was in a tree. “How …?” she began then suddenly remembered.

Marguerite sat up quickly and grasped her aching side, just below the ribs. The pain was awful. She gulped back nausea. It had been something from a nightmare. One of those big, vicious birds had taken her; a talon scraping her side, scratching the flesh, as it held her in its crushing grip, flying with her, wanting to take her God knows where to feast.

She had nearly passed out during the journey - or perhaps she had. Marguerite had a vivid memory of briefly fighting. A survivor, the woman swung her arms about, punching at the pterodactyl, but soon - the air thinning - she grew exhausted and the woman eventually hung limp. She was floating. An odd sense of tranquility overcame her. Perhaps it was the peace of death that accompanies the inevitable.

But the next thing Marguerite knew there was another of her captor’s species and they began to fight over her, in mid air, snapping ferociously at one another. Angry threatening screams came deep from within their throats. The fighting escalated and the next thing Marguerite knew she had been unceremoniously released by the beast and was falling.

Marguerite should have been terrified and, at first, she did cry out. She felt the hat slip from her head … then there was darkness. She had come to rest in this tree, her fall broken by the jungle canopy; lying to balance on this large leaf that cradled her body so nicely. She could lie here all day if she wanted, just like a new born baby …

Marguerite heard a barely perceptible sound and looked about.

Her eyes opened wide when she realized what it was and she suddenly scrambled for the tree’s trunk.

As the enormous leaf gave away, Marguerite’s body latched onto the trunk as if it were her lover. She looked down to see the greenery as well as some smaller twigs and branches fall, bouncing from limb to limb until they hit the hard ground, far below.

With a sigh, knowing she could not hang from the tree forever, Marguerite started a careful descent.

***

“Damn woman is going to be the death of me.” Roxton murmured irritably as he, basket in hand, walked rapidly through the jungle. The sky was beginning to cloud over and he suspected it might rain, adding to Roxton’s aggravation. He pulled moodily at the collar of his jacket, feeling the weight of the rifle at his side, and hoped he reached Challenger and Marguerite before they were doused.

Suddenly brightening, Roxton thought that with any luck Challenger could still make it back to the treehouse and he and Marguerite, if there was a shallow cave nearby, could settle down in front of a romantic fire and ...

Roxton paused in his walk momentarily and nearly chuckled. One moment he was furious with the enigmatic vixen and next all he could think about was how wonderful it would be to be alone with her. Honestly, there were times when he believed Marguerite was a sorceress, casting a spell over him, making his mind not his own. No other woman in his life had ever left him so puzzled, provoked and … proud.

As Roxton neared Marguerite’s camp, in the vicinity of the hill where all those gems were located, he began to get a strange feeling. He did not know if it was his hunter’s instincts kicking in; that touch of sixth cents that had often saved his and others lives, or if his imagination had gotten the better if him. Roxton knew if Challenger or Malone were walking with him they would be saying he was over-reacting - whilst looking about to see if his intuition was on the mark - but now the hunter only knew he wanted to get to the campsite as soon as possible. Something was wrong. He just knew it. Marguerite was in trouble …

He ran now, the basket in his hand acting as an anchor, inexplicably keeping Roxton from losing all control. Yet when he got to the clearing, when he saw Challenger on his knees, examining a wide range of footprints in the soil before him, when Roxton saw the unattended and over-turned pail of uncut gems beside the scientist, he stood as still as stone.

Challenger looked up at Roxton, stricken, and said: “Marguerite is missing.” Challenger had seen Roxton’s determination before and he had also witnessed his younger friend’s near horror when anything went amiss with Marguerite. Despite it all, the combination always made for a fascinating study.

Roxton, dreadfully and silently, dropped the picnic basket and did not watch as an apple escaped and rolled less than a meter away.

****

She thought she might feel a strong sense of security once her two feet were planted firmly on the ground but Marguerite, looking up at the high bulky trees and listening to the fierce sounds of the jungle, merely felt very small and misplaced. As she walked she looked about, trying to find something familiar but nothing seemed to make sense.

After a mile of fruitless searching Marguerite sat, with great frustration, on a large flat boulder and tried, to the best of her ability, to think-out her situation. She ran fingers through her tousled hair and missed her hat.

Her head hurt, her side just under the ribs was sore and a distinct grumbling was heard from her belly. Marguerite was hungry, lost and - as far she could see - totally defenseless. Could this day really get any better, she thought with bitter sarcasm. Then, as if to answer, a rumble was heard from up above. The sky had grown gray and threatening.

With a deep sigh Marguerite searched her mind. She had the vague impression there was a fight. There had been men and they treated her badly. They were going to do terrible things to her. Blank faces and rough voices suddenly assailed Marguerite. Hands were grasping and holding and she was trying so hard to escape …

But then there were other people in her vision, equally as faceless but seeing them caused her to feel hope, security and warmth. There was a pretty girl, maybe two, and there were also men -- but with friendly voices. She suspected they were handsome. They laughed but not crudely and a hand touched her own ... It was gentle and if she could see his eyes she knew they’d been soft and sincere. He had a strong jaw and soft lips that pulled deliciously at her own … ‘I’d give my last breath for you.’ he’d say and she would believe him.

And then the roar came and the earth moved underneath her feet.

Marguerite sat up straight, frightened, and search frantically from the top of the trees to the bushes and flowers about her. Monkeys screamed in the trees then all at once went quiet.

The roar came again, louder and more terrifying.

Marguerite dropped to her knees and crawled to hide behind the boulder. The ground still moved beneath her and her eyes were wide and stricken. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore!

Then she saw it, not far away, walking in her direction. The creature was huge and angry and its teeth rivaled that of the pterodactyl that had attacked her not hours before.

Marguerite sunk down even lower and saw that the boulder actually had a human sized niche, a ridge of sorts where she could crawl inside and seek protection. It was tight and dark, probably housed any number of disgusting insects, but at this point the woman did not care. Safe was safe. Marguerite crawled inside, lying flat on her stomach and was as silent as the grave. She did not even whimper when the monster came to stand right next to her.

It cried its grotesque roar to the surrounding jungle.

‘He smells me.’ Marguerite realized. She had been bleeding. Maybe it smelled the blood. She did not know how she knew this but sensed it was true.

Marguerite could see through a crease between two sloping stones. The tyrannosaurus was standing right next to her hiding place, its immense hind legs rocking to and fro for a good thirty seconds before it decided whatever prey it had sensed must have escaped.

The dinosaur moved heavily along, dragging its immense tail behind it, and Marguerite exhaled the breath she had been holding. She was about to move out of the crevice when it started to rain.

In here she was out of harm’s way. She would not get wet ... Well, not too wet. And she was so sleepy … Marguerite closed her eyes and gratefully slumbered.

***

If it had been up to him they would have walked all night through the rain but even Roxton knew where to draw the line.

“Come by the fire, John.” Challenger urged.

“In a minute.” he said, looking out the open door of their guest-hut at the downpour. It was late and dark and she was out there, alone and frightened. He held a dark hat in his hands and looked down at it every once in awhile, trying to ignore the blood stain around its inside lip.

Challenger tossed a few more sticks onto the fire in the middle of the shelter. He warmed his hands over the glow. “The good news is she obviously escaped.” Challenger tried to look on the bright side.

“But she’s hurt.” Roxton murmured.

“We don’t know that for certain. It may not be what we think. We’ve all suffered from cuts, scratches and sprains.”

Roxton and Challenger searched the entire hillside area once they realized more individuals than Marguerite had been at her camp. The over-turned uncut diamonds and general messiness of the site made an alarmed Roxton immediately think of ape-men or cannibals. But then Challenger, examining the jumbled footprints, told Roxton the men were wearing shoes.

“Slavers.” he had said as if it were a good thing. He went on to explain that if Marguerite had been kidnapped by slave traders they would want to be certain she did not come to harm. “The Kikos are close. Let’s go to them and ask if they’ve been approached by marauders.”

What greeted them at the small village were mournful female cries and angry men. The raiders had been there all right. They had pillaged at a good time, when most of their young, strong warriors were out hunting. The slavers, taking advantage of their good fortune, picked up three of the budding Kikos girls and two small boys. They had also killed a remaining unsuspecting warrior with a “thunder stick”. Challenger looked at Roxton and both acknowledged what the other was thinking - ‘Marguerite’s gun’.

“We are a peaceful people.” Mauvan, a native healer told them. “But the warrior they slew managed to cut one of the men across his chest with a knife just before …”

“In what direction did they go?” Roxton asked quickly, dispensing with compassion. He was sorry but the men were armed and dangerous and if they had Marguerite ...

“Was there a woman with them?” Challenger asked. “She’s been in your village before. Marguerite Krux. Your chief told her she could take some of the brightly colored stones from your sacred mountain. She has dark hair and is dressed much like us. She’s missing and we think she was also taken by these men.”

“She was not with them.” the healer said, suddenly understanding the desperate look in the younger pale-skinned man’s eyes. She was his woman and he was anxious to get her back.

A young girl in a brightly decorate sarong came up behind the elderly man, “They said a woman had fallen.” She whispered in a low and respectful voice.

“Speak child.” the healer ordered.

The girl stepped forward a half pace more, “I over-heard them say she had fallen over a cliff. They could see her but she did not move. They thought she had died.”

“I looked over that cliff, Challenger. She wasn’t there.” Roxton exclaimed.

Neither wanted to state the possibility, that Marguerite had turned over one too many times and fell even further, possibly to her death.

“Mauvan.” A boy, one who had managed to hide well and escape the slavers clutches ran to the healer and their visitors. He lifted something in his hands. “I found this in the jungle. It was attached to the limb of a tree.”

The healer took the dark object from the boy and showed it to Roxton and Challenger.

It was Marguerite’s hat.

In the hut, Roxton looked down once again, brushing the hat’s fabric tenderly with his thumb. They could not figure out how it had gotten in the tree. Had Marguerite crawled up there to escape a raptor attack? Maybe she had left it there on purpose hoping either he or Challenger would find it. Whatever the case it meant she was alive.

Roxton moved away from the door and sat before the fire, just opposite of Challenger. “She’s out there, George. She‘s trying to find us.”

“And if she can’t find us we will find her.” Challenger assured, “However, to do that we need rest, John. Just a few hours. Let the rain pass and we will be out there at dawn searching once again for our loved one.”

Knowing his friend spoke wisely, Roxton reluctantly nodded and lay on a mat in front of the fire. Marguerite’s hat rested on his chest. He would lay silent but there would be no sleep tonight. Roxton closed his eyes. ‘I’m thinking of you Marguerite. Are you thinking of me?’

***

In her sleep Marguerite once again dreamed of a handsome faceless stranger.

***