"What happened back there?" Roxton asked as he took his bearings to head home.

"I saw something above me and I jumped. Stepped back onto some dry sticks. It was just a damn bird too." Ned's voice was filled with self-recrimination. With a plastered grimace, he wiped the top of his head. The bird in question had left him an unappreciated gift as the final coup de grace.

 "That's not what I meant, Malone. Always best to take stock of what's around you. You never know when it could be something hunting you instead. Giving your position away was bad luck, but the consequences if it had been a raptor instead of a parrot is far too final." He poked the young man in the chest. "But you took the shot and you missed," Roxton pointed out bluntly. To him, that had been Malone's sole mistake. They couldn't afford to waste precious bullets.

"I was desperate."

"Your shot should have brought the beast down. You didn't lead your target far enough. Another few inches to the right and you would have made the kill."

"I panicked."

"You rushed your shot." Roxton put it nicely. "Remember to take a few seconds to slow your breathing, wait for the right moment."

His earlier anger faded away. The lad was learning, and to be honest, it was an easy mistake. Roxton's only concern now was the time it was taking. The plateau only afforded few such errors. It was a harsh mistress and eventually would grow weary of stragglers. It was Roxton's personal responsibility to make sure Malone didn't become one and pay the ultimate price.

He attempted to lighten the mood. "You know, if you wore a hat, you wouldn't have to worry about that." Roxton bobbed his chin at the mess in Ned's hair, which the journalist was still trying to clear off.

"With my luck, I'd only catch it on every tree limb from here to the rim. Just one more thing to worry about. No thanks. Let's face it, Roxton, I'm never going to be as good as you…or Veronica."

"You don't have to be. You just need enough skills to survive. Nothing more."

Roxton felt sympathy for the lad. Malone had years of expertise to catch up to Roxton's own hunting ability. Here on the plateau, the younger man was suddenly being pushed to be something he wasn't by nature. He was a writer for pity's sake, not a warrior. Roxton was reminded far too easily of how badly his own brother had fared when Roxton had tried to push him too quickly by taking William to Africa. Face your fears, he had told his elder, less confident sibling. But all he had made his brother do was face his own death.

Roxton set his teeth against the fresh pain that swelled. The similarities were uncanny. He wanted to throw in the towel on the whole affair, and keep Malone from the same terrible fate as his brother, but he didn't have that luxury. They couldn't pack up and go home and be safe. There was no such thing here on the plateau. Either Malone learned quickly how to fight and to kill, here and now, or the jungle would devour him whole with nothing left to show his passing but a bloody smear.

Roxton wouldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't afford another black mark on his soul. Malone might feel ineffectual right now, but there was promise in him. All Roxton had to do was nurture it. Between him and Veronica, the lad would learn.

Of course, there lay half the problem. Malone had a lot to live up to in the eyes of the one person whose respect he craved most of all. Veronica Layton, huntress and jungle beauty extraordinaire. She was more woman than the journalist knew what to do with, but the hunter admired the lad's tenacity. Hell, there were times when even he himself felt ineffectual when set against the bronzed beauty's survival skills.

Yet the young and impulsive Ned Malone continued to throw himself in situation after situation to prove his prowess to her and hoped to meet her someday as an equal.

Roxton knew Veronica cared little to have a man that could match her physically. She wanted someone who believed in what she believed in, someone who saw the wonders of the plateau with the same open eyes as she, someone who understood all that she had been through and loved her because of it. Malone was the perfect man for the job, imaginative and sensitive. Unfortunately, he continued to believe that only someone her physical equal could stand beside her. Boy, he was on the wrong track. The way to handle a woman was really very simple.

Be there for her. When she pushed, don't push back. Give ground a little. If she runs, take your time and don't chase her. Offer her as much room as she needs and follow after them, slowly, patiently. If and when she's interested, she'll come to you.

Of course, he was one to talk. He was chasing after a woman ten times smarter than he was. Marguerite Krux could run circles around him, and she did it often, but the trick was to still be there when she stopped. It unnerved her every time.

Roxton shook himself out of his thoughts and thumped Malone on the shoulder in sympathy. "Come on, we've got a long hike back to the treehouse. Who knows, with any luck, we'll find something just as palatable as wild boar along the way."

"God, I'm so sick of dried raptor meat. I really wanted pork."

The lad sounded so plaintive that Roxton laughed. "Well then, next time shoot straight."

"Gee thanks," Ned lamented.

"You'll get there, Malone. It just takes a bit of time."

"Out here, you don't get a lot of that. I could be a dinosaur's lunch next week."

"Earlier than that, I'd say." Roxton was proud that Malone knew the stakes, but that still didn't protect him from some friendly ribbing.

"You're all heart."

"Hmm, that's not what Marguerite thinks."

Ned frowned. "That woman's a viper. She'd much rather rip out your heart and eat it for breakfast. Whatever do you see in her?"

It was an obvious fact that the hunter had set his cap for the spoiled heiress. For the life of him, Ned couldn't understand why. The woman was spoiled, arrogant and just a plain pain in the ass. She had actually ripped out pages from his journal just because they didn't meet with her editorial approval. Granted he had painted the woman a tad sinisterly, but that didn't excuse the sheer rudeness on her part.

Roxton offered him an askew glance. "Oh, I think there is more to her than meets the eye. It takes a patient man to see past her flaws."

"Then you're about to be nominated for sainthood."

"Saint Roxton," the hunter mused with a cocky smirk. "It has almost as nice a ring to it as lord." He laughed out loud at his quip. "Compensation of sorts for constantly looking out for you all," Roxton returned with a wink.

That was the trouble, Ned moaned silently. He didn't want anyone to take care of him, yet he felt so helpless and scared all the time. Every noise, every person, every animal terrified him. There was no way to know what was friend or foe out here, so he had just labeled everything as foe. What kind of way was that to live? He hated this plateau. The bugs, the plants, the dinosaurs, the natives, the constant stress. Roxton never seemed to be afraid. He never balked; he never showed fear. He was straight and tall regardless of what horror they met.

Ned knew nothing but the opposite. He may not show it all the time, but the fear was there, every day. It never went away and he hated himself for it. Weakness in a world that didn't tolerate it.

He knew for a fact that he was going to die out here. His bragging about the War, his desperation to prove to Gladys, his fiancé in London, that he was a man of merit and adventure, was going to be his downfall. Suddenly, he had more adventure then he knew what to do with, but he wasn't prepared for the savagery of this place.

The War seemed so distant. It always had. He had been merely an aerialist, a photographer mainly, snapping pictures from the safety of a high soaring balloon. He had watched the battles unfold beneath him, watched the waves of man and rifle surge out of the trenches, and observed the tides shift from one side to the other in a bloody boil of flesh and bone. So far away, and looking at it through the lens of a camera made it even more remote.

It wasn't usually until after the battles were over that he would walk the decimated fields and take his notes for the paper. He had been witness to the horrors of the war but never had he been a participant in the battles themselves. Maybe if he had, he would have been more prepared for what they had found in this god forsaken lost world. But again fate robbed him of the simplest things and now he was struggling to survive with skills best suited for a frightened rabbit.

He shook his head and doggedly followed after Roxton.

***

They had been walking for just over an hour when Roxton pulled up short, his body tightening. Malone reacted in kind, his own rifle rising. He had learned early on to read both Roxton and Veronica's body language while out in the bush. Danger was lurking. But where? Malone hadn't seen or heard anything.

With his rifle caught in a white knuckled grip, he studied the overgrowth around him, straining with his ears to pick up whatever it was that had alerted Roxton. But only silence washed over him. It was frustrating and terrifying all at the same time. Why couldn't he hear anything? He consoled himself with the fact that maybe whatever it was had sensed them as well and had frozen in their tracks.

Ned sidled up to Roxton. "What is it?" he whispered.

"Apemen," was the terse response.

Ned's blood ran cold. He hated those things. Extreme aggression governed by only the slightest bit of reason. It was a frightening combination.

"Where are they?" he asked the hunter.

"Don't know. There was a shift in the wind. Their stench came with it." His sharp eyes darted left and right, looking for unnatural silhouettes in the surrounding brush. He could feel them out there, his hair rising off the back of his neck. "Something's wrong. We need to move." Roxton started down the trail again, his rifle still at the ready. He beelined for a safer position and an escape route. "Stay close."

"Right on your heels."

They never made it.

            A surge of apemen hurtled through the jungle's boundaries on both sides of the trail. They came in a calculated rush, crude axes and bludgeons lifted. Roxton and Malone opened fire, keeping their backs to each other, firing rhythmically. The two men stayed centered in the trail and covered both sides of the jungle. But their enemies were too many. The apemen swarmed onto the trail and Roxton soon resorted to swinging his rifle into the fray, blocking the apemen's blows.

            Even though Ned was in a fight for his life, he thought for one crazy moment that most of the apemen concentrated their attack on Roxton. Was it that they perceived him as the most likely threat? That only infuriated Ned and he battled harder, taking down an apeman with a well-placed shot. It flew backward into the bushes.

            Miraculously, Roxton continued to hold his own despite the fact that he was outnumbered, his hatred fueling his fight. One after another the apemen fell. The hunter's strength and ferocity made him a daunting figure. But the sheer number surging forth from the jungle made his blood turn to ice. This was no ordinary raiding party they had come across. It was almost a full tribe. What the hell had they walked into?

            Out of the corner of his eye, Roxton saw Malone finally lose ground and resort to hand-to-hand, something the lad wasn't very adept at. Separated as they were now, they couldn't help the other. One rather burly apeman staggered Malone with a cruel blow, driving the journalist to his knees.

            Taking a last swing at his surrounding adversaries and forcing them back momentarily, Roxton spun and drew a bead on Malone's opponent. He knew there was no way to reach Malone in time; the distance between them was too great. There was no other choice. Without time to aim properly, he fired, letting pure instinct take over. The rifle bucked in his hands and the apeman stumbled but didn't fall. He tried for a second shot.

            Ned rose back to his feet behind the apeman, still dazed. But now he was in Roxton's line of fire, looking at him over the shoulder of an ape, and for an instant the hunter hesitated in his shot, his mind casting back to another time, another face.

            William.

            "Malone!" he shouted hoarsely. "Get out of there!"

Then Roxton's world exploded as something struck him cruelly across his shoulders from behind. In his haste to protect his friend, Roxton had also left himself open to attack. Apemen surged over him and bore him to the ground, beating him senseless.

Continue to Part Two