Fast Buck (24 page)

He ran after Noddy, and caught up with him a quarter of a mile or so from the hut.

Noddy was leaning against a tree, trying to get his breath back. Hater lay at his feet.

‘Come on!’ Come on!’ Baird said. ‘Do you want them to catch up with you?’

‘I’m beat,’ Noddy panted. ‘I can’t carry him any farther.’

Baird thrust the Winchester into Noddy’s hand, bent and pul ed Hater up and across his broad shoulders.

‘Come on!’ he said. ‘You go ahead.’

Noddy went forward, still gasping for breath.

By the time Baird reached the hut, he was breathing heavily. Hater was heavier than he looked, and the heat in the swamp seemed to drain all Baird’s strength.

Rico came to the door. He was trembling and his white face looked ghastly.

‘Are they coming this way?’ he asked fearful y.

Baird shoved him aside and entered the hut. He let Hater slide off his shoulder on to the floor.

Both Rico and Noddy followed him in. Noddy stood by the window, looking down the path and the way they had come.

‘Give Noddy the money,’ Baird said to Rico. ‘Twenty-five Cs. Snap it up! We’ve got to get to the boat.’

Rico stared at him.

‘Aren’t you going to wait here, like we planned?’ he asked.

‘If you’d done your job like I told you,’ Baird said furiously, ‘we could have waited. But now those guys know we’ve come this way. We’ve got to get out quick.’

‘I couldn’t help it…’ Rico said, wringing his hands.

‘Shut up!’ Baird exclaimed. ‘Get the money!’

Rico staggered over to his suitcase. As he fumbled with the locks, Noddy said sharply, ‘Hold it!

Leave it alone! I’l take it as it is.’ He had a gun in his hand, and it pointed at Baird. ‘I’m going to have more than five grand for this job. Make a move, and I’ll give it to you in the guts!’

III

Rico remained like a statue, looking helplessly at Baird. There were seven thousand dollars in cash in the suitcase: every nickel he owned. His hand gripped the handle of the case convulsively. He had warned Baird, and now this pigeon-chested double-crosser would take the money and shoot them.

Baird stood very still, his eyes on Noddy’s gun. His face was expressionless, but the muscle below his right eye was twitching.

‘Turn around,’ Noddy said, ‘then shed your rod. Drop it on the floor. Don’t try anything funny. I’m a dead shot at this range. Go on! Turn around!’

Baird turned. Slowly his right hand went inside his coat and pulled out the Colt. Rico saw him softly thumb back the safety-catch.

Noddy said, ‘This is where you get yours, pal. I’l get a pat on the back for rubbing you two out and capturing Hater. Drop that rod!’

It happened so quickly Rico had no idea how Baird did it.

Baird jumped to the right and turned at the same time. Noddy fired and missed. Baird’s gun exploded three times; the gun flashes lit up the dark hut. Noddy dropped his gun, clutched his stomach with both hands and bent forward as if he had a hinge to his spine. He stood like that for a second or so, then his knees buckled and he fell forward on his face.

Baird stood over him.

Shuddering with relief, Rico came over and peered down at Noddy. All he could think of was that the money was safe.

‘The mug,’ Baird said softly, and stirred Noddy with his foot. ‘To have tried to pul that ancient gag on me.’

Noddy groaned. He looked up at Baird, his breath whistling in his throat.

Baird knelt by his side and ran his hands over his clothes. He found the roll of bills he had given Noddy the previous night.

‘He won’t need his turkey farm now,’ Baird said, and put the money in his hip pocket. ‘Come on! It’s time we moved. Give me a hand with Hater. Where’s that bandage?’

Rico found the wide roll of adhesive bandage, and together they strapped Hater’s hands and ankles together. Baird strapped up Hater’s mouth.

‘I’ll carry him. You bring the case and the Winchester,’ Baird went on. ‘They’re certain to have heard the shots.’

While Rico went over to pick up the case, Baird again bent over Noddy. He had stopped breathing.

Baird touched the artery in his throat. Then he straightened with a little grunt.

‘He won’t double-cross anyone again,’ he muttered.

Then he hauled the unconscious Hater across his shoulder and moved to the door.

Rico followed him down the path, carrying the case and the Winchester.

Rico’s mind was in a whirl. They had got Hater, but they had still to get out of this awful swamp.

They had still a twelve-hour paddle down the river ahead of them before they reached the place where the get-away car was hidden.

Even if they got Hater away, there was still the complex business of getting the money from Kile. The whole scheme now seemed to Rico to be a madman’s pipe-dream.

A distant sound suddenly brought him to a standstill as if he had run against a brick wall. Baird had heard it too, and had also stopped. Both of them looked back along the path. Baird had his gun out.

Away in the distance they could hear the barking of dogs. Even as they listened the barking got nearer.

‘Snap it up!’ Baird exclaimed. ‘They’ve got our scent.’

He turned and began to jog-trot down the path, while Rico blundered after him. Hater’s weight made it impossible for Baird to move fast. He had still some distance to cover before he reached the boat, and he knew he had to conserve his strength for a final burst.

The barking grew louder, and they could hear men shouting to each other. They kept on. Baird even managed to increase his speed a little, but he was already beginning to pant. Rico was so scared he scarcely knew what he was doing as he stumbled blindly along behind Baird.

With every yard of ground covered, the sound of the dogs became louder. Baird was gasping for breath when he saw the river ahead of him. He stepped off the path and dumped Hater in the undergrowth.

Rico came up panting. He kept looking over his shoulder, his eyes rolling. He was hysterical with exhaustion and fear.

Baird grabbed him and pulled him off the path.

‘We’ve got to nail those dogs,’ he said. ‘If they guess we’ve got a boat we’re sunk. They’l come after us in a motor launch. We wouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Rico sobbed, lying on his side and looking helplessly up at Baird.

Baird grabbed up the Winchester.

‘It’s a lucky break I went back for this. They won’t hear the shooting, and maybe I can wipe them out before they know what’s hit them.’

A sudden crackling of undergrowth made Baird swing around. He caught sight of a prison guard coming down the path. He had a revolver in one hand and in his other hand he held a chain that restrained a massive Alsatian dog that was dragging the guard down the path.

Baird hadn’t time for any fancy shooting. He got the rifle to his shoulder as the guard saw him. If the guard hadn’t been pul ed off balance by the dog he would have got Baird, but Baird fired a fraction of a second before the guard could get his gun sight on Baird. The rifle slug hit the guard in the centre of his forehead. He dropped in his tracks, his dying ringers releasing the chain.

The dog didn’t hesitate. It came down the path like a black streak of lightning. Baird hurriedly levered another slug into the breech and fired again, but the dog was coming too fast for accurate shooting. Baird’s shot went wide, and before he could fire once more, the dog was on him.

Baird stabbed at its massive chest with the barrel of the gun, but force of the dog’s charge sent the rifle out of his hands. Baird grabbed hold of the dog by its throat, throwing back his head to avoid the white fangs that slashed at him.

Man and dog rolled over and over, down the path towards the river bank. It was all Baird could do to keep the brute away from his throat. He screwed his fingers into the loose skin around the dog’s throat and hung on, while the dog clawed at his chest with its front paws and tried to get close enough to snap.

Rico lay motionless, sick with horror. He knew he should go to Baird’s help, but he hadn’t the will to move.

Baird tried to choke the dog, but its heavy brass-studded collar protected its throat. He rolled over, dragging the dog with him, not daring to release his grip for a second. The dog was incredibly strong: it was like holding on to a tiger. Baird realised his grip was slipping. The white fangs were now snapping within inches of his face. He made a tremendous effort, half reared up and threw himself and the dog into the river.

The warm, muddy water closed over his head. One of his hands lost its grip, but the dog was under the water too, and was more anxious to get to the surface than to snap at Baird. They both came to the surface together, and as Baird found his feet, he grabbed the dog by its collar with both hands and shoved it under the water again.

The struggling animal churned up the water into foam. It was as much as Baird could do to hold it.

Just when he thought it was beginning to weaken, it managed to break surface and get some air before Baird forced it under again.

Rico had got to his feet and had come down to the bank. He watched the struggle with fascinated horror, unaware of the approaching sounds of more dogs.

The dog finally began to weaken and gave Baird the chance of freeing one hand. He snatched out his Colt and hit the dog on the top of its skull. The dog made a convulsive movement, snapped at Baird’s wrist, and Baird felt white-hot pain shoot up his arm as the dog’s teeth sank into his flesh. He hit it again and again until the teeth released their grip on his wrist and the dog, kicking and twitching, went limp.

Gasping, Baird let go of it, and it sank slowly out of sight in the muddy, churned-up water.

Baird came staggering out of the water to the bank.

‘Get the boat!’ he panted, as he toiled up the steep slope of the bank, blood running down his fingers.

‘Hurry!’

Rico floundered up to his knees in water and mud as he made for the place where the boat was hidden. He started to drag it from its hiding-place of bush and saw-grass as Baird came up with Hater across his shoulder.

‘Okay,’ Baird said, ‘get the case and rifle.’

Rico floundered back to the bank and returned with the case and the Winchester. Baird had got Hater into the boat and held the boat steady while Rico got in. Then he climbed in himself, took the paddle and pushed off, turning the nose of the boat up stream.

He paddled hard for some minutes, sending the boat along at a good pace, keeping close to the tangled shrub and bush that made an impenetrable screen along the bank. After he had gone some hundred yards, he steered the boat under the branches of an overhanging tree, and drew up by the bank.

The boat was well hidden from the opposite bank. They could hear the barking of dogs dangerously close now, and Rico looked appealingly at Baird.

‘Hadn’t we bet er get on?’ he whispered. ‘Those dogs wil find us!’

‘Shut up!’ Baird said. ‘Give me the case.’

Rico pushed the suitcase to him, and Baird opened it and took out the first-aid box. He carefully washed his torn wrist in the river water and strapped it up. Then he took off his wet jacket and washed the scratches on his face, dabbing iodine on them after he had dried his face on a towel. He put away the first-aid box and took out the gun-cleaning outfit He hurriedly cleaned the Colt and reloaded it. Then he cleaned the Winchester and added four more slugs to the magazine.

‘That’s bet er,’ he mut ered, laying the Winchester in the bot om of the boat where he could get at it quickly. ‘Phew! I don’t want to meet any more damned dogs.’ He glanced over at Rico. ‘Keep an eye on Hater. If he comes to the surface, he may try to overturn the boat. Hit him over the head if he looks like making trouble.’

Rico gulped. He fingered the .38 which he wasn’t sure how to use, and looked doubtfully at the still body lying at his feet.

‘There they are,’ Baird whispered suddenly, and pointed.

Rico looked in the direction. He caught a glimpse of three guards standing half hidden by the bush on the opposite side of the river, looking to right and left. Each man carried a Thompson riot gun, and they all looked as if they could use the gun. They were talking, and one of them pointed down stream.

Then a man’s voice called out so close to the hidden boat that Baird and Rico started violently and grabbed at their guns.

‘This is the way they came,’ the man shouted. They couldn’t see him as he was on the same side of the river as they were, but the other guards could see him. ‘They’ve kil ed Ben. The bastards have got a rifle.’

‘Think they’ve got a boat?’ one of the guards cal ed back.

‘Don’t see how, unless they’re get ing outside help. It’s my bet they’ve swum over to your side.’

‘The dogs won’t be long,’ the guard on the far side of the river said. ‘We’l soon pick up their scent.

Have you checked the old cabin? Maybe some of them have holed up there.’

‘Jed’s doing that. I’m staying with Ben until they get a stretcher down to him.’

The three guards waved and moved off down stream.

‘We stay right here,’ Baird whispered. ‘The dogs can’t get through the bush, and as long as we’re on the water they won’t get our scent. We’l give them a couple of hours to cool off, then we’l try and make a break.’

He took off his wet trousers, and sitting naked in the bottom of the boat, dried himself carefully. He hung the jacket and trousers over a branch to dry, then uncorked a bottle of whisky and took a couple of shots.

Rico sat motionless, staring with frightened eyes at the opposite bank. He could hear the distant barking of dogs and men shouting. There was a lot of activity going on in the bush.

‘Here, have some of this,’ Baird said, offering him the bottle.

Rico took a long drink. The spirit helped him a little, but he still couldn’t control his trembling.

‘Think we’l get out of this?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Yeah,’ Baird said, ‘I guess so. They won’t waste too much time here. They’ve got fifty convicts to round up.’

He made himself as comfortable as he could on a blanket and took another drink.

‘Wish I could smoke,’ he said, half to himself, ‘but the dogs might smell it.’ He glanced at Hater. ‘Is he okay?’