He received a blow — a blow that seemed to smash in the crown of his head, to rob him of reason, will and strength. It was like a black powder explosion before his eyes; his vision saw the flashing light as vividly as if it had occurred before his eyes. Then blackness closed in. He felt inert, leaden, helpless, and the voices in his ears were muted and far away.
He was aware, however, that there were voices. He knew when he was roughly shoved over in the seat, his gun taken away, his person searched, his own handcuffs snapped on his wrists. And all the time he was fighting threatening unconsciousness.
Head pains ripped through the pall. He could see again, and think. The automobile was lurching ahead. Savage twisted his head dizzily, made out the angular silhouette of Van Duesen’s head at the wheel. And above the top of the seat, where Savage was uncomfortably crumpled, a voice said: “Keep that head down an’ stay quiet or I’ll slug you again!”
Van Duesen cursed.
“Go ahead and slug him anyway, Sam! I owe him a few for trying to drill me the way he did!”
“You should’a watched him closer,” said Sam. “You ought’a know by now he’s dynamite. Why didn’t you sap him as soon as you turned off the road?”
Van Duesen grunted:
“How did I know he was going to get wise? Ten seconds more and I’d have been ready for him. He must have recognized you, Sam!”
Sam! The “Sam” of the telephone call to Larnigan’s house. The gunman beyond the hall door — the man who had fled to that Bourbon Street house of Anne Teasdale’s where Jack Goddard had come.
From a dry, painful throat, Savage asked:
“What the devil were you doing in Larnigan’s house?”
“Shut up!” said Sam, and there was a calm viciousness in the order that needed no additional threat.
Van Duesen swung the car off the road and killed the motor. “Get him out, Sam,” said Van Duesen, opening the door on his side.
Savage staggered as he stood up beside the car. Hammers were pounding inside his head. The car lights gleamed against the aluminum-painted side of another trailer that was hidden from the road here among the tall Spanish bayonet.
This must be the trailer that had been purchased in New Orleans! Like a bullet it, also, must have raced across the state of Texas.
Van Duesen cut off the car lights and spoke from the other side of the car.
“Here it comes. Get your rod ready, just in case. And watch out that mug doesn’t try to make a run for it.”
“I hope he does,” said Sam with the same calm viciousness. Small as he was, he was the more dangerous man, Savage guessed.
The headlights of another car were approaching from the highway. Savage was not surprised, when the car arrived, to see the long gray hood of his own automobile, the bulk of the big silver-sided trailer looming behind.
Van Duesen’s meek lady spoke irritably from the open window.
“Get this clunk outa here, Buck, before I shoot him! He burns me up!”
Briggs’ reply was sarcastic.
“Now lady, is that any way to talk? I drove you out here, didn’t I? Never mind showing me you’re a tough little torpedo. I knew that as soon as you shoved that gun in my side.”
Van Duesen had gone to Briggs’ side of the car.
“So he’s a wise guy?” said Van Duesen. “Well, I’ve got what it takes right here. Come outa there, fellow!”
A moment later Briggs cried out a dazed oath of protest. He stumbled around through the lights of the gray sedan, blood pouring from an ear mangled by a blow from Van Duesen’s gun.
“Sam,” ordered Van Duesen, “bring that guy in here as soon as Jessie pulls this outfit off the road.”
Savage stepped into his own lighted trailer with Sam’s gun poking at his back. Briggs was already in. Jessie — her lips were bolder with rouge, her face harder here in the light — went from window to window pulling the curtains close.
“Don’t we travel swell?” she asked, looking about the interior. “I wouldn’t mind a wagon like this for myself. How about it, Buck?”
“Want this one?”
“Why not?”
“I thought you’d be fool enough to want it!”
“Don’t start riding me!” flared Jessie angrily. “I came through tonight, didn’t I?”
“So what? Get outside there and keep watch.”
She went out pouting angrily.
Briggs was wiping blood off his cheek with a red-splotched handkerchief.
“I wasn’t looking for it, Chief. I thought she was the McCoy until she jammed a gun in my side. I tried to laugh it off, but she seemed to mean business. She sounded mighty jumpy with her trigger finger.”
Sam grinned. He did have a broken nose. His forehead was high and wide, his face came down past the broken nose to a point at the chin, and his lips were thin and more on the bluish side than red. The sharp, bloodless effect was unpleasant.
“You should’a tried to find out,” said Sam.
“You’re a bloodthirsty devil,” growled Van Duesen. “Some day you’ll burn for it. Now then, which one of you two runs this short-wave radio? You, I guess. Your voice sounds familiar.”
“What’s so familiar about it?” said Briggs, glaring at the bloody handkerchief, and then at the speaker.
“I’ve been listening to it enough,” said Van Duesen. “Get on that radio and get through to New Orleans. They’ll be expecting that long-distance telephone call from Savage this evening. Tell ’em he decided to come in over the radio.”
“You seem to have a short-wave receiver,” Savage guessed.
“And a good one,” said Sam. “The best we could buy — just to catch what you were batting back and forth through the air.”
“I see you’ve been well-informed about us.”
“Plenty,” Van Duesen answered curtly. “You’ve been talking yourself into this over the air. Now tell that mug of yours to get New Orleans fast. Sam will stand over him, and the first yip he makes for help, Sam will blow the top of his head all over the set.”
Briggs shrugged, sat down at his set and turned on the generator. A gesture from Van Duesen directed Savage to sit down on the couch. Van Duesen stood by the door, gun in hand, and Sam stood behind Briggs. There was silence in the trailer while Briggs reached out across the country once more.
“W2ZXYZ calling W5RPLS, at New Orleans. W2ZXYZ calling W5RPLS...”
Chapter XXIV
Death Threatens
Several minutes of that, broken by pauses to listen, and Barton’s familiar rapid voice came with startling clarity out of the loudspeaker.
“W5RPLS answering W2ZXYZ. I was wondering if you’d be on the air tonight. How’s everything going now? Did you make it through today?”
“Wait a minute!” Van Duesen snapped before Briggs could cut himself in. “Remember, Sam gives it to you if you make one crack! Tell him you’re at El Paso, and you’re heading back to Chicago tonight!”
The loudspeaker said:
“Did you get me, W2ZXYZ? I’m waiting for you.”
Sam had his gun muzzle against the back of Briggs’ head as Briggs cut in and spoke huskily.
“I got you, W2RPLS. Yeah, we made it in to El Paso. And we’re heading back to Chicago in the morning. Can you get the office?”
“Hold it open,” said Barton cheerfully. “Back to Chi tomorrow? Are you trying to run a cross-country marathon? Hold it open...”
A faint sheen of perspiration was on Briggs’ face as he sat stiffly with the gun muzzle against the back of his head.
“Don’t get careless with that,” Briggs suggested through stiff lips.
“Just don’t make me nervous,” Sam grinned.