The one light bulb burning was in a wall bracket over the couch where Savage and Briggs were sitting. Opposite the couch was the door. Van Duesen was standing farther back, by the sink, where he could brace himself as the trailer rocked and swayed.
Savage found his mind centering on the light and door with increasing intensity. If the trailer slowed a little... if the light were suddenly out, plunging the interior of the trailer into blackness — there might be a chance to reach the door and jump!
What happened after that would be in the laps of the gods. Van Duesen’s automatic might cut one or both of them down. Legs might be broken in the flying leap to the roadside, with nothing to do then but lie there and be slaughtered.
That would probably happen at the rate they were traveling. Sixty at least. Perhaps more. But they would have to slow sometime, if only for a few seconds.
Twenty minutes — twenty-five minutes passed...
Van Duesen was biting on a piece of salami he had found in the ice box. Crackers were in his other hand. He was watching them when the trailer slowed abruptly, rolled down through a road dip, and bounced slightly as it took the other side of the dip. Van Duesen staggered back half a step and reached out to the sink edge for support.
And Savage lunged up at the light!
Chapter XXV
Adrift in the Desert
Van Duesen’s angry shout was incoherent. Savage’s shackled wrists smashed the light globe as he rapped to Briggs:
“The door, Briggs! Jump!”
In the same instant Savage shoved hard against the wall, hurling himself back across the darkened trailer. The automatic crashed out. Savage struck the door, slapped manacled hands at the door handle as the trailer picked up speed with a lurch. The automatic was roaring again as the door flew open. Briggs stumbled against Savage’s back. The detective leaped far out, twisting himself to face forward.
His feet struck the edge of the road — the roadside ditch dropped away under him — and he fell heavily, sliding, rolling through sandy soil into a mound covered with low thorny growth.
Savage’s last impression as he fell was the faint silhouette against the headlight glare of Briggs’ leaping also.
Breath knocked out, thorns imbedded in his flesh, dust and dirt in his mouth, ears, eyes and nose, Savage reeled up. He could stand. He could move. He gasped—
“Briggs! Briggs!”
“Here!” Briggs replied feebly. He staggered closer to Savage.
Tires were shrieking on the road 150 yards ahead, as the driver brought the heavy car and trailer to a quick stop.
“Back across the road here!” Savage whispered hoarsely. “They may think we ran in the direction we jumped!”
A thin drift of clouds hid part of the starry sky. The night was deep black. They stumbled across the road, plunged over sandy soil dotted thickly with low earthen mounds covered by the cruel thorny growth.
Briggs gasped: “I’m shot in the leg! Don’t know how far I can go!”
“How badly is it bleeding?”
“I can feel blood running down my leg! The bone seems all right!” panted Briggs.
Over his shoulder Savage could see the lights ahead of the stationary car and trailer, and could faintly hear angry voices.
Briggs stumbled, fell, swore as the long sharp thorns pierced his flesh. Their feet made little sound in the soft soil. They could see better now, could vaguely make out the brush-covered mounds and the clear spaces.
Far behind them on the road other lights in the trailer had been turned on. Into the south, over the horizon, light from the air beacon atop the mountain swept around and around in the sky. But to the north and the south, as far as the eye could see, there were no more lights, no other cars on the road. Ahead of them the night seemed an infinity of emptiness.
“Gosh, this leg hurts!” Briggs gulped, but kept on running.
Far back, at the trailer, Savage saw the smaller beam of a flashlight sweeping around. A little later the flashlight glinted in their direction.
“They have a flashlight out of the trailer! They’re following our tracks!” Savage panted. And then he remembered. “Get your breath, Briggs, and reach into my right coat pocket. I dropped the keys to these handcuffs in there. Van Duesen didn’t get them!”
Briggs fumbled clumsily in the pocket, got the key, groped to fit it into the handcuffs, and almost dropped the tiny key. He cursed, waited a moment, tried again. The key slipped in. Savage dropped the handcuffs into his pocket, took a penknife from Briggs’ pocket and freed Briggs’ wrists.
The flashlight was still bobbing back on their trail.
“Maybe there’s a chance to slip back and get the car going,” suggested Briggs.
“Not much chance they left the keys in the lock. One of them may be waiting there at the car hoping we’ll try,” said Savage. “Can you get on?”
“Coming,” said Briggs.
The light followed doggedly after them. But, Savage judged, the light was not gaining much. The car lights now were out of sight in the distance behind.
Briggs stopped again, reeling. “You go one way an’ I’ll go the other!” Briggs gasped as Savage supported him.
“Not a chance of it, old man. Don’t waste your breath. Leg still bleeding?”
“Yes!”
“Get your trousers off. I’ll use my shirt for a bandage. It should help a little.”
The wound seemed to be a nasty tear in the muscles, deep, dangerous, painful. But Briggs could move, although it kept the wound open. They went on, into an infinity of night-shrouded space. And like a creeping nemesis, the winking light came after them.
Savage thought of doubling back and waiting beside the trail. Reason dissuaded him. With only the handcuffs for a weapon, he wouldn’t have much chance against one armed man. None at all against two. If he fell, Briggs would be caught soon after. He saved the idea for a last hope.
The road, miles back, was out of sight. Even the car lights were invisible across that flat, thorn-covered plain. And only now and then did they glimpse the following light.
How much time passed, Savage did not know. But there came a time when they could not see the light. They waited. Still the light did not appear. They walked on slowly, watching behind, listening. Finally Savage said:
“Those flashlight batteries weren’t too fresh. Rest a while, Briggs. We’ll see what happens.”
Nothing happened. A long time later they made out the wink of moving car lights on the far horizon behind, to the north. Impossible to tell whether it was the lights of their car.
Half an hour later Savage decided:
“Safe enough now to work back toward the highway, I think. If they’ve gone on, good. If they’re waiting back there, we’ll come out on the road several miles to the south.”
Briggs groaned when he tried to walk.
“Don’t know whether I can make it,” said Briggs weakly. “Go on, chief. I’ll be around here somewhere.”
“We’ll do it together, fellow. And you’re going to make it. Listen — isn’t that a train whistle?”
It was. They saw the engine headlight miles away, evidently not far beyond the highway. They watched it pass and vanish toward El Paso. A man’s throat tightened at thought of the quick trip one could make to the city, to doctors and help, on that speeding train. And the painful dragging slowness with which they inched on foot across this endless landscape.
Briggs was growing weaker. More often he had to stop and rest. But at least they did not see the pursuing flashlight again.
A chill wind sprang up. Hours had passed since they left the trailer. Briggs was stumbling, Savage was half supporting him.