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?’
Rico could see Hater’s thin chest moving as he breathed.
‘He’s stil breathing.’
‘That’s something,’ Baird said, and grinned sourly. ‘He must have a skul like granite.’
‘He’s crazy,’ Rico said uneasily. ‘There’s something about his face…’
‘You should take a look at yourself,’ Baird said. ‘You look a little nuts, too. Maybe I do. That dog nearly had me.’
Rico shivered.
‘You’ve been a big help,’ Baird went on. ‘I must have been soft in the head to have picked on you for a caper like this. If you’d hit the dredge with your first shot they wouldn’t have known where to look for us. We’d been the hel out of this by now.’
Rico didn’t say anything. He was thinking he must have been soft in the head to have got mixed up with Baird in the first place.
‘Maybe we’d better take it in turns to sleep,’ Baird said, yawning. ‘Hel ! My wrist hurts. We may have to paddle all night. I’l take the first nap. Keep your eye on Hater. Wake me if he shows any sign of coming to the surface.’
He stretched and closed his eyes. Rico watched him, fascinated. To be able to contemplate sleep at such a time! He had always known Baird had nerves of steel, and looking at him, a naked giant of solid bone and muscle, already dozing, Rico felt suddenly more hopeful. If there was a way out of this jam, Baird would find it. If they did get out of the swamp there was a quarter of a million dollars waiting for him.
An hour dragged by. Every now and then the sound of voices and the barking of dogs seemed unpleasantly close. Once Rico caught sight of some guards moving slowly along the opposite bank.
They passed without even looking across the river.
Hater showed no signs of recovering consciousness, and Rico wondered uneasily if he were going to die. He rigged up some shading for Hater by draping a blanket over the suitcase. It was very hot in the boat, and Rico longed for an iced highball.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he made no at empt to wake Baird. He sat in the prow of the boat, his ears and eyes missing nothing, while the hours dragged by.
By four o’clock the sounds of men and dogs had died away. The silence was broken now only by the drone of mosquitoes and the lapping of water against the side of the boat.
A river snake slid from under the boat and went swimming swiftly downstream, startling Rico. He took another drink from the whisky bottle, then reached over and shook Baird.
‘What’s up?’ Baird asked, instantly awake. His hand automatical y reached for the Winchester.
‘Isn’t it time we did something?’ Rico asked uneasily. ‘It’s after four o’clock.’
Baird sat up slowly and stretched. He touched his wrist with a grimace and shook his head.
‘I guess you’l have to do some work. This wrist of mine doesn’t feel so good. I doubt if I can use the paddle.’ He looked towards the opposite bank. ‘Seen anything?’
‘Nothing for the past hour. I haven’t heard anything, either.’
Baird took a drink from the whisky bottle, then lit a cigarette.
‘We’d better stay here until it’s dark,’ he said. ‘We might run into them on their way back. Now we’ve got so far, it’d be crazy to take any more risks than we have to.’
Rico shrugged. He wanted to get moving, but he realised what Baird said made sense.
‘How’s Hater?’ Baird went on.
They both looked at the still body lying at the bottom of the boat. They were startled to see the dark eyes were open and watching them.
Baird shifted over to Hater and knelt at his side.
‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘You’re okay now.’
Hater made a soft, moaning noise, but he kept still. Rico leaned forward to stare down at him. Could this frail, odd little man, with his beetling eyebrows, his thin, emaciated face and body, his wild, staring eyes, be Paul Hater, the internationally renowned jewel operator? It didn’t seem possible, until Rico remembered Hater had been inside for fifteen years: probably been working in this ghastly heat and swamp for most of that time. He shuddered at the thought, wondering what he himself would look like if he had been through what Hater had had to face.
Baird undid the gag and lifted Hater’s head.
‘Have a drink, pal,’ he said, and offered the whisky bottle.
‘Who are you?’ Hater asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘We’re getting you out of here,’ Baird said. ‘You’ve got friends on the outside rooting for you.’
Hater licked his lips. His eyes went from Baird’s hard, expressionless face to Rico.
‘I haven’t any friends,’ he said.
‘Sure, you have,’ Baird returned. ‘You take it easy. You’ve got nothing to worry about now.’
Hater closed his eyes.
‘I know what you’re after,’ he muttered. ‘But you’re not going to get it. No one’s going to get it.’
‘Don’t get excited,’ Baird said. ‘We’ll talk about who’s going to get what when we’re out of here.’
Hater started to say something, but the effort was too much for him. His face went slack, and he seemed to drift off once more into unconsciousness.
After watching him for a while, Baird returned to his blanket. He sat down and began to pull on his camouflage jacket and trousers. When he had finished dressing he told Rico to go to sleep.