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“What do you call far?” he asked her.

“One of the old loop roads this side of Forty-Mile Bend on one of the ponds in there. Take the Trail, and I’ll tell you where to turn off.”

“It sounds like a good spot,” Shayne said.

“It is. The bike rider people know about it. They’d look for me there if they find the house in town staked out by the cops. If your killer is one of them and you’re right about his having to come at you, this is the place to set a trap for him.”

“You’re awfully anxious to help,” Shayne said.

“He killed my brother. Don’t forget that,” Sally said. “Besides everybody will know I’ve been helping you by now. That makes your enemies mine as well.”

“I see.”

“On top of that, I like you, you big lug.”

“All right,” Shayne said. “We’ll try your cabin.”

The Comfort fishing camp was reached by a narrow dirt road — more like a track — leading south for about a half mile from the Tamiami Trail. It followed a ridge of high ground through thick underbrush and scrub growth except at one point, where it was broken by a deep slough full of mud and water. This channel was narrow and crossed by a roughly built wooden bridge strong enough to support Shayne’s rented car. The track then made a loop, still following the ridge and curving back to a small “hammock” or natural island where the cabin itself was located.

The cabin itself was actually a mere few feet from the bridge, but could only be reached by following the long bend in the track. Anyone in the cabin could thus observe the bridge and anyone crossing it, but could only reach it by wading through the swamp — or by going back around by the track.

Shayne observed these facts with considerable interest while Sally Comfort opened the padlock on the cabin door with a key.

Inside, she lit a kerosene lamp so that Shayne could observe the rough but comfortable furnishings.

“This might help,” she said as she opened the single closet in the place and produced a pump-action twelve-gauge shotgun and a box of shells. “Harry kept it for shooting birds and small game.”

Then she poked about the closet floor again and came up with a box holding three sticks of dynamite together with loose caps and fuses. She held them up for the detective to see.

“I thought these were here,” she added. “One of Harry’s boys stole these from a construction site. They were always talking about using them to dynamite one of these ponds for fish and ’gator skins, but I guess they never got around to it.”

She also showed him canned food and bottles of drinking water.

“This place is a regular fort,” Shayne said. “If we had to, we could stand quite a siege here.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We wait,” he said. “Get some sleep if you can. It won’t be long till daylight, and I don’t really expect any attack till then. Whoever they are, they’d need light to work about in this swamp.”

He turned out the light.

Somewhat to his surprise, she curled up on one of the bunks that lined two walls of the cabin. From her even breathing, she dropped off to sleep almost at once.

Shayne looked at the luminous dial of his watch. It was almost half-past three in the morning. Off to the east, the myriad lights of the city made a false dawn in the sky.

Shayne sat by the open window of the fishing camp, lit one of the big cigars he favored — and waited. Any danger had to approach by way of the bridge only a few yards away in the swamp. The bike riders were road people. On foot and in the swamp, they’d be helpless.

From where Shayne sat, he could observe the bridge.

A little after four o’clock — when it was still dark — he heard motorcycle engines coming along the Trail from Miami. There were a lot of them and they made a lot of noise in the night.

He wasn’t surprised when he heard the engines turn in off the Trail on the track leading to the fishing camp. About halfway in along the track they were all turned off. The riders would be covering the rest of the way on foot.

Shayne grinned to himself in the dark.

“They’re coming, aren’t they?” said the quiet voice of Sally Comfort from the bunk against the wall.

“Yes, they’re coming.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to let them come,” Mike Shayne said. “That’s what this whole thing is about.”

“You’re that sure of yourself?”

“I’m that sure.”

“From here, you can use the shotgun to keep them from crossing the bridge.”

“I could use the dynamite to blow up the bridge — but why foul them up in the swamp. Besides, don’t forget I’ve got a rented car on this side of that bridge.”

“I don’t understand you, Mike Shayne.” Her voice in the darkened cabin sounded as if she meant that.

“Simply hang on,” Shayne said. “You’ll understand in a little while. I promise you that.”

X

It was only a little while after that when some of the bike riders began to cross the bridge under cover of the evening darkness. With their bikes back up the track, some of them actually took off their boots on the bridge itself and crossed in socks or barefoot.

They were as quiet as they could be. An untrained City man might possibly not have heard them come. But Shayne had the ears of a cat when he wanted. He figured twelve to fifteen men came over the bridge. More strung themselves out along the track and in the brush on the far side to cover the cabin from that angle.

He figured most of them would have firearms of one sort or another — probably for the most part, small-caliber pistols that would be inaccurate at more than a few feet. Shortly after the attack party got across the bridge and took up position covering the cabin, dawn began to break in the east. It rapidly became light enough to see what was going on outside the cabin.

The bike riders were all under cover — or thought they were. Shayne could locate two or three in the brush and could have picked them off easily. But that was not part of his plan.

“All right now, Sally,” he said in a low tone. “It’s time to start the ball rolling.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re going to open the door and go out with your hands up.”

“They’ll kill me. They think I’m on your side now, and they’ll gun me down as soon as I show.”

“No they won’t,” Shayne said. “Those are hoodlums out there — not hit men. If shooting had already started, they might kill a woman. But it’s not in them to do it in cold blood. Besides, the leaders know you. It would be like killing a friend. You’ll be safe enough as long as you do what I say and as long as you do it right now before they get worked up any more.

“They think they have us trapped. That makes them overconfident. We can’t give them too much time to get all blooded up. Above all, we can’t let the shooting start first.”

“What am I supposed to do out there?”

“Keep your hands up and keep your cool. Walk away from the door out to where they are hiding. Don’t walk so far that I can’t see you and keep you covered.

“Call out to them. Tell them I’m inside and have been holding you prisoner. Say I know they have me trapped and I’m willing to give up...”

“What!”

Say it,” Shayne said. “It isn’t so, but say it. Say I want to be sure of safe conduct back to the City Police and so I’ll only surrender to their leaders. The leaders have to come in here with you and give me their word.”

“They’ll want you to throw out your gun first.”