"Let him keep it," he laughed. That toothpick won't help him." One thug put Hugo back into the leather sheath on my arm and they grabbed me between them and hustled me out of the room.
"We don't like amateur work," Bonard said as I was taken outside. "We don't like bodies full of bullets we have to get rid of or that might be found and set off an investigation. So we're going to set you out in a ravine, where a lot of very big and very ugly steers are going to stomp you to death. Then it'll be simple for us to find you the next day and just turn you over to the authorities as someone who got caught in a stampede."
"Very neat," I commented. "Professional."
"I thought you'd appreciate it," he said. They were putting me into another jeep, the carbine was in my back, still held by the Chinese, with the two hoods on either side of me and Bonard at the wheel. I saw other men driving a herd of long-homed steers, similar to the Texas longhorns, out of the corral. The animals were bellowing and skittish, nervous and angry at being disturbed. They were ripe for a stampede. The ravine was only a half mile from the ranch. They drove into it, and I saw it was blocked off by sheer cliffs on each side. They drove halfway down into it, waited until they heard the sound of the herd approaching the entrance, and then, with a hard shove, I was sent flying from the jeep. I landed in the dirt and turned to see the jeep racing back up the ravine.
I got to my feet and looked at the sides again. There wasn't a ghost of a chance of climbing up those steep rock walls. I looked down toward the other end of the ravine. The steep sides went all the way down, farther than I could see. I knew that it came out someplace else but I didn't know how far. I was sure it was far enough so that I couldn't make it or they'd never have put me down there. But I'd sure as hell try.
I started to run and had only gone a hundred yards when I heard the lone shot go off. It was followed by a long, loud bellow and then 1 heard rumbling noise. They'd stampeded the steers. It could be done most effectively by one shot fired over the nervous, skittish animals and that's just what they had done. I turned on all my speed. There was no use looking hack — not yet, anyway. The herd would be funneling into the ravine, gathering speed. I heard another shot. The second one would set off any steer milling about.
I was running, looking at the rocks on either side, trying to see some spot to gain a foothold, some crevasse. But there were none. They knew their ravine, damn them. The low rumble suddenly grew louder, magnified by the walls of the ravine. I heard the steers and felt them in the trembling of the ground. My legs were almost cramping up with the fury of the pace I was setting. But the walls still loomed up and the end of the ravine was not yet in sight. But the longhorns were, now, and I cast a glance over my shoulder. They were coming fast, filling the ravine from wall to wall — a steady mass of thundering hoofs and horns, carried along by their own senseless frightened fury and the momentum of those behind them.
I understood now why Bonard had let the hood put the stiletto back in its sheath. Hugo would be useless against this mass of raging beef. Even Wilhelmina, loaded, would do little to stop them. A series of shots might have turned them aside, but even that was questionable. But I had neither the bullets to try it nor the time to speculate on it. They were nearly on me now, and the ground shook. I half stopped and looked at the onrushing steers. There was one in the lead, always one in the lead, pounding toward me. I couldn't bulldog him. I'd have to come in on the side of him to do that. And that would only spell death, anyway. We'd both go down, to be trampled by the rest. They couldn't stop if they wanted to. No, I wanted him running, leading the rest of them. I took another look, gauging my chances. They were almost on me.
I fell on one knee, muscles tensed, and the lead steer, a big, rangy longhorn, came thundering at me. I doubted that he even saw me as a man. He was just running — and about to run into and over anything in his way. His head was up, and I said a prayer of thanks.
I leaped just as he reached me, jumping up under his neck. I grabbed at the sides of his head and swung my legs up to clasp them around the big, thick neck. I grabbed a fist of skin at each side of the neck and held onto it with my hands. He shook his head and tried to slow down but the others, pressing behind him, kept him moving. He ran on, still shaking his head, still trying to dislodge whatever had lighted onto him. But I was clinging close to the underside of that huge neck, my legs wrapped around it tightly. Saliva and froth from his mouth flew into my face, and it was a helluva ride. I joggled and shook as he pounded along, the others pressing him. Every once in a while he'd try to shake loose whatever was clinging to his neck, but he hadn't time or chance to do much more than run. It was what I'd counted on and if I could hang on, it might just work. But my hands were cramped stiff and my legs were tiring fast. I'd locked my ankles around each other across the top of his neck and that was all that kept my legs from falling apart.
Then suddenly I was conscious of more air around me. We were out of the ravine and now I felt the stampede losing its steam. They were slowing down, spreading out. The steer I clung to no longer pounded, but had settled down to an aimless trot. He shook his head again to dislodge me and put his head down to the ground. But I was stuck into the hollow of the underside of his neck and I continued to cling there. Finally he stopped. I held on a minute more, just to make sure. Then I unclasped my legs and dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way of those sharp hoofs instantly. But the steers were just standing around now, all the fury gone out of them. They'd run themselves into calmness.
I crawled away, letting the feeling come back into my cramped hands. Then I got up and walked off slowly, making a wide circle around the high walls that contained the ravine. Bonard and the others would take their time going through the ravine to find me. Chances were they would wait until morning when they could round up the steers at the same time. I walked slowly, circling the area, skirting the distant houses of the ranch.
Finally I reached the spot where I'd left the jeep, started the engine and headed back to Townsville. I noticed that my shoes were covered with the same fine, powdery soil that was all over the wheels of the jeep. Anybody visiting the ranch would come away with the stuff. I knew that much of the Australian soil was rich in iron dioxide which gave it the distinctive red-brown color, and I looked forward to checking out the wardrobes of both Lynn Delba and Judy. I'd nearly cashed in my chips this night, but I was still alive and I knew a few things I hadn't known when the evening began.
The Chinese Communists were in with both feet and the ranch was a cover, but not the main cover. There had to be another one, maybe even two more, one closer to the coastline. The body of the dead scuba diver made that clear. Even if he were just a courier, the drop had to be somewhere along the coast. And Mr. Big would be at that second cover point. It was fairly clear that the ranch was an operating point for those engaged in recruiting their men, but this operation was too subtly planned, too carefully conceived, to operate with only one cover location. If Lynn Delba or Judy owned that compact I saw at the ranch, they'd talk and talk plenty. With the Chinese in it, the picture had changed — and I'd changed with it.
When I got back to town I picked up the little Anglia where I'd left it outside The Ruddy Jug and ditched the jeep. It was starting to get light, with the first pink smear of dawn across the sky. I decided on trying Lynn Delba first and I leaned on the bell until she opened it.
"Christ," she said, her eyes sleepy but surprised. "I thought you were going to call back last night."