They had no choice in the matter. If they stayed on the shinnery, they would be dead in a matter of moments, shot to ribbons by Royale's murderous gang.
'Come on!' shouted Longarm as he turned his horse and sent it leaping off the path into the salt grass.
Luck guided him. The ground beneath his horse's hooves was fairly firm at this point. The head-high grass closed around him, cutting him off from the view of the shinnery. Royale's men were able to track his progress through the marsh by the waving of the grass, however, and slugs slashed through the stalks around him. Longarm glanced over his shoulder and saw that Millard was right behind him. Longarm was glad Millard hadn't stayed to fight, because then he would have had to go back and try to pull Millard out of the fire.
Now all they had to do was survive the hail of rifle bullets that was scything through the salt grass around them.
'Be careful, Parker!' Millard shouted suddenly. 'You're about to run up on some water-'
He didn't get to finish his warning. Longarm's mount burst from the grass into a narrow open space filled with shallow black water. It splashed up around the horse's hooves, splattering mud on Longarm's boots and trousers. The horse slid to one side, in danger of losing its footing, and Longarm hauled desperately on the reins, as if he could hold the animal up with sheer brute strength. He realized quickly that it was hopeless, and kicked his feet free from the stirrups as the horse fell.
Longarm landed half in the water, half on firmer ground. He managed to keep his pistol aloft so that it didn't get wet or fouled with mud. A few yards away, the horse scrambled to its feet and lunged out of the water, but it took only a few steps before it began to flounder again. Thick black mud sucked at its legs, and as Longarm watched in horror, the animal began to sink. That was not just mud, Longarm realized.
It was quicksand.
There was nothing he could do for the horse. He had no rope, no way to pull it free. Its shrill screams wrenched at him as it was quickly swallowed up by the clinging liquid mud. As the horse's cries died away in a hideous gurgle, Longarm heard men's voices shouting somewhere not far away. 'Over here!' one of them yelled. 'Quicksand's got the bastard's horse, sure as hell!'
'Maybe got him too!' called another man.
Those were Royale's hired killers, thought Longarm as he crouched on the edge of the narrow stream. He looked around for Millard, and bit back a curse. There was no sign of the man. Millard had been right behind him when he hit the water, but he had vanished after that. Longarm thought that he must have chosen another path through the marsh and was still trying to get away from Royale's men. Hoofbeats didn't make much noise on this soft ground, so Longarm couldn't tell if Millard was still on horseback or not.
Millard had abandoned him, he thought with a sardonic grunt. Well, that came as no real surprise. Longarm had known the man less than twenty-four hours, and it wasn't reasonable to expect Millard to risk his own life to stay behind and help a new employee. All Longarm could do now was try to get himself out of this mess and hope that Millard made it back to New Orleans safely.
The voices of the hunters were getting closer now. Longarm had no idea how well Royale's men knew these marshes, but if they knew their way around at all, they were better off than he was. He crouched in the tall grass and lifted his Colt, his hand tightening on the butt of the gun. Outnumbered as he was, he couldn't hope to shoot it out with them and come out alive, but they didn't seem to be interested in taking any prisoners.
'Be careful,' said one of the killers, surprisingly close. 'I don't know who that fella with Millard was.'
'Don't matter,' came the harsh reply. 'We'll jus' kill him anyway, no matter who he be.'
Longarm's lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace. You can try, old son, he thought. You can try.
Then he had to swallow a startled cry as a hand reached out from the salt grass and grabbed hold of his left arm.
He twisted toward the unknown attacker and jerked his gun around, finger tightening on the trigger. Just in time, his brain registered what his eyes were seeing, and his finger froze, stopping him from putting a bullet through the brain of the young woman who crouched beside him in the mud.
CHAPTER 7
She put a finger to her lips, motioning to him for silence.
Longarm's eyes widened in surprise. He had never seen this young woman before. If he had, he would have remembered her. He was certain of that.
She was an olive-skinned beauty with thick dark hair tumbling to her shoulders. The thin cotton dress she wore clung wetly to her body, making the nipples on her pear-shaped breasts plainly visible. Once, the dress had been an elegant gown, Longarm saw, but now it was old and ripped in places, and the bottom had been torn off so that it came down only midway on her thighs, leaving the rest of her tanned, muscular legs bare. Her feet were shod in flimsy slippers that were caked with mud, and mud was splattered on her calves too, as well as on her dress. There was even a smear of it on her face. Despite the ragged dress and the grime, she was still lovely.
She tugged on Longarm's sleeve and motioned with her other hand for him to follow her.
Longarm glanced around. The gunmen were still prowling around close by, and within a matter of minutes, they were bound to stumble over him if he didn't move. Even though he had no idea who this young woman was, he was willing to bet that she knew her way around the marsh better than he did. He nodded, letting her know that he was willing to follow her.
He hoped she wasn't planning to lead him into a trap.
Longarm figured he looked like a damned fool as he walked in a crouch after her, but better to look foolish than to stick his head up and get it shot off, he decided. Besides, they traveled that way only for a few yards, Longarm following closely behind the young woman as she carefully parted the salt grass, and then they reached the bank of another stream. A pirogue was there, pulled up on firmer ground. The young woman gestured for Longarm to get in.
He did so, hoping there were no coral snakes or cottonmouths lurking under the surface of the water as he waded into it and stepped up into the pirogue. The young woman pushed the craft off the bank and hopped in lithely. Obviously she had had plenty of practice getting in and out of pirogues.
She picked up a paddle lying in the bottom and dipped it into the water. Longarm checked for another paddle so
