Rico said sullenly, ‘It’s dark enough now, isn’t it? It’s nearly nine.’
The sun had gone down behind the trees, but they could still see the far bank quite clearly. Sick of doing nothing and tormented by the pain in his arm, Baird decided to take the risk.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘let’s go. Think you can handle this tub?’
Rico looked startled.
‘Isn’t your arm al right now?’
‘It’s stiff,’ Baird said. ‘Maybe I’l take over in a while. We’re going with the stream. It won’t be hard work.’
Rico picked up the paddle. He shoved the boat away from the bank and began to paddle into midstream. The boat zigzagged through the water under his uneven strokes.
‘Keep by the bank,’ Baird said, ‘and don’t try so hard.’
After a few minutes Rico got the hang of the paddle, and managed to keep the boat fairly straight.
‘Should be dark in about ten minutes,’ Baird said, staring up at the cloudless sky. ‘There’l be a big moon in an hour, I’d say.’
It was almost dark when they heard the sound of an aircraft. Rico had allowed the boat to drift away from the bank, and they were away from the shelter of the overhanging trees.
Baird had been dozing. He was lying down in the boat now, his arm hanging over the side. The cool water made the throbbing and burning bearable. He opened his eyes and half sat up. Rico was staring up at the sky. Then realising the plane was heading towards them, he tried desperately to paddle the boat to the shelter of the trees. He got in such a panic he nearly capsized the boat, churning up the water and scooping water on to his legs and into the boat.
‘Steady, you crazy punk!’ Baird snarled, ‘or you’l have us over!’
Rico controlled himself and began to paddle more carefully. The boat swung towards the bank and the sheltering darkness of the trees. They were within three or four yards of cover when the aircraft went roaring overhead.
It was flying low, and the roar of its engine and the rush of wind from its slipstream made both men duck. It was gone as quickly as it had come.
‘Hel !’ Baird exclaimed. ‘Think they were looking for us?’
Rico wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand.
‘They couldn’t have seen us,’ he said uneasily. ‘It’s nearly dark, and at that speed…’
‘Bet er get going,’ Baird said. ‘Keep nearer to the bank, and put your back into it.’
Rico drove the boat forward. He was rapidly tiring. It was years since he had taken any exercise, and paddling a boat as heavy as this made his arms ache.
‘I can’t keep this up much longer,’ he panted. ‘Can’t you take a turn?’
‘You’re damn wel going to,’ Baird said. ‘Take a look at this,’ and he thrust his swol en arm at Rico.
In the failing light Rico could see the angry red streaks, and the flesh turning blue around the bandage.
The sight horrified him.
‘That’s poisoned,’ he said. ‘Hadn’t you better do something about it?’
‘What the hell do you think I can do, you dope?’ Baird said, exasperated. ‘Keep going, and make it fast!’
Rico continued to paddle. He kept glancing at Baird uneasily. Baird looked bad. Sweat beaded his face and his eyes seemed to have sunk into their sockets. He kept passing his hand across his forehead, and every now and then he swayed as if he were going to topple out of the boat.
‘Bet er lie down,’ Rico said feverishly. ‘You look bad.’
‘Aw, shut up!’ Baird said, but his voice lacked its usual snap. After a moment or so, he did lie down.
Rico was paddling more slowly now. There was a burning ache in his shoulders, and he could feel blisters forming on the palms of his hands. He kept digging the paddle into the water, but their progress was slow.
‘How much farther do you reckon we’ve got to go?’ he asked, after a long silence.
Baird grunted.
‘Another three or four hours at this rate. Can’t you go faster? We want to be miles from the river before dawn.’
Rico made the effort and slightly increased his stroke. He groaned softly to himself. Baird had said they would earn every nickel of that half million. He hadn’t believed him at the time, but he believed him now.
An hour crawled by. Rico was so tired he scarcely did more than make the motions of paddling. The boat moved sluggishly along with the stream. It had become almost dark since the plane had passed, but now Rico was aware of more light, and he could see the outlines of the trees against the night sky. The moon was coming up, he thought thankfully. This drifting in the darkness was beginning to get on his nerves.
He increased his rate of paddling slightly. His hands were so sore it was an effort to hold the paddle tightly. Would this nightmare journey never end? he asked himself. It was too dark to see how Hater was. For all Rico knew Hater might have died. He could hear Baird muttering to himself as he dozed.
How was he going to manage Hater as well as Baird? Rico thought wildly. There was a five-hour car drive to the shooting-lodge yet to be tackled.
Suddenly he imagined he heard a sound, and he stopped paddling to listen, letting the boat drift. Far away he
