He needed to eat and sleep and go to the bathroom on a regular basis.
He ate the chili and cleaned up, then packed his knapsack. After dark he would walk out.
He put the Winchester on the table in front of him, checked that the hammer was on half cock. They might be out there this very minute, watching…Watching for what?
Watching to see if he would lead them to the saucer.
Okay, he would leave the saucer where it was. What he needed to do was hide himself. Get in motion and stay that way. Sleep in a different place every night, never go to the same place twice.
He walked out on the pier, looked around the lake. Two men were fishing from a boat anchored fifty yards offshore, maybe six hundred yards east along the shoreline, but they were in the only boat in sight.
That struck him now as unusual. This time of year there were normally six or eight boats somewhere on the lake. After all, the woods around the lake held dozens of cabins.
There had been five boats out there yesterday.
Where were all the people?
A wave of disgust washed over him. He was being paranoid. Just because bighearted, bigmouthed Sherman Hockett delivered two bags of grub wasn't any reason to go to battle stations. Rip had been in the cabin seven days… no, eight.
Ample time if Hedrick wanted to make another grab for the gold. Ample time for the government, too, if they were interested.
Rip pursed his lips, tried to whistle. Nothing came out. He walked off the pier and up the bank to the cabin consciously trying to look as relaxed as he had every day for the past week.
An hour before sunset.
After dark, he was out of here.
He went into the cabin and sat down in the kitchen chair facing the door. He sat with the rifle in his lap.
When the night was as dark as it was going to get, Rip Cantrell stood the rifle in a corner, put on his knapsack, and locked the door behind him. He left the kerosene lamp burning. It would run out of fuel tomorrow some time and go out of its own accord. With a little luck, he would be in Canada then.
The gravel road ran for a half mile through the woods to the highway. Rip had been walking about five minutes when he heard the sound of a car engine. He turned off the road and felt his way into the woods. The car was coming closer.
He almost fell over a fallen tree trunk, so he lay down behind it and listened.
The car crept along the road without lights. Behind it came another… And a third. All without headlights.
At least he was out of the cabin, and just in time. Somebody up there was looking out for the Ripper.
These people wouldn't find him in the woods at night. When the sun came up tomorrow, perhaps, but if he played it right he would be two counties north by then.
Didn't matter, he told himself. They wanted the saucer and they had to go through him to get it.
When the sounds of the cars had faded, he got to his feet and adjusted the knapsack on his back.
He could see a little. Not much, but the night wasn't totally dark and his eyes had adjusted to what light there was.
He began walking slowly, feeling his way through the trees and brush, toward the highway. Once on the highway he could walk toward town, which was four miles away. Tomorrow morning he could rent a car from Honest Ed White, the used-car dealer, and by midafter-noon he would be in Canada.
About once a minute he paused and listened carefully. Nothing.
He fell several times and got scratched up a bit from ' unseen limbs. still, he was making good progress toward the highway when he heard voices.
He stopped, stood stock-still.
Male voices, at least three, but he couldn't make out the words. The men were ahead of him. Perhaps on the road, perhaps in the woods.
If he could hear them talk, they might be able to hear him thrashing through the brush, if they hadn't already. He sat down right where he was. The voices were coming closer. No flashlights, though. Rip laid facedown, as quietly as he could. Closed his eyes, covered his exposed neck and ears with his arms, kept his face in the leaves and debris of the forest floor. '… over this way, Tony.' 'Watch that log.'
'Goddamn Daniel Boone, out here hiking through the goddamn woods in the middle of the goddamn night…' They were tramping along, not trying to be quiet, getting closer and closer. Rip lay absolutely motionless. They walked right to him. 'Get up, Daniel Boone. We ain't going to sleep out in the woods tonight.'
Rip rolled over. Someone shone a flashlight in his face.
He stood.
'It's him, all right. Shine your light over here so I can see this radio.'
Someone put a flashlight on the man's hands. He fiddled with a small radio, lifted it to his mouth. Rip got a glimpse of goggles. Infrared or night-vision goggles. These men could see him as plain as day.
'This is Tony. We got him. He was Injuning through the woods.'
Rip heard the reply over the radio's speaker. 'Bring him to the cabin.'
'Turn around, kid. Dinky, take that knapsack and carry it. We'll search it later. Fats, put a tie around his wrists.'
Someone jerked his wrists together in front of him and pulled a plastic tie tight. The tie cut into his flesh.
'Okay, kid, start hiking. Fats, you go in front of him and he can hold on to your belt. Let Dinky carry your weapon.'
Six cars sat in the parking area beside the cabin. Three of them were arranged in a semicircle with their headlights on. Rip's captors led him into the lights, turned him around, then the man they called Tony hit him.
He didn't see it coming. It was a jab out of nowhere right on the button and knocked him sprawling in the dirt. Half knocked out, he was jerked to his feet by a man on each arm. Tony was in his late thirties, maybe, with short hair and bulging biceps. He hit Rip again. This time Rip rolled with the punch, but down he went. Hot liquid ran into his mouth when they jerked him erect.
He tried to block the next shot with his hands, but Tony was cat-quick. Rip took it in the left eye.
He was trying to anticipate where the next punch might be coming from when someone said, 'That's enough for now.
A man stepped into the light, reached for his face, and turned it so that he could see the bloody nose.
'You cost me a great deal of money, Mr. Cantrell, and a great deal of aggravation.'
Roger Hedrick!
Rip said nothing. His mouth had blood in it, so he spit the coppery-tasting stuff out on the ground.
'Where is it?'
Instinctively Rip knew that as soon as he started to talk, Hedrick had the upper hand.
'We have all evening, Mr. Cantrell. All evening to cause you pain. Believe me, these men can administer more pain than you can stand.'
Rip tried to wipe the blood from his nose on his arm. He almost missed Hedrick's nod to Tony, who was sinfully quick. Rip just had time to let his head go with the punch.
They left him lying on the ground. Hedrick stood just beyond reach of his feet.
'No one is going to ride to your rescue,' Hedrick said. 'I have almost thirty men surrounding this whole area. We've sealed it off. You couldn't get away even if we cut your hands loose and gave you an hour's head start.'
He stood there measuring Rip, sizing him up. 'Break his leg,' he said to Tony.
'How'd you know I was here?' Rip asked. His voice was hoarse, a croak.
Hedrick's hand stayed Tony. 'I had your mother's house bugged and her telephone tapped forty-eight hours after I knew who had taken the saucer from the desert. We waited for you to call, futilely of course. Then, finally, you showed up on her doorstep. You can't get away, Cantrell. The world is too small. I can raise an army in an hour anywhere on this planet.'
