And, as I ran for my life, I thought despairingly of Debbie

They chased me; by God, how they chased me! The trouble was that I did not know the country and they did. And damned funny country it was, loo; nothing like anything I had heard of in Texas. Here were no rolling plains and barren lands but foetid, steaming swamp country, lush with overripe growth, bogs and streams. I had no woodcraft, not for that kind of country, and my pursuers had probably grown up in the place. I think that had it been the Texas we all know from Hollywood movies I would not have stood a chance, but here was no open ground where a man could see for miles, and that saved me.

At first I concentrated on sheer speed. There would be confusion back there for a while. They would find Earl and the other man and there would be a lot of chatter and waste of time if I knew human nature.

Those first few minutes were precious in putting distance between me and my nemesis. As I ran I tried not to think of Debbie Giving myself up would not help her, and I doubted if I could give myself up. Leroy would just as soon kill me as step on a beetle there had been a close resemblance between him and Earl.

So I pressed on through this strange wilderness, running when I could and glad to slow down when I could not run. I considered myself to be a reasonably fit man, but this was the equivalent of going through an army battle course and I soon found I was not as fit as I thought.

My clothing was not really up to the job as I found when I inadvertently plunged into a brier patch. Sharp spines raked my arms and ripped the tee-shirt, and I cursed when I had to go back again, moving slowly. My shoes, too, were not adequate; the rubber soles slipped on mud and one of the sneakers was loose on my foot and I tended to lose it. This also slowed me down because to lose even one shoe would be fatal; my feet were not hardened enough for me to run barefoot.

And so I plunged on. My problem was that I did not know where I was going; I could just as well be running away from help as towards it.

What I wanted to find was a house, preferably with a telephone attached to it. Then I could find out where I w as and ring Billy Cunningham so that he could send one of his lovely helicopters for me – to ring the police and then go and beat the bejasus out of Robinson. There were no houses. There were no roads which would lead to houses. There were no telephone lines or power lines I could follow. Nothing but tall stands of trees interspersed with boggy meadows.

After half an hour I stopped to get my breath back. I had travelled about three miles over the ground, I reckoned, and was probably within two miles of the place where I had been held captive. I fiddled with the shotgun and opened the magazine to find out what I had four full rounds and one fired. I reloaded, pushed one up the spout, and set the safety catch.

Then I heard them, a distant shout followed by another. I went on, splashing up a shallow stream in the hope of leaving no trail.

Presently I had to leave the stream because it was curving back in just the direction I did not want to go. I jumped on to the bank and ran south, as near as I could estimate by the sun.

I went through a patch of woodland, tall trees dappling the ground with sun and shadow, then I came to a river. This was no brook or stream; it was wide and fast-flowing, too deep to wade and too dangerous to swim. If I was spotted halfway across I would be an easy target. I ran parallel with it for some way and then came to a wide meadow.

There was no help for it so I ran on and, half-way over, heard a shout behind me and the flat report of a shot. I turned in the waist-high grass and saw two men coming from different angles.

Raising the shotgun I aimed carefully, banged off two shots, and had the satisfaction of seeing them drop, both of them. I did not think I had hit them because the shouts were not those of pain, but nobody in his right mind would stand up against buckshot. As they dropped into the cover of the grass I turned and ran on, feeling an intolerable itch between my shoulder blades. I was not in my right mind.

I got to the cover of the trees and looked back. There was movement; the two men were coming on and others were emerging on to the meadow.

I ejected a spent cartridge and aimed and fired one shot. Again both men dropped into cover but the rest came on so I turned and ran.

I ran until my lungs were bursting, tripping over rocks and fallen trees, slipping into boggy patches, and cannoning off tree trunks. My feet hurt. In this last mad dash I had lost both shoes and knew I was leaving a bloody trail. I was climbing a rise and the pace was too much. I threw myself to the ground beneath a tree, sobbing with the rasping agony of entraining air into my lungs.

This was it. One last shot and they would be upon me. I put my hand out to where the shotgun had fallen and then stopped because a foot pinned down my wrist. I twisted around and looked up and saw a tall man dressed in faded denims. He had a shotgun under his arm.

"All right," I said, defeated.

"Get it over with."

"Get what over with?" He turned his head and looked down the hill at the sound of a shout.

"You in trouble?"

Someone else moved into sight a busty brunette in skintight jeans and a shirt knotted about her middle. I suddenly realized these were not Leroy's people.

"They're going to kill me," I said, still gasping for breath.

"Chased me to hell and gone."

He showed polite interest.

"Who are?"

"Don't know all the names. Someone called Leroy. Torturing my wife."

He frowned.

"Whichaway was this?"

I pointed with my free arm.

"That way."

He turned to the girl.

"Could be the Ainslees."

"It is." She was looking down the hill.

"I see Trace."

The man released my wrist, then picked up my shotgun.

"Any load in this?"

\^\ "One round of buckshot."

"Enough. Can you climb a tree?" He was looking at my feet.

"I can try."

"If you admire yo' skin youDetter climb this tree," he advised. He tossed my shotgun to the girl.

"Over there, behind that rock. Watch my signal."

"Okay, Pop."

The man gave me a boost into the tree. For a skinny old man he was surprisingly strong.

"Stay on the upslope side an' keep yo' haid down." I managed the rest by myself and got lost in the leafy branches. I could not see down the hill but I had a good view to one side, and I saw him walk out and look towards my pursuers. I heard heavy breathing as someone came up the hill fast, and the old man said sharply, "Just hold it there, son."

"Hell, Dade…"

"I mean it, Trace. You stop right there." The shotgun Dade carried was held steady.

Trace raised his voice in a shout.

"Hey, Leroy; here's old Dade."

There was the sound of more movement and presently Leroy said breathily, "Hi, there, Dade."

"What you hunting', Leroy?" asked Dade.

"T'ain't razorback hog 'cause you ain't gotten dogs. An' yo' makin' too much damn noise for deer."

"Ahim hunting' one son of a bitch," said Leroy. He came into sight.

"I don't care what yo' hunting'," said Dade.

"I told you before. If you came hunting' on my land agin I'd kick yo' ass. I don't care ifyo' hunting' a man or Hoover hog you git often my land."

"You don't understand," said Leroy.

"This guy kilt Earl smashed his haid in like a water melon. An' Tukey -he's like to die; he ain't hardly got no belly left. Belle's tendin' to him, but ah don't know. "

"If Belle's tendin' him he's sure to die," said Dade flatly.

"Now git the hell outta here."

Leroy looked around.

"You reckon you can make us?"

"Think I'm crazy?" said Dade.

"I've gotten six of my boys within spittin' distance."