The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack. H. Bedford-Jones
down Mary Fisher! That made all my guesswork fit together excellently. Groot would be shot, and Mary would vanish. I wondered how many other girls the baron had to his account; plenty, no doubt. A man of that type is like a predatory tiger, like the man-slayer who lusts only for blood of the kill.
At Mary’s suggestion, the rounded grass cover of our boat was lifted off from amidships and dumped on the landing. This left us all with a clear view, and we had plenty of room. The three river-men hoisted the sail, two of them squatted in the bow and the third came aft to the tiller, and we shot out from the landing. There was a fair breeze from the south, although the heavy cloud-masses were piling up steadily from the west in big thunderheads. The river was about fifty yards wide, but broadened out below us.
The other boat came along quickly, for Wan Shih knew what he was doing, and drew alongside. We rippled downstream, everybody talking and laughing, and presently Wan Shih began giving a lecture upon the history and so forth of the shores. We drew in to a beautiful little nook that had been a favorite retreat of some ancient emperor, and ran down the sails. Mary snapped the place and we drifted on with the stream.
Meantime, I had my eye on that sail up forward. It had only a single halyard that I could see, and was a primitive affair. Rosoff and Groot were sitting amidships with Mary, while I was in the stern.
Half an hour passed. We floated with the current, Wan Shih keeping up a more or less steady flow of talk, and a pleasant time was had by all, as the small-town papers say. The farther we got from the temple, the better pleased I was. The clouds were creeping up rapidly, however, and after, a bit Rosoff suggested that we had better head for home.
“Oh, there’s one place more—just around the next bend!” Mary gave me a glance, and I knew that she was playing her last card. After this, it was up to me. “I’ve saved two films especially for it! You know, Wan Shih—the beach and grotto where all the narcissus plants twine among the stones like snakes!”
Wan Shih nodded and flung a word to the boatmen. All together, his boat had eight men aboard, and our crew numbered three. I caught Groot’s eye, and beckoned.
Leaving Rosoff entertained by Mary, Alan Groot joined me and gave me the match for my pipe that I requested. The poor chap looked strained and desperate. I was standing beside the man at the tiller, a brawny river-man who knew no word of English, naturally.
“See here, Alan,” I said quietly, “when the fuss starts, you scramble up for’ard and get the sail up. The halyard’s beside that chap on the right, get it? You let everything else drop and shove up that sail.”
His eyes widened on me.
“But, my boy, the two men there!”
I chuckled. “Don’t worry. They won’t be there when I start to work. But unless we get away from that other boat, it’s good night!”
He went back, and crawled up to the bow, where he remained.
We swept around a bend. Directly ahead of us, the river widened a good bit. On the right was the place to which Mary had referred—a charming little spot overhung with ancient trees and boasting lilies which curled upward from among mossy rocks. Wan Shih informed us about it, but I was not paying attention to historical details at the moment.
“Make haste with your pictures!” warned the baron. “The sun is going fast!”
Mary stood up and snapped the scene as we drifted in, one of the men up forward poling us. The western sky was a black mass now, and as the sun went out of sight under the clouds, a little gust of colder air came along.
“We bette’ go ve’y quick!” cried Wan Shih, and barked at the boatmen. I pocketed my pipe.
The two boats headed about. The wind came in another gust from the south—it would shift around to the westward presently, under the pressure of the clouding currents above. There was no time to lose, and I leaned forward.
“Have you a cigarette to spare, baron?” Rosoff was playing the polite gentleman in front of Mary. Since I made no move to rise, he got up and came aft, bringing out his cigarette case and proffering it to me. I selected a cigarette with my left hand.
Now, when you are offering a man a cigarette, you naturally watch him take it. Rosoff did just that—watched me pick out the cigarette. Consequently, he did not observe what my right hand was doing. I thanked him, he put back the cigarette case in his pocket and turned to go; and I caught him as he turned. I belted him with the automatic in my right hand, and the front sight raked into his skull; clear to the bone. I could hear it grit, and was even afraid lest I had struck too hard.
Rosoff toppled forward. Before he hit the deck, I landed my left elbow amidships of the helmsman just behind me, and then gave him the automatic over the head as he doubled up. He went overboard.
I had planned these two blows with great nicety, and the affair went off like clockwork. It was over in a flash; and before Wan Shin’s crowd had even let out a yell, I got in the first shot and dropped one of the two men in the bow. The other looked around at me, and then jumped for it.
The boat was mine.
“Jump, Alan!” I yelled at Groot. I tried a shot at Wan Shih, but missed him. His boat was coming about, not thirty feet away, and she had great commotion aboard.
Groot scrambled for the halyard, got it and heaved. The sail rose, and Groot stood there not knowing what to do with the halyard.
“Hold it!” I sang out. “Mary, come here and steer!”
She was beside me instantly, and I gave her my small automatic. Then I went forward at a leap and grabbed the halyard from Alan’s hand. We were moving already. I got the line made fast, and stood up.
It was at this instant that Rosoff shot me in the back.
CHAPTER VII
We Win—To Lose
Most unhappily, I had not allowed for solid ivory when I hit Rosoff, although I should have reflected that any German-Russ would naturally have a thick head. Instead of killing him as I had feared, the blow had only scotched him momentarily.
He lay there in the bottom of the boat, his hand lifted, the smoke still curling from his pistol. Mary was helpless, for a gust had caught the boat and the helm was nearly shoving her overboard.
Even at this moment of crisis, I was set on not killing Rosoff. I could have done so easily enough. He was frightfully unsteady and was trying to control himself for the finishing shot. My own automatic leaped out as I saw his finger flex on the trigger, and my shot went home. His arm jerked violently and the pistol dropped. He lay staring at the shattered, red-smeared thing that had been his hand.
“That’s what we call real shooting,” I observed. “Out, Mary! Head out!”
Mary threw her weight on the tiller, and we went hissing away from the bank into which we had so nearly run. Behind us, Wan Shih’s men had hoisted their sail and were coming after us with gathering speed, amid shrill yells.
“Groot! Go help Mary with that helm,” I ordered. “When they open fire, shove her out of the way. Head straight down the river.”
Groot clawed his way aft. Neither he nor Mary Fisher realized that I had been hit, but I realized it. So did Rosoff. I glanced down, met the baron’s eyes fastened upon me, and our gaze held for a minute. To do him justice, he let out no whimper.
“Well?” he said. “Finish it. Murder me quickly.”
“Not at all,” I returned. “I’m anxious not to disable you, my dear baron. I mean to hang you when we reach the city, and I’d hate to spoil the show!”
“Damn you! You’ll not live to reach there!”
I began to think that this might be true. Thus far, I had not dared move from where I stood, for I knew only that his one shot had gone home. The numbing shock of the bullet had killed the pain.
Now I glanced down, and realized why there was no life in my left arm.