Десмонд Бэгли - Landslide

My blood chilled at the audible reaction from the mob in front of the stoop. ‘Now you know why I want him,’ yelled Howard. He waved his arm. ‘You’re all on full pay until he’s found, and I’ll give a hundred dollars to the man who spots him first.’

A yell went up from the mob and Howard waved his arm violently to get silence. ‘What’s more,’ he shouted, ‘I’ll give a thousand dollars each to the men who catch him.’

There was pandemonium for a while and Howard let it go on.

I could see the twisted grin on his face in the harsh light of the pressure-lantern. He held up his arms for silence again. ‘Now, we’ve lost him for the moment. He’s in the woods out there. He has no food, and my betting is that he’s scared. But watch it, because he’s armed. I came here to beat the daylights out of him because of what he did to my old man, and he held me up at rifle-point. So watch it.’

Waystrand whispered to him, and Howard said, ‘I may be wrong there, boys. Waystrand here says he didn’t have a gun when he made for the woods, so that makes your job easier. I’m going to divide you up into teams and you can get going. When you catch him, keep him there and send a message back to me. Understand that — don’t try to bring him back into Fort Farrell. This is a slippery guy and I don’t want to give him a chance to get away. Keep him on the spot until I get there. Tie him up. If you don’t have any rope then break his goddam leg. I won’t cry if you rough him up a bit.’

The laughter that broke out was savage. Howard said, ‘All right. I want Waystrand, Novak, Simpson and Henderson to head the teams. Come into the cabin, you guys, and I’ll lay things out.’

He went back into the cabin followed by Waystrand and three others. I stayed where I was for a couple of minutes, wishing I knew what was being said in the cabin, then I withdrew, slowly and carefully, and went back into the darkness.

If ever I had seen anyone working up a lynching party it had been Howard. The bastard had set a mob thirsting for my blood and I wouldn’t be safe anywhere around Fort Farrell — not with a thousand dollars on my head. Those loggers of his were tough boys and he’d filled them up with such a pack of goddam lies that it would be useless for me to try to explain anything.

I was struck by a sudden idea and wormed my way to the place where I had bedded down the previous night, and was deeply thankful that I had slept out and had been sloppy enough not to take my gear back to the cabin. My pack was still lying where I had left it, and I hastily replaced the few items I had taken out. Now I had at least the absolute minimum necessary for a prolonged stay in the woods — everything except food and a weapon.

There came a renewed burst of noise from the direction of the cabin and the sound of several engines starting up. Someone came blundering through the undergrowth and I withdrew away from the cabin, still undecided as to what to do next. In all my life I had never been in as tough a position as this, except when I woke up in hospital to find myself an erased blank. I tightened the pack straps and thought grimly that if a man could survive that experience he could survive this one.

Use your brains , I told myself. Think of a safe place.

The only safe place I could think of was the inside of a jail — just as an honoured guest, of course. An RCMP sergeant wouldn’t — or shouldn’t — let anyone tramp over him and I reckoned I’d be as safe in one of Gibbons’s cells as anywhere else until this blew over and I could find someone sane enough to start explaining things to. So I headed for the town, circling around so as not to walk on the road. I wanted to head for Gibbons’s place by the least populous route.

I should have known that Howard would have it staked out. The last thing in the world he wanted was for the cops to interfere, and if I got to Gibbons then maybe the jig would be up. Howard would never be able to hide the fact that I didn’t hit old Matterson and the truth would inevitably come out, something he couldn’t afford to happen. So even though he thought I was somewhere in the woods he had coppered his bet by staking out the policestation just in case I made a run for Gibbons.

Of course I didn’t think of that at the time, although I was very careful as I walked the quiet streets of Fort Farrell. It was a linear town, long and thin, built around the one main street, and I had chosen a route which took me past very few houses on the way to the police-station. There was a moon, an unfortunate circumstance, and I tried to keep as much in the shadows as I could. I met nobody on the way and I began to think I would make it. I hoped to God that Gibbons was around.

I was within a hundred yards of the station when I was tackled. I suppose being so near had made me let my guard down. The first thing I knew was a burst of bright light in my eyes as someone shone a flashlight on me — then a cry: ‘That’s him!’

I ducked and skidded to one side and felt something thump into my pack with a frightening force and the impact threw me off-balance so that I sprawled on the ground. The flashlamp shone around searching, and as it found me I got a boot in my ribs. I rolled frantically away, knowing that if I didn’t get up I could be kicked to death. Those loggers’ boots are heavy and clinched with steel and a real good kick can smash a man’s rib-cage and drive the bone into his lungs.

So I rolled faster and faster although impeded by the pack, trying to escape that damned flashlamp. A voice said hoarsely, ‘Get the bastard, Jack!’ and a badly aimed boot crashed into the back of my right thigh. I put my hands on the ground and swung round with my legs, flailing them wildly, and tripped up someone who came crashing on top of me.

His head must have hit the ground because he went flaccid and I heaved him off and staggered to my feet just in time to meet a bull-like rush from another man. The guy with the flashlamp was standing well back, damn him, giving me no chance to get away into darkness, but at least it put me and my attackers on equal terms.

I had no odd ideas about fair play — that’s a civilized idea and civilization stops when you set thirty men against one. Besides, I had learned my fighting in the North-West Territories, and the Marquess of Queensberry’s rules don’t hold good north of the 60th Parallel. I swung my boot, sideways on, at the man’s kneecap and scraped it forcibly down his shin to end up by stamping with my heel on his foot just above the instep. My left fist went for his guts and my right hand for his chin, palm open so that the heel of my hand forced his head back and my fingertips were in his eyes.

He got in a couple of good body blows while I was doing that but thereafter was fully occupied with his own aches and pains. He howled in anguish as I raked his shin to the bone and his hands came up to protect his eyes. I gave him another thump in the belly and the breath came out of him in a great gasp and he started to crumple. I’m a big guy and pretty strong, so I just picked him up and threw him at my friend with the flashlamp.

He made contact and the flashlamp went out. I heard the glass break as it hit the ground. I didn’t stick around to hear any more because there may have been more of the goons. I just picked up my feet and headed out of town.

By midnight I was well into the forest and pretty well tuckered out. I had been chased from town and nearly caught, too, and when I doubled back I nearly ran into another bunch of Matterson’s men who must have been pulled in from the woods. So I gave it up and struck west, that being the direction I thought they would least expect me to go — into the wilderness.