‘Get him up,’ he said, without looking at Noddy. ‘You carry him. Get him to the hut as fast as you can. I’l be right behind.’
‘He’s crazy!’ Noddy said, bending over the stil body. ‘I told you we’d have trouble with him.’
‘Get on with it!’ Baird snarled, as he wiped his face with his handkerchief. The deep scratches were bleeding badly. He could feel blood running down inside his shirt and across his chest.
Noddy got Hater across his shoulders and began a slow jog-trot towards the hut.
Baird went back for the Winchester. He had trouble finding it as the smoke screen had drifted over the saw-grass, but finally he located it. He couldn’t see the river now. The dense smoke had blot ed out the dredges and the water. The firing had died down. Away to his right he could hear men shouting, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He ran after Noddy, and caught up with him a quarter of a mile or so from the hut.
Noddy was leaning against a tree, trying to get his breath back. Hater lay at his feet.
‘Come on!’ Come on!’ Baird said. ‘Do you want them to catch up with you?’
‘I’m beat,’ Noddy panted. ‘I can’t carry him any farther.’
Baird thrust the Winchester into Noddy’s hand, bent and pul ed Hater up and across his broad shoulders.