Just when he thought it was beginning to weaken, it managed to break surface and get some air before Baird forced it under again.
Rico had got to his feet and had come down to the bank. He watched the struggle with fascinated horror, unaware of the approaching sounds of more dogs.
The dog finally began to weaken and gave Baird the chance of freeing one hand. He snatched out his Colt and hit the dog on the top of its skull. The dog made a convulsive movement, snapped at Baird’s wrist, and Baird felt white-hot pain shoot up his arm as the dog’s teeth sank into his flesh. He hit it again and again until the teeth released their grip on his wrist and the dog, kicking and twitching, went limp.
Gasping, Baird let go of it, and it sank slowly out of sight in the muddy, churned-up water.
Baird came staggering out of the water to the bank.
‘Get the boat!’ he panted, as he toiled up the steep slope of the bank, blood running down his fingers.
‘Hurry!’
Rico floundered up to his knees in water and mud as he made for the place where the boat was hidden. He started to drag it from its hiding-place of bush and saw-grass as Baird came up with Hater across his shoulder.
‘Okay,’ Baird said, ‘get the case and rifle.’
Rico floundered back to the bank and returned with the case and the Winchester. Baird had got Hater into the boat and held the boat steady while Rico got in. Then he climbed in himself, took the paddle and pushed off, turning the nose of the boat up stream.