He entered the bridge house cautiously. The guard against the wall raised his head. Blood ran down the side of his mouth. He stared at Baird, then made an effort to lift the gun that lay across his knees.
Baird shot him through the head before he could get the gun up.
As the guard slumped over, Baird ran over to the controls, throttled back the engine, put it in reverse, then opened the throttle slowly. The launch pulled out of the soft mud into deeper water. Baird half closed the throttle, and brought the launch alongside the bank.
Every movement he had to make was by sheer effort of will. His head was expanding and contracting, and it was as much as he could do to stand upright. He drove himself ruthlessly. Here was a chance of escape. If he could get Hater on board, most of his troubles would be over.
He slid overboard into the warm, muddy water, climbed up the bank and hunted around for Hater. He found him still lying motionless where he had left him. He made sure he was still alive, then began to drag him through the bush to the bank.
It took him a long time to get Hater on board. He was so exhausted by the time he had rolled Hater on to the deck that he flopped down in the shallow water, holding his head between his hands, only half conscious.
He sat there for some minutes. Conscious he was wasting time, he finally made an effort and stood up. He got back on the bank and began to search for the suitcase and the Winchester. He found them with difficulty, and as he picked them up he heard Rico calling.
He stood looking in the direction of the shouts, surprised that Rico was still alive. Leaving the case and the gun, he staggered into the bush in search of Rico.
By now the moon had swung up into the sky. Baird came upon Rico lying on his back, his white, sweating face agonised with pain.
‘I thought you’d forgotten me,’ Rico gasped, and began to sob with relief. ‘I thought you were going to leave me here to die.’