I was back on my feet, somehow. Pig Eye lay sprawled before me. I heard him whining as though from a great distance. Dunger stood six feet away, the ring of black beard spread in a grin like a hyena smelling dead meat.
"His back's broke," he said. "Hell of a sound he's making. I been waiting for you; I wanted you to hear it."
"I've heard it," I managed. My voice seemed to be coming off a worn sound track. "Surprised ... you didn't work me over ... while I was busy with the arm."
"Uh-uh. I like a man to know what's going on when I work him over." He stepped in, rapped the broken arm lightly with the club. Fiery agony choked a groan off in my throat. I backed a step, he stalked me.
"Pig Eye wasn't much, but he was my pal. When I'm through with you, I'll have to kill him. A man with a broken back's no use to nobody. His'll be finished pretty soon now, but not with you. You'll be around a long time yet; but I'll get a lot of fun out of you before the Baron gets back."
I was under the trees now. I had some wild thoughts about grabbing up a club of my own, but they were just thoughts. Dunger set himself and his eyes dropped to my belly. I didn't wait for it; I lunged at him. He laughed and stepped back, and the club cracked my head. Not hard; just enough to send me down. I got my legs under me and started to get up—
There was a hint of motion from the shadows behind Dunger. I shook my head to cover any expression that might have showed, let myself drop back.
"Get up," Dunger said. The smile was gone now. He aimed a kick. "Get up—"
He froze suddenly, then whirled. His hearing must have been as keen as a jungle cat's; I hadn't heard a sound.
The old man stepped into view, his white hair plastered wet to his skull, his big hands spread. Dunger snarled, jumped in and whipped the club down; I heard it hit. There was flurry of struggle, then Dunger stumbled back, empty-handed.