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  The mounted guard urged his horse once more into the river. As the horse began to swim, Boyd's head bobbed up for a brief moment. He was nearly halfway across the river by now, but the mounted guard had seen him. He swung his horse towards the swimming man just as Boyd dived again. I could see it was going to be an unequal race.

  Boyd couldn't reach shelter before the guard caught up with him. He must have realised this himself. He certainly was an expert under-water swimmer. He must have turned under-water and swum towards the guard, for his head bobbed up just behind the swimming horse. The guard didn't see him, but the other guard did and he yelled a warning. Boyd was too close to the mounted guard for the other to risk a shot.

  The mounted guard twisted around in his saddle, his face alarmed. He aimed a blow at Boyd's head with the butt of his rifle, but missed him.

  With the quickness of a striking snake, Boyd grabbed the guard's wrist and .heaved him off his horse into the water.

  The guard was helpless in the grip of those brutal hands. The two men disappeared from sight. There was a violent churning of water, and then Boyd bobbed up alone.

  He came up with the horse between him and the guard on the bank, and he kept that way. Holding the horse's bridle, he urged the animal downstream.

  The other guard hesitated, then seeing what was happening, and that Boyd now had a chance of escaping, he ran back to his horse, mounted it and forced the animal into the river. He went after Boyd, who was having trouble controlling the swimming horse. He passed close to where I was hiding. His ape-like face was set and white, and I could hear him cursing the horse, trying to urge it forward faster.

  The other guard was rapidly overtaking him, but he still couldn't get a shot at him.

  I saw Boyd suddenly let go of his horse and dive. I guessed he was going to try to surprise the guard as he had the other, but this time he overplayed his hand.

  The guard was alert, and Boyd slightly misjudged his distance. He bobbed up right by the guard. As he frantically shook the water out of his eyes, his hands grabbing at the guard, the guard smashed his rifle butt down on Boyd's head.

  Boyd went down like a stone, and where he had sunk the river water turned red.

  The guard was taking no chances. He swung his horse around and made for the bank, coming out of the river not far from where I lay.

  I recognised him now. His name was Geary. He was a brute and a sadist, and had made my days at Farnworth a hell. If I had had a gun I wouldn't have hesitated to shoot him, but I had no gun so I lay watching him while he sat on his horse, waiting for Boyd's body to come to the surface.

  It came up eventually, floating face down and drifted to the bank where I rested among the reeds.

  The other horse struggled up onto the bank. Geary moved up to it and took its bridle.

  Geary then looked over the surface of the river. He was looking for the other guard's body. I spotted the body on the far side of the bank just a few seconds before he did.

  He grunted, then leading the other horse, he went crashing off through the reeds and back to Farnworth,

  I waited until the sounds died away, then cautiously I came out of hiding.

  They would recover the two bodies, then Byefleet and some of the mounted guards would come after me with the dogs. In the meantime every State trooper would be alerted. The police of the district would be on the look-out for me. A warning would be broadcast.

  I had still a long way to go before I was safe—if I ever was going to be safe.

  Carrying the sack of pepper, I started off again. The morning sun was up by now, and already there was heat.

  As I ran, the pepper kept jerking out of my trousers turn-ups, blotting out my scent.

  After about a couple of miles, I pulled up, panting. Now was the time to cross the river. The railway lay on the far side about sixteen miles from where I was.

  I took off my trousers and folded them into a small pack in which I put the sack of pepper. I tied the pack on top of my head with my belt, then I walked into the river and swam over to the opposite bank.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I

  The time was ten minutes after four o'clock in the afternoon. I lay under the shade of a tree on a sloping hill that went away down to the highway.

  By keeping to the woods and following the river I had covered quite a distance. No sound of any pursuit had followed me. The pepper idea had paid off. The dogs hadn't been able to pick up my scent.

  But I was still five miles from the railway, and now the country had become flat and open. I didn't dare move out of the woods until dark.

  Below me on the far side of the highway was a small farm. It wasn't much of a place, consisting of the farmhouse, three big sheds, a barn and a lot of junk lying around. I didn't pay much attention to it until I saw a girl come out of the farmhouse and walk over to one of the sheds. She was carrying two big baskets of cantaloups.

  From this distance I couldn't see what she looked like, and I didn't care. My eyes watched those cantaloups and my mouth watered at the sight of them.

  When it was dark I would sneak down there and grab myself a few.

  There was a heap of traffic on the highway, mostly trucks carrying cantaloups to Oakland. Every now and then a glittering Cadillac or an Oldsmobile would blast its impatient way past the trucks. From time to time I sported a State trooper on his motorcycle, patrolling, and once, a police radio car.

  The hours dragged by.

  At six o'clock a battered truck came up the dirt road leading to the farm. It was loaded with cantaloups. I watched it pull up outside one of the sheds.

  The girl came out of the farmhouse.

  Two men got down off the truck. One of them was young, the other middle-aged.

  They all moved over to the farmhouse and I imagined them sitting down to supper, and the thought tormented me. I was hungry enough to think longingly of Farnworth's filthy food.

  Another couple of hours crawled by. The sun went down and the stars came out. The traffic had practically ceased. I hadn't seen a State trooper for some time. I decided it would be safe to move.

  I reached the highway without seeing a car. There was a light showing in one of the windows of the farmhouse. I had watched for a dog, but hadn't seen one. I crossed the highway at a run and reached the dirt road leading up to the farm.

  The farm gate was closed. I climbed it, and then moved away from the farmhouse to one of the sheds.

  I paused outside the open door. It was dark in there, but I could smell the cantaloups.

  I went in. I had no knife, but I split the cantaloups in my hands. The warm sweet juice and the pulpy flesh quenched my thirst and satisfied my hunger.

  I was so tired I could scarcely keep my eyes open. I decided to take a short rest before walking the last five miles to the railway.

  I groped my way behind a pile of cantaloups and stretched out on the ground. I could hear the radio coming from the farmhouse, playing dance music. I closed my eyes. This was a lot better than sleeping in that stinking bunk-house at Farnworth. I wondered if I would be able to board a train ... so far my luck had held ... so far...

  I woke with a start that set my heart thumping.

  Through the open door of the shed I could see the outline of the distant hills. The sun was coming up in a blood red sky and its pale fight filtered into the shed.

  As I struggled to my feet, panic gripping me, I realised I had slept like a dead man for more than eight hours.

  Already I could hear the rumble of trucks on the highway. I wouldn't dare cross the fields now to the railway.

  In my black and grey striped prison uniform I would be spotted by any of the passing truck drivers.

  Then I heard sounds from the farmhouse: voices and movements. A little later I smelt ham grilling.

  I watched and waited for half an hour or so, then the two men came out, followed by the girl. She was around seventeen and very sun-burned. She wasn't pretty, but she had a good figure, and when she
smiled she was attractive.

  The three talked together for some moments, then the two men climbed up onto the truck and drove away. The girl went back into the farmhouse.

  I made another meal of cantaloups, then I settled down behind a pile of crates.

  I was trapped in this shed now until nightfall. Thinking about it, I saw that it might not be such a bad thing. Staying here in comparative safety would give the hunt for me time to cool off.

  I rested my head on a rolled up sack and closed my eyes. It was hot in the shed and I dozed off.

  I came abruptly awake an hour or so later.

  Someone was in the shed.

  I could hear movements. Very cautiously I edged to the front of the crates and took a quick look.

  The girl was sorting cantaloups into sizes, making three piles of them. She worked quickly and expertly, her back turned to me, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she stooped over the pile.

  I watched her, wondering if I dare let her know I was there, and then suddenly realising that she did know I was watching her. She had paused abruptly in her work, then she had gone on again, but without the rhythm she had used before. I knew she was now frightened. I could tell that by the way she fumbled with the cantaloups.

  I was sure if I didn't do something fast, she would bolt out of the shed and probably start screaming. I could feel the growing tension in her.

  I said very quietly, "Don't be frightened," and I stood up so she could see me.

  She whirled around. I was sorry for her. She went white under her tan and she tried to scream, but no sound came.

  I must have looked pretty terrible. I hadn't shaved for two days. I was filthy dirty. I was big and tough looking, and I saw I had struck terror into her; that made me feel bad.

  "I'm not going to hurt you," I said, watching her as she slowly backed away from me until she reached the wall of the shed. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red and white cowboy shirt. As she pressed herself against the wall, I could see her small breasts lifting and falling under her shirt.

  She said in a tiny, tight voice, "Don't come near me!"

  "I'm sorry I frightened you. You frightened me," I said. 'I'm the man they're hunting for— from Farnworth. Will you help me?" I kept talking. I was scared she would run out and start screaming. "I'm hungry and I want clothes. Will you give me a break?"

  I could see she was getting over the shock and she was relaxing.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "I was hungry. I came after the cantaloups last night. Then I was fool enough to fall asleep. I planned to reach the railway while it was dark."

  "But they are watching the railway," she said breathlessly and I knew then she was on my side. "It was on the radio last night. That's where they expect you to go."

  "Then I guess I'll have to think of something else. I don't want to get you in trouble, but will you help me? If you don't, I'm sunk."

  She stared at me for a long moment

  "I've read about Farnworth," she said and moved away from the wall. "Yes, I'll help you. I couldn't have it on my conscience to send any man back there. Are you hungry?"

  "That ham smelt pretty good."

  She managed a ghost of a smile.

  "Wait here."

  She went to the door. I watched her. I couldn't be sure if I could trust her but there was nothing else I could do. If she called the cops then it was my bad luck.

  When she had gone, I prowled around the shed. She seemed to be gone a long time, then just as I was about to go to the house to see what she was doing, she came back, carrying a bucket of hot water, a towel, soap, a razor and a bundle of clothes.

  "I'll get you some food now."

  Ten minutes later she was back, carrying a tray. She had cooked me six eggs and four cuts of ham, and she had made me a pot of coffee.

  In that time I had shaved and washed and had got into the suit which I guessed was her brother's. It was a little tight, and it was shabby, but I didn't care. It was wonderful to be rid of that filthy prison uniform.

  I saw she was watching me curiously as I began to wolf down the food. She sat on a box near me.

  "How did you escape?" she asked. "I thought no one could get away from Farnworth."

  I told her the whole story. I told her how I had the money itch, how Roy and I had planned the robbery, how I had covered up for Roy. I told her about Farnworth and the dogs, and how I had got away.

  She listened, her eyes wide open. It did me good to tell her. It was the first time I had talked to anyone about it.

  "If I'm caught," I said, "they'll half kill me. They'll put me in a cell they keep for punishment. Three of the guards will come in with belts. They'll lam into me until they can't lam into me any more. Every day for a week, they'll do that. I've seen men come out of the punishment cell. One of them had lost an eye: another had a broken arm."

  She drew in a sharp breath of horror.

  "But I'm not going to be caught," I said. "I'd rather the than go back to Farnworth."

  By then I had finished the meal and was smoking a cigarette from the pack she had put on the tray. I felt pretty good.

  "You mustn't go to the railway," she said. "I can help you get to Oakland if that's where you want to go."

  "That's where I want to go. It'll be a jumping off place. How can you do it?"

  "In an hour, a truck calls here to pick up these cantaloups," she told me. "The trucker is a boy named Williams. He comes every day. He has a meal here. While he is eating, you can hide in the back of the truck. He goes to Oakland market. He leaves the truck in the market square while he collects the money. You could slip out then and you'd be in Oakland."

  That's how I got to Oakland. It turned out to be the easiest thing in the world.

  Before the trucker arrived, the girl gave me five dollars, all the money she had. She gave me two packs of cigarettes. She warned me I would only have a few hours start. When her brother returned and missed his clothes she would have to tell him she had given the clothes to me. I would have to get out of Oakland fast, but at least I had nothing to worry about until seven or eight that evening when her father and brother got back.

  I tried to thank her, but she didn't want my thanks. She said she couldn't send any man back to Farnworth and, anyway, she thought I had had a lot of bad luck.

  As the truck jolted off down tile dirt road, I peered out between the crates of cantaloups. She stood looking after the truck in her red and white cowboy shirt and her blue jeans. As the truck turned onto the highway, she raised her hand and waved.

  She made a picture I keep in mind; a picture that will stay with me for the rest of my days.

  II

  On the fifth day of my escape from Farnworth, I reached Little Creek, approximately a thousand miles from Oakland.

  Those thousand miles I had put between myself and Oakland had been pretty rugged going. I had been lucky to jump a freight train just outside Oakland, but after twenty hours, travelling through the desert without food or water I began to wonder if I would get off that train alive

  Finally, the train pulled in at Little Creek, and I left the truck without anyone spotting me.

  The time was late in the afternoon and the heat was intense. There seemed no one around: the main street was deserted.

  I still had a dollar fifty left from the money the girl had given me. I went into a snack bar and ordered a hamburger, a coffee and a quart of ice water.

  I looked pretty rough after travelling all that time in the truck. I hadn't shaved, and I was filthy dirty and the suit the girl had given me had taken a beating off the floor of the truck, but it didn't seem to matter how I looked in this town. It was dirty and beaten up itself: one of those dead-end dumps, fast dying on its feet.

  While I was eating, I considered what my next move was to be. If I could get over the mountain and down into Tropica Springs I felt I would be far enough away from Farnworth to be safe.

  Tropica Springs was about t
wo hundred miles from this desert town. My only chance of getting there was to get a ride from some truck or private car. I reckoned it would have to be a truck. No owner of a private car would give me a ride looking the way I looked now.

  The man behind the snack counter had a cheerful, friendly face. I asked him what chance I had of getting a ride in a truck going over the mountain.

  He shook his head doubtfully.

  "There are trucks passing through here by the dozen," he said, "but I've never seen any of them stop. Maybe you'll be lucky, but it's a long shot." He drew a cup of coffee for himself and leaned on the counter. "Your best bet would be to get to Point of No Return. All trucks stop there to fill up before going over the mountain. You could talk to some of the fellas. Maybe you could persuade one of them to take you."