Part 15 (1/2)

She struck at him then. Her fist caught him high up on his cheekbone, startled rather than hurt him; then she flew at him, kicking and hitting him.

He held her close. His arms, big and hard, encircled her, crus.h.i.+ng her to him, smothering her efforts to hit him, driving the breath out of her body. He gave her a hard chopping blow with his clenched fist that landed in the hollow of her neck, turning her sick and faint. She ceased to struggle and he half carried her, half dragged her, into the hall. Then he paused, stared at Miss Lolly, who faced him, a double-barrelled shot-gun in her hand.

”Put her down,” she said firmly. ”Please, Tex, put her down.”

”Get out of the way,” Sherill snarled. ”Have you gone crazy, too?”

Carol suddenly bunched herself against him like a spring coiling, then sprang back against his encircling arms, breaking his hold. She thudded against the wall, staggered, half fell. Miss Lolly pushed the gun against Sherill's chest.

”Don't make me shoot you,” she pleaded, her eyes wild. ”She must be allowed to go. We mustn't stop her. We have no right to keep her here.”

Sherill cursed her, but he made no move as Carol slipped past him, ran blindly into the open towards the white wooden gate.

”You know what you've done?” he said. ”You d.a.m.ned old sentimental fool. I shouldn't have trusted you.” He went to the door, looked after Carol. She was running very quickly: he was astonished that anyone could move so lightly and yet so quickly over the uneven ground. He knew he had no hope of catching her.

Then he thought of the dog, and without looking at Miss Lolly he ran down the wooden steps, round the building, to the kennels.

Carol kept to the by-road. Each side of her the dense jungle of trees and bushes and high gra.s.s shut her in like the walls of a maze. As she ran she listened and heard no sound of pursuit, but she did not slacken her pace until she had gone some distance from the old plantation house; then, panting, a pain in her side, she slowed to a walk.

She had no idea how far she was from Point Breese. She realized that the distance must be great, for she had spent a long time in the rapidly moving Packard. But she had money now: admittedly not much, but enough if she could only reach a bus stop or a railway station.

She realized with something like triumph that the Sullivans had only a few minutes' start over her. They had the car, of course, but they wouldn't find Steve quickly. She was certain that Magarth wouldn't have left Steve in that wood. With any luck she would arrive at Point Breese before the Sullivans found him: that was all she asked for.

Then suddenly she stiffened, her heart fluttering, looked back over her shoulder. Not far away came the bay of a hound, and instantly she began to run again.

If that man had set a dog after her. . . again she looked back along the twisting, narrow, hedged-in road. Was there any use hiding? She came to an abrupt standstill, looked wildly around for a stick-some weapon with which to defend herself.

A moment later she saw the dog. It came bounding down the narrow road: a great black brute with a spade-shaped head, close hair and a long tail. Its eyes were like little sparks of fire.

Carol caught her breath when she saw this black monster rus.h.i.+ng towards her. There was nothing she could do. It was like being in a nightmare, and she stood still, the hot sun beating on her back, her shadow, long and thin, pointing at the dog like a weapon.

When the dog saw her it slowed to a menacing walk, its muzzle only a few inches from the ground, its tail stiff, in line with its back and head.

Carol scarcely breathed. She fixed the dog with her eyes and was as still as if she had been carved out of stone.

The dog slowed its pace, snarled at her: the great fangs as white as orange pith under the black lip. Then its hair stiffened all along its thin, hard back, and it stopped, crouched, uncertain whether to spring or not.

Knowing it was her only chance of escape, Carol willed the dog to remain where it was. She tried to see into the dog's brain, and now that she had stopped it in its tracks she moved forward very slowly and the dog began to back: like a cartoon film in reverse.

For a full minute they continued to stare at each other, then the dog's tail gradually lost its stiffness, like a s.h.i.+p striking its flag, then its nerve broke and with a low howl it turned and bolted back down the narrow road, and with a sob of relief Carol turned and fled in the opposite direction.

Sherill was blundering down the hot road when the dog pa.s.sed him and he stood staring after the dog, the blood draining out of his face. He knew then that Carol had escaped and there was nothing he could do to recapture her.

He stood for some moments, unable to think. If she ain't here when we get back, you best not be here either, Max had said. The Sullivans didn't make idle threats. Slowly he turned and walked back to the old plantation house, pushed open the wooden gate, walked stiffly up the garden path.

Miss Lolly sat in the basket chair, a wooden, frightened expression on her face. She looked at him out of the comer of her eyes, but he said nothing, walked past her into the house. He was inside some time, but Miss Lolly continued to sit in the sun, waiting. She had no regrets. She felt that in releasing Carol she had, in some way, justified her own tragic life.

Sherill came out on to the verandah. He was wearing a grey and black check suit, Mexican boots and a big white Stetson. Miss Lolly remembered that hat when, years ago, Sherill had joined the circus and it had attracted her attention: remembering how young and das.h.i.+ng he had looked, wearing it. But now, his face white and puffy, there wasn't any resemblance left of the young man who had fluttered her heart.

Sherill dumped down the two bags, walked down the wooden steps, then paused.

”You best pack up,” he said without looking at her. ”We've gotta get out,” and he went on down the path, round the house to the barn. He moved slowly as if his boots were too tight.

Miss Lolly continued to sit in the basket chair. Her fingers fumbled at her beard, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

On the upper landing of the house the grandfather clock chimed the half-hour. The clock had been in Miss Lolly's s.p.a.cious caravan throughout her circus career. All the other furniture in the house-what there was of it-belonged to her, and each piece was a memory in her life.

A large red and black b.u.t.terfly fishtailed in and landed on the verandah rail, close to Miss Lolly. She looked at it, watched it move its wings slowly up and down and then take off, flying through the motionless hot scented air.

The b.u.t.terfly reminded her of Carol. ”Beauty should not be imprisoned,” she thought. ”I did right: I know I did right.”

Sherill drove round to the front of the house in a big Ford truck. He cut the engine, got out, came up the steps.

”You'll have to help,” he said, still not looking at Miss Lolly. ”We can take most everything in the truck.”

”I'm going to stay,” Miss Lolly said quietly. ”This is my home.”

”I know,” Sherill said roughly. ”Well, you've smashed it up for us now. Come on, don't talk a lot of drivel. We've got to get out . . . you know those boys. . . .”

”You go,” Miss Lolly said, thinking of the b.u.t.terfly. ”I'd rather stay, even if it's only for a day or so. I've been happy here.”

Sherill eyed her, lifted his shoulders wearily.

”All right,” he said. ”If that's the way you feel. I'll get off then.”

Miss Lolly looked up.

”I did right, Tex,” she said quietly. ”It was an evil thing.

”Yes, you did right,” Sherill said, defeated. ”So long, Lolly.”

”Good-bye,” she said, ”and good luck, Tex.”

She watched him dump his bags in the truck, climb into the cab.

”They said they'd be back in two or three days,” Sherill said as he stabbed the starter.

”It'll be long enough,” Miss Lolly returned.

Carol had got to within twenty-five miles of Point Breese when her luck seemed to run out. Up to this moment she had been travelling by various routes and vehicles towards Steve, but now night had come down the cars and trucks which before had stopped willingly enough seemed shy of her.

The drivers were not chancing trouble by stopping for the rather wild-looking girl who waved frantically at them as they rushed through the darkness. A man might have got a lift, but not a girl. The drivers who pa.s.sed Carol were heading for home; they didn't want trouble or excitement. One or two of them did hesitate, slow down, wondering if she was a looker, whether they might have a little fun with her, but that patch of road there were no lights, and they decided she'd probably be a hag, so they kept on, increasing their speed, feeling suddenly virtuous.

Carol was tired. Prom the start it seemed to be going so well. A truck picked her up on the State Highway and the driver was decent to her, sharing with her his ample lunch, talking cheerfully about things that happened to him in his narrow walk of life. He set her down at a cross-roads, showing her the direction she'd have to take, wis.h.i.+ng her luck.