Lay Her Among The Lilies

lasted, but ten yards ahead they petered out and started again after a gap of twenty feet or so.

That gap looked distressingly bare, and the light of the moon seemed to be pointing directly

at it. By now I had left the protecting screen of the garage. The lurker in the clump of bushes

couldn’t fail to see me if I crossed that open space. I kept on until I was within a few feet of

the gap, and then paused and peered through the scrub. The only consoling thing about this

new set-up was I had greatly increased the distance between the clump of bushes and myself.

Instead of being fifty yards away, I was now something like a hundred and twenty, and to hit

a moving target even as big as me at that distance called for some pretty fancy shooting. I

decided to take a chance.

I took off my hat and, holding it by its brim, sent it sailing into the air towards the clump of

bushes in the hope it would distract attention. Then, before the hat settled on the sand, I

jumped forward and ran.

It is one thing to get up speed on firm ground, but quite something else when your feet sink

up to your ankles in loose sand. My body went hurtling forward, but my feet remained more

or less where they were. If it hadn’t been for the diversion of the hat as it sailed into the

moonlight I should have been a dead duck.

I sprawled on hands and knees, scrambled up somehow, and dived for cover. The still, quiet

night was shattered by the bang of a gun. The slug fanned the top of my head as it zipped past

like a vicious hornet. That shooting was much too good. I threw myself flat, rolled my legs

under me, turned a somersault and was under cover again. The gun banged once more and the

slug flung up sand into my face.

I was now as calm as an old lady with burglars in the house. Sweating and swearing. I

plunged on, diving towards thicker cover, shaking the bushes, stamping the sand like a

58

LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

runaway rhinoceros. Again the gun banged, and this time the slug slid along the back of my

hand, breaking the skin and burning me as if I had been touched with a red-hot poker. I

dropped flat and lay panting, holding my hand, unable to see anything beyond roots and

branches and prickly sand-grass.

If Buffalo Bill out there took it into his head to close in for the kill I would be in a pretty

lousy position. I had to keep moving. The cabin still seemed to be a long way away, but there

was cover, and, providing I could move without making any noise, I still felt confident I’d get

there. I wasn’t going to take any more chances. Whoever it was out there could shoot. At that

distance he had nearly bagged me, and that is shooting of a very high order. I wasn’t in a

panic, but I was sweating ice, and my heart was banging like a steam-hammer. I began to

crawl on hands and knees through the sand, moving as quickly as I could, making no noise. I

had gone about fifty feet when I heard a rustle of grass and a sudden snapping of a dry twig. I

froze, listening, holding my breath, my nerves creeping like spider’s legs up and down my

spine. More grass rustled, followed by a soft, whoosing sound of disturbed sand: close, too

damned close. I lowered myself flat, lay hugging the sand, the hair on the back of my neck

bristling.

A few yards away a bush moved, another twig snapped, then silence. He was right on top

of me, and, listening, I imagined I heard him breathing.

There was nothing for me to do but wait, so I waited. Minutes ticked by. He probably

guessed I was right by him and he waited, too, hoping I would make a sound so he could

locate me. I was willing to wait like that all night, and, after what seemed to me hours, he

again shifted his position, but this time away from me. I still didn’t move. I listened to his

footfalls as he moved from bush to bush, searching for me. Very slowly, very cautiously, I

came up on hands and knees. Inch by inch I raised my head until I could see through the

thinning branches of the scrub bush. Then I saw him. Big Boy! There he was in his fawn hat,

his shoulders like a barn door, his flattened nose and ear ugly in the moonlight. He stood

about thirty yards from me, a Colt .45 in his fist. He was half-turned away from me, his eyes

searching the bushes to my right. If I had had a gun I could have picked him off with no more

trouble than shooting a rabbit at the same distance with a shot-gun. But I hadn’t got a gun,

and all I could do was to watch him and hope he would go away.

He remained motionless, tense, his gun arm advanced. Then he turned and faced me and

began to move towards me, a little aimlessly as if he wasn’t sure if he was coming in the right

direction, but determined to find me.

59

LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

I began to sweat again. Ten good paces would bring him right on top of me. I crouched

down, listening to his cautious approach, my heart hammering, my breath held behind

clenched teeth.

He stopped within three feet of me. I could see his thick trousered legs through the bush. If

I could get his gun