Lay Her Among The Lilies

He turned sp his back was towards me. I jumped him. My hands, my brain, my spring were

all directed on his gun. Both my hands closed on his thick wrist and my shoulder thudded into

his chest, sending him staggering. He gave a startled yelp: a blend of fury and alarm. I bent

his wrist, crushed his fingers, clawed at the gun. For a split second I had it all my own way.

He was paralysed by the surprise of my spring, by the pain as I squeezed his fingers against

the butt of the gun. Then as I had the gun he came into action. His fist slammed into the side

of my neck, a chopping blow, hard enough to drive a six-inch nail into oak. I shot into the

bushes, still clinging to the gun, trying to get my finger around the trigger, but not making it

before his boot kicked the gun out of my hand. It went sailing away into the scrub. Well, that

was all right. If I hadn’t got it, he hadn’t either.

He came at me with a shambling rush, tearing his way through the bushes to get at me. But

those sand bushes require respect. They don’t like being rushed at, and he hadn’t taken more

than a couple of leaping steps before his toe stubbed against a root and he went sprawling.

That gave me time to get to my feet and leg it towards the open. If we had to fight I wasn’t

going to be hampered by a lot of grass turfs, scrub and bush roots. This guy was a lot heavier

than I, and had a punch like the kick of a mule, and I was still dazed from that chop on the

neck. I didn’t want another. The only satisfactory way to fight him was to have plenty of

space to get away and come in again.

He was up on his feet and after me in split seconds, and he could move. He caught up with

me as I broke through the last screen of bushes. I dodged his first rush, socked him on the

nose as he came in again and collected a bang on the side of my head that made my teeth

rattle.

The moonlight fell fully on his face as he came in again: a cold, brutal, murderous mask;

the face of a man who intends to kill, and nobody or nothing is going to stop him. I jumped

away, wheeled back and slugged him on his squashed ear, sending him reeling, and that gave

me confidence. He might be big, but he could be hit and he could be hurt. He grunted,

crouched, shook his head, his hands moving forward with hooked fingers. I didn’t wait for his

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rush, but went in hitting with both fists. But this time his face wasn’t there, and his hands

fastened on the front of my coat, pulling me against him.

I jerked up my knee, but he knew all about that kind of fighting, and had already turned

sideways on, taking the hard jab of my knee against his thigh. One of his hands shifted and

grabbed at my throat as I slugged him in the ribs. He grunted again, but his fingers, like steel

hooks, dug into my windpipe.

Then I really went for him. I knew once he weakened me I was done for, and that

paralysing grip on my throat could sap my strength in seconds if I didn’t break his hold. I

hammered at his ribs, then, as he still clung on, I dug my fingers into his eyes.

He gave a sharp screech, let go of my throat and staggered back. I went after him, belting

him about the body. He held his eyes and took what I handed out. There was nothing much he

could do about it, and I hammered him to his knees. There was no point in breaking my fists

on him, so I stepped back and waited for him to uncover. His breath came in short sobbing

gasps. He tried to get to his feet, but couldn’t make it. Groaning, he dropped his hands to

hoist himself up, and that was what I was waiting for. I measured him, swung a punch at him

that came up from the sand and connected on the point of his jaw. He went over backwards,

flopped about, scrabbling in the sand like a wounded squirrel, started climbing to his feet, fell

over and straightened out.

I went over to him. He was out all right, and, looking down at the blood running out of the

corners of his eyes, I felt sorry for him. I didn’t mean to hurt him as badly as that, but it was

his life or mine, and at least I hadn’t killed him.

I leaned forward and pulled the thick leather belt from around his waist, rolled him over

and strapped his hands behind him. I took off my belt and lashed it around his ankles.

He was too heavy to carry and I wanted to get to my phone and my gun. I thought he would

be all right until I got back, and I turned and pelted towards the cabin.

It took me a couple of minutes to wake up Mifflin again. This time he sounded as mad as a

hornet you’ve slapped with a fly-whisk.

“All right, all right,” I said. “I’ve got Dwan here.”

“Dwan?” Anger went out of his voice. “With you?”

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“Yeah. Come on. Get the boys and the wagon. I want some sleep tonight.”

“Dwan! But Brandon said …”

“To hell with what Brandon said!” I bawled. “Come on out and get him.”

“Keep your shirt on,” Mifflin said dismally. “I’m coming.”

As I slammed down the receiver, a gun went off with a choked bang somewhere out on the

dunes. I made two quick jumps to my wardrobe, flung open the door and grabbed the .38.I