The Executioners

V

I felt the wetness as though it were coming from some distant world. I was no longer a part of it. And yet it was calling to me, beckoning me through the senses. The dried, stiffened, sunbaked muscles of my eyes moved and my eyelids fluttered, finally opening on a blurred world of fuzzy shapes. Again I felt the wetness, this time cool and soothing against my eyes. Slowly, the fuzzy shapes began to sort themselves out and I saw heads looking down at me. I tried to raise my head but the effort was too much and I opened my mouth, gasping, like a fish out of water. I felt the cool wetness dripping into my mouth, trickling down my throat and suddenly it came to me. I was alive. 1 swallowed and more water trickled down through the swollen, raw lining of my throat.

I looked up at the faces again. Some were brown, some beige, some had dark, wavy hair, one old man had hair that was almost blond. They had wide noses and fine lips, weathered eyes. Strong but gentle hands were helping me to sit up, and I saw old women in tattered shirts and young naked girls, with small breasts already hanging low. The men were fine boned mostly, none too large. I knew who they were, but they couldn't say the same about me. I was a human being they'd found near death, alone, without water or food, on this severe, unrelenting land — their land, the land of the Australian aborigine. They were a distinct people, these aborigines, anthropologically and racially, probably the oldest race of nomadic tribesmen in the world. Their origins still shrouded in the dim mists of history, they lived on in the vast Australian outback, some rubbing shoulders with civilization, others remote as their ancestors were a thousand years ago.

I looked around. They had carried me to their village, if it could be called a village. It was little more than a collection of cloths hung on poles around which a family or a group gathered in small knots. But the effort of looking around was exhausting and I fell back upon the ground. I felt damp cloths being wrapped around my blistered skin and I went to sleep.

It was probably hours later when I woke to see an old man on his haunches beside me and a small campfire burning low. He took a clay bowl from the fire and gestured for me to sit up and drink. The liquid, whatever it was, had a sharp, almost bitter taste to it, but I got it down and I could feel it inside me, warming, the way good bourbon makes your body tingle.

I lay on my side and watched the old man as he worked on a boomerang with crude tools. A spear and a woomera, a device for throwing the spear, lay on the ground beside him. I watched him for a while and then fell asleep again. It was night when I woke and the land was dotted by small campfires. My throat felt better and my strength a returning. A young girl came over to me holding the leg of a bird, a huge leg that could only have come from an emu, the giant flightless bird related to the ostrich, I ate it slowly — it had a strong but not unpleasant flavor. I realized, of course, that a piece of rawhide would probably have a not unpleasant flavor to me at the time. I was still quick to tire and I fell asleep again after eating. But in the morning, I managed to get up, a little shaky at first, but able to walk. I towered over most of the aborigines but here, in this, their land, I was a pretty helpless giant. We could not communicate in words, but I learned how effective the use of signs and gestures could be.

One of the men told me they were going on a hunt for food. I said I'd like to come along. I had Wilhelmina slung around my shoulder but I didn't want to use the gun if I didn't have to. I didn't know whether these primitive people had had any experience with firearms. The nomadic aborigines, different in so many ways from most primitive peoples, were also unique in that they were not at all warlike. They hunted to live and moved about constantly on what some tribes, familiar with the white man's tongue, called the "walkabout." Two young men, an old fellow with a gray beard and straight, silver-blond hair and myself made up the hunting party. I didn't see a damn thing to hunt on the open plains, but I learned, once again, a fact I had known but almost forgotten. Seeing is more a matter of knowing what to look for than anything else. We moved slowly along the dry bed of a stream and they paused to point out tracks to me, and then, by gesture, described the animals that had made them. I saw snake, wallaby, kangaroo, lizard and emu. And I learned that to the aborigine, the tracks were not just marks left in the soil but each one was a picture story. They would study a track and decide whether the animal was moving slowly or quickly, whether he was young or old, how long ago he'd passed this way.

Primitive people, I asked myself? Yes, in a big city, around mechanical devices they knew nothing about. But I was the primitive here. They decided to go after a lizard who, by their calculations, had passed only recently. With the old man doing the tracking, we caught up to the lizard, a big fellow with a vicious set of claws. The hunters speared him quickly and we carried him back to the others. A fire cooked the reptile and once more I found myself enjoying food I'd have rebelled against at any other time.

In the days that went by I lived with the aborigines, moved with them and went along to hunt with them. Little by little my muscle tone rebounded, and the blistered skin of my body returned to normal. My strength was almost fully regained, and one morning I began to try to tell them that I had to leave, to return to civilization. Somehow, I got it across — with the fact that I didn't have the faintest idea of how to get back. I knew if I struck out blindly, I'd probably end up in the same fix I was in when I was catapulted out of the plane. I didn't think I could survive a second time — not so soon, anyway.

The old man spoke to two of the younger ones and they came up to stand beside me. I wanted to say thanks for saving my life but how the hell do you say that in sign language? I'd seen little in the way of affectionate gestures among these nomads, but I fell back on the bow, low and sweeping, with hands folded before me. I think they understood. They nodded and grinned anyway.

The two young men started to trot off and I followed. They moved along still damp gulleys where their feet stayed cool. They took advantage of the shadowed side of a slope, no matter how slight the slope. And at night, we always had some meat to cook by the fire. Then one morning, they halted and pointed along a low rise on the dry, parched land. They indicated I was to follow it and then continue along the same direction. I bowed once again and started off. When I looked back, they were already trotting off the way we'd come.

As the hours went by, I saw that the land was becoming slightly less parched, perhaps a fine line of distinction, but nonetheless true. I noticed brown patches of dried grass, and some low bushes, and then, in the distance, a cluster of houses. I found an old man and some seedy looking cattle. He had no telephone, of course, but he did have water and some canned food. I'd never had a better banquet at the Waldorf. He gave me directions to the next ranch, a larger spread, and by moving from one to another, I found one with a car. I identified myself and got a lift into a dusty town where there was a territorial agent with a radio. He put a message through to Ayr and Major Rothwell's office and within the hour a jet plane came to a halt on the flat, dry land alongside the town. With borrowed shirt and pants. I went back to Ayr. Major Rothwell was at the airfield and his eyes echoed the disbelief in his words.

"By God, Carter," he said pumping my hand. You're even-thing they say and more. We'd counted you out as dead. Lieutenant Dempster's plane, the one you went off in with him, crashed at sea. We thought you were both in it."

"I doubt that even Dempster was in it," I said. "He ejected me and left me to die in the outback."

"My God!" Roth well exclaimed as we got into a chauffered car. "What in God's name for. Carter? Did you have him dead to rights on something?"

"No, but I was getting too close to something," I said grimly. And I'm going to get closer. Are my things still at that cottage?"

"Yes, we haven't done anything about that yet," the Major answered.

"Then all I need is a new set of keys," I said.

"Mona will have those," Rothwell assured me. "She'd have been with me, but she took a few days off. She doesn't know you're not done in."

"I'll surprise her" I said. "But I'd like to wash up a bit first."

"You can do that at headquarters," the Major said, and then he bit his lip apprehensively. "But there's one thing. Carter. I called Hawk and told him about the plane crashing into the sea with you and Dempster in it."

I grinned and made a small bet with myself. The car drew up before the Intelligence offices and while I washed up the Major had a call put in to Hawk. I picked up the phone when it came through. I won the bet with myself as I said hello and Hawk's voice showed not the slightest hint of surprise.

"Can't you even fake being surprised and excited at the fact that I'm still alive?" I protested.

"I didn't figure you were in that plane," he said blandly. "Entirely too mundane a way to go for you."

I chuckled. "Something is definitely rotten here," I said. "I think I've got the story but not the cast."

"Stay with it," he grunted. "Without the cast, you've got nothing. Keep me posted."

The line clicked off and I turned to Major Rothwell. I knew he deserved a briefing but I decided against it. All I had was what I'd spelled out for myself and that wasn't enough.

"I'll stop at Mona's and get the extra keys for the cottage," I said.

"The car was brought back from Air Force," he said. "It's in the back, waiting for you. Oh, one more thing. A girl named Judy Henniker has called almost every day to speak to you."

I nodded and went out to get the car. It was dark, and Judy would be at The Ruddy Jug now. I'd get to her later. I drove to Mona's apartment, rang the bell and waited. She opened the door and froze, her mouth dropping open, her eye; blinking in disbelief. I grinned and walked in. It was only when I was inside that she found herself and flew into my arms.

"Damn, but I don't believe it yet," she said, her lips wet and hungry against mine. "Oh, Nick," she said. "You don't know how I felt. I just wanted to run away someplace and hide from everything and everyone."

"I'm a hard man to kill," I said. "I like living too much. Though I most say they came damned dose to it this time."

I palled back from her and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm here for the extra set of keys to the cottage," I said. "I'm going back, to bathe and stretch out. I've got a lot of thinking to do."

She got the keys from a dresser drawer and pressed herself against me again, her breasts a wonderful reminder against my chest But I needed another twenty-four hours of rest before I was ready for Mona. I kissed her hard and quickly realized that maybe I was wrong about the twenty four hours. But I left anyway.

In the cottage, I soaked in a hot tub while I put together what I had so far. My remarks to Hawk had been more true than facetious. Fact one: the three kev men involved in the three tragedies had been silenced, in one way or another. I'd tried to get to Dawsey, then Comford, so they figured Dempster would be my next stop. They'd been cute and switched techniques with him, but the result was to have been the same, preventing me from getting information. Fact two: Dawsey, Comford and Dempster had been bought Dawsey's sudden wealth tipped that off. Fact three: the Chinese washed ashore two months ago with 50,000 Australian dollars on him. There had to be a connection between him and the first three men.

But that's where the facts ended. I didn't know who was doing this or why. Was it a home-grown group of some kind? If so, they needed a cove The ranch Judy spoke about could do for that of course. And if it was an outside source, they'd need a cover, too, but a more elaborate one. But so far they were shadows, all except for the three hoods that tried to give me a copper bath.

The headlines and articles in the Aussie newspapers I'd seen were plenty evidence that relations all around continued near the breaking point. The other members of the alliance were still dissatisfied with Australian explanations and were pulling back fast. The Aussies with their fierce pride were reacting with a to-hell-with-them-all attitude. And all I had was a nice, neat theory. I needed more, and fast. Whoever was behind this was not going to stand still. The next tragedy could well wreck the alliance beyond repair.

I dressed slowly. I'd decided against going to The Ruddy Jug to see Judy. I'd pay her a visit at her place. My watch told me she'd be getting there soon, so I headed for her little apartment. I got there first and was waiting just inside the doorway when she came up.

"Welcome home," I said quietly.

"Yank," she said, her eyes lighting. "I've been trying to get to you for days and days, maybe a week."

We went into her place. This time she was wearing a black dress with almost the same, low-cut neckline as before, that made her round breasts overflow.

"He's been in almost every night," she said to me, her tone guarded. "The fourth one, the one with the hawk face. He keeps telling me to find some more men for him. He says the others worked out fine, but they've been sent on to bigger things."

"I hope you told him you were looking for new contacts," I said.

"Yes, but I'm ruddy scared," she said. "I'm afraid he'll find out you know about me. Then if I go to the States, it'll be in a pine box."

Her fears were justified. But she and Lynn Delba were my only possible leads now. I didn't like letting her stick her pretty little neck out, but a lot of good men didn't like getting needlessly killed either. I turned away from moral judgments. That wasn't my job. My job was to get at the bottom of this, to crack it open, not to worry about who might get hurt along the way. Was I being too hard? Damned hard, but you could be sure the others had no time for sentimentality. Neither did I.

"Keep doing just what you've been doing, Judy," I told her. "I've been away for a while so nobody's seen you with me. I'll watch it as best I can. Try and pump him. Find out where they operate from. But don't be too obvious."

"I'm glad you're back," she said, standing close to me. The lost, fearful quality was a part of her again, and I felt like a fourteen-carat heel. "Sometime, maybe, after this is all over, maybe we could get together, just you and I, for the fun of it."

"Maybe," I said. I cupped her chin with my hand and looked into the smoke-gray eyes. Dammit, she had a way of getting to you, like a kitten. She had claws and she could scratch like hell, but she reached out to you.

She stood up on her toes and kissed me — a small, gentle kiss. "I feel safer when you're around," she whispered. I gave her rear a little pat and turned and left. It had been a firm, round little rear, well worth parting again sometime. I went back to the cottage hoping that things would work out all right. It might be nice to spend some time with Judy. I had the feeling that she deserved some good times.

I slept late the next day, and when I woke I felt like my old self for the first time since I'd been tossed out of that jet I decided to pay Lynn Delba a visit Something about the woman had left me with an unfinished feeling. She had seemed unduly frightened for someone who knew nothing about Dawsey's involvement. I was glad to find her home, and her eyes lighted up when she saw me.

"Come in," she said. She had the same faded quality I'd noticed the last time, but her legs, encased in short shorts now, were every bit as good as I'd remembered. The way her breasts moved beneath a pale yellow blouse told me she was still against wearing bras.

"Anybody contact you about Dawsey?" I asked. She frowned.

"No", she answered, truculence in her voice. "Why should they contact me. I told you I only knew he was in on something he said would make him a lot of money and I'd have everything I wanted. Nobody's got any reason to contact me about anything."

I smiled pleasantly but in my mind I was thinking of how she'd acted during my first visit to her. Then she'd been scared as hell that maybe Dawsey had told his killers about her. "Maybe they'll think I know something about whatever he was into," she had said, and the fear in her eyes had been real. And now it was a somewhat defiant "Why should anyone contact me?" I had a more than fair idea what had caused this sudden reversal in roles. First, she'd been afraid because she had good reason to suspect Dawsey's killers would wonder what she knew. But in the time that had passed since my first visit she'd been contacted and had convinced them she knew nothing. Or perhaps she hadn't been contacted at all and felt that she was safe. Either way, she felt comfortably secure now, and in the clear. Fear had been tossed aside. All of which meant she knew more than what she'd told me, which was nothing.

I wanted to know what that «more» was, no matter how little, but I didn't want to get it the rough way. For one thing, I wasn't sure it could be gotten that way without my getting very rough. She had a stubborn truculence to her under that faded exterior. And maybe she knew very little, actually. It was a rule of mine that one didn't use a mallet to kill a mosquito. I wanted to be a little more certain she really knew something before I went for it.

Her eyes were watching me with the same approval I'd seen in them before and she'd sat down on an over-stuffed chair with her legs up and spread just enough to be tantalizing. They were gorgeous legs; I quietly admired them again. I was going to try another route to her.

"Well, if there's nothing to tell me, then I'll be going." I smiled pleasantly, and let her watch my eyes move up and down her legs. The short shorts came hardly an inch down the side of her thighs as she sat with her legs pulled up. "But I'll be back. It's worth the visit just to look at your legs." I smiled again.

Her eyes came alive at once as she reacted with that sharp eagerness of the woman who is hungry for attention.

"Do you really think so?" she asked, stretching them out further for me to admire. "You don't think they're too thin?"

"I think they're just right," I said. She got up and walked over to me. "Well, I'm glad to see you're not so taken up with your job you can't react," she said. "Would you like a drink?"

"I don't know," I said, hesitantly. "I'd like one but I'd better not."

"Why not?" she frowned. "You're old enough and Lord knows you're big enough." I watched her eyes quickly move across my shoulders and chest.

"Well, for one thing, I couldn't promise anything after a drink," I said. "Not with those legs of yours. I've never seen anything like them, really."

She smiled quietly. "Who asked you to promise anything?" she murmured. She went over to a little cabinet and brought out some rye and glasses.

"Wait," I said. "I'm supposed to be questioning you, not drinking with you."

"Lord, you Yanks are conscientious," she said, filling the glasses. "So question me while we drink. A few drinks might help me remember something."

I smiled quietly to myself. "Okay." I shrugged, taking the glass she handed me. Her breasts, loose under the pale lemon blouse, moved provocatively. Lynn Delba was a hungry woman, hungry for attention, for compliments, for sex. Most hef her good years were behind her, she knew, and she'd been dancing on the rim of those desperate years when a woman realizes most of her weapons are gone. Then, like an actor unsure of himself who keeps repeating his lines, she keeps trying her weapons out to make sure she still has some, at least.

It was a sad game, a self-deluding way to keep inner confidence, but it was harmless except to her. My game was the more callous. But, hell, I wasn't here to play psychiatrist. I gave her the attention and compliments she wanted and by the way she tossed off the first drink, I knew that she was letting liquor help keep her from looking in the mirror too often. It didn't take her long before she had moved closer to me, the small points of her bra-less breasts forming tiny thrusts against the blouse.

"It was really sad about your friend, Dawsey," I said, leaning back after enough small talk. "Just when he was getting into some money and everything."

The hell with Dawsey," she said, almost savagely, as I sat beside her, my face only inches from hers. I kept letting my eyes roam up and down her legs and then linger on her breasts and yet I didn't make a move — it was driving her wild. She got up angrily and started to pour herself another drink. I moved quickly, halted her as she started to pick up the glass and spun her around. I kissed her as I pushed my hand up beneath the lemon blouse and felt the rounded bottoms of her breasts. I took one and gathered it up in my hand. Her tongue was furiously darting around my mouth and I felt her nipple already firm and erect. She was beginning to pant and writhe as I caressed her breasts when suddenly I pulled away, moving from her arms. She sat back down on the couch and tossed the blouse off over her head. I went over to her and cupped her breasts in my hands, their softness gathering itself comfortably in my palms. She had started to unbutton the shorts but I stopped her.

"I can't stay," I said. "I've got to be somewhere else in an hour."

"God, you can't go," she protested, clutching at me.

"This is what I was afraid of," I said. 'This won't help you remember anything and it's keeping me from what I have to do."

"Yes, it will," she said, holding onto me. "Believe me." I rubbed my thumbs across the firm points of her breasts, brownish points, large for the size of her breasts. She shuddered but I shook my head.

"It's just me, I guess," I said, putting a note of sadness into my voice. "I've always been like that. I've got to justify my being here, to myself at least, while I'm on the job. If you could just remember something more to tell me, something that'd help me."

I watched her eyes suddenly grow darker and she half pulled away. T can't think of anything yet," she said. "But I will." She was retreating fast. I rubbed my thumbs across her nipples again and she shuddered and came back into my arms. I got up quickly, and she fell back against the couch.

"I'll come back later tonight," I said. "If you can remember anything more, tell me. I'll phone you first. I want to come back. Just give me reason."

I put an arm around the back of her neck, half lifted her up like a doll and pressed my lips against her breasts, moving the hard, brown nipples under my teeth. She whimpered in ecstasy. Then I let her drop back and walked to the door. "Tonight," I said, pausing, watching her as she looked at me with half lowered lids, her breasts moving up and down as her breath came hard. I knew she'd been turned on and she wouldn't turn off easily. I closed the door and went down the hall and outside to the street. It would be a contest, I knew, between her hunger and her caution. I was betting on her hunger, unless she got someone else to turn it off for her. That was always a possibility. I'd find out later.

I'd spent the better part of the afternoon nursing Lynn Delba along and I stopped in at a restaurant for a bite to eat while it grew dark. When I'd finished, I headed for The Ruddy Jug. I sauntered in and met Judy's eyes as I walked over to sit down at one of the tables in the center of the floor. My guarded glance swept by her, and I smiled inwardly as she didn't show even a flicker of expression. The two goons who'd tossed me out were at their table in the corner. They didn't remember me except as a face they'd seen at the place before. I hadn't made any real trouble for them and it was only the really troublesome ones they bothered to remember. I ordered a rye and water, looked the place over, and sat back.

Judy was doing her job, moving from table to table and booth to booth, being charmingly pleasant and attractive, her low-necked dress a burnt orange this time. I seemed to pay no attention to her, a silent, morose type, intent on my own thoughts and my own drinking. I ordered another rye, then another as the time went by.

The place had filled up more and was a cacophony of tinkling piano, raucous laughter and loud conversation. Judy was leaning against the bar. Suddenly I saw the man threading his way toward her. Even through the smoke of the place I caught the "burning eyes" of the man and his face, hawk-like with the beaked shape of his prominent nose. He halted at the bar beside the girl and spoke to her casually in low tones. She answered and I saw her shake her head a few times. She seemed to be telling him that no new propects had been around. I saw him shake hands with her and I caught the folding money she palmed as she strolled away. They were still paying her to be contact girl for them. Good, they didn't suspect her of anything. But hawk-face could answer a lot of questions, I knew. I started for him, moving casually toward the bar.

He saw me as I approached, took one look, and streaked across the big room, moving alongside the bar. As a rat doesn't need to be told an approaching terrier means trouble, he had instinctively known I spelled the same for him. I saw he was heading for a side door at the far end of the bar. I was hampered by having to move around and between the tables while he streaked in a straight line for it. He was gone from sight when I reached the door. I ran into a parking lot and heard the sound of an engine roar into life. Headlights blinked on and I saw a jeep leap from its place and roar toward me.

"Stop!" I yelled at him. He veered for me and I got ready to leap back. He didn't see the cold glint of Wilhelmina's barrel in my hand. I leaped backwards as the jeep swung to hit me, firing as I hit the ground. It was an easy shot and the bullet landed right on target. Too much on target, in fact. He was dead before the jeep came to a grinding halt as it bounced along the bumpers of a row of parked cars. I pulled him from the jeep, went through his pockets and found he had nothing to identify himself. Other people were coming from The Ruddy Jug now, and I leaped into the jeep and roared out of the lot.

I kept going until I was a good distance away. Then I halted and examined the vehicle, going over it from tires to roof. The glove compartment held nothing, and the only thing I found was a branding iron in the rear of it. That, and the orange-red dust all over the tires, sticking in every crevice of the treads and in the wheels themselves.

I got back into the jeep and headed west, out of Townsville and toward the outback. I was betting he hadn't come from too damned far, within two or three hours drive. There were plenty of ranches in that range.

Once outside of Townsville, the Australian country grew wild and rugged very quickly. The vast outback, farther on, supported few working ranches because of its aridness, and when they'd told Judy they came from the «outback», they were using the term loosely. I had the branding iron and I'd use it to locate the ranch.

I drove along the first road I found that led out into the back country and kept driving, going at a steady pace for nearly two hours. The road took me southwest, across the rugged, green lands and then into drier, dusty country. I slowed down and turned off the road as I saw a ranch, the lights still burning in the windows. Dogs started barking as I approached and a floodlight went on to bathe the jeep and myself in a glare of brightness. A rancher and another man, each carrying a shotgun, came out of the house. I saw a woman's figure in the doorway.

"Sorry to bother you," I sang out. "I need a little help." The men lowered the rifles and came over to the jeep.

"Don't mean to be jumpy," the older man said. "But you never know what goes on these days."

I took the branding iron from the seat and gave it to the rancher. The iron had a circle with three points inside it.

"I'm looking to return this but I can't find where it belongs," I said casually.

"The Circle Three," the rancher said. "They're about fifteen miles west of here. They don't rig their cattle to market the way the rest of us do, but I've seen the brand on a few strays. They have a small herd, mostly for their own use, I guess."

"Much obliged," I said.

"This side of the fence," he called to me as I drove off. I knew what he meant and I went about ten miles more when I saw it, six feet high and a foot or more into the ground. Three thousand five hundred miles long, it had been built around Queensland's main sheep country and was designed to protect the major industry from the wild dogs of Australia, the cunning and predatory dingo. Until the "dingo fence" had been built, the wild dogs had taken a frightful toll of the sheep, draining the very lifeblood of the major Australian industry. Made of ware netting, it was high enough to discourage jumping and sunk low enough to discourage digging under. There were still raids and breakthroughs, but it had done remarkably well in keeping the marauding wild dingoes out of the heart of the sheeplands.

I cut off the road and drove south, paralleling the fence, and then I saw the dark shapes of a cluster of ranch buildings — main house, stables, barns, corrals.

I left the jeep and moved forward, coming down on the place along a gentle slope studded with brush. There were no sentries that 1 could see. I moved down to the corral and saw the brand on the rump of the nearest steer, the circle and the three dots inside it. The main house was dark and the place seemed closed down for the night.

I crept to the house, found a side window wide open, and swung myself inside. There was a moon outside and it gave a surprising amount of light through the windows. I made ray way past a living room, a kitchen, the comfortably furnished parlor. A large room, apparently turned into a study from a dining room, stood at the end of the hall at the foot of the stairs. I heard the sounds of snoring from beyond the stairs as I went into the study. A few chairs, a sturdy old desk and a collection of cases containing sea shells and marine objects lined the walls. The cases held a rare and magnificent collection. I spied a rare Melwardi Cowrie, a Marble Cone and two beautiful Cloth-of-Gold Cones. Giant sea-stars and huge bailer shells filled one of the big vases. A red-and-white reef octopus with its banded tentacles occupied another whole case. Sur hells, the little Warty Cowrie and hundreds of others made up the rest of the collection. On one wall I saw the top shell of a giant clam that must have once weighed in at about six hundred pounds. I turned my eyes from the collection to the desk. On top of it, in one corner, a woman's compact lay atop a note.

"Return this to her on next visit to town," the note read as I got enough moonlight on it to make out the scrawled handwriting. I let the compact lay in my hand, almost burning, as I stared at it. What woman did it belong to, I wondered? Someone who lived in town. Was that town Townsville? I hadn't expected this at all. Lynn Delba, with the sudden switch in her attitude? Had she been here, interrogated and let go? Or Judy? Did she know a lot more than she'd let on? Had she been working with them more closely than she'd revealed? Maybe her desire to get to the States was as much motivated by getting away from her friends as anything else. Or was it some woman I'd never met. Somehow, that didn't ring a bell. It was something I felt, not knew.

I was still thinking about it when the room exploded in light and I looked up into the barrel of a carbine and a service thirty-eight. The carbine was held by a tall, slender Chinese whose black eyes looked at me impassively. The thirty-eight belonged to a wiry-built man, sallow-faced with slicked-back hair and glittering, dark eyes.

"We didn't expect visitors," he said. "Rut look who's here. Put down the compact, please."

I did as he'd said. They had me covered very well and now I heard others approaching.

"We never post sentries," the sallow-faced man said. "But every entrance to the main house is wired electronically to a silent alarm. Any touch on the window frame or sill, or anyone opening a door, sets off the silent alarm."

The Chinese spoke up, his voice soft, almost tired.

"I will take the liberty of presuming you are the AXE agent who has been tracking down our contacts and attempting to find an answer to your suspicions," he said. "I suppose Raymond ran afoul of you in Townsville tonight."

"If Raymond is old hawk-nose, then you're right," I answered. "And as we're presuming things, I'll presume you are the one running the show."

The Chinese shook his head and smiled. "A wrong presumption," he said. "I am here only as an observer. Neither Bonard here nor myself are running the show, to use your quaint Americanism. You will never know who is. In fact, you have reached the end of the line, to use another of your American expressions. You have been most diligent in your pursuit, and very difficult to get rid of. Tonight, you were a little too diligent for your own good."

The way he said it told me he was telling the truth about being top man. Besides, he had no reason to lie about it. They had me in their hands. If he were top man, he might even be smugly pleased enough to tell me. He'd said he was an "observer." It didn't take a lot to guess for whom he was observing.

Suddenly the smell of the Chinese Communists had grown very strong. The dead Chinese scuba diver with the money and this impassive, tall Oriental were playing on the same team and engaged in the same effort. It was making more sense in its own way, too. It was no home grown effort, no bunch of zanies out to wreck the alliance, but a careful set of professionals, backed by the Chinese Communists. Perhaps they were more than merely backed. Maybe they were working for them, directly. I had already pretty much figured out how they operated — by buying dissatisfied men. And the ruthlessness that had marked this operation — The Executioner's savage touch — was also typically Chinese.

"Tell me, did you kill Lieutenant Dempster, too?" I asked, stalling for time.

"Ah, the lieutenant," the Chinese said. "An unfortunate problem. We had called him to tell him you would be after him. We told him exactly what to do. Of course, when he ejected you into the outback, we didn't expect you to survive. The lieutenant had been told to crash his plane at sea and a boat would be there to pick him up. Of course, the boat never did pick him up."

"So you were rid of us both," I smiled grimly. "Or you thought you were."

"This time we'll make sure of you," the sallow-faced one snarled. He went into the hallway, and I heard him giving orders to others while the Chinese held the carbine on me. He returned with two men — heavy-set hired killers by the look of them. They searched me, found Wilhelmina, and emptied the gun. They put the empty gun back in my pocket. They were professionals — they found Hugo too and, yanking my sleeve up, took the thin blade from its sheath. The one called Bonard grinned — a nasty, evil grin.

"Let him keep it," he laughed. That toothpick won't help him." One thug put Hugo back into the leather sheath on my arm and they grabbed me between them and hustled me out of the room.

"We don't like amateur work," Bonard said as I was taken outside. "We don't like bodies full of bullets we have to get rid of or that might be found and set off an investigation. So we're going to set you out in a ravine, where a lot of very big and very ugly steers are going to stomp you to death. Then it'll be simple for us to find you the next day and just turn you over to the authorities as someone who got caught in a stampede."

"Very neat," I commented. "Professional."

"I thought you'd appreciate it," he said. They were putting me into another jeep, the carbine was in my back, still held by the Chinese, with the two hoods on either side of me and Bonard at the wheel. I saw other men driving a herd of long-homed steers, similar to the Texas longhorns, out of the corral. The animals were bellowing and skittish, nervous and angry at being disturbed. They were ripe for a stampede. The ravine was only a half mile from the ranch. They drove into it, and I saw it was blocked off by sheer cliffs on each side. They drove halfway down into it, waited until they heard the sound of the herd approaching the entrance, and then, with a hard shove, I was sent flying from the jeep. I landed in the dirt and turned to see the jeep racing back up the ravine.

I got to my feet and looked at the sides again. There wasn't a ghost of a chance of climbing up those steep rock walls. I looked down toward the other end of the ravine. The steep sides went all the way down, farther than I could see. I knew that it came out someplace else but I didn't know how far. I was sure it was far enough so that I couldn't make it or they'd never have put me down there. But I'd sure as hell try.

I started to run and had only gone a hundred yards when I heard the lone shot go off. It was followed by a long, loud bellow and then 1 heard rumbling noise. They'd stampeded the steers. It could be done most effectively by one shot fired over the nervous, skittish animals and that's just what they had done. I turned on all my speed. There was no use looking hack — not yet, anyway. The herd would be funneling into the ravine, gathering speed. I heard another shot. The second one would set off any steer milling about.

I was running, looking at the rocks on either side, trying to see some spot to gain a foothold, some crevasse. But there were none. They knew their ravine, damn them. The low rumble suddenly grew louder, magnified by the walls of the ravine. I heard the steers and felt them in the trembling of the ground. My legs were almost cramping up with the fury of the pace I was setting. But the walls still loomed up and the end of the ravine was not yet in sight. But the longhorns were, now, and I cast a glance over my shoulder. They were coming fast, filling the ravine from wall to wall — a steady mass of thundering hoofs and horns, carried along by their own senseless frightened fury and the momentum of those behind them.

I understood now why Bonard had let the hood put the stiletto back in its sheath. Hugo would be useless against this mass of raging beef. Even Wilhelmina, loaded, would do little to stop them. A series of shots might have turned them aside, but even that was questionable. But I had neither the bullets to try it nor the time to speculate on it. They were nearly on me now, and the ground shook. I half stopped and looked at the onrushing steers. There was one in the lead, always one in the lead, pounding toward me. I couldn't bulldog him. I'd have to come in on the side of him to do that. And that would only spell death, anyway. We'd both go down, to be trampled by the rest. They couldn't stop if they wanted to. No, I wanted him running, leading the rest of them. I took another look, gauging my chances. They were almost on me.

I fell on one knee, muscles tensed, and the lead steer, a big, rangy longhorn, came thundering at me. I doubted that he even saw me as a man. He was just running — and about to run into and over anything in his way. His head was up, and I said a prayer of thanks.

I leaped just as he reached me, jumping up under his neck. I grabbed at the sides of his head and swung my legs up to clasp them around the big, thick neck. I grabbed a fist of skin at each side of the neck and held onto it with my hands. He shook his head and tried to slow down but the others, pressing behind him, kept him moving. He ran on, still shaking his head, still trying to dislodge whatever had lighted onto him. But I was clinging close to the underside of that huge neck, my legs wrapped around it tightly. Saliva and froth from his mouth flew into my face, and it was a helluva ride. I joggled and shook as he pounded along, the others pressing him. Every once in a while he'd try to shake loose whatever was clinging to his neck, but he hadn't time or chance to do much more than run. It was what I'd counted on and if I could hang on, it might just work. But my hands were cramped stiff and my legs were tiring fast. I'd locked my ankles around each other across the top of his neck and that was all that kept my legs from falling apart.

Then suddenly I was conscious of more air around me. We were out of the ravine and now I felt the stampede losing its steam. They were slowing down, spreading out. The steer I clung to no longer pounded, but had settled down to an aimless trot. He shook his head again to dislodge me and put his head down to the ground. But I was stuck into the hollow of the underside of his neck and I continued to cling there. Finally he stopped. I held on a minute more, just to make sure. Then I unclasped my legs and dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way of those sharp hoofs instantly. But the steers were just standing around now, all the fury gone out of them. They'd run themselves into calmness.

I crawled away, letting the feeling come back into my cramped hands. Then I got up and walked off slowly, making a wide circle around the high walls that contained the ravine. Bonard and the others would take their time going through the ravine to find me. Chances were they would wait until morning when they could round up the steers at the same time. I walked slowly, circling the area, skirting the distant houses of the ranch.

Finally I reached the spot where I'd left the jeep, started the engine and headed back to Townsville. I noticed that my shoes were covered with the same fine, powdery soil that was all over the wheels of the jeep. Anybody visiting the ranch would come away with the stuff. I knew that much of the Australian soil was rich in iron dioxide which gave it the distinctive red-brown color, and I looked forward to checking out the wardrobes of both Lynn Delba and Judy. I'd nearly cashed in my chips this night, but I was still alive and I knew a few things I hadn't known when the evening began.

The Chinese Communists were in with both feet and the ranch was a cover, but not the main cover. There had to be another one, maybe even two more, one closer to the coastline. The body of the dead scuba diver made that clear. Even if he were just a courier, the drop had to be somewhere along the coast. And Mr. Big would be at that second cover point. It was fairly clear that the ranch was an operating point for those engaged in recruiting their men, but this operation was too subtly planned, too carefully conceived, to operate with only one cover location. If Lynn Delba or Judy owned that compact I saw at the ranch, they'd talk and talk plenty. With the Chinese in it, the picture had changed — and I'd changed with it.

When I got back to town I picked up the little Anglia where I'd left it outside The Ruddy Jug and ditched the jeep. It was starting to get light, with the first pink smear of dawn across the sky. I decided on trying Lynn Delba first and I leaned on the bell until she opened it.

"Christ," she said, her eyes sleepy but surprised. "I thought you were going to call back last night."

"I got a little involved in something," I said, moving past her into the room. She wore only the top of a pajama outfit, her long, gorgeous legs enhanced by the sensuousness of it. I was sorry I'd not come for other reasons. But I hadn't and, grim-lipped, I yanked open the door of her bedroom closet. She was at my side instantly.

"What are you doing anyway?" she started to bluster. I looked at her hard and, even though she was still half-asleep, there was no mistaking what my eyes said. She moved back.

"Sit down and shut up," I growled. Six pairs of shoes lined the floor of the closet. I kicked them all out into the light of the room, squatting down on my haunches to examine them. A pair of thonged sandals, not much more than leather soles with crisscrossed straps, were covered with the fine, red-brown powdery dust along the thin sides and on the bottom of the soles. I stood up, one sandal in my hand, and looked at Lynn Delba. She was watching me with a frown, her light blue eyes revealing that she hadn't figured out what I was after as yet. The pajama top was down beneath her belly in front but the full length of her legs were facing me as she sat in the chair.

I walked over to her and, with lightning-like speed, reached out and grabbed one ankle and yanked, hard. She came flying off the chair to land on her back on the floor, the pajama top up around her neck. She didn't have a bad torso, her waistline small and her belly flat. I twisted her leg and she flipped over on her face. With the sandal, I smashed her across the buttocks. It wasn't a slap, but it carried plenty of weight and fury behind it and she screamed in pain. I let her leg drop and she scooted up to the chair, crab-wise, to turn toward me, her eyes wide with fright.

"Now suppose you start telling me about the Circle Three ranch," I said. "Every damn bit of it or you'll be on your way to meet Dawsey."

I waved the shoe at her and blew some of the red dust from it. She began to get the picture.

"You found out I was there," she said, pulling herself up on the chair, still fearful.

"I found out a lot of things. That was one of them."

"I was afraid to tell you that," she said. "I didn't want to get involved in whatever happened to John. I was there only once. Dawsey took me there."

"Why?" I asked, crisply.

"I told you he came to me and begged me to go back with him," she said. "I didn't much believe his story about having met some men who were going to make him a lot of money. In order to convince me, he arranged to take me with him when he went there to discuss business. They came in to get us with a jeep and drove us out. We had an outdoor barbecue and I met them and that's all there was to it,"

"Who did you meet?" I questioned.

"Four men, maybe five or six," she said. "I don't remember exactly. One had a big nose, bent like a beak. I remember him. Then there was a smaller one with slick black hair and a yellow kind of complexion. He seemed to be the boss. I don't recall much about the others."

She got up quickly and came over to me. "I'm telling you the truth," she said, taking my torn, rumpled shirt in her hands. "Really I am. I just never mentioned it because I didn't want to involve myself and it really wasn't much of anything."

"How come you were so frightened they might come after you last week, but you're so sure of yourself now?"

"Nobody came near me," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I figured that meant they weren't going to bother me."

She hadn't mentioned the tall, slender Chinese and I decided not to either. Other than that, story was real enough, as much as she'd told me. I had a feeling there really was no more, but I still didn't mentioned the Chinese. It was possible he stayed out of sight altogether that night. She was still looking up into my eyes, waiting for some sign that I believed her.

"All they did was to back up Dawsey's story to me," she said. "They were going to pay him a lot of money for something he was going to do for them. That's all they told me."

"I'll be back," I said grimly. "I hope you've told me everything this time, for your sake." She shook her head, affirmatively, eyes wide. I left her there, shaken, afraid, and went down to the car. At least I'd found out she'd been at the ranch. I should have taken her compact back with me, I smiled grimly. I decided to see Judy before going to the cottage. I wanted to check out what the hawk-faced one had said to her before I took out after him.

Judy answered her bell and once more I found myself looking into sleep-filled eyes. She opened the door wide and I walked in. The silk robe was wrapped around her and her full, round breasts pushed it out beautifully. She yawned and leaned her head against my chest.

"Lord, what an hour to come calling," she said sleepily. "I work bloody late, you know."

My eyes, looking past her head, saw her purse on the end table. Everything was laid out alongside it — address book, loose change, comb, keys, billfold, lipstick, tissues, sunglasses. All the junk a girl carries in her purse. But I found myself frowning. One thing was missing. A compact But maybe she didn't carry one. Not all girls did.

"Been cleaning out your purse, I see," I said casually.

"Oh, that," she said, turning to glance back at the table. "I've been looking for my ruddy compact." I could feel my hands tighten. I looked down at her.

"You left it at the ranch," I said quietly. The shocked fright that leaped into her eyes was my answer, more revealing than anything else. It gave the lie to any words of protest I might hear. But no denials came. She turned away from me, walked to the table and then looked back at me.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just thought that if I did, you'd figure I really was in with them thick as flies and you'd never believe me."

"Then you tell me now," I said. 'Tell me fast and tell me straight, Judy, or I'll get it out of you the hard way."

"After I put them in contact with Dawsey and a lot of other blokes, they asked me if I'd like to go and meet their boss. I had a day off coming up and I said why not. They drove me to that ranch and I had dinner there. I met the boss, a chap with slicked back, black hair, name of Bonard. He asked me a lot of questions about myself, all kinds of things, and after dinner they took me back and that was it. Later, when I got to thinking about all he'd asked me, it seemed to me that he was trying to find out if I'd fit in with their group. But he never came out and asked me to work for them. He said I was doing them a big favor and just to keep on with it. He said I'd get more money for my help."

My mind ticked off the things she was saying. They were all plausible enough. But most lies, good ones anyway, are plausible.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before?" I asked.

"I was afraid," she said quietly. "Bloody afraid. I was going to, a couple of times, but I just couldn't get up the courage. If I told you, I thought you'd put me down as one of them and I figured you'd find out about the ranch on your own."

Her smoke-gray eyes were wide, wider than I'd ever seen them, and they were sad, too. Maybe she was telling me the truth now. Maybe Lynn Delba had told me the truth, too. But both of them had been on the ranch. One of them could be lying through her teeth. I glanced at my watch. There was still time to catch Mona at home before she left for the office. I wanted her to get me a rundown, as complete as possible, on both Judy and Lynn Delba. She could start on it while I went to the cottage to shower and change. I turned and opened the door and Judy was at my side, her hand clutching my arm.

"You don't believe me, do you?" she said. "Lord, I wish you would."

"I'm sure you do," I smiled thinly. "'I'll be in touch. You can count on it."

I left her in the doorway and saw her eyes suddenly fill with tears. Damn, the little piece was a terrific actress or she was really telling the truth. But women are natural actresses. I sent the little Anglia roaring from the curb and reached Mona's apartment just in time to catch her. She answered the door looking all bright-eyed and fresh as a morning glory in a deep blue dress with a row of white buttons down the front and a narrow, white belt. She was holding one white shoe in her hand.

"Nick," she exclaimed. "What in heaven's name are you doing here at this hour. You look like you've had another rough time of it."

"You could say that, honey," I said. "I wanted you to do something for me as soon as you got to the office."

"No sooner said than done," Mona answered. "Tell me about it while I finish polishing these shoes. White pumps can be so damned hard to clean,"

She went into the kitchen and I followed her. I saw the other shoe standing on the sink top, a fine film of powdery, red dust over it. The shoe-polish rag she was using was smeared with it. I looked at Mona for a long minute, trying to decide whether to say anything about the dust. I decided against it, my inner caution flags fluttering all over the place. Maybe she'd picked up the powdery dust someplace else. And maybe not.

I was remembering a number of things that suddenly had taken on an entirely new character. Mona had tried to discourage me from the whole bit when I first arrived. It was nothing but inefficient Aussie bumbling, she'd said. I marked that down to an unwillingness to face unpleasant facts. But was it merely that? That clock of hers that had stopped and made me miss meeting Burton Comford, had that been just one of those things? And the pilot, Dempster, who was expecting me to show up — had the men from the Circle Three briefed him? Or had it been Mona?

She finished the shoes and slipped into them. "Well?" she said, coming over to lean her beautiful, big breasts against me. "You haven't said much?"

I smiled at her and decided to let her gather the information I needed. It would keep her busy anyway.

"I want as much information as you can get for me on two people," I said. "One is named Lynn Delba, the other Judy Henniker. Get on it right away, will you, doll?"

"Immediately," she said, kissing me lightly. I was remembering that night in bed with her, and the way she'd made love to me with techniques I'd never found anywhere outside the Orient. Mona Star, beautiful, luscious Mona Star, was lining up alongside Lynn Delba and Judy. In fact, I mused quietly, she might even be the front runner in the lying sweepstakes. I left with her and watched her walk down the street to the bus stop. I waved and drove off to the cottage. I needed some time to digest the fast moving events. I had three queens in my hand, but one of them was a joker — a deadly joker.