if.themanwiththegoldengun-第22部分

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at？〃　Hendriks'　eyes　looked　away　and　back　again。　Bond　stooped　so　that　he　could　see　under　the　surrey　roof。　All　the　other　four　men　were　sitting　motionless；　their　eyes　also　fixed　on　Bond。　Bond　waved　a　cheerful　hand。　There　was　no　response。　So　they　had　been　told！　Bond　was　a　spy　in　their　midst；　and　this　was　his　last　ride。　In　mobese；　he　was　〃going　to　be　hit。〃　It　was　an　unfortable　feeling　having　those　ten　enemy　eyes　watching　him　like　ten　gun　barrels。　Bond　straightened　himself。　Now　the　top　half　of　his　body；　like　the　iron　〃man〃　in　a　pistol　range；　was　above　the　roof　of　the　surrey；　and　he　was　looking　straight　down　the　flat　yellow　surface　to　where　Scaramanga　sat　on　his　solitary　throne；　perhaps　twenty　feet　away；　with　all　his　body　in　full　view。　He　also　was　looking　down　the　little　train　at　Bond…the　last　mourner　in　the　funeral　cortege　behind　the　cadaver　that　was　James　Bond。　Bond　waved　a　cheery　hand　and　turned　back。　He　opened　his　coat　and　got　a　moment's　reassurance　from　the　cool　butt　of　his　gun。　He　felt　in　his　trouser　pocket。　Three　spare　magazines。　Ah　well！　He'd　take　as　many　of　them　as　he　could　with　him。　He　flipped　down　the　codriver's　seat　and　sat　on　it。　No　point　in　offering　a　target　until　he　had　to。　The　Rasta　flicked　his　cigarette　over　the　side　and　lit　another。　The　engine　was　driving　herself。　He　leant　against　the　cabin　wall　and　looked　at　nothing。
　Bond　had　done　his　homework　on　the　1：50；000　Overseas　Survey　map　that　Mary　had　provided；　and　he　knew　exactly　the　route　the　little　cane　line　took。　First　there　would　be　five　miles　of　the　cane　fields；　between　whose　high　green　walls　they　were　now　travelling。　Then　came　Middle　River；　followed　by　the　vast　expanse　of　swamplands；　now　being　slowly　reclaimed　but　still　shown　on　the　map　as　THE　GREAT　MORASS。　Then　would　e　Orange　River　leading　into　Orange　Bay；　and　then　more　sugar　and　mixed　forest　and　agricultural　smallholdings　until　they　came　to　the　little　hamlet　of　Green　Island　at　the　head　of　the　excellent　anchorage　of　Green　Island　Harbour。
　A　hundred　yards　ahead；　a　turkey　buzzard　rose　from　beside　the　line；　and　after　a　few　heavy　flaps；　caught　the　inshore　breeze　and　soared　up　and　away。　There　came　the　boom　of　Scaramanga's　gun。　A　feather　drifted　down　from　the　great　right…hand　wing　of　the　big　bird。　The　turkey　buzzard　swerved　and　soared　higher。　A　second　shot　rang　out。　The　bird　gave　a　jerk　and　began　to　tumble　untidily　down　out　of　the　sky。　It　jerked　again　as　a　third　bullet　hit　it　before　it　crashed　into　the　cane。　There　was　applause　from　under　the　yellow　roof。　Bond　leant　out　and　called　to　Scaramanga；　〃That'll　cost　you　five　pounds　unless　you've　squared　the　Rasta。　That's　the　fine　for　killing　a　John　Crow。〃
　A　shot　whistled　past　Bond's　head。　Scarmanga　laughed。　〃Sorry。　Thought　I　saw　a　rat。〃　And　then；　〃e　on；　Mr。　Hazard。　Let's　see　some　gun　play　from　you。　There's　some　cattle　grazing　by　the　line　up　there。　See　if　you　can　hit　a　cow　at　ten　paces。〃
　The　hoods　guffawed。　Bond　put　his　head　out　again。　Scar…amanga's　gun　was　on　his　lap。　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　saw　that　Mr。　Hendriks；　perhaps　ten　feet　behind　him；　had　his　right　hand　in　his　coat　pocket。　Bond　called；　〃I　never　shoot　game　that　I　don't　eat。　If　you'll　eat　the　whole　cow；　I'll　shoot　it　for　you。〃
　The　gun　flashed　and　boomed　as　Bond　jerked　his　head　under　cover　of　the　coal…tender。　Scaramanga　laughed　harshly。　〃Watch　your　lip；　limey；　or　you'll　end　up　without　it。〃　The　hoods　hawhawed。
　Beside　Bond；　the　Rasta　gave　a　curse。　He　pulled　hard　on　the　whistle　lanyard。　Bond　looked　down　the　line。　Far　ahead；　across　the　rails；　something　pink　showed。　Without　releasing　the　whistler；　the　driver　pulled　on　a　lever。　Steam　belched　from　the　train's　exhaust；　and　the　engine　began　to　slow。　Two　shots　rang　out；　and　the　bullets　clanged　against　the　iron　roof　over　his　head。　Scaramanga　shouted　angrily；　〃Keep　steam　up；　damn　you　to　hell！〃
　The　Rasta　quickly　pushed　up　the　lever　and　the　speed　of　the　train　gathered　back　to　twenty　miles　an　hour。　He　shrugged。　He　glanced　at　Bond。　He　licked　his　lips　wetly。　〃Dere's　white　trash　across　de　line。　Guess　mebbe　it's　some　frien'　of　de　boss。〃
　Bond　strained　his　eyes。　Yes！　It　was　a　naked　pink　body　with　golden　blonde　hair！　A　girl's　body！
　Scaramanga's　voice　boomed　against　the　wind。　〃Folks。　Just　a　little　surprise　for　you　all。　Something　from　the　good　old　Western　movies。　There's　a　girl　on　the　line　ahead。　Tied　across　it。　Take　a　look。　And　you　know　what？　It's　the　girl　friend　of　a　certain　man　we've　been　hearing　of　called　James　Bond。　Would　you　believe　it？　And　her　name's　Goodnight；　Mary　Goodnight。　It　sure　is　good　night　for　her。　If　only　that　fellow　Bond　was　aboard　now；　I　guess　we'd　be　hearing　him　holler　for　mercy。〃
　
　14
　The　Great　Morass
　
　James　Bond　leaped　for　the　accelerator　lever　and　tore　it　downwards。　The　engine　lost　a　head　of　steam；　but　there　was　only　a　hundred　yards　to　go。　Now　the　only　thing　that　could　save　the　girl　were　the　brakes　under　Scaramanga's　control　in　the　brake　van。　The　Rasta　already　had　his　cutlass　in　his　hand。　The　flames　from　the　furnace　glinted　on　the　blade。　He　stood　back　like　a　cornered　animal；　his　eyes　red　with　ganja　and　fear　of　the　gun　in　Bond's　hand。　Nothing　could　save　the　girl　now！　Bond；　knowing　that　Scaramanga　would　expect　him　from　the　right　side　of　the　tender；　leaped　to　the　left。　Hendriks　had　his　gun　out。　Before　it　could　swivel；　Bond　put　a　bullet　between　the　man's　cold　eyes。　The　head　jerked　back。　For　an　instant；　steel…capped　back　teeth　showed　in　the　gaping　mouth。　Then　the　grey　Homburg　fell　off　and　the　dead　head　slumped。　The　golden　gun　boomed　twice。　A　bullet　whanged　round　the　cabin。　The　Rasta　screamed　and　fell
　to　the　ground；　clutching　at　his　throat。　His　hand　was　still　clenched　round　the　whistle　lanyard；　and　the　little　train　kept　up　its　mournful　howl　of　warning。　Fifty　yards　to　go！　The　golden　hair　hung　forlornly　forward；　obscuring　the　face。　The　ropes　on　the　wrists　and　ankles　showed　clearly。　The　breasts　offered　themselves　to　the　screaming　engine。　Bond　ground　his　teeth　and　shut　his　mind　to　the　dreadful　impact　that　would　e　any　minute　now。　He　leaped　to　the　left　again　and　got　off　three　shots。　He　thought　two　of　them　had　hit；　but　then　something　slammed　a　great　blow　into　the　muscle　of　his　left　shoulder　and　he　spun　across　the　cab　and　crashed　to　the　iron　floor；　his　face　over　the　edge　of　the　footplate。　And　it　was　from　there；　only　inches　away；　that　he　saw　the　front　wheels　scrunch　through　the　body　on　the　line；　saw　the　blonde　head　severed　from　the　body；　saw　the　china…blue　eyes　give　him　a　last　blank　stare；　saw　the　fragments　of　the　showroom　dummy　disintegrate　with　a　sharp　crackling　of　plastic　and　the　pink　splinters　shower　down　the　embankment。
　James　Bond　choked　back　the　sickness　that　rose　from　his　stomach　into　the　back　of　his　throat。　He　staggered　to　his　feet；　keeping　low。　He　reached　up　for　the　accelerator　lever　and　pushed　it　upwards。　A　pitched　battle　with　the　train　at　a　standstill　would　put　the　odds　even　more　against　him。　He　hardly　felt　the　pain　in　his　shoulder。　He　edged　round　the　right…band　side　of　the　tender。　Four　guns　boomed。　He　flung　his　head　back　under　cover。　Now　the　hoods　were　shooting；　but　wildly　because　of　the　interference　of　the　surrey　top。　But　Bond　had　had　time　to　see　one　glorious　sight。　In　the　brake　van；　Scaramanga　had　slid　from　his　throne　and　was　down　on　his　knees；　his　head　moving　to　and　fro　like　a　wounded　animal。　Where　in　hell　had　Bond　hit　him？　And　now　what？　How　was　he　going　to　deal　with　the　four　hoods；　just　as　badly　obscured　from　him　as　he　was　from　them？
　Then　a　voice　from　the　back　of　the　train…it　could　only　be　from　the　brake　van…Felix　Leiter's　voice…called　out　above　the　shriek　of　the　engine's　whistle；　〃Okay；　you　four　guys。　Toss　your　guns　over　the　side。　Now！　Quick！〃　There　came　the　crack　of　a　shot。　〃I　said　quick。　There's　Mr。　Gengerella　gone　to　meet　his　maker。　Okay；　then。　And　now　hands　behind　your　heads。　That's　better。　Right。　Okay；　James。　The　battle's　over。　Are　you　okay？　If　so；　show　yourself。　There's　still　the　final　curtain；　and　we've　got　to　move　quick。〃
　Bond　rose　carefully。　He　could　hardly　believe　it！　Leiter　must　have　been　riding　on　the　buffers　behind　the　brake　van。　He　wouldn't　have　been　able　to　show　himself　earlier　for　fear　of　Bond's　gunfire。　Yes！　There　he　was！　His　fair　hair　tousled　by　the　wind；　a　long…barrelled　pistol　using　his　upraised　steel　hook　as　a　rest；　standing　astride　the　now　supine　body　of　Scaramanga　beside　the　brake　wheel。　Bond's　shoulder　had　begun　to　hurt　like　hell。　He　shouted；　with　the　anger　of　tremendous　relief；　〃Goddamn　you；　Leiter。　Why　in　hell　didn't　you　show　up　before？　I　might　have　got　hurt。〃
　Leiter　laughed。　〃That'll　be　the　day！　Now　listen；　shamus。　Get　ready　to　jump。　The　longer　you　wait；　the　farther　you've　got　to　walk　home。　I'm　going　to　stay　with　these　guys　for　a　while　and　hand　them　over　to　the　law　in　Green　Island。〃　He　shook　his　head　to　show　this　was　a　lie。　〃Now　get　goin'。　It's　The　Morass。　The　landing'll　be　soft。　Stinks　a　bit；　but　we'll　give　you　an　eau…de…cologne　spray　when　you　get　home。　Right？〃
　The　train　ran　over　a　small　culvert；　and　the　song　of　the　wheels　changed　to　a　deep　boom。　Bond　looked　ahead。　In　the　distance　was　the　spidery　ironwork　of　the　Orange　River　bridge。　The　still　shrieking　tram　was　losing　steam。　The　gauge　said　nineteen　miles　per　hour。　Bond　looked　down　at　the　dead　Rasta。　In　death；　his　face　was　as　horrible　as　it　had　been　in　Me。　The　bad　teeth；　sharpened　from　eating　sugar　cane　from　childhood；　were　bared　in　a　frozen　snarl。　Bond　took　a　quick　glance　under　the　surrey　roof。　Hendriks'　slumped　body　lolled　with　the　movement　of　the　tram。　The　sweat　of　the　day　still　shone　on　the　doughy　cheeks。　Even　as　a　corpse　he　didn't　ask　for　sympathy。　In　the　seat　behind　him；　Leiter's　bullet　had　torn　through　the　back　of　Gengerel…la's　head　and　removed　most　of　his　face。　The　three　gangsters　now　gazed　up　at　James　Bond　with　whipped　eyes。　They　hadn't　expected　all　this。　This　was　to　have　been　a　holiday。　The　calypso　shirts　said　so。　Scaramanga；　the　undefeated；　the　undefeatable；　had　said　so。　Until　minutes　before；　his　golden　gun　had　backed　up　his　word。　Now；　suddenly；　everything　was　different。　As　the　Arabs　say　when　a　great　sheikh　has　gone；　has　removed　his　protection；　〃Now　there　is　no　more　shade！〃　They　were　covered　with　guns　from　the　front　and　the　rear。　The　train　stretched　out　its　iron　stride　towards　nowhere　they　had　ever　heard　of　before。　The　whistle　moaned。　Th