DOUBLED over, Guido left Samuel Farakhan, rejoined Richard Cheyenne, grabbed his M1 and went and flung himself full-length on his belly in the middle of the campsite, along the line of fire roughly suggested by the position of the corpses of the pilot and the copilot. He shouldered the weapon and began shooting into the woods. He fired three rounds in quick succession, then two more, then four more. The capacity of the magazine of an M1 carbine is fifteen cartridges. Guido signaled Cheyenne to come over to him. The reddish-blond scout complied, crawling on his stomach and using his elbows for traction. Guido spoke into his ear against the racket from the Sikorsky, whose engine was still running. He pointed towards the deep forest and spoke some more. Richard Cheyenne nodded, took the carbine, restocked the magazine, crawled to the edge of the clearing and disappeared among the trees.
After he had covered some forty meters under the pines, the din from the helicopter ceased. Someone must have chanced a visit to the cockpit to shut down the engine. Thereafter Richard Cheyenne tilted his head frequently as he advanced, breathing through his mouth, listening. A slight wind caused the trees to rustle. On this early morning, at this altitude, it was already over 20ºC. And barely past 7:15 a.m. There were a few cirrus clouds very high in the sky. In the Gulf of Mexico the yacht Granma was sailing on. Forty-five meters in from the fringe of the woods, Richard Cheyenne came to a stand of very high bracken which had been jostled and trampled. He pushed in a short distance and spotted blood on the ferns. He then moved laterally, circled around the bracken and entered the stand from the far side. In the middle of the patch he made out the large half-naked form of Victor Maurer, the man’s bow next to him, his quiver over his shoulder, his parang at his belt, and the carbine tight in his grip. He was sprawled among the tall ferns, almost flat on his back, and there was a great deal of blood on his left side. Richard Cheyenne rose silently, reached Maurer in three bounds and snatched the carbine from him. The two looked straight at each other. With difficulty Maurer’s right hand sought the hilt of his parang.
“Don’t move,” said the scout. “I’m going to leave you with your life and your knife. Are you badly messed up?” Maurer did not answer. Cautiously, Richard Cheyenne leant over him. “A bullet has gone through the fleshy part of your hip,” he said. “It’s not too serious but you are bleeding. Listen, I have a debt to you. I’m going to go back to the others and tell them that you have fled, leaving behind your bow and the piece.” Cheyenne picked up the bow. “And that you’re leaving a lot of blood behind you. Guido wants first and foremost that we catch the kid and the young woman. They already have a good lead. We won’t be launching a big search for you. There’s no time for that.”
“Leave me my bow,” said Maurer.
Richard Cheyenne gave a short laugh.
“You took the tip of my finger. I’m taking your bow.”
“If you do what is necessary for the kid and the woman to escape, you’ll get money,” said Maurer.
Richard Cheyenne gave the same gay little laugh.
“I don’t know. I don’t know whose side to take. We have a prisoner named Samuel Farakhan who has also been making me offers. Do you know this Farakhan?”
“Maybe.”
Richard Cheyenne stared at Maurer in perplexity. The man was pale despite his tan. Cheyenne chuckled for a third time.
“In this story,” he said, “almost every part is beyond me. I’ll wait till I understand it better before picking my side.”
After expressing the hope, with conviction, that Maurer would recover from his injury, Richard Cheyenne left him there among the tropical ferns and returned to the campsite with the bow and the two carbines. One of the guns had sticky blood all over its breech and butt. The scout reported to Guido that the archer had fled, losing much blood and abandoning his weapons.
“I can probably find him and kill him,” said Cheyenne. “But it will take some time.”
“No, no, leave it at that,” said Guido. “He’s out of commission. We have to move east at top speed.”
Neither Guido nor the four remaining members of his squad could pilot the helicopter. The Sikorsky had to be left behind once a few essentials had been removed—water bottles, first aid kits, dried-food bars and the like. It was also necessary to abandon the idea of sending Samuel Farakhan back to Havana. His wrists were bound once more, while his ankles were now untied. A leather strap was buckled around his neck. Soso, who was dead tired, was put in charge of the prisoner, and Guido ordered him to follow the squad as fast as he could. Then Guido, Cheyenne and the two remaining mercenaries set off eastwards.
Naturally it was Richard Cheyenne who was chosen for point and tracker. And Cheyenne began to spend more time than necessary performing these tasks.