From then on it was just a question of hanging onto the wheel with one hand, trying to secure the free-traversing twin-fifty with the other, glancing back to see if the jaygee was still out, avoiding yapping dogs and pedestrians, staying on the rutted road, pushing all possible speed out of the jeep, noting landmarks, estimating the possibility of dangerous pursuit. For a two-goal polo player, a dull little practice session. The road, such as it was, wound five miles inland through scrubby woodland and terminated at a lumber camp where chained men in rags were dragging logs. Orsino back tracked a quarter-mile from the camp and jolted overland in a kidney-cracking hare and hounds course at fifty per. The jeep took it for an hour in the fading afternoon light and then bucked to a halt. Orsino turned for an overdue check on the jaygee and found him conscious, but greenly clinging to the sides of the vehicle. But he saw Orsino staring and gamely struggled to his feet, standing in the truck bed. "You're under arrest, sailor," he said. "Striking an officer, abuse of government property, driving a government vehicle without a trip-ticket--" His legs betrayed him and he sat down, hard. Orsino thought very briefly of letting him have a burst from the twin-fifty, and abandoned the idea. He seemed to have bitched up everything so far, but he was still on a mission. He had a commissioned officer of the Government approximately in his power. He snapped: "Nonsense. _You're_ under arrest." The jaygee seemed to be reviewing rapidly any transgressions he may have committed, and asked at last, cautiously: "By what authority?" "I represent the Syndic." It was a block-buster. The jaygee stammered: "But you can't--But there isn't any way--But how--" "Never mind how." "You're crazy. You must be, or you wouldn't stop here. I don't believe you're from the continent and I don't believe the jeep's broken down." He was beginning to sound just a little hysterical. "It can't break down here. We must be more than thirty miles inland." "What's special about thirty miles inland?" "The natives, you fool!" The natives again. "I'm not worried about natives. Not with a pair of fifties." "You don't understand," the jaygee said, forcing calm into his voice. "This is The Outback. They're in charge here. We can't do a thing with them. They jump people in the dark and skewer them. Now fix this damn jeep and let's get rolling!" "Into a firing squad? Don't be silly, lieutenant. I presume you won't slug me while I check the engine?" The jaygee was looking around him. "My God, no," he said. "You may be a gangster, but--" He trailed off. Orsino stiffened. Gangster was semi-dirty talk. "Listen, pirate," he said nastily, "I don't believe--" "_Pirate?_" the jaygee roared indignantly, and then shut his mouth with a click, looking apprehensively about. The gesture wasn't faked; it alarmed Orsino. "Tell me about your wildmen," he said. "Go to hell," the jaygee said sulkily.