The Sound of Thunder

me with his dirty great spear." And he in turn partially disrobed and

displayed his pale hairless chest. From common courtesy Sean was

forced to cluck and shake his head at the small triangular cicatrice on

Peterson's bosom, although secretly he was not impressed.

The attention went to Peterson's head.

, Got another one, damn painful it was too!" and he unbuckled his belt

and had his trousers half down when the inter leading door opened.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything, gentlemenl" General Acheson

inquired politely. There were a few moments of con fusion while they

both attempted to dress and make the correct military salutations.

Peterson had the nicest decision to make, not covered by the Articles

of War. It was one of the few occasions in history where a senior

divisional commander was received by a field officer standing at rigid

attention with his trousers round his ankles. Major Peterson affected

a rather startling line in scarlet flannel underwear. Once Acheson had

understood the reason for this irregularity of dress among his

officers, he was strongly tempted to join in the exhibition, for he

also had some fine scars, but he restrained himself admirably. He led

Sean through to the inner office and gave him a cigar, Well, Courtney.

I hope you haven't come looking for a job, " "On the contrary, I want

to get the hell out of this business, sir.

"I think we can arrange that. The Paymaster will be relieved.

Acheson nodded. "I'll get Peterson to draw up your papers.

"I want to leave tomorrow, Sean insisted, and Acheson smiled.

"You're in a big hurry. All right. Peterson can post them to you for

your signatUre, your unit has already been disbanded so there is no

point in kicking your heels around here."

"Good!" Sean had anticipated resistance, and he laughed with relief.

"There are just three other items," Acheson went on, and Sean frowned

with quick suspicion.

"Firstly, a parting gift from His Majesty. A Distinguished Service

Order for catching Leroux, there will be an investiture next week. Lord

K. would like you to attend personally.

"Hell, no! If I've got to stay in Johannesburg, I don't want it.

And Acheson chuckled. "A surprising lack of gratitude! Peterson can

post it to you also. "Secondly, I've been able to bring a little

influence to bear on the War Claims Adjustment Board.

Although Parliament hasn't passed the Bill, they've gone ahead and

sanctioned your claim. " "Good God!" Sean was stunned. At Acheson's

suggestion he had registered a claim for ten thousand pounds, his

deposit in the Volkskaas Bank, which had been seized by the Boers at

the outbreak of war. He had expected nothing from it, and had promptly

forgotten about it. "They haven't made a full award, have they?"

"Don't be naive, Courtney," Acheson chuckled. "Only twenty per cent

against a possible further adjustment once the Bill is through the

House. Still, two thousand is better than a poke in the eye with a

blunt stick. Here's their cheque. You'll have to sign for it.

Sean examined the slip of paper with rising delight. It would go a

little way towards paying off his loan from Natal Wattle.

He looked up quickly.

"And the third item?" he asked.

Acheson slipped a small square of cardboard across the desk.

"My card, and a standing invitation to visit and stay as long as you

like whenever you are in London." He stood up and extended his hand.

"Good luck, Sean. And I'd like to think it isn't good, bye.

In a rosy state of elation induced by freedom and the prospect of a

loving farewell with Candy Rautenbach, Sean stopped the cab first at

the railway station to reserve a seat on the following mornings

southbound train, and to cable Ada of his homecomIng . Then, on to

Commissioner Street and the lobby of Candys Hotel to ask for the

proprietress.

"Mrs. Rautenbach is resting, sir, and cannot be disturbed," the clerk

informed him.

"Good man!" Sean passed him half a guinea and ignored his squawks of

protest as he climbed the marble staircase.

He let himself silently into Candy's suite and crossed to her bedroom.

He wanted to surprise her; and there could be no doubt that he

succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. Candy Rautenbach was not

resting. In fact she was most strenuously employed in the

entertainment of a gentleman whose tunic, hanging over the back of one

of the gilt and red velvet chairs, showed him to be a subaltern in in

one of His Majesty's regiments.

Sean supported his subsequent actions on the hypothesis that Candy was

his exclusive property. In the flood of righteous indignation that

overwhelmed him, he took no account of the fact that his visit was a

farewell gesture, that his relationship with Candy had been at best

vague and intermittent, and that he was the following morning leaving

to propose matrimony to someone else. All he saw was the cuckoo in the

nest.

So that no discredit may reflect on the courage of the subaltern or the

honour of his regiment, we must remember that his knowledge of Candy's

domestic arrangements, if not those of her anatomy, was incomplete. She

had been introduced to him as Mrs. Rautenbach and now in this terrible

moment as he returned to reality he assumed that the large and angry

man who bore down on the bed, roaring like a wounded bull; was the one

and only Mr. Rautenbach come home from the wars. He made preparation

for departure, which began with a rapid descent from the high

four-poster bed on the opposite side to that of Sean's approach.

In a condition of stark mental clarity induced by a super-abundance of

adrenalin in the blood stream, the subaltern became aware of his own

nudity which prevented flight into the public gaze, of the fact that

Mr. Rautenbach's threatening advance made such flight imperative, and

finally that Mr. Rautenbach wore the uniform and insignia of a full

colonel. This last consideration weighed most heavily with him, for

despite his age he came from an old and respected family with an

impressive record of military service and he understood the decencies

and orders of society of which one of the strictest was that you did

not unite with the wife of an officer who outranked you.

Sir, he said, and drew himself up with dignity. I think I can explain.

You little bugger! Sean answered him in a tone that suggested his

explanation would have little consequence. Taking the shortest route,

which was over the bed, Sean went for him.

Candy, who had in these first few seconds been too preoccupied pulling

the coverlets over herself to take any active part in proceedings, now

shrieked and lifted the silk eiderdown in such a way that it wrapped

around Sean's boots as he leaped over her, and became tangled in his

spurs. Sean fell with a crash that reverberated through the whole

building and startled the guests in the lobby below, and he lay for the

moment stunned his feet on the bed and his head and shoulders on the

floor.

out! Candy shouted at the subaltern, as Sean began to stir ominously.

Then she gathered up an armful of bedclothes and spread them over Sean,

winding him and smothering him.

Hurry up. For God's sake, hurry! she entreated as her friend hopped

with one leg in his breeches. He'll tear you to pieces. And she

pounced on top of the struggling, cursing mound of sheets and

blankets.

Don't worry about the boots, and the subaltern tucked them under one

arm, slung his tunic over his shoulders and placed his helmet on the

back of his head.

Thank you, ma'am, he said, and then with gallantry, I realy regret any

inconvenience I have caused you. Please.

my apologies to your husband. out, you fool, she pleaded, clinging

desperately to Sean as he heaved and swore. After he had left she

stood up and waited for Sean to emerge.

Where is he? I'll kill him. I'll murder the little bastard!

Sean threw off the bedclothes, scrambled to his feet and glared wildly

around him. But the first thing he saw was Candy, and Candy was

shaking with laughter. There was a lot of Candy to shake and most of

it was white and round and smooth, and even if the laughter was a

little hysterical it was still a very pleasing spectacle.

Why did you stop me? Sean demanded, but he was fast transferring his

interest from the subaltern to Candy's bosom.

He thought you were my husband, she gasped.

The little bastard, growled Sean.

He was sweet. And abruptly she stopped laughing. And who the hell are

you to come barging in here, anyway? Do you think you own the world

and everything in it? You belong to me. Like hell, I do!

Candy exploded. Now get out of here, you big lumbering ox. Put some

clothes on. Things were taking an unforeseen turn. Sean had expected

her to be guilty and contrite.

"Get out of here, " she yelled, as her temper started to run.

Sean had never seen her like this and he only just managed to field the

large vase she hurled at his head. Frustrated in her desire to hear

breaking china, Candy grabbed another missile, an ornamental mirror,

which crashed with satisfying violence against the wall behind him. Her

boudoir was furnished in splendid Victorian taste and provided an

almost unlimited supply of ammunition. Despite Sean's nimble footwork,

he could not remain unscathed for ever and finally he was hit by a

gilt, framed picture of some nameless officer. Candy's taste leaned

rather heavily towards martial men.

"You little bitch!" roared Sean in pain, and he launched a counter,

attack. Candy fled, naked and squealing, but he caught her at the

door, lifted her on to his shoulder and carried her kicking to the

bed.

"Now, my girl," he grunted as he arranged her, pink bottom up, across

his lap. "I'm going to teach you some manners."

The first slap left a perfect red print of his hand upon her chubby

cheeks, and stilled her struggles. The second slap had considerably

less force behind it, and the third was an affectionate, pat. But

Candy was sobbing pitifully.

With his right hand raised, Sean realized with dismay that for the,

first time in his life he was striking a woman! "Candy! " He spoke

uncertainly, and was amazed that she twisted and sat up in his lap,

clasped him about the neck and pressed a damp cheek against him.

Words welled up in his throat, words of apology, a plea for

forgiveness, but his good sense prevented them from emerging and

instead he demanded huskily,

"Are you sorry for your behaviour?"

Candy gulped and nodded shakily. "Please forgive me, darling. I

deserved that. " And her fingers fluttered at his throat and across

his lips. "Please forgive me, Sean. I'm so terribly sorry.

They ate dinner in bed that evening. In the early morning, while Sean

soaked lazily in the sunken bath and the hot water stung the scratches

on his back, they talked.

"I'm catching the morning train home, Candy. I want to be home for

Christmas. " "oh, Sean! Can't you stay, , just a few days'?"

"No.

"When will you come back'?"

"I don't know.

There was a long silence before she spoke again.

"I take it then that I am not included in Your plans for the future?"

"You are my friend, Candy," he protested.

"Now, isn't that nice." And she stood up. "I'll order your breakfast.

" In the bedroom she paused and regarded herself slowly in the full,

lepgth mirror. The blue silk of her gown matched the blue of her eyes,

but at this time of the day there were tiny creases in the Skin of her

throat.

I am rich, she thought, I don't have to be lonely. She walked on past

the mirror.

Sean walked slowly up the gravel drive towards the Goldberg mansion. He

walked between an avenue of

"Pride of India" trees and around him the green lawns climbed in a

series of terraces towards the rococo facade of the house. It was a

morning of drowsy warmth and the doves in the Pride of Indias cooed

sleepily.

Faintly from among the ornamental shrubbery he heard the tinkle.

of laughter. He stopped and listened to the sound of it.

Suddenly he was shy, loth to meet her again, unable to know how she

would receive him for she had not replied to his letter.

At last he left the drive and crossed the carpet of lawn until he

reached the lip of an amphitheatre. In the bowl below him stood a

miniature replica of the Parthenon temple. Clean, white, marble

columns in the sunshine, with a circular fishpond like a moat around

it. He could see the shapes of carp gliding slowly through the green

water below the lily pads. The lily blossoms were white and gold and

purple.

Ruth sat upon the raised marble edge of the pond. She was dressed all

in black from her throat to her toes, but her arms were bared and she

held them out and cried: "Walk, Storm. Walk here to me."

Ten paces away, her solid bottom solidly planted on the lawn, Storm

Friedman regarded her mother seriously from under a bang of dark

hair.

"Come on, baby," Ruth urged her, and very deliberately the child leaned

forward. Slowly she elevated her plump posterior Until it was pointed

towards the sky, displacing a laced and beribboned pair of pantaloons

beneath the short skirt. She remained like that for a few seconds and

then, with an effort, came up on to her feet and stood balanced

precariously on her fat, pink legs. Ruth clapped her hands in

spontaneous delight, and Storm smiled in triumph, displaying four large

white teeth.

"Come here to Mummy, " laughed Ruth and Storm completed a dozen

unsteady paces before abandoning this form of locomotion as

impractical. Dropping to her hands and knees she finished the course

at a canter.

"You cheated!" Ruth accused, and jumped up to catch her under the arms

and swing her high. Storm squealed ecstatically,

"More!" she commanded. "More!"

Sean wanted to laugh with them. He wanted to run down to them and

gather them both in his arms. For suddenly he knew that here was the

whole meaning of life, his excuse for existing.

A woman and a child. His woman, and his child.

Ruth looked up and saw him. She froze with the child held to her

chest. Her face was without expression as she watched him come down

the steps into the amphitheatre.

"Hello." He stopped in front of her, twisting his hat awkwardly

between his hands.

"Hello, Sean," she whispered, then the corners of her mouth lifted in a

shy, uncertain smile and she flushed. "You took so long. I thought

you weren't coming."

A great grin split Sean's face and he stepped forward, but at that

moment Storm, who had been staring at him with solemn curiosity, began

a series of convulsive leaps accompanied by yells of: "Man! Man!" Her

feet were anchored against Ruths stomach, which gave power to her

thrusts. She leaned out towards Sean determined to reach him, and Ruth

was taken by surprise.

"Sean had to drop his hat and catch Storm before she fell.

"More! More!" yelled Storm, continuing to bounce in Sean's arms.

One of the few things Sean knew about babies was that they have a soft

pulsing spot on the top of their heads which is very vulnerable, so he

clung to his daughter in terror that he drop her and in equal terror

that he crush her. Until Ruth stopped laughing, relieved him of his

burden and said,

"Come up to the house. You're just in time for tea.

They crossed the lawn slowly, each of them holding one of Storm's

hands, so that the child need no longer concentrate on balancing and

could devote her whole attention to the fascinating manner in which her

feet kept alternately appearing and disappearing under her.

"Sean. There is one thing I have to know before anything else."

Ruth was looking down at her child, not at him. "Did you She paused.

"Saul, Could you have prevented what happened to him. I mean, you

didn't Her voice trailed off.

"No, I didn't," he said harshly.

"Swear it to me, Sean. As you hope for salvation, swear it to me," she

pleaded,

"I swear it to you. I swear on . He sought for an oath, not on his

own life, for that was not strong enough. "I swear on the life of our

daughter, " And she sighed with relief. "That was why I did not write

to you , I had to know first. " He wanted to tell her then that he was

taking her away with him, he wanted to tell her about Lion Kop and the

huge empty house that waited for her to make it into a home. But he

knew it was not the moment, not immediately after they had spoken of

Saul. He would wait.

He waited while he was introduced to the Goldbergs and was left with

them when Ruth took the child into the house to deliver her into the

care of the nurse. She returned and he made small conversation during

tea and tried not to let them see it in his eyes when he looked at

Ruth.

He waited until they were alone together on the lawn and then he

blurted it out: "Ruth, you and Storm are coming home with me."

She stooped over a rosebush and picked a butter, yellow blossom, then

with a slight frown on her face she broke each of the tiny red thorns

off the stem before she looked at him.

Am I? She asked innocently, but he should have been warned by the

chips of diamond brightness in her eyes.

"Yes," he said. "We can be married within the next few days. it will

take that long to arrange a special licence and for you to pack.

Then I'll take you to Lion Kop, I haven't told you about . . ."

"Damn you," she said softly. "Damn your conceit. Damn your arrogance.

" And he gawked at her.

"You stroll in with your whip in your hand, crack it once and expect me

to bark and jump through the hoop. " She was working herself into a

fury now. "I don't know what dealings you've had with women before,

but I for one am not a camp, follower, or do I intend being treated

like one. Did it ever occur to you for one single second that I might

not be prepared to accept this favour you intend bestowing on me? How

long did it take you to forget that I have been a widow for three short

months? What supreme lack of perception made you believe I would run

from one man's grave and throw myself into your condescending arms? "

"But, Ruth, I love you." He tried to stop her outburst, but she

shouted at him.

"Then prove it, damn you. Prove it by being gentle. Prove it by

treating me like a woman and not a chattel, by understanding.

Now his surprise gave way to an anger every bit as intense as hers, and

in his turn he shouted at her.

"You weren't so bloody fussy on the night of the storm, or afterwards!

" As though he had struck her, she stepped back a pace and the

mutilated rosebud dropped from her hand.

"You swine," she whispered. "Get out, and don't come back.

"Your servant, ma'am." He clapped his hat on to his head, swung round

and strode away across the lawn. When he reached the gravel drive his

steps slowed and he stopped and wrestled with his anger and his

pride.

Then slowly he turned. The lawn was an empty sweep of smooth green.

She was gone.

Ruth ran up the wide marble staircase, but by the time she reached her

bedroom window he was half, way down the drive.

From the height of the second floor his figure was foreshortened so

apeared mass've, and his dark suit stood out clearly against the pale

gravel of the drive. He reached the gates and stopped, she leaned

forward eagerly across the sill of the window so he could see her more

easily when he turned to look back. She saw him deliberately light a

long black cheroot, flick away the match, adjust the hat on his head,

square his shoulders, and walk away.

n disbelief she stared at the twin columns of the gate, and the dark

green hawthorn hedge behind which he had disappeared.

Then slowly she left the window and crossed to the bed and sat down.

"Why didn't he understand?" she asked softly.

She knew she would cry later, in the night when the real loneliness

began.

Sean returned to Ladyburg in the middle of a misty Natal winter's day.

As the train huffed over the rim of the escarpment, he stood on the

balcony of his coach and looked out at the vast green stain upon the

hills of Lion Kop. The sight of it moved him, but his elation was

toned with dark colours.

This is the middle of the way. This year I will be forty, one years

old. Out of all that striving and folly something must have emerged.

Let me total my assets.

In cash I have a little over two thousand pounds (compliments Of the

War Claims Adjustment Board). In land I have fifteen thousand acres,

with an option to purchase as many more. I have ten thousand acres of

standing wattle which, in another year, will be ready for cutting. My

loans against this are heavy but not oppressive, so I am a wealthy

man.

In things of the flesh I have a number of grey hairs, a fine collection

of scars and a broken nose. But I can still lift and carry a two,

hundred, pound sack of mealies under each arm, I can eat half a young

sheep at a sitting; without field, glasses I can count the number of

head in a herd of springbok at a distance of two miles, and Candy who

knows about these things made no complaint about my stamina. I am not

yet old.

Apart from these things I have a son who belongs to me (and a son and a

daughter who do not). Although I have lost the best of them, I have

friends, perhaps more friends than enemies.

But as important as any of these is the purpose and direction I have at

last achieved. I know what I want. My course is plotted and the wind

stands fair.

These are my assets. These are mine to use and enjoy.

What are my liabilities? Borrowed money, the hatred of a brother and a

son, and Ruth.

Ruth is gone! Ruth is gone! clattered the crossties under the coach.

Ruth is gone! Ruth is gone! They mocked him.

Sean scowled and forcibly changed the words in his mind.

"The wind is fair! The wind is fair!"

Over the months that followed Sean used his whole energy in the

development of Lion Kop. He planned the cutting of his standing bark

and decided to reap one, third of it a year before maturity, and

another third in each of the subsequent two years.

To replace it he used his two thousand pounds not to pay off his loans,

but to plant the rest of his land to wattle. When this was done he had

to keep busy. He bought himself a theodolite and a book of instruction

in elementary survey, and mapped his lands, laid out his block of

trees, pegged new roads for access to his plantations when the cutting

began Once again he had nothing to do, so he went to see Dennis

Petersen and spent a long day arguing the purchase of Mahobo's Kloof

Ranch on which he had bought an option. He had no cash, and Jackson at

Natal Wattle baulked at the suggestion of further loans. When Dennis

refused to consider extended terms of payment, Sean called on Ronny Pye

at the Ladyburg Banking & Trust. It was a forlorn chance and Sean was

genuinely surprised when Ronny gave him a cup of coffee and a cigar,

then listened politely to his proposition.

"You're putting it all on one horse, Sean," Ronny warned him.

"Theres only one horse in this race. it can't lose."

"Very well." Ronny nodded. "Here's what I will do with you. I will

advance you the full purchase price of Mahobo's plus a further ten

thousand pounds to develop it. In return , you will give me a first

bond on Mahobo's Kloof, and a second bond on Lion Kop after Natal

Wattle Company's loan.

" Sean took it. A week later Ronny Pye called on Jackson in

Pietermaritzburg. After the preliminary sparring Ronny asked him: are

you quite happy about those Notes you have out to Courtney?"

"The security is good. " Jackson hesitated. "But he seems to be going

a little wild.

"I might be willing to take them Over from you," Ronny hinted

delicately, and Jackson rubbed his nose thoughtfully to mask his

relief.

Happily Sean flung his army of Zulus at the virgin grassland of

Mahobo's Kloof. He delighted in the long ranks of sweating, singing

black men as they opened the rich, red earth and placed the fragile

little saplings.

Dirk was Sean's constant companion in these days , His attendance in

the schoolhouse became more sporadic. Convinced that Dirk would never

become a scholar, Sean tacitly condoned the gastric disturbances that

prevented Dirk leaving for school in the mornings, but cleared

miraculously a few minutes later and allowed him to follow Sean out

into the plantations. Dirk aped Sean's stance, his seat in the saddle,

and his long reaching walk. He listened carefully to Sean's words and

repeated them later without omitting the oaths. In the late afternoons

they hunted quail and pheasant and guinea, fowl along the slopes of the

escarpment. On Sunday when Sean rode across to his neighbours for a

bush buck shoot, or a poker session, or merely to drink brandy and

talk, then Dirk went with him.

Despite Sean's protest, Ada returned with her girls to the cottage on

Protea Street. So the homestead of Lion Kop was a vast empty shell.

Sean and Dirk used only three of the fifteen rooms, and even these were

sparsely furnished. No carpets on the floor, nor pictures on the

walls. A few leather, thonged chairs, iron bedstead, plain deal

tables, and a cupboard or two. Piled in odd corners were the books and

fishing, rods; a pair of shotguns and a rifle on the rack beside the

fireplace. The yellow, wood floor was unpolished with dust and bits of

fluff beneath the chairs and beds, dark stains left by the litter of

pointer puppies; and in Dirk's bedroom, which Sean never visited, there

was a welter , , ANN of old socks and soiled shirts, school exercise

books and trophies of the hunt.

Sean had no interest in the house. It was a place to eat an sleep, it

had a roof to keep the rain out, a fireplace for warmth, and lamplight

so that he could indulge his new appetite for reading. With reading

glasses purchased from a travelling salesman on his nose, Sean spent

his evenings wading through books on politics and travel, economics and

surveying, mathematics and medicine, while Dirk, ostensibly preparing

his schoolwork, sat across the fireplace from him and watched him

avidly. Some nights when Sean was engaged in correspondence, he would

forget that Dirk was there and the boy would sit up until after

midnight.

Sean was now corresponding with both Jannie Niemand and Jan Paulus

Leroux. These two had become a political team in the Transvaal, and

were already bringing gentle pressure to bear on Sean. They wanted him

to organize the equivalent of their South Africa Party, and to lead it

in Natal. Sean hedged. Not yet, perhaps later he told them.

Once a month he received and answered a long letter from John Acheson.

Acheson had returned to England and the gratitude of the nation. He

was now Lord Caisterbrook and from his seat in the House of Lords he

kept Sean informed of the temper and mood of the English people and the

affairs of State.

Sometimes, more often than was healthy, Sean thought about Ruth.

Then he became angry and sad and desperately lonely.

Slowly it would build up within him until he could not sleep, then he

would go down at night to a friendly widow who lived alone in one of

the gangers' cottages beside the new railway yards.

Yet he counted himself happy, until that day at the beginning of

September 1903, when he received an embossed card. It said simply:

Miss Storm Friedman requests the pleasure of the company of Colonel

Sean Courtney, DSO, DCM, at a party to celebrate her third birthday.

4 pm, September 26th.

IRSVPI The Goldbergs, Chase Valley, Pietermaritzburg.

In the bottom right, hand corner was an inky finger, print about the

size of a threepenny, piece.

On the 24th, Sean left by train for Pietermaritzburg. Dirk came back

from the station with Ada to his old room in the cottage on Protea

Street.

That night Mary lay awake and listened to him cry for his father.

Only a thin wooden partition separated them. Ada's cottage had not

been designed as a workshop and hostel for her girls. She had solved

the problem by enclosing the wide, back veranda and dividing it into

cubicles each large enough to hold a bed, a cupboard and a washstand.

One of these was Mary's and tonight Dirk was in the cubicle next to

hers.

For an hour she lay and listened to him weep, praying quietly that he

would exhaust himself and fall asleep. Twice she thought he had done

so, but each time after a silence of only a few minutes the tear,

muffled sobs started again. Each of them drove needles of physical

pain deep into her chest, so that she lay rigid in her bed with her

fists clenched until they ached.

Dirk had become the central theme of her existence. He was the one

bright tower in the desolation. She loved him with obsessive devotion,

for he was so beautiful, so young and clean and straight.

She loved the feel of his skin and the springy silk of his hair.

When she looked at Dirk her own face did not matter. Her own scarred

ruin of a face did not matter.

The months she had been separated from him had been an agony and a dark

lonely time. But now he was back and once again he needed her comfort.

She slipped from her bed and stood taut with her love, her whole

attitude portraying her compassion. The moonlight that filtered in

through the mosquito screened window treated her with the same

compassion. It toned down the mottled cicatrice that coarsened the

planes of her face and it showed them as they might have been. Her

twenty, year old body beneath the thin nightgown was slender but full

breasted, innocent Of the marks that marred her face. A young body, a

soft body clad in moon, luminous white like that of an angel.

Dirk sobbed again and she went to him.

"Dirk," she whispered as she knelt beside his bed. "Dirk, please don't

cry, please, my darling.

Dirk gulped explosively and rolled away from her, folding his arms

across his face.

"Shh! my darling. It's all right now. " She began to stroke his

hair. Her touch evoked a fresh outburst of grief from him, liquid

choking grief that spluttered and throbbed in the darkness.

"Oh Dirk, please. And she went into his bed. The sheets were warm and

moist where he had lain. She gathered him, held his hot body to her

bosom and began to rock him in her arms.

Her own loneliness at last overwhelmed her. Her voice took on a husky

quality as she whispered to him. She strained to him, her need growing

much greater than his.

One last convulsive sob and Dirk was silent. She felt the tension go

out of his back and out of his hard round buttocks that were pressed

into her stomach. Straining him even closer, her fingers moved down

across his cheek to caress his throat.

Dirk turned towards her, turning within the circle of her arms.

She felt his chest heave and subside as he sighed, and his voice

stifled with misery.

"He doesn't love me. He went away and left me."

"I love you, Dirk," she whispered. "I love you, we all love you,

darling." And she kissed his eyes and his cheeks and his mouth. The

taste of his tears was hot salt.

Dirk sighed again and bowed his head until it was on her bosom.

She felt his face nuzzling into the softness and her hands went to the

back of his head and drew it closer.

"Dirkie. Her voice dried up in the strange new heat within her. In

the morning Dirk woke slowly, but with a feeling of wonder. He lay a

while and thought about it, unable at first to place the formless

shimmering sense of well, being that possessed him.

Then he heard Mary moving about behind the partition of her cubicle.

The gurgle and splash of water poured from jug to basin, the rustle of'

cloth. Finally, the sound of her door, softly opened and closed, and

her steps moving away towards the kitchen.

The events of the previous evening came back to him, crisp and stark in

every detail. Not fully understood, but looming large to overshadow

all else in his mind.

He threw the sheets aside and lifted himself on both elbows, drew up

his nightshirt and contemplated his body as though he had never seen it

before.

He heard footsteps approaching. Quickly he covered himself, pulled the

bedclothes over and feigned sleep.

Mary came in quietly and placed a cup of coffee, with a rusk in the

saucer, on the bedside table.

Dirk opened his eyes and looked at her.

"You're awake," she said.

"Yes." "Dirk , . . " she started, and then she blushed. It mottled

the puckered skin of her cheeks , Her voice fell to a whisper, scratchy

with her shame. "You mustn't ever tell anybody. You must forget about

. . . what happened.

Dirk did not reply.

"Promise me, Dirkie. Please promise me."

He nodded slowly. Not trusting himself to speak, his throat filled

with a knowledge of domination over her.

"It was wrong, Dirkie. It was a terrible thing. We mustn't even think

about it again.

She walked to the door.

"Mary.

"Yes." She stopped without turning, her whole body poised like a bird

on the point of flight.

"I won't tell anyone, if you come again tonight."

"No," she hissed violently.

"Then, I'll tell Granny.

"No. Oh, Dirkie. You wouldn't. " She was beside the bed and

kneeling, reaching for his hand. "You mustn't, you mustn't. You

promised me.

"Will you come?" he asked softly. She peered into his face, into the

serene perfection of warm brown skin and green eyes with the black silk

of his hair curling on to the forehead.

"I can't, it's a terrible, terrible thing that. we did."

"Then I'll tell," he said.

She stood up and walked slowly out of the cubicle, her shoulders

slumped forward in the attitude Of surrender, He knew she would come.

In a hired carriage Sean arrived punctually at the Goldberg residence.

He arrived like a column of wise men from the east.

The seats of the carriage were piled with fancy wrapped packages.

However, Sean's limited knowledge of a three, year, old female's tastes

were reflected in his choice of gifts , Every single package contained

a doll. There were large china dolls that closed their eyes when

reclining, smart dolls with blonde hair and squawked when its stomach

was squeezed, , a doll that passed water, dolls in a dozen national

costumes and dolls in swaddling clothes.

Mbejane followed the carriage leading the gift which Sean considered a

master stroke of originality. It was a piebald Shetland pony, complete

with a hand, fashioned English saddle and a tiny martingale and

reins.

The gravel drive was crowded with carriages. Sean was forced to walk

the last hundred yards, his arms filled with presents.

Under these circumstances navigation was a little difficult. He took a

fix on the hideously ornamented roof of the mansion, he could just see

over the top of his load, and set off blind across the lawns. He was

aware of the continuous and piercing shrieking which grew louder as he

proceeded, and finally of an insistent tugging on his right trouser

leg. He stopped.

"Are those my presents? " a voice from somewhere above the level of

his knee asked. He craned his head out to one side and looked down

into the upturned face of a miniature Madonna.

Large shining eyes in an oval of innocent purity framed with shiny dark

curls. Sean's heart flipped over.

"That depends what your name is," he hedged.

"My name is Miss Storm Friedman of The Golds, Chase Valley,

Pietermaritzburg.

Now are they my presents?

Sean bent his knees until he squatted with his face almost on a level

with that of the Madonna.

, Many happy returns of the day, Miss Friedman," he said.

, Oh, goody!" She fell on the packages, trembling with excitement

while from the mass of fifty children who ringed them in the shrieking

continued unabated.

Storm demolished the wrappings in very short order, using her teeth

when her fingers were inadequate for the task. One of her small guests

attempted to assist her, but she flew at him like a panther kitten with

a cry of

"They're my presents! " He retired hastily.

At last she sat in a litter of wrappings and dolls and pointed at the

single remaining package in Sean's hands.

"That one?" she asked.

Sean shook his head. "No, that one is for your Mummy. But if you look

behind you, you might find something else. " Mbejane, grinning widely,

was holding the Shedland. For seconds Storm was too overcome to speak

and then with a sound like a steam, whistle she flew to her feet.

Deserting her newly adopted children, she ran to the pony.

Behind her a flock of small girls descended on the dolls, vultures when

a lion leaves the kill.

"Lift me! Lift me!" Storm was hopping with delirious impatience.

Sean took her up and the warm, wriggling little body in his hands made

his heart flip again. Gently he set her on the saddle, handed her the

reins and led the pony towards the house.

A queen riding in state, followed by an army of her attendants, Storm

reached the upper terrace.

Ruth was standing beside the delicacy, laden trestle table with the

parents of Storm's guests. Sean handed the lead rein to Mbejane.

"Look after her well," and he crossed the terrace, very conscious of

the many adult eyes upon him, thankful for the hour he had spent that

morning at the barber's shop, and for the care he had taken with his

attire, a brand, new suit of expensive English broadcloth, boots

burnished to gloss, solid gold watch a chain across his belly and a

white carnation in his buttonhole.

He stopped in front of Ruth and removed his hat. She held out her

hand, palm downwards. Sean knew that he was not expected to shake that

hand.

"Sean, how good of you to come."

Sean took her hand. It was a measure of his feelings; that he bowed to

touch it with his lips, a gesture which he considered French, foppish

and undignified.

"It was good of you to ask me, Ruth."

He produced the box from under his arm and held it out to her.

She opened it without a word and her cheeks flushed with pleasure when

she saw the long, stemmed roses it contained. .

"Oh, how sweet of you!" And Sean's heart did its trick again as she

smiled full into his eyes, then slipped her hand into the crook of his

arm.

"I'd like you to meet some friends of mine.

That evening when the other guests had left and Storm, prostrated with

nervous and physical exhaustion, had been put to bed, Sean stayed on to

dinner with the Goldbergs. By now both Ma and Pa Goldberg were fully

aware that Sean's interest in Ruth was not on account of his previous

friendship with Saul .

All afternoon Sean had followed Ruth around the lawns like a huge St.

Bernard behind a dainty poodle.

During dinner Sean, who was extremely pleased with himself, the

Goldbergs and life in general, was able to endear himself to Ma

Goldberg and also dull Ben Goldberg's suspicions that he was a

penniless adventurer. Over brandy and cigars Sean and Ben discussed

the ventures on Lion Kop and Mahobo's Kloof. Sean was completely frank

about the financial tightrope which he was walking, and Ben was

impressed with the magnitude of the gamble and Sean's cold appraisal of

the odds. It was just such a coup as this that had put Ben Goldberg

where he was today. It made him feel nostalgic and vaguely sentimental

of the old days, so that when they went through to join the ladies he

patted Sean's arm and called him

"My boy."

On the front steps, while he was preparing to leave, Sean asked, "May I

call on you again, Ruth?" and she answered,

"I'd like that very much.

Now began what was for Sean . a novel form of courtship.

To his surprise he found he rather enjoyed it. Every Friday night he

would entrain for Pieterniaritzburg and install himself in the White

Horse Hotel. From this base he conducted his campaign.

There were dinner parties, either at The Golds or with Ruth's friends

or at one of the local hostelries where Sean played host.

There were balls and dances, days at the races picnics and rides over

the surrounding hills with Storm on her Shetland bouncing along between

them. During Sean's absences from Ladyburg, Dirk moved into the

cottage on Protea Street and Sean was relieved that he seemed to accept

it with better grace.

The time arrived when at last the first blOcks of wattle were ready for

the axe. Sean determined to use this as an excuse to inveigle Ruth

away to Ladyburg. The Goldbergs froze up solid at the suggestion and

Only thawed when Sean produced a written invitation from Ada for Ruth

to be her guest for the week. Sean went on to explain that it was to

be a celebration of his first cutting of bark, which would begin at the

end of the week, and that thereafter he could not leave Ladyburg for

months.

Ma Goldberg, who was secretly delighted at having Storm all to herself

for a whole week, exerted a subtle influence on Ben, and very

grudgingly he gave his approval.

Sean decided that Ruth would be treated like visiting Royalty, the

grand climax to his suit.

As one of the biggest landowners in the district and because of his war

honours, Sean ranked high in the complicated social structure of

Ladyburg. Therefore, preparations for Ruth's visit produced an

epidemic of excitement and curiosity that affected the entire Ladyburg

district. The flood of invitations he released sent women to their

wardrobes and sewing, baskets, while the outlying farmers begged

accommodation from relatives and friends nearer town. Other leading

members of the community, jealous of their social status, rode out to

Lion Kop with others to provide entertainment on those three days of

the week which Sean had left empty. Reluctantly Sean agreed, he had

private Plans for those three days.

Ada and her girls were inundated with orders for new clothing, but they

still made one afternoon free and came up to the Lion Kop homestead

armed with brooms and dusters and tins of polish. Sean and Dirk were

driven from the house. They spent that afternoon riding over Sean's

estate, looking for the best place to hold the big bush, buck shoot

which would be the climax of the week.

With a gang of his Zulus, Mbejane hacked down the jungle of undergrowth

around the homestead and dug the barbecue pits.

The Village Management Board met in secret conclave, infected by the

general excitement and armed with strict instructions from their wives,

they voted unanimously for a civic reception of Ruth Friedman at the

station and a formal Ball that night. Dennis Petersen, who had Sean's

consent to a barbecue on the night of Ruth's arrival, was placated with

the promise that he would be allowed to make a short speech of welcome

at the station.

Sean called upon Ronny Pye and was again surprised when Ronny agreed

cheerfully to a further loan of one thousand pounds. Ronny signed the

cheque with the satisfied air of a spider putting the final thread into

his web, and Sean left immediately for Pietermaritzburg to visit a

jeweller. He returned home five hundred pounds poorer, with a packet

in his breast pocket that contained a huge square, cut diamond set in a

band of platinum. Dirk was at the station to meet him. Sean took one

look at him and ordered him to the village barber.

The night before Ruth's arrival Sean and Mbejane fell upon Dirk in a

surprise attack and dragged him protesting to the bathroom. Sean was

astounded by the large quantities of foreign matter that he removed

from Dirk's ears, and by the way in which Dirk's suntan dissolved so

readily under an application of soap.

The following morning as her railway coach ground to a jerky halt in

front of the station building, Ruth looked down on a mass of strangers

surrounding the roped, off area in front of her. Only one family was

not represented in the crowd, which included the young ladies and

gentlemen of Ladyburg High School in their church clothes.

She stood uncertainly on the balcony of the coach and heard the hum of

appreciative comment and speculation. Ruth had relieved the plain

black mourning with a wide ribbon of pink around the crown of her hat,

pink gloves and gauzy pink veil, which shrouded her firm in a misty and

mystmions fashion. It was very effective.

Convinced that there was some misunderstanding, Ruth was about to

withdraw into the coach, when she noticed a deputation approaching

along the roped, off passageway. It was headed by Sean and she

recognized the thunderous scowl he wore as his expression of acute

embarrassment. She felt an inexplicable urge to burst out laughing,

but managed to keep it to a smile as Sean climbed up on to the balcony

and took her hand.

"Ruth, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't plan all this, things got a little

out of control, " he whispered hurriedly, then he muttered an

introduction to Dennis Petersen, who had ponderously mounted the steps

behind him. Now Dennis turned to face the crowd and spread his arms in

the gesture that Moses might have employed on his return from the

mountain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Ladyburg, friends, " he began, and

from the way he said it Sean knew he was good for another half, hour.

He glanced sideways at Ruth and saw that she was smiling.

It came as a surprise to him when he realized she was enjoying herself

Sean relaxed a little.

"It gives me great pleasure to welcome to our fair town this lovely

lady, friend of one of our foremost . . . " Ruth's fingers found their

way surreptitiously into Sean's hand, and Sean relaxed a little more.

He saw the wide brim of Ada's hat standing out in the crowd and he

smiled at her. She replied with a nod of approval towards Ruth.

By some curious twist of oratory, Dennis was now talking about the new

water filtration plant and its benefit to the community.

", But, my friends, this is only the first of a series of projects

planned by your Board. " He paused significantly.

"Hear, hear," Sean interjected loudly and clapped his hands.

The applause was taken up by the crowd, and Sean stepped past Dennis to

the rail of the balcony.

"On behalf of Mrs. Friedman and myself, I thank you for your

friendship and your hospitality." Then, leaving Dennis on the balcony

making helpless little movements with his hands and silently opening

and closing his mouth, Sean spirited Ruth away, ran her through a rapid

fire series of introductions and handshakes, gathered Ada and Dirk and

got them all into the car rage

While Sean and Mbenjane fussed with the luggage, Ruth an!

Ada settled their skirts and adjusted their hats before meeting each

other's eyes again.

"Although Sean warned me, I didn't expect you to be quite so lovely,"

Ada said. Flushing with pleasure and relief, Ruth leaned impulsively

across to touch her arm.

"I've been longing to meet you, Mrs. Courtney.

"If you promise to call me Ada, then I'll call you Ruth."

Sean scrambled into the carriage, flustered and perspiring.

"Let's get the hell out of here! That week was to be remembered for

many years. The usual Christmas festivities paled into insignificance

beside it.

Matrons competed fiercely to provide food, mountains of it, prepared

from their closely guarded recipe books. In between cooking they

conducted old feuds, began new ones and worried about their

daughters.

The young bucks competed on the gymkhana and polo field, then again on

the dance floor. Dirk Courtney won the junior tent, pegging event.

Then against a visiting team from Pietermaritzburg College he captained

the school rugby Win to an inglorious 30, 0 defeat.

The young ladies competed with equal ferocity, covering it with giggles

and blushes. The success of their efforts was measured in the outbreak

of betrothals and scandals during the week.

The older men smiled indulgently, until, fortified with bottled spirit,

they discarded their dignity and capered and panted around the dance

floor. There were three bouts of fisticuffs but these were between old

enemies and none of them were really worth watching.

Only one family held aloof from the festivities. There were many of

the young ladies who missed Michael Courtney.

During one of the infrequent lulls of the week, Sean managed to

separate Ruth from Ada, and take her out to the homestead at Lion

Kop.

She moved silently through the empty rooms, appraising each with

narrowed thoughtful eyes while Sean hovered anxiously behind her,

certain that her silence was disapproval.

In fact, Ruth was in ecstasy; a shell, a magnificent shell of a house,

with no trace of another woman in it, waiting for her to bring it to

life. She could imagine exactly the curtains she wanted, her Persian

carpets sent down by Uncle Isaac from Pretoria and now in storage,

would look just right once she had the yellow, wood floors polished to

a gloss. The kitchen, of course, would have to be completely rebuilt,

with a new double Ago stove. The bedroom . . .

Unable to contain himself, Sean blurted out: "Well, do you like it?"

She turned slowly to him, the mists of thought clearing from her eyes

"Oh, Sean! It's the most beautiful house in all the world."

In this emotional moment, Sean put forward the proposition he had

planned for that evening.

"Ruth, will you marry me?"

And Ruth, who had planned to hesitate and ask for a little time to

consider, replied instantly: "Oh, yes please!"

she was truly impressed with the ring.

The finale to the week was Sean Courtney's bush, buck shoot.

Sean and Dirk arrived at Protea Cottage with the dawn. They were

dressed in rough hunting clothes and the leather gun, cases lay on the

floor of the mule, wagon under Sean's feet. It took nearly fifteen

minutes for Sean to transfer Ruth, Ada and her girls from the cottage

to the carriage. In the same way a man might drive a flock of chickens

towards the door of a henhouse.

He would get them all moving slowly in front of him, down the path

towards the carriage, clucking and fussing. Almost there when suddenly

one of them would shriek softly and double back towards the cottage for

a forgotten parasol or work, basket and the general movement would

break down again.

The third time this happened Sean felt something snap inside his head.

He bellowed. A vast hush fell over the ladies and two of them looked

as though they might cry.

"Now don't get worked up, dear." Ada tried to soothe him

"I am not getting worked up, dear." Sean's voice quivered with the

effort of matitit. "But if everybody is not in the carriage by the

count of ten, then I might easily get that way.

They were all seated by the count of five and he drove out to the stock

pens

Carriages and mule, wagons carrying the entire population of the

Ladyburg district were waiting in a disorderly tangle in the field

beside the stock pen Sean trotted past in a babble of greeting and

comment. One at a time the waiting carriages wheeled into line behind

him and the long convoy wound out towards Mahobo's Kloof Farm. The big

shoot had begun.

In the middle of the line someone was playing a concertina and the

singing started. It spread to each carriage in turn and blended with

the sound of wheels and hooves and laughter.

Gradually Sean's irritation smoothed out. Ada's girls were singing

Boland Se Nooinentje in the back seat. Dirk had jumped down from the

carriage and with half a dozen of the youngsters from the village ran

ahead of the horses. Ruth's hand touched Sean's leg uncertainly and as

he turned and grinned at her he saw the relief in her answering

smile.

"What a beautiful day, Sean."

"Sorry I nearly spoiled it, " he answered.

"Oh, nonsense!" She moved closer to him and suddenly he was happy. all

the preparation was worth it. Beside him Ruth laughed softly.

"What's the joke?" Sean reached out and took her hand.

"No joke. I just felt like laughing," she answered. "Look how green

everything is , " She said it to distract him, to make him look away so

that she could study his face. The subterfuge worked.

"The land seems so young now." His eyes, as he looked at it, took on

that gentleness she knew so well. By now she knew many of his moods

and she was learning how to induce or redirect each of them. He was

such a simple man, yet in that simplicity lay his strength. He is like

a mountain, she thought.

You know how it will be with the sun on it in the early morning.

You know that when the wind is in the south there will be mist covering

the crest, and in the evening the shadows will fall in certain patterns

across the slopes and the gorges will look dark and blue. Yet also you

know the shape of the mountain is uDchanged, that it will never

change.

"I love you, my mountain," she whispered, and anticipated the startled

expression before it flashed across his face.

"I love you, my man," she amended.

"Oh! I love you too."

And now he is vaguely embarrassed. Oh, God, I could eat him! If I

were to reach over and kiss him now in front of everybody . . . !

Secretly she savoured the idea.

"What devilment are you planning?" he demanded gruffly.

He wasn't supposed to read her so accurately. Taken off balance she

stared at him. Suddenly the mountain had shown that it understood

exactly the way she felt when she looked at it.

"Nothing, " she denied in confusion. "I wasn't. . . " Before she

realized fully what he was about, he had turned half, way in his seat

towards her and lifted her bodily into his lap.

"Sean, no! " she gasped and then her protests were muffled.

She heard the laughter of Ada's girls, the hoots of encouragement and

applause from the other carriages, and she kicked and struggled,

pushing with one hand against his chest and trying to keep her hat on

with the other.

By the time he replaced her on the seat beside him, her hair had come

down behind, her hat was off and her cheeks and ears were flaming red.

She had been very thoroughly kissed.

"Nice shot, Sean!"

"Author! Author!"

"Arrest that man!" the cries and the laughter added to her

confusion.

"You're terrible! " Ruth used her hat as a screen behind which she

tried to control her blushes. "In front of all those people, too!

" "That should keep you out of mischief for a while, me lass!

And suddenly she wasn't so sure of the shape of her mountain.

The cavalcade turned off along the rough track from the main road,

splashed through the drift, climbed the far bank and spread out among

the trees. Servants, who had been waiting since the previous evening,

ran to their masters' horses as they halted.

Each vehicle disgorged a noisy blast of children and dogs, and then a

more dignified trickle of adults. The women moved without hesitation

towards the two huge marquees that had been erected among the trees,

while the men unloaded the gun, cases and began assembling their

weapons.

Still sitting on the front seat of the wagon, Sean opened the leather

case at his feet and while his hands automatically titteet the barrels

into the breech piece of his shotgun he allowed him self to review his

preparations with a certain amount of satisfaction.

He had selected this site not only for the cool grove of syringA trees

which provided shade above and a soft carpet of fallen leaves below,

nor for the proximity of the tinkling stream where all the animals

could be watered, but also because it was situated within fifteen

minutes' walk of the first beat.

Days before a gang of Zulus working under Mbejane had cleared out all

the undergrowth beneath the trees, had erected the marquee tents and

the trestle tables, dug the cooking pits and even built two grass,

walled pit latrines discreetly out of view of the main camp Huge log

fires were burning in the cooking pits now, but by noon they would have

burned down to glowing coal beds. The trestle tables about which the

women had already begun working were laden with food. There was a

great deal of activity going on in that direction at the moment, most

of it talking.

From the other wagons men were starting to drift towards him, buckling

on their cartridge belts, hefting shotguns, chatting together

nonchalantly in an attempt to disguise their excitement.

Under instruction from Sean, Dirk had assembled a rabble of those males

who were too young to handle shotguns but too old to stay with the

women. These were making no effort to hide their excitement.

Armed with sikelav (the Zulu fighting sticks) they were showing every

indication of getting out of hand. Already one small boy was weeping

loudly and massaging the welt he had received from a playful sikela.

" All right, shut up, all of you," Sean shouted. "Dirk will.

take you up to the beaters. But remember! Once the hunt starts, keep

in the line and listen to what you're told. If I catch anybody of you

running about or getting ahead of the line, I'll personally wallop the

tar out of him. Do you understand? " It was a long speech to shout

and Sean ended with his face flushed ferociously. That gave weight to

his words and resulted in a respectful chorus of

"Yes, Mr. Courtney."

"Off you go, then."

Whooping, racing each other they poured away through the trees and a

comparative peace descended on the camp.

"My God, let alone bush buck, that lot would drive elephant buffalo and

lion panic, stricken ahead of them," observed Dennis Petersen dryly.

"How about our positions, Sean?"

Aware that he had their complete attention, Sean drew out the nmoment a

little.

, We are going to drive the Elands' Kloof first," he announced.

"Mbejane and two hundred Zulus are waiting at the head of the Kloof for

the signal. The guns will take station at the tail of the Kloof. "

Sean paused.

"How about our positions?"

"Patience. Patience. " Sean chided them. "I know I shouldn't have to

repeat the safety rules, but . . . and he immediately went on to do

so. "No rifles, shotguns only. You'll shoot only in an arc of 45

degrees directly ahead of you, no passing shots to either side.

Especially you, Reverend." That gentleman, who was notoriously

trigger, happy, looked suitably abashed. "My whistle will mean the

beaters are too close, all guns up and unloaded immediately."

"It's getting late, Sean.

"Let's get on with it."

"Right," Sean agreed. "I'll take centre gun." There was a murmer of

agreement. That was fair enough, the plum to the man who provided the

hunt, no one could grudge that. "On my left flank in this order,

Reverend Smiley, since the Almighty will obviously send most of the

game his way, I might as well profit by it." A burst of laughter as

Smiley wavered between horror at the blasphemy and delight at his own

good fortune.

"Then Ronny Pye, Dennis Petersen, Ian Vermaak, Gerald and Tony Erasmus

(you two fight it out in a brotherly fashion), Nick. ... Sean read

from the list in his hand. This in strict order of seniority was the

social register of Ladyburg, a proper and exact balancing of wealth and

influence, of popularity and age. Apart from placing himself in the

centre of the line, Sean had not taken much part in the preparation of

the list, quite correctly Ada had not trusted his sense of social

perception.

"That takes care of the left flank." Sean looked up from the list. He

had been so engrossed in reading that he had not sensed the air of

tension and expectancy which had fallen over his audience. A single

horseman had crossed the drift and walked His magnificent thoroughbred

into the camp. He had dismounted quietly and servants had led his

horse away. Now, carrying a shotgun, he was walking towards Sean's

wagon.

Sean looked up and saw him. He stared in surprise, while slowly

elation mounted within him until it reached his face in a wide grin.

"Garry, glad you could make it!" he cowled out spontaneously, but

Garry's face remained without expression. He nodded a curt greeting.

At least he's come, exulted Sean. This is the first overture.

Now it's up to me.

"You can take the first position on my right, Garry."

"Thank you. " Now Garry smiled, but it was a curiously cold grimace

and he turned away to talk with the nearest man , A small shiver of

disappointment moved the crowd. They had expected something

spectacular to happen. All of them knew the feud between the Courtney

brothers and the mystery that surrounded it. But now, with a feeling

of anti, climax they turned their attention back to Sean's reading.

Sean finished and jumpe( down from the wagon, and immediately the crowd

moved away Sean sought Garrick and saw him far ahead near the head of

the.

long file of men that was strung out along the footpath that led to

Elands' Kloof.

The file moved fast as the hunters stepped out eagerly. Unless he ran,

Sean knew he would not be able to pass the men ahead of him and catch

up with Garry. I'll wait until we reach the beat, he decided.

My God, what a wonderful ending to this week. I have Ruth, now if only

I can get back my brother and with him, Michael!

From the shoulder of the gorge Sean looked down across Elands' Kloof. A

deep slot of a valley, two miles long and five hundred yards wide at

this end, but it tapered slowly upwardly until it lost its identity in

the high ground. The full length of it was clogged solid with dark

green bush, a seemingly impenetrable mass above which a few tall trees

reared up in a desperate attempt to reach the sunlight.

Like the tentacles of a giant squid, creepers and vines lifted from the

dark bush to overpower then and drag them down. Here on the shoulder

the air was dry and wholesome, down there it would stink of damp earth

and rot ting vegetable matter.

Lingering as though suddenly reluctant to go down into the humid

discomfort of the Kloof, the hunters gathered on the shoulder.

Shading eyes against the glare, they peered up toward, the head of the

gorge where the beaters were a line of dari specks against the green

spring grass.

"There go the kids," someone pointed. Dirk was leading his band along

the high ground above the Kloof.

Sean moved across to his twin brother.

"Well, Garry, how are things out at Theuniskraal?"

"Not bad.

"Iread your book, I think it's excellent. It certainly deserved the

reception it got in London. Lord Caisterbrook wrote to me to say that

your concluding chapter is giving the War Office just food for thought.

Well done, Garry. " . "Thank you." But there was an evasive lack of

warmth in Garry's reply. He made no attempt to continue the

conversation.

"Michael didn't come out with you today?"

"No. " "Why not, Garry?" And Garry smiled for the first time, a cool,

spiteful smile.

"He didn't want to."

"Oh!" The hurt showed in Sean's face for an instant, then he turned to

the men around him. "Right, gentlemen, let's get down there.

" In position now, a line of men standing quietly in the gloom and

stagnant heat. Each man's neighbour visible only as an indefinite

shape among the leaves and vines and fallen trees. Few things sharp,

the outline of a hat, brim, the glint of a random beam of sun on gun,

metal, a human hand framed in a hole of dark green leaves. The silence

heavy as the heat, spoiled by the nervous rustle of a branch, a hastily

smothered cough, the click of a shotgun breech.

Sean hooked his thumb across both hammers of his gun and pulled them

back to full cock, lifted the twin muzzles to the roof Of leaves above

his head and fired in rapid succession. He heard the deep booming note

of the gun bouncing against the sides of the valley, echoing and

fragmenting as it was thrown back upon itself. Then swiftly the

silence closed in again.

He stood motionless, tuning his hearing as finely as was possible, but

his reward was the thin drone of an insect and the harsh startled cry

of a bush laurie. He shrugged, two miles of distance and the mass of

vegetation would blanket completely the cries of the beaters and the

clatter of their sticks as they thrashed the bush. But they were

coming now, of this he was certain, they would have heard his signal

shots. He could imagine them moving down the line, two hundred black

men interspersed with the small white boys, chanting the rhetorical

question which was as old as the drive hunt itself.

"Eyapi, Repeated over and over again, the accent on the first half of

the word, shrilling it.

, Eyapi? Where are you going?"

And between him and the beaters, in that wedge of tangled bush there

would be the first uneasy stirring. Dainty bodies dappled with grey,

rising from the secret beds of fallen leaves.

Hooves, pointed and sharp, splayed and driven deep into sot't leaf,

mould by the weight of tensed muscle. Ears pricked forward, eyes like

wet black satin, shiny moist muzzles quivering and snuffling, corkscrew

horns laid back. The whole poised on the edge of flight.

With the taint of gunsmoke in his nostrils, Sean opened the action of

his shotgun and the empty shells ejected crisply, spilling out to leave

the eyes of the breech empty. He selected fresh cartridges from his

belt and slid them home, snapped the gun closed and thumbed the hammers

on to half, cock.

Now they would be moving. The does first, ginger, brown and away down

the valley with then dappled like roe, deer, slipping fawns long,

legged beside them. Then the bucks, the Inkonka, black and big and

silent as shadows; crouching as they moved, horns flat against their

shoulders. Moving away from the faint cries and the commotion, moving

their mates and their young away from danger, down towards the waiting

guns.

"I heard something there! " The Reverend Smiley's voice sounded as

though he were being strangled, probably by the dog collar which showed

as a pale spot in the gloom.

"Shut up, you fool!" Sean gambled his chance of salvation on the

rebuke, but he need not have worried for the endearment, was drowned by

the double blast of Smiley's shotgun, so in decently loud and totally

unexpected that Sean's feet left the ground.

"Did you get him'?" Sean asked, his voice a little shaky from the

fright.

"Reverend, did you get one?" Sean demanded. He had seen nothing, and

heard nothing that might by the most generOU' stretch of imagination

lead anyone to suspect the presence of bush buck.

"My goodness, I could have sworn . Smiley's reply was in the kind of

voice you would expect from beyond the grave

"Oh dear, I think I must have been mistaken."

Here we go again, thought Sean with resignation.

"If you run out of cartridges let me know," he called softly and

grinned at Smiley's inured silence. The shots would have turned the

game back towards the beaters, they would be start iv to mill now as

they sought an avenue of escape. Perhaps move over out on the flanks.

As if in confirmation of Scans thoughts, a shotgun thudded out on the

left, then another, then two more on the right.

The fun had started in earnest.

In the brief silence he heard the beaters now, their excited cries

muffled but urgent.

A blur of movement ahead of him through the screen of branches, just a

flick of dark grey and he swung the gun and fired, wallop of the butt

on to his shoulder, and thud and scuffle and roll and kick in the

undergrowth.

"Got him!" exulted Sean. Still kicking, the head and shoulders of a

half, grown ram emerged from under a bramble bush.

it was down, mouth open, bleeding, crabbing against the earth, leaving

a drag mark through the dead leaves. Boom again, the mercy stroke, and

it lay still. Head speckled with tiny gunshot wounds, eyelids

quivering into death and the swift rush of blood from the nostrils.

The din of gunfire all about, cries of the beaters and the answering

shouts of the gunners, the panic, stricken run and crackle in the bush

ahead.

Inkonka, big one, black as a hellhound, ffiree twists in the horn, eyes

staring, lunging into the clearing to halt with head up and front legs

braced wide, hunted, panting, wild with terror.

Lean forward against the gun, hold the pip on his heaving chest and

fire. The bounce of the gun and the long blue gush of smoke.

Knock him down with the solid charge of short range buckshot.

Cleanly, quickly, without kicking.

"Got him!"

Another one, blundering straight into the gun line, blind with panic,

bursting out of the undergrowth almost on top of Sean.

Doe with fawn at her heels, let her go.

The doe saw him and wheeled left to take the gap between Sean and

Garrick. As it dashed through, Sean looked beyond and saw his

brother.

Garrick had left his position and closed in on Sean. He was crouched

slightly, the shotgun held in both hands, hammers fully cocked, , and

his eyes were fastened on Sean.

Garrick waited quietly during the initial stages of the beat, The tree,

trunk on which he sat was soft and rotten, covered with moss and the

orange and white tongues of fungus. From the inside pocket of his

jacket he took the silver flask inlaid with camelians. The first

mouthful started his tears and numbed his tongue, but he swallowed it

painfully and lowered the flask.

He has taken from me everything I ever had of value: My leg: Garry

looked down at the way it stuck out stiffly ahead of him with the heel

buried in the damp leaf, mould. He drank again quickly, closing his

eyes against the sting of brandy.

My wife: In the dark redness behind his eyelids he saw her again, as

Sean had left her, lying in torn clothing with bruised and swollen

lips.

my manhood. Because of what he did to her that night, Anna has never

let me touch her body. Until then there was hope. But now I am forty,

two years old and I am virgin. It is too late.

My position. That swine Acheson would never have thrown me out, but

for Sean.

And now he will take Michael from me.

He remembered again the premonition of disaster that he had experienced

when Anna reported to him how she had found Michael and Sean together

on Theuniskraal. It had started then, each little incident building

up. The day Michael had stared at the faded but bold entries in the

leather, bound stock register. Is that Uncle Sean's handwriting?"

That battered saddle Michael had found in the loft above the stables;

he had polished it lovingly and restitched the seams, fitted new

stirrup leathers, and used it for a year. Until Garry had noticed the

crude initials cut into the leather of the flap.

"SC." That night Garry had taken the saddle and thrown it into the

furnace of the hot, water boiler. , Eight months ago, on Michael's

twenty first birthday, Garry had called him into the panelled study of

Theuniskraal, atic' reluctantly told him of Scans legacy to him.

Michael had read the dog, eared sheet and read it through with his lips

moving silently. Then at last he looked up and his voice was shaky.

"Uncle Sean gave me a half, share in Theuniskraal even before I was

born. Why, Dad? Why did he do that?" And Garry had no answer for

him.

This last week had been the climax. It had taken all Anna and

Garrick's combined influence and entreaties to prevent Michael

responding to the invitations Sean had sent. Then the Zulu herd, boy,

whose duty was to follow Michael and come to Garick immediately Michael

crossed the boundary of The unieskraal, reported that each evening

Michael rode up to the high ground on the escarpment and sat there

until after dark staring in the direction of Lion Kop ranch.

I am going to lose him. He is my son, even if Sean sired him.

But he is my son, and unless I prevent it Sean is going to take that

away from me also.

Unless I prevent it. He lifted the flask to his lips once more and

found with surprise that it was empty. He screwed the stopper down and

returned the flask to his pocket.

Around him the gunfire and the shouting began. From the log beside him

he picked up the shotgun and loaded it. He stood up and cocked the

hammers.

Sean saw him, coming slowly, limping a little, crouching, making no

attempt to fend off the branches that dragged across his face.

"Don't bunch up, Garry. Stay in your position, you're leaving a gap in

the line.

Then he noticed Garry's expression. It seemed that the skin had been

stretched tight across the cheek, bones and the nose, so the rims of

his nostrils were white. His jaws were chewing nervously and there was

a fine sheen of sweat across his forehead. He looked sick or deadly

afraid.

"Garry, are you all right?" Alarmed, Sean started towards him, then

stopped suddenly. Garry had lifted the shotgun.

"I'm sorry, Sean. But I can't let you have him," he said. The blank

double eyes of the muzzles were all Sean saw of the gun, and below

them, Garry's knuckles white with pressure, as he gripped the stock.

One finger was hooked forward around the triggers.

Sean was afraid then. He stood without moving for his legs were heavy

and numb under him.

"I've got to." Garrys voice was a croak. "I have to do it otherwise

you'll take him. You'll destroy him also.

With fear making his legs clumsy and slow, Sean turned deliberately

away from him and walked back to his station. The muscles of his back

were stiff with anticipation, knotted so tightly that they ached.

The beaters were close now, he could hear them shouting and thrashing

the bush just ahead. He lifted the whistle to his lips and blew three

shrill blasts. The shouting died away, and in the comparative silence

Sean heard a sound behind him, a sound half, way between a sob and a

cry of pain.

Slowly, inchingly, Sean turned his head to look back. Garry was

gone.

Beneath him Sean's legs began to tremble, and a muscle in his thigh

twitched spasmodically. He sank down and sat on the carpet of soft

damp leaves. When he lit a cheroot he used both hands to steady the

fluttering flame of the match.

"Dad! Dad!" Dirk came pelting out into the tiny clearing,

"Dad, how many did you get?"

"TWo," said Sean.

"Only two? " And Dirk's voice went flat with disappointment and shame.

"Even Reverend Smiley beat you hollow. He got four!

Ruth returned to Pietermaritzburg the afternoon following the hunt.

Sean insisted on accompanying her home. Ada, Dirk and a dozen of the

friends Ruth had made during the week were at the station to see them

leave. Sean was trying to detach Ruth from the earnest discussion into

which all women seemed to fall on the eve of a major parting. His

repeated,

"You'd better get aboard, my dear," and

"The flag's up, Ruth," were studiously ignored by all of them, until he

found it necessary to take Ruth's arm and bundle her up into the coach.

Her head reappeared instantly at the window to take up the discussion

at the exact point where Sean had interrupted it. Sean was about to

follow her when he saw Dirk. With a stab of guilt Sean realized how,

blatantly he had neglected Dirk during the week.

"Cheerio, Dirkie," Sean called gruilly and the boy flew at him and

wound his arms tightly around Sean's neck.

"Come on, Dirk. I'll be back tomorrow morning.

"I want to go with you."

"You have school tomorrow." Sean tried to loosen Dirk's hold. The

women were watching in silence now, and Sean felt himself flushing With

embarrassment. God, he's not a baby anymore, he's nearly fifteen. He

tried to keep his irritation from showing in his voice as he whispered:

"Stop that now. What will people think of you?"

"Take me with you, Dad. Please take me," and Dirk quivered against

him. The whistle blew and with voluble relief the women turned away

and began talking all at once.

"Do you think I'm proud of you when you act like this? Sean hissed at

him. "Now, behave yourself and shake hands properly. " Dirk clutched

his hand, with the tears filling his eyes.

"Stop it this instant! " Sean turned abruptly and swung himself up

into the coach as the train jerked forward and started sliding out of

the platform.

Dirk took a few indeterminate paces after it and then stopped with his

shoulders shaking uncontrollably, his eyes still fastened on Sean's

face as it protruded from the window.

"Your father will be back tomorrow, Dirkie. " Ada laid her hand

consolingly on Dirk's shoulder.

"He doesn't love me," whispered Dirk. "He never even . .

"Of course he does," Ada interrupted quickly. , It was just that he

was so... But Dirk did not wait for her to finish. He shrugged her

hand away, spun round and jumped blindly from the Platform On to the

tracks, ducked through the barbed, wire fence beyond and ran out across

the fields to intercept the train as it made its first long turn on to

the slope of the escarpment.

He ran with his face contorted, and the harsh grass brushing his legs,

he ran with his arms pumping the rhythm of his racing feet, and ahead

of him the train whistled mournfully and crawled out from behind the

Van Essen plantation.

It was crossing his front, still fifty yards away, slowly gathering

speed for its assault on the escarpment. He would not reach it, even

though Sean's coach was the last before the guard's van, he would not

reach it.

He stopped, panting, searching wildly for a glimpse of his father, but

the window of Scans compartment was blank.

"Pa! " he shrieked, and his voice was lost in the clatter of the

crOssties and the hoarse panting of steam.

"Pa!" He waved both arms wildly above his head. "Pa! It's, me.

Me, Dirk."

Sean's compartment moved slowly across his line of vision For a few

brief seconds he looked into the interior.

Sean moved sideways to the window, he was leaning forward with his

shoulders hunched and Ruth was in his arms. Her head thrown back, the

hat gone from her head and her dark hair in abundant disarray. She was

laughing, white teeth and eyes asparkle. Sean leaned forward and

covered her open mouth with his own. And then they were past.

Dirk stood like that with his arms raised. Then slowly they sank to

his sides. The tension in his lips and around his eyes smoothed away.

All expression faded from his eyes and he stood and watched the train

puff and twist up the slope until with a last triumphant spurt of steam

it disappeared over the skyline.

Dirk crossed the railway line and found the footpath that climbed the

hills. Once he lifted his hands and with his thumbs wiped the tears

from his cheeks. Then he stopped listlessly to watch a scarab beetle

at his feet. The size of a man's thumb, glossy black and homed like a

demon, it struggled with a ball of cow-dung three times its own size.

Standing on its back legs, thrusting with its front, it rolled the

perfect sphere of dung before it. Oblivious of everything but the need

to spawn, to bury the ball in a secret place and deposit its eggs upon

it, it laboured in spent dedication.

With the toe of his boot Dirk flicked the ball away into the grass. The

beetle stood motionless, deprived of the whole purpose of its

existence. Then it began to search. Back and forth, clicking and

scraping its shiny body armour across the hard, bare earth of the

path.

Watching its frenzied search dispassionately, Dirk's face was calm and

lovely. He lifted his foot and brought his heel down gently on the

beetle.

He could feel it wriggling under his foot until with a crunch its

carapace collapsed and it spurted brown as tobacco juice.

Dirk stepped over it and walked on up the hill In the night. Dirk sat

alone. His arms were clasped around his legs and his forehead rested

on his knees. The shafts of moonlight through the canopy of wattle

branches had a cold white quality, similar to the emotion that held

Dirk's body rigid. He lifted his head. Moonlight lit his face from

above, accentuating the perfection of his features. The smooth, broad

depth of his forehead, the flaring dark lines of his brows set off the

large but delicately formed plane of his nose. But now his mouth was a

line of pain. of cold white pain.

I hate him. " His mouth did not lose the shape of pain, as he

whispered the words, "and I hate her. He doesn't care about me

anymore-all he cares about is that woman. " The vicious hiss of breath

through his lips was the sound of despair.

"I always try to show him ... No one else but him, but he doesn't care.

Why doesn't he understand-Why? Why? Why?

And he shivered feverishly.

"He doesn't want me. He doesn't care."

The shivering ceased, and the shape of his mouth changed from pain to

hatred.

" "I'll show him. If he doesn't want me-then I'll show him.

And the next words he spat as though they were filth from his mouth,

"I hate him." Around him the wattle branches rustled in the wind. He

jumped to his feet and ran, following the moonlit road deeper into the

plantations of Lion Kop.

A meerkat hunting alone along the road saw him and scampered into the

trees like a small grey ferret. But Dirk ran on, faster now as his

hatred drove him and his breathing sobbed in rhythm with his feet. He

ran with the dry west wind into his &face, he needed the wind. His

revenge would ride on the wind.

"Now, we'll see," he shouted suddenly as he ran. "You don't want

me-then have this instead!" And the wattle and wind answered him with

a sound like many voices far away.

At the second access road he turned right and ran on into the heart of

the plantations. He ran for twenty minutes and when he stopped he was

panting wildly.

"Damn you-God damn you all. " His voice came catchy from his dried-out

mouth.

"Damn you, then." And he walked off the road and fought his way into

the trees. They were two-year growth not yet thinned, and the branches

interlaced to dispute his passage hands trying to hold him, small

desperate hands clutching at him, tugging at his clothing like the

supplicating hands of a beggar. But he shrugged them away and beat

them off until he was deep in amongst them.

"Here!" he said harshly and dropped to his knees in the soft crackling

trash of small twist and dry leaves that carpeted the earth.

Hooking his fingers he raked a pyramid of the stuff, and he sobbed as

he worked so that his muttering was broken and without coherence.

"Dry, its dry. I'll show you then-you don't want-Everything I've done

you've ... I hate you ... Oh, Pa! Why? Why don't YOU-what have I

done?"

And the matchbox rattled. TWice he struck and twice the match broke in

his fingers. The third flared blue, spitting tiny sparks of sulphur,

burning acrid, settling down to a small yellow flame that danced in the

cup of Ins hands.

"Have this instead!" And he thrust the flame into the pile of

kindling. It fluttered, almost died, and then grew again as a wisp of

grass caught it.

Consumed instantly, the grass was gone and the flame died, gone-almost,

but then a leaf and it jumped brightly, orange points of flame in the

twigs. The first tiny popping and it spread sideways, a burning leaf

swirled upwards.

Dirk backed away as the flame leapt jubilantly into his face.

He was no longer sobbing.

"Pa, " he whispered and the flame fastened on to the living leaves of a

branch that hung above it. A wiff of wind hit it and sprayed sparks

and golden flame against its neighbour.

Pa." Dirk's voice was uncertain, he stood up and wiped his hands

nervously against his shirt.

"No." He shook his head in bewilderment, and the sapling bloomed with

fire and the fire whispered softly.

"No Dirk's voice rose. "I didn't mean. but it was lo eMt in the

pistol-shots of flame and the whisper that was now a drumming roar.

"Stop it," he shouted. "Oh God, I didn't mean it. No! No!"

And he jumped forward into the heat of it, into the bright orange

glare, kicking wildly at the flaming kindling, scattering it so that it

fell and caught again in fifty new points of fire.

"No, stop it. Please stop it!" And he clawed at the burning in tree

until the heat drove him back. He ran to another sapling and tore a

leafy branch from it. He rushed at the fire, beating at it, sobbing

again in the smoke and the flame.

Riding joyously on the west wind, roaring red and orange and black, the

flames spread out among the trees and left him standing alone in the

smoke and the swirling ash.

"Oh Pa! I'm sorry-I didn't mean it."

A shutter kept slamming softly in the wind, but this was not the only

reason Michael Courtney could not sleep. He felt trapped, chained by

loyalties he could not break; he was aware of the dark oppressive bulk

of the Theuniskraal homestead around him.

A prison, a place of bitterness and hatred.

He moved restlessly on his bed and the shutter banged and banged, .

He threw off the single sheet and the floorboards creaked as he stood

up from the bed.

"Michael! " The voice from the next room was sharp, suspicious.

"Yes, Mother."

"Where are you going, darling?"

"There's a loose shutter. I'm going to close it.

"Put something on, darling. Don't catch cold."

Stifling, beginning to sweat now in physical discomfort, Michael knew

he must get out of this house into the cool freedom of the wind and the

night. He dressed quickly but silently, then carrying his boots he

crept down the long passage and out on to the wide front stoep.

He found the shutter and secured it, then he sat upon the front steps

and pulled on his boots before standing again and moving out across the

lawns. He stood on the bottom terrace of Theuniskraal's gardens and

around him the west wind soughed and shook the trees.

The restlessness of the wind increased his own, so he must get out of

the valley-get up on to the high ground of the escarpment. He started

to walk, hurrying past the paddocks towards the stables. In the stable

yard he stopped abruptly, his tall lean body caught in mid-stride.

There was a glow, a soft orange glow on the far hills of the Lion

Kop.

Then Michael ran, shouting as he passed the grooms' quarters.

He threw open the half door of one of the stalls and snatched the

bridle from its peg as he ran to his horse. Hands clumsy with haste,

he forced the bit between the animal's teeth and buckled the cheek

strap. When he led it out into the yard two of the grooms were standing

there, bewildered with sleep.

"Fire!" Michael pointed along the hills. "Call everybody and bring

them to help. " He went up on to the bare back of his horse and looked

down at them. "Bring every man from the location, come in the mule,

wagon. Come as fast as you can. Then he hit his heels into the mare's

flanks and drove out of the yard, laying forward across her back.

Seventy minutes later Michael checked her on the crest of the

escarpment. She was blowing heavily between his knees. Still five

miles ahead, bright even in the bright moonlight, a circle of fire lay

on the dark plantations of Lion Kop. Above it a black cloud, a cloud

that climbed and spread on the wind to hide the stars.

"Oh God, Uncle Sean!" The exclamation wrung from Michael was a cry of

physical pain, and he urged the mare forward again. Charging her

recklessly through the ford of the Baboo Stroom. so that the water

flew like exploding glass, then lunging up the far bank and on along

the hills.

The mare was staggering in her gallop as Michael kneed her through the

gates into the yard of the Lion Kop homestead.

There were wagons and many blacknen carrying axes. Michael hauled the

mare back so violently that she nearly fell.

"Where is the Nkosi?" he shouted at a big Zulu he recognized as Sean's

personal servant.

"He has gone to Pietermaritzburg.

Michael slid down from his horse and turned her loose.

"Send a man to the village to ask for help.

"It is done," the Zulu replied.

"We must move all the livestock from the top paddocks, get the horses

out of the stables, it may come this way," Michael went on.

"I have sent all the wives to do these things."

"You have done well, then. Now let us go."

The Zulus were swarming up on to the wagons, clutching the long,

handled axes. Michael and Mbejane ran to the lead wagon Michael took

the reins. At that moment two horsemen galloped into the yard.

He could not see their faces in the night.

"Who's that?" Michael shouted.

ster and Van Wyk! " The nearest neighbours.

Thank God! Will you take the other wagons?"

They dismounted and ran past Michael.

Michael stood with his legs braced apart, he threw his shoulders open

as he wielded the whip and then sent it snaking forward to crack an

inch above the ears of the lead mules. They longed forward into the

traces and the wagon bounced and clattered out of the yard.

As they galloped in frantic convoy along the main access road towards

the plantations they met the Zulu women with their children from the

location streaming down towards the homestead, their soft voices

calling greeting and speed to their men as they passed.

But Michael hardly heard them, he stood with his eyes fastened on the

pillar of red flame and smoke that rose from the heart of Sean's

trees.

"It is in the trees we planted two years ago. " Mbejane spoke beside

him. "But already it will be close upon the next block of older trees.

We cannot hope to stop it there.

"Where then?

This side there are more young trees and a wide road. We can try

there.

"What is your name? " Michael asked.

"Mbejane. " "I am Michael. The Nkosi's nephew."

"I know. " Mbejane nodded, then went on,

"Turn off where next the roads meet.

They came to the cross, roads. In the sector ahead were the young

trees, ten feet high, thick as a man's arm, massed dark leaves and

interlacing branches. Far out beyond them in the tall mature wattle

was the line of flame. Above it a towering wall of sparks and dark

smoke, coming down swiftly on the wind. It would be upon them in less

than an hour at its present rate of advance.

A fire like this would jump a thirty, foot road without checking, they

must cut back into the young wattle and increase the gap to sixty feet

at the least.

Michael swung the wagon off the road and hauled the mules to a halt. He

jumped down to meet the other wagons as they Came up.

"Go on for two hundred yards, then start your boys in chop, ping out

the wattle towards the fire, we've got to widen the road. I'll start

my gang here", he shouted at Van Wyk.

"Right. " "Mr. Broster, go on to the end of the block and start

working back this way, cut the timber out another thirty feet. "

Without waiting to hear more, Broster drove on. These two men, twice

Michael's age, conceded him the right of command without argument.

Snatching an axe from the nearest Zulu, Michael issued his orders as he

ran to the young wattle. The men crowded after him and Michael

selected a tree, took his stance and swung the axe in a low arc from

the side. The tree quivered and rained loose leaves upon him at the

blow. Smoothly he reversed his grip on the shaft of the axe and swung

again from the opposite side. The blade sliced through the soft wood,

the tree sagged wearily away from him and groaned as it subsided. He

stepped past it to the next. Around him the Zulus spread out along the

road and the night rang with the beat of their axes.

Four times during the next half, hour fresh wagons galloped in, wagons

loaded with men and driven by Sean's neighbours, until almost three

hundred men were using the axe on Sean's lovingly planted and tenderly

nursed wattle.

Shoulder to shoulder, chopping in wordless frenzy, trampling the fallen

saplings as they moved forward.

Once a man yelled in pain and Michael looked up to see two Zulus

dragging another back to the road with his leg half severed by the slip

of a careless axe. Dark blood in the moonlight.

One of the neighbours hurried to tend the injured man and Michael

turned back to the destruction of the wattle.

Swing, change hands and swing again, the solid thunk! and the tree

swaying. Shove it over and struggle through the fallci@ tangle of

branches to the next. Swing again, and smell the sweet bleeding sap,

feel the ache in the shoulders and the sting of sweat in the burst

blisters of the palms.

Then suddenly the other smell, acrid on the wind. Smoke.

Michael paused and looked up. The men on each side of him stopped work

also and the firelight danced on their naked, sweat greased bodies as

they leaned on their axes and watched it come On a front four hundred

yards wide, ponderously it rolle down towards them. Not with the

explosive white heat of a burning pine forest, but in the awful

grandeur of orange and dar' red, billowing smoke and torrential

sparks.

Gradually the sound of axes died along the line as men stopped and

watched this appalling thing come down towards them. it lit their

faces clearly, revealing the awe that was on all of them.

They could feel the heat now, great gusts of it that shrivelled the

tender growth ahead of the flames, and suddenly a freak of the wind

sent a bank of black smoke billowing down over the motionless line of

men and blotted them out from each other. It cleared as swiftly as it

came. and left them coughing and gasping.

"Back! Get back to the road!" yelled Michael and the cry was taken up

and thrown along the line. They waded back through the morass of

waist, high vegetation and assembled in small subdued groups along the

road, standing together helplessly with the axes idle in their hands,

fearful in the face of that line of flame and smoke.

"Cut branches to beat with! " Michael whipped their apathy.

"String out along the edge. " He hurried along the road, pushing them

back into line, bullying them, cursing in his own fear.

"Come on, the flames will drop when they reach the fallen trees.

Cover your faces, use your shirts. Hey, you, don't just stand there.

With renewed determination each man armed himself with a green branch,

and they re, formed along the road.

Quietly they stood in the daylight glare of the flames, black faces

impassive, white ones flushed with heat and working anxiously.

"Do you think we'll be able to . Michael started as he reached Ken

Broster, and then he stopped. The question he had been about to ask

had no answer. Instead he said,

"We've lost three thousand acres already, but if it gets away from us

here! " Involuntarily both of them glanced back at the tall mature

wattle behind them.

"We'll hold it here," Broster stated with a certainly he did not

feel.

"I hope you're right," whispered Michael, then suddenly Broster

shouted: "Oh Christ, look!

For a moment Michael was blinded by the red glare and unsighted by the

smoke. The tire burned unevenly. In places it had driven forward in

great wedge, shaped salients of Ilaine and left behind bays of standing

wattle that were withering and browning in the heat.

From out of one of these bays, into the springy matt of fallen and

trampled branches staggered a man.

"Who the hell started Michael. The man was unrecognizable. His shirt

ripped to shreds by branches that had also scourged his face into a

bloody mask. He floundered forward towards the road, two slack

exhausted paces before he fell and disappeared under the leaves.

"The Nkosikana. " Mbejane's voice boomed above the thunder of the

flames. "Dirk! It's Dirk Courtney!" Michael started forward.

The heat was painful in Michael's face. How much more intense must it

be out there where Dirk was lying. As if they knew their prey was

helpless the flames raced forward eagerly, triumphantly, to consume

him. Whoever went in to rob them would meet the full fury of their

advance.

Michael plunged into the brush and ploughed his way towards where Dirk

thrashed feebly, almost encircled by the deadly embrace of the flames,

and the heat reached out ahead of the flames to welcome him.

Mbejane ran beside him.

"Go back," shouted Mbejane. "It needs only one of us."

But Michael did not answer him and they crashed side by side through

the brush, racing the fire with Dirk as the prize.

Mbejane reached him first and lifting him, turned back for the road. He

took one step before he fell and rose again unsteadily from the mass of

branches. Even his vast strength was insufficient in this vacuum of

heat. His mouth was open, a pink cave in the glistening black oval of

his face, wide open and his chest heaved strenuously as he hunted air,

but instead sucked the scalding heat into his throat.

Michael threw himself forward against the heat to reach him It was

almost a solid thing, a barrier of red shimmering glare Michael could

feel it swelling and tightening the skin of his face, and drying the

moisture from his eyeballs.

"I'll take his legs," he grunted and reached for Dirk. A patch of

brown appeared miraculously on the sleeve of his shirt singed by the

flames as though it had been carelessly ironed Beneath it the heat sunk

a barb of agony into his flesh.

Half a dozen paces together with Dirk between them before Michael

tripped and fell, dragging Mbenjane down with him, They were a long

time rising, all movement slowing down_, when they did they were

surrounded.

long prongs of flame had reached the area of fallen sapling on either

side of them. This had slowed them and diminished their fury. But a

chance gust of wind and fuel had forced them to curl inwards on each

other, spreading horns of fire ahead of Michael and Mbejane and leaving

them enclosed by a dancing, leaping palisade of flame.

"Go through! " croaked Michael, his throat scalded and swolen.

"We must break through. " And they churned their way towards the

encircling wall.

Through it, vague and unreal, he could see men beating at the flames,

distorted phantoms trying desperately to open a path for them.

Mbejane wore only a loin cloth, no breeches, coat nor boots to protect

him, as Michael had. He was very near the limit of his strength.

Now looking at Michael across the body of the boy they carried, Mbejane

saw a curious thing. Michael's hair crinkled slowly and then began to

smoke, smouldering like an old sack.

Michael screamed at the agony of it, a hideous sound that shrilled

above the roar and crackle of the flames. But agony was the key that

unlocked the last storehouse of his strength. As though it were a rag

doll he snatched Dirk's body from Mbejane's grasp and lifting it with

both hands on to his shoulders he charged into the fire.

The flames reached to his waist, clawing greedily at him as he ran and

the smoke eddied and swirled about him, but he was through.

"Help Mbejane! " he shouted at the Zulu beaters and then he was out on

to the road. He dropped Dirk and beat at his clothing with his bare

hands. His boots were charred and his clothing was alight in a dozen

places. He fell and rolled wildly in the dusty road to smother it.

Two Zulus went in to help Mbejane. Two nameless blacknien, two

labourers, men of no distinction. Neither of them wore boots. Both of

them reached Mbejane as he tottered weakly towards them. One on each

side they urged him back towards the road.

At this moment Michael rolled to his knees in the road and despite his

own agony watched them with a sickened fascination.

Leading Mbejane between them as though he were a blind man, they

stumbled barefooted into the flames and stirred up a great cloud of

sparks around them. Then the smoke, rolled dOWT@ over them and they

were gone.

, Mbejane! " croaked Michael, and pushed himself to his feet to go to

him, then: "Oh God, Oh, thank God." Mbejane and one of the Zulus

stumbled out of the smoke into the arms of the men who waited for

them.

back for the other Zulu. No one went back for No one went him until

two hours later when the dawn had broken and the fire had been stopped

at the road and the mature wattle had been saved. Then Ken Broster led

a small party gingerly into the wilderness of still smouldering ash,

into the black desert. They found him on his face Those parts of him

that had lain against the earth were still recognizable as belonging to

a human being.

"Ladyburg in twenty minutes, Mr. Courtney. The conductor put his head

round the door of the compartment.

"Thanks, Jack." Sean looked up from his book.

"I see from this morning's paper that you're engaged to be married'? "

"That's right."

"Well, then, break clean, no hitting low, let's have a good fight and

good luck to both of you Sean grinned and the clean man went down the

passage. Sean packed his book into the briefcase, stood up and

followed him.

On the balcony of the coach he stopped and lit a cheroot, their he

leaned on the railings and looked out across the veld for his first

glimpse of Lion Kop. This had become a ritual whenever he returned to

Ladyburg.

This morning he was as happily content as he had ever been in his life.

Last night, after conferring with Ma and Pa Gold berg, Ruth had set the

wedding date for March next year. then Sean would have completed his

first cutting of bark, an, they would take a month to honeymoon in the

Cape Now, at last, I have everything a man could reasonably ask for, he

thought, and smiled and in that moment he saw the smoke. He

straightened up and flicked the cheroot away.

The train snaked up towards the rim of the escarpment, slowing as the

gradient changed beneath it. It reached the crest and the whole vista

of the Ladyburg valley opened below it. Sean saw the great irregular

blot upon his trees, with the thin grey streams of smoke drifting

wearily away across the hills.

He opened the balcony gate and jumped down from the train.

He hit and slid and rolled down the gravel embankment. The Skin was

scraped from his knees and the palms; of his hands.

Then he was on his feet, running.

Along the road where the fire had been stopped men waited.

sitting quietly or sprawled in exhausted sleep, all of them were coated

with ash and soot. Their eyes were smoke, inflamed and their bodies

ached with fatigue. But they waited while the black acres smouldered

and smoked sullenly, for if the wind came up again it would fan the

ashes to life.

Ken Broster lifted his head from his arm, then sat up quickly.

"Sean's here!" he said. The men around him stirred and then stood up

slowly. They watched Sean approaching, he came with the sloppy,

blundering legs of a man who has run five miles.

Sean stopped a little way off and his breathing wheezed and heaved in

his throat.

"How? How did it happen?"

"We don't know, Sean." In sympathy Ken Broster dropped his eyes from

Sean's face. You do not stare at a man in anguish.

Sean leaned against one of the wagons. He could not bring himself to

look again at the vast expanse of smouldering desert with the skeletons

of the tree, trunks standing out of it like the twisted hand blackened

fingers of an arthritic hand.

"One of your men was killed," Ken told him softly. "One of your

Zulus." He hesitated, then went on firmly. "Others were hurt, badly

burned."

Sean made no reply, he did not seem to understand the words.

"Your nephew and your boy, Dirkie. " Still Sean stared at him dully.

"Mbejane also. " This time Sean seemed to cringe away from him.

"I sent them down to the homestead, the doctors there.

Still no reply from Sean, but now he wiped the palm of his hand across

his mouth and eyes.

"Mike and Dirk aren't too badly, burned, Mbeiane's feet are in a hell

of a mess." Ken Broster spoke quickly now.

"Young Dirk got trapped in front of the flames. Mike and Mbejane went

to get him ... surrounded... down ... picked him up ... tried to help

... useless... badly burned meat off his feet.

For Sean the words were disjointed, meaningless. He leaned against the

wagon. There was looseness in him, a lack of will, It was too much.

Let it go. Let it all go.

"Sean, are you all right?" Broster's hands on his shoulders. He

straightened up and looked around him again.

"I must go to them. Lend me a horse.

"You go ahead, Sean. We'll stay on here and watch it for YOU.

Don't worry about it, we'll make bloody sure she doesn't stan .

again.

"Thank you, Ken. " Then he looked around the circle of ancious

compassionate faces. "Thank you," he said again.

Sean rode slowly into the stable yard on Lion Kop. There were many

carriages and servants, black women and children, but a hush came upon

them when they recognized him. Surrounded by women, a crude litter lay

near the far wall of the yard and Sean walked across to it.

"I see you, Mbejane. " "Nkosi." Mbejane's eyelashes were burned away

giving his face a bland and slightly puzzled expression. His hands and

his feet were bound loosely in bundles of crisp white bandages through

which ointment had soaked in yellow patches. Sean squatted behind him.

He could not speak. He reached out almost, hesitantly and touched

Mbejane's shoulder.

"Is it bad?" he asked then.

"No, Nkosi. It is not too bad. My wives have come for me I will

return when I am ready.

They spoke together a little while, and Mbejane told him about Dirk and

how Michael had come. Then he murmured, , This woman is the wife of

the one who died."

Sean noticed her for the first time. She sat alone in the crowded

yard, on a blanket against the wall. A child stood beside her: leaning

forward, naked, holding one of her fat, black breasts, with both hands

as he fed from it. She sat impassively with her legs folded under her,

a cloak of ochre, dyed leather drape loosely over her shoulders, but

open at the front for the child Sean moved across to her. The child

watched him with large eyes, but without removing the nipple from his

mouth and the corners of his mouth were wet with spilled milk.

"He was a man," Sean greeted the woman.

She inclined her head gravely. "He was a man!" she agreed.

"Where will you go?" Sean asked.

"To my father's kraal." The high headdress of red clay enhanced the

quiet dignity of her reply.

"Select twenty head of cattle from my herds to take with you.

"Ngi Yabonga, I praise you, Nkosi.

"Go in peace."

"Stay in peace. " She stood, lifted the child on to her hip and walked

slowly from the yard without looking back.

"I will go now, Nkosi." Mbejane spoke from the litter. The colour of

his skin was grey with pain. "And when I return we will plant again.

It was only a small fire."

"it was only a small fire." Sean nodded. "Go in peace, my friend.

Drink much beer and grow fat. I will visit you.

Mbejane chuckled softly and signalled his wives to their places around

the litter. They lifted him, young women strong from their work in the

fields, on to the soft mattress of fur, and they carried him out of the

yard. They began to sing as they passed the gates, moving in double

file on each side of the litter, stately and tall, their naked backs

glistening with oil, rumps swaying together beneath the brief loin

cloths, and their voices joined high and proud in the ancient song of

welcome to the warrior returned from battle.

Gathered on the stoep of Lion Kop were many of his neighbours and their

wives, come with sympathy and offers of assistance.

Ada was waiting for him as Sean climbed the steps.

"Dirk?" he asked.

"He is well, asleep now. Laudanum.

"Michael?"

"He is waiting for you. He refused the drug. I've put him in your

room.

On his way down the passage Sean stopped at Dirk's room and looked in.

Dirk lay on his back with bandaged hands folded across his chest.

His face was swollen and laced with ugly red lines where the wattle

branches had clawed him. beside his bed Mary sat in patient vigil. She

looked at Sean and made to rise. Sean shook his head.

"No, I will come back when he is awake." He went down the passage to

his own room.

Three of Ada's girls hovered and chirruped about Michael's bed like

birds whose nests are endangered. They saw him and stopped their

chatter. All Ada's girls held Sean in unexplained awe.

"Oh, Mr. Courtney. His poor hands one little lass began, then blushed

crimson, dropped a hurried curtsey and escaped from the room.

The others followed quickly.

Sean moved across to the bed.

"Hello, Mike." His voice was gruff, as he saw the blister that hung

like a pale grape on Michael's cheek.

"Hello, Uncle Sean." The raw places of his face and lips were smeared

with yellow ointment. Sean sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed

"Thank you, Michael," he said.

Ronny Pye called early the following morning. With him came Dennis

Petersen and both of them were wearing suits.

"Very fancy turnout," Sean greeted them. "Business or social?

Well, you might say a little of each." Ronny paused at the top of the

veranda steps. " May we come in?"

Sean led them to the end of the veranda, and they seated themselves

before anyone spoke again.

"I heard about the fire, Sean. Terrible business. I heard there was a

native killed and both Dirk and Michael were hurt. Terrible business."

Ronny shook his head in sympathy.

"Did you also hear that I lost four thousand acres of timber?

Sean inquired politely.

"Heard that also." Ronny nodded solemnly. "Terrible business.

Ronny and Dennis glanced at each other furtively, and then looked down

at their hands.

"Very nasty," Ronny repeated and a silence fell upon them.

"Anything else worrying you?" Sean inquired politely.

"Well, now that you've brought it up-- Ronny reached inside his jacket

and withdrew a long folded document tied with a red ribbon.

"Mind you, we don't have to discuss it today.

Leave it until you feel better?"

"Ok!" Sean grunted.

"Clause eight. " Ronny spread the document between the coffee-cups on

the table. "In the event of the said security, namely, a certain block

of wattle known as No 2 block of Lion Kop Estates in extent

approximately Ronny hesitated.

"Guess there's no sense in me reading it all. You know what it says.

That wattle was part of the collateral for the loan.

"How long will you give me to raise the money?" Sean asked.

"Well, Sean, you understand there is no period of grace allowed in the

contract. Seems to me you'll have to put it up right away.

"I want a month," Sean told him.

"A month! " Ronny was shocked and hurt by the request.

See here now, Sean. I don't honestly-I mean, surely you've got the

money. I mean why do you need a month? Just let us have your

cheque.

"You know damned well I haven't got it."

"Seems to me-" Ronny offered delicately. "Seems to me if you haven't

got it now, there's not much chance you'll have it in a month.

No offence, Sean, but we have to look at this thing from a business

angle. If you follow me."

"I follow you." Sean nodded. "And I want a month."

"Give it to him," blurted Dennis Petersen, his first contribution, and

Ronny turned on him instantly with his face twisting into a snarl.

The struggle he had within himself to smooth out his features and to

restore his voice to its level and reasonable tone lasted fully five

seconds.

"Well now, Dennis," he murmured. "That's an unusual way to look at it.

Seems to me-" "I spoke to Audrey before we came up here. I promised

her . . . Anyway, we both agreed." Dennis was staring out across the

valley, unable to meet his partner's eyes.

Suddenly Ronny Pye chucided. Yes, by all means, It would be seem

better that way-watching this big arrogant bastard crawling round

begging, with his hat in his hands. Sean would go to Jackson first and

Ronny had telegraphed Jackson the previous afternoon. He had also

telegraphed Nichols at the Standard Bank. By now the message would be

spreading swiftly along the network of South African banking

channels.

Sean Courtney would find it difficult to borrow the price of a meal.

"All right then, Sean. As a special concession you can have a month. "

Then all the laughter was gone and he leaned forward in his chair.

"You've got exactly thirty days. Then, by Christ, I am going to sell

out under you.

After they were gone Sean sat alone on the wide veranda. The sunlight

on the hills was bright and hot, but in the shade it was cool.

He heard Ada's girls chattering somewhere in the house, then one of

them giggled shrilly. The sound irritated Sean, his frown deepened and

he drew a rumpled envelope from his jacket pocket and smoothed it out

on the arm of his chair. Awhile he sat in thought nibbling the stub of

a pencil.

Then he wrote: "Jackson. Natal Wattle. " And again, Standard Bank. "

Then

"Ben Goldberg. " He paused and considered this last name on his list.

Then he grunted aloud and scratched it out with two hard strokes of the

pencil. Not from the Goldbergs. Leave them out of this.

He wrote quickly, scrawling a single word-"Candy" and below it "Tim

Curtis."

That was all. John Acheson was in England. It would take two months

to receive a reply from him.

That was all. He sighed softly and folded the envelope into his

pocket. Then he lit a cheroot, sank down in the chair and placed his

feet on the low veranda wall in front of him. I'll leave on tomorrow

morning's train, he thought.

The windows behind him were open. Lying beyond them in the bedroom

Michael Courtney had heard every word of their conversation.

Now he stood up painfully from the bed and began to dress. He went out

the back way and nobody saw him leave.

His horse was in the stables, and on a borrowed saddle he rode back to

Theuniskraal.

Anna saw him coming and ran out into the yard to meet him.

"Michael! Oh, Michael. Thank God you are safe. We heard Then she saw

his face and the raw, swollen burn on it and she from. Michael

dismounted slowly and one of the grooms led his horse away.

"Michael, darling. Your poor face." And she embraced him quickly.

"It's nothing, Mother."

"Nothing!" She pulled away from him, lips drawn into a tight, hard

line. "You run away in the middle of the night to that ... that Then

you come home days later with your face and your hands in a terrible

mess-is that nothing!

"I'm sorry, Mother. Gran'a looked after me.

"You knew I'd be half-dead with worry, sitting here imagining all sorts

of things. You didn't send word to me, you just let me, ... "You could

have come to Lion Kop, " he said softly.

"To the home of that monster? Never! " And Michael looked away from

her.

"Where's Father?

"In his study, as usual. Oh, darling, you don't know how I've missed

you. Tell me you love me, Michael.

"I love You, " he repeated automatically and the sensation of

suffocating was on him again. "I must see Dad. It's very urgent.

"You've just arrived. Let me fix something to eat-let me se to your

poor face.

"I have to see Dad now. I'm sorry." And he went past her towards the

house.

Garry was sitting at his desk when Michael walked into the study.

Michael hated this room. He hated the high smoke-stained ceiling, the

oppressive darkness of the panelled walls, the massive hunting

trophies, he hated even the carpets and the smell of old paper and

dust. From this room had issued the decrees and the pronouncements

which had restricted and predetermined his life. This room was the

symbol of everything from which he wished to escape. Now he glared

around it defiantly, as though it were a living thing-Ive come back to

extract from you what you owe me, he thought, you've had value from me,

now pay me back!

"Michael!" Garrick's boot scraped on the wooden floor as he stood to

greet him, and Michael winced at the sound.

"Hello, Dad."

"Your mother and I we have been so worried. Why didn't you send word

to us?" The hurt was there in Garrick's voice Michael opened his mouth

to apologize in mitomatic guilt, but the words came out differently

from the way he had intended.

"I was busy. I didn't have a chance."

"Sit down, my boy." Garrick gestured to one of the polished leather

arm-chairs. He removed the metal-framed spectacles from his nose, but

he did not look at Michael's injured face again. He would not think

about Sean and Michael.

"I'm glad you've come back. I was just working on the Opening chapters

of my new book. It's a history of our family from the time of your

great-great-grandfather's arrival at the Cape. I'd very much like your

opinion. I'd value it immensely. The side red opinion of a graduate

from the South African College. " The trap was closing. It was so

obvious that Michael squirmed.

He could almost feel the panelled walls moving in on him. He started

to protest: "Dad, I have to speak to you." But already Garrick was

adjusting his spectacles and shuffling through the papers on his desk,

talking quickly.

"I think you'll like it. It should interest you. " Garrick glanced up

and smiled at Michael with the eagerness of a child that brings a gift.

"Here we are. I'll. start at the beginning. You must allow for it

being the first rough draft. It's not polished yet.

And he began to read. At the end of each paragraph he searched for

Michael's approval, smiling in anticipation of it. Until Michael could

bear it no longer, until he shouted suddenly in the middle of a

sentence.

"I want you to pay me out my share of Theuniskraal.

There was a momentary break in Garrick's reading, just a flutter in his

voice to acknowledge Michael's request and then he went on steadily,

but his voice had lost its timbre and was now a lifeless monotone, He

finished the paragraph, laid the sheet aside, removed his spectacles

and placed them in their case. The lid of the case snapped shut

against the tension of its spring and Garry lifted his head slowly.

"Why?"

"I need the money."

"What for?"

"I need it."

Garry stood up and moved across to the window. He stood before it with

his hand clasped behind him. The green lawns flowed down to the fence

that bounded the gardens, and upon them the poinsettia bushes were

vivid patches of scarlet. Beyond, the land lifted into the first long

roll, golden grass and scattered forest with the cattle feeding beneath

and the massive silver and blue clouds piled above.

"It will rain tonight," Garrick murmured, but Michael did not answer.

"We need it. Three weeks of dry, and the pasture is withering. "

Still no reply and Garry returned to his desk.

"I hear there was a fire on Lion Kop last night.

-"There was.

"They say that your uncle is finished. They say the fire finished him.

" "No!" Michael denied it quickly. "That's not true."

"Is that why you want the money, Michael?"

"Yes. "You want to give it to Sean?"

"I want to buy a share in Lion Kop Wattle. I don't want to give

anything-it will be a business offer.

"And what about Theuniskraal-it's your home. You were born here.

"Please, Dad. I've made up my mind."

"Did Sean suggest this?"

"He did not. He knows nothing about it.

"It's your idea then. You thought it up all on your own. You're going

to sell out your own parents for him. My God, what sort of hold has he

over you that you would do that for him? " Flushing a dusty brick

colour, Michael kicked back his chair and jumped to his feet.

"You make it sound like treachery."

"That's exactly what it is!" shouted Garrick. "It's Judas's work.

Your mother and I-we raised you with everything. We scraped to send

you to University, we built our whole lives around you. We worked for

the day you would return here to Theuniskraal and . . ." He stopped,

panting, and wiped from his chin the bubble of saliva that had burst

through his lips.

"Instead you ran off to Join that . . . that swine. How do you think

we liked that? Don't you think it nearly broke our hearts?

Of all people you had to go to him! And now, now you want half of

Theuniskraal to take him as a gift-to buy his . . . " "Stop that! "

Michael warned him sharply. "And before you go on remember where I got

my half of Theuniskraal. Remember who made the original gift. " He

picked up his hat and riding crop and strode towards the door.

"Michael. " The terrible appeal in Garry's voice checked him.

"What is it?"

"Your share, it isn't very much. I hadn't told you before, but there

was a time-when you were very young. The rinderpest.

I had to-" He couldn't go on.

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Sit down, Michael. Sit down and I'll show you." Reluctantly, afraid

of what he was about to hear, Michael returned and stood beside his

chair.

Garry selected a key from the bunch on his watch-chain and opened the

top drawer of his desk. He selected a rolled document, slipped it from

its retaining ribbon and handed it without speaking to his son.

Michael spread it and read the words upon the cover.

"Deed of Mortgage."

With a sliding sensation in his stomach, he turned the page.

He did not read it all. Words and groups of words stood out in bolder

print, and they were sufficient: "The Ladyburg Trust & Banking Co." .

"A certain piece Of land in extent approx. 25,000 morgen situate in

the district of Ladyburg, Magisterial Division of Pietermaritzburg,

known as the farm Theuniskraal" "AB constructions, erections and

improvement thereon" . "Plus interest at eight and one half per

cent,"I see." Michael handed the document back to his father and stood

up.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to Lion Kop. " "No!" Garry whispered. "No, Michael.

Please, my son.

No-O God-No!" Michael left the room and closed the door softly behind

him.

When Anna came into the room Garry was sitting behind the desk, sitting

quietly with his shoulders slumped forward.

"You let him go!" she hissed. Garry did not move, he did not seem to

hear.

"He's gone. Gone to your brother-and you let him." Her voice was very

low, but now it rose harshly and she shrieked at him. "You useless

drunken animal. Sitting here playing with your little books.

You were not man enough to breed him-your brother had to do that for

you! And you are not man enough to keep him-again your brother!

You let him go. You've taken my son from me. " Garry sat unmoving.

He saw nothing. He heard nothing. In his head was a soft, misty grey

ness and the mist blotted out all sight and sotirid. It was warm in

the mist-warn and safe. No one could reach him here for it wrapped and

protected him. He was safe.

"This is all you are good for." Anna snatched a handful of the

manuscript sheets from the desk in front of him. "Your little pieces

of paper. Your dreams and stories of other men-real men.

She ripped the pages through and through again, then flung them at him.

The pieces fluttered and swirled, then settled like dead leaves on his

shoulders and in his hair. He did not move.

Panting in her grief and anger, she took up what remained of the

manuscript and shredded that also, scattering the tiny white scraps

about the room.

The two of them stood together on the station platform. They did not

speak. Most of the previous day and night had been spent talking and

now there was nothing more to say. They stood together in quiet

companionship-and a stranger looking at them would have known

immediately they were father and son.

Though Michael was not as tall, and he was lean beside Sean's bulk-yet

the tone of the skin and the colour of the hair were the same.

Both had the big Courtney nose and their mouths were wide and

full-lipped.

"I'll telegraph as soon as I hit gold." Sean had explained to Michael

in detail the financial structure of Lion Kop. He had told him how he

intended to find the money which would keep it from collapsing.

"I'll hold this end up. " Michael was to begin cutting the wattle

which had survived the fire. They had ridden the previous afternoon

through the plantations and marked the blocks which were ripe for the

axe. "Good luck, Uncle Sean."

"Since we are working together now, Mike, I suggest YOU drop the

"Uncle." It's too clumsy for everyday use."

Michael grinned. "Good luck, Sean."

"Thanks, Mike." They clasped hands, gripping hard, then Sean climbed

up into the coach.

Jackson was friendly but firm and Nichols at the Standard Bank was very

polite and full of sympathy. Sean caught the northbound train for

Johannesburg to fire his last two bullets.

"Colonel Courtney. How good to see you." The reception clerk at

Candy's Hotel came round from behind his desk to greet Sean. "We were

only talking about you last week. Welcome back to Johannesburg."

"Hello, Frank. Putting on a little weight there, aren't you?", Sean

prodded his waistcoat and the man chuckled. "Tell me, Frank, is Candy

. . . is Mrs. Rautenbach in?"

Ah! There've been some changes since you left, sir. " The clerk

grinned with just a trace of malice. "It's not Mrs. Rautenbach any

longer. No, sir. Mrs. Heyns-Mrs. Jock Heyns now!"

"Good God! She married Jock!

"That she did. Two weeks ago-biggest wedding in Jo'burg since the war.

Two thousand guests."

Where is she now?"

"On the water. Off to England and the Continent for six months"

honeymoon."

"I hope she'll be happy," Sean murmured softly, remembering the

loneliness he had seen in her eyes when he left.

"With all Mr. Heyns's money? How can she be otherwise?"

the clerk asked in genuine surprise.

"Will you be staying, Colonel?"

"If you have a room."

"We always have a room for our friends. How long, sir?

"Two days, Frank."

Tim Curtis was Chief Engineer on the City Deep. When Sean spoke to him

about a loan he laughed.

"Christ! Sean, I only work there-I don't own the bloody mine."

Sean had dinner with him and his bride of two years" standing.

At their urging Sean examined their newborn infant and secretly decided

that it looked like an unweaned bulldog.

Extending his stay in Johannesburg, Sean visited the banks.

He had dealt with most of them long ago, but the personnel had changed,

so he was puzzled that the manager of each institution seemed to have

heard of him.

"Colonel Courtney. Now would you be Colonel Sean Courtney of Lion Kop

Wattle Estates down in Natal?" And when he nodded he saw the shutters

come down in their eyes, like windows barred by a prudent householder

against burglars.

On the eighth night he ordered liquor to be sent to his suite, two full

bottles of brandy. He drank steadily and desperately.

The brandy would not quieten the violent struggles of his brain, but

seemed to goad it, distorting his problems and deepening his

melancholia.

He lay alone until the dawn paled out the yellow gaslight of the lamps.

The brandy hummed giddily in his head and he longed for peace-the peace

he had found only in the immense silence and space of the veld.

Suddenly a picture fbrined in his mind of a lonely grave below a little

hill. He heard the wind moan over it and saw the brown grass sway.

That was peace.

"Saul," he said, and the sadness was heavy on him for the pilgrimage he

had promised himself and had not made.

"It is finished here. I'll go now," and he stood up. The giddiness

caught him and he clutched at the head-rail of the bed to steady

himself.

He recognized the kopJe from four miles off. Into his memory its shape

was indelibly etched; the symmetrical slope of the sides cobbled with

boulders that glinted dully in the sunshine like the scales of a

reptile, the flattened summit ringed by a holder stratum of rock, the

high altar on which the sacrifice to greed and Stupidity had been

made.

Closer he could discern the aloe plants upon the slopes, fleshy leaves

spiked like crowns and jewelled with scarlet blooms. On the plain

below the kopje, in the short brown grass, stood a long line of white

specks. Sean rode towards them and as he approached each speck evolved

into a cairn of whitewashed stones and on each stood a metal cross.

Stiff from the long day in the saddle Sean dismounted slowly.

He hobbled the horses, dropped saddle and pack from their backs and

turned them loose to feed. He stood alone and lit a cheroot, suddenly

reluctant to approach the line of graves.

The silence of the empty land settled gently upon him, a silence not

broken but somehow heightened by the sound of the wind across the

plain. The harsh tearing as his mount cropped at the dry brown grass

seemed sacrilegious in this place, but it roused Sean from his

thoughts. He walked towards the double line of graves and stood before

one of them. Stamped crudely into the metal of the cross the words

"Here lies a brave burgher.

He moved along the line of crosses and on each he read those same

words. On some of them the printing was irregular, on one the "r- in

burgher had been replaced by a "g." Sean stopped and glared at it,

hating the man who in his haste and unconcern had made the epitaph an

insult.

"I'm sorry." He spoke aloud, apologizing to the man who lay beneath

it. Then he was embarrassed, angry at himself for the weakness. Only

a madman speaks aloud to the dead. He strode away towards the second

row of crosses.

"Leading Seaman W. Carter, RN." The fat one,

"Corporal Henderson CFS. " Twice in his chest and another in the

belly.

He walked along the line and read their names. Some were just names,

others he saw instantly and vividly. He saw them laughing, or

frightened, saw the way they rode, remembered the sound of their

voices. This one still owed him a guinea, he remembered the bet.

"Keep it. " He spoke and immediately checked himself again.

Slowly he went on to the end of the line, his momentum running down as

he approached the grave that stood separate from the others-the way he

had ordered it.

He read the inscription. Then he squatted down comfortably on his

haunches beside it and stayed there until the sun settled and the wind

turned cold and plaintive. Only then he went to his saddle and

loosened the blanket-roll. There was no firewood and he slept fitfully

in the cold of the night and the icier cold of his thoughts.

In the morning he went back to Saul's grave. For the first time he

noticed that grass was growing up between the stones of the cairn and

that the cross sagged a little to one side. He shrugged off his coat

and went down on his knees, working like a gardener over the grave,

weeding out the grass with his hunting knife, making certain the roots

were removed. Then he went to the head and lifted the rocks away from

around the cross. He tore the cross from the ground and re-dug the

hole for it, setting it up again carefully, plugging the base with

pebbles and earth and at last packing the whitewashed rocks firmly

around it once more.

He stood back, brushed earth and flakes of whitewash from his hands and

surveyed his handiwork. It was still not right, there was something

missing. He thought about it, frowning heavily until he found the

answer.

"Flowers," he grunted and lifted his head towards the aloes on the

kopJe above him. He set off up the slope, picking his way through the

litter of boulders towards the summit. His knife slipped easily

through the soft thick stems and the juice oozed heavily from the

wounds. With an armful he started back down the slope. Out to one

side a patch of colour caught his eye, a sprinkling of pink and white

among the boulders. He detoured towards it. Hottentot Daisies, each

one a perfect trumpet with a pink throat and a fragile yellow tongue.

Delighted with his find, Sean laid aside his burden of aloe blooms and

went in amongst them. Stooping like a reaper he worked through them

towards the lip of a narrow ravine, gathering the flowers into posies

and binding the stems together with grass. Finally, he reached the

ravine and straightened up to rest his aching back.

The ravine was narrow, he could have jumped across it with little

effort-but it was deep. He peered down into it without much

interest.

The cleft was floored with rainwashed sand, and his interest quickened

as he made out the half-buried bones of a large animal. But what made

him climb down into the ravine was not the bones, but the bulky leather

object entangled with them.

Sliding on his backside the last few feet of the descent he reached the

bottom, and examined his find. A leather mule pack double pouches, and

the buckles of the harness almost rusted away. He tugged the whole lot

loose from the sand and was surprised at the weight of it.

The leather was dry and brittle, faded almost white with exposure and

the locks of the pouches were rusted solid. With his knife he slit the

flap of one pouch and out of it cascaded a stream of sovereigns.

They fell into the sand, clinking upon each other in a heap that

glittered with merry golden smiles.

Sean stared at them in disbelief. He dropped the pack and squatted on

his haunches over the pile. Timidly he picked up one of the discs and

examined the portrait of the old President, before lifting the coin to

his mouth and biting down upon it. His teeth sank into the soft metal

and he removed it from his mouth.

"Well, damn. me sideways," he invited, and he laughed out loud.

Rocking back on his haunches and lifting his face to the sky he roared

out his jubilation and his relief. It went on and on until his

laughter dried suddenly, and he sobered.

Cupping a double handful of the gold he asked it: "Now, where the hell

did you come from?" And his answer was in the grim face embossed upon

each coin. Boer Gold.

"And who do you belong to?"

The answer was the same, and he let the coins trickle through his

fingers. Boer Gold.

-The hell with it! he growled angrily. "Starting this minute it's

Courtney Gold." And he began to count it.

As his fingers worked so did his brain. He prepared his case against

his own conscience. They owed him the balance outstanding on a train

of wagons filled with ivory, they owed him his deposits in the

Volkskaas Bank, they owed him for a shrapnel wound in the leg and a

bullet in the belly, they owed him for three years of hardship and

danger, and they owed him for a friend. As he stacked the sovereigns

into piles of twenty he considered his case, found it good and proven,

justified it and gave judgement in his own favour.

"I find for the appellant," he announced, and concentrated his whole

attention on the counting. An hour and a half later he reached the

total.

There was a huge pile of coins upon the flat rock he had used as a

desk. He lit a cheroot and the smoke he drew into his lungs made him

lighthearted. His conscience had surrendered unconditionally and in

its place was a sense of well-being. All the more intense for the

period of depression through which he had come.

"Sean Courtney accepts from the Government of the onetime Republic of

the

"Transvaal an amount of twenty-nine thousand, two hundred pounds, in

full discharge of all debts and claims. " He chuckled again and began

shovelling the gold back into the leather pouches.

With the heavy pack slung over his shoulders and with his arms full of

wild flowers, Sean went down the kopJe. He saddled his horse and

loaded the pack on to his mule before he went to pile the flowers on

Saul's grave. They made a brave show of colour against the brown

grass.

He lingered another hour, fussing over his floral arrangements and

resisting the temptation to thank Saul. For now he had decided the

gold was not a gift from a Republican Governmentbut from Saul

Friedman.

This made it even easier to accept.

At last he mounted and rode away. As the man and his horses dwindled

into insignificance on the great brown plain, a dust devil came dancing

up from the south. A tall, spinning column of heated air and dust and

fragments of dry grass, it weaved and swayed towards the graveyard

below the kopJe. For a time it seemed as though it would pass wide of

it, but suddenly it changed direction and dashed down upon the double

row of crosses. It snatched up the flowers on Saul's grave, lifted

them, ripped their petals and scattered them widely across the plain.

With Michael beside him lugging the carpet-bag which was the heaviest

item of luggage, Sean left the buggy and crossed the sidewalk into the

offices of the Ladyburg Banking & Trust Co. "Oh! Colonel Courtney,"

the young lady at the reception desk enthused. "I'll tell Mr. Pye you

are here."

"Please don't bother. I'll carry the glad news myself.

Ronny Pye looked up in alarm as the door of his office flew open and

the two of them walked in.

"Good morning, Ronny," Sean greeted him cheerfully.

"Have you bled any good stones today, or is it still too early?"

Guardedly Ronny murmured a reply and stood up.

Sean selected a cigar from the leather box on the desk and sniffed

it.

"Not a bad line in horse-dung you've got here," he remarked and bit the

end off. "Match please, Ronay, I'm a customer, where are your manners?

" Reluctantly, suspiciously, Ronny lit the cigar for him.

Sean sat down and placed his feet on the desk with ankles neatly

crossed.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked. The question heightened Ronny's

suspicion and his eyes settled on the carpet-bag in Michael's hands.

-you mean altogether? Capital and interest?"

"Capital and interest," Sean affirmed.

"Well, I'd have to work that out.

"Give it to me in round figures."

"Well, very roughly, you understand, it would be around oh I don't

know-say He paused. That carpet-bag looked confoundedly heavy. Its

sides bulged and he could see the tension in Michael's arm muscles as

he held it. "Say, twenty-two thousand, eight hundred and sixteen

pounds, fifteen shillings. " As he named the exact figure Ronny

dropped his voice in veneration the way a primitive tribesman might

evoke the name of his god.

Sean lowered his feet. Then he leant forward and swept the papers that

covered the desk to one side.

"Very well. Pay the man, Michael."

Solemnly Michael placed the bag in the cleared space. But when Sean

winked at him his solemnity cracked and he grinned.

Making no attempt to hide his agitation, Ronny plunged both hands into

the mouth of the bag and withdrew two pouches of unbleached canvas. He

loosened the draw string of one and spilled gold on to his desk.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded angrily.

At the end of the rainbow.

"There's a fortune here," Ronny protested, as he dipped into the

carpet-bag again.

"A goodly amount, I'll admit.

"But, but Ronny was scratching in the pile of coins, hunting for the

secret of their origin like a hen for a worm.

However, Sean had spent a week in Johannesburg and another two days in

Pietermaritzburg visiting every bank and exchanging small parcels of

Kruger coin for Victorian and Portuguese, and the coin of half a dozen

other States. For a minute Sean watched his efforts with a smile of

happy contempt. Then he excused himself.

"We'll be getting on home now. " Sean placed an arm around Michael's

shoulder and led him to the door.

"Deposit the balance to my account, there's a good fellow."

Further protest stillborn on his lips, and despair mingled with

frustration, Ronny Pye watched through the window as Lion Kop Wattle

Estates climbed up into the buggy, settled its hat firmly, waved a whip

in a courteous farewell and trotted sedately out of his clutches.

All that summer the hills of Lion Kop echoed to the thud of axes and

the singing of hundreds of Zulus. As each tree toppled and fell in a

froth of heaving branches, men with cane-knives moved forward to strip

the rich bark and tie it in bundles. Every train that left for

Pietermaritzburg towed truckloads of it to the extract plant.

Each long day together strengthened the bonds between Sean and Michael.

They evolved a language of their own, notable only for its economy of

words. Without lengthy discussion each took charge of a separate

sphere of Lion Kop activity. Michael made himself responsible for the

maintenance of equipment, the loading and dispatch, all the paperwork

and the ordering of material. At first Sean surreptitiously checked

his work, but when he found no fault in it he no longer bothered. They

parted only at the end of each week; Sean to Pietermaritzburg for

obvious reasons, and Michael to Theuniskraal in duty. Michael hated

those returns home, he hated Anna's endless accusations of disloyalty

and her occasional fits of weeping. But even worse was the silent

reproach in Garrys face. Early each Monday morning, with the joy of a

released convict he set off for Lion Kop and Sean's welcome: "What

about those bloody axe handles, Mike?"

Only in the evenings they talked freely sitting together on the stoep

of the homestead. They spoke of money and war and politics and women

and wattle-and they talked as equals, without reserve, as men who work

together with a common purpose.

Dirk sat quietly in the shadows and listened to them. Fifteen years

old, but Dirk had a capacity for hatred out of all proportion to his

age, and he used it all on Michael. Sean's handling of Dirk was in no

way different; his school attendance was still spasmodic, he trailed

Sean about the plantations and received his full share of rough

affection and even rougher-disciPline yet he sensed in the relationship

between Sean and Michael a terrible threat to his security. Merely by

reason of age and experience he was excluded from the evening

discussions on the stoep. His few contributions were received with

indulgent attention, then the talk would be resumed as though he had

not spoken. Dirk sat quietly planning in lurid detail his

assassination of Michael. On Lion Kop that summer there were small

thefts and unexplained acts of vandalism, all of which affected only

Michael. His best riding-boots vanished, his single dress shirt was

ripped down the back when he came to don it for the monthly dance at

the schoolhouse, his pointer bitch whelped a litter of four puppies,

which survived only a week before Michael found them dead in the straw

of the barn.

Ada and her young ladies began preparing for the Christmas of 1904 in

the middle of December. As their guests, Ruth and Storm came down from

Pietermaritzburg on the twentieth and Sean's frequent absences from

Lion Kop left a heavy burden of work on Michael. There was an air of

mystery in the Protea Street cottage. Sean was strictly excluded from

the long sessions in Ada's private rooms, where she and Ruth retired to

plan the wedding dress, but this was not the only secret.

There was something else, which was keeping all the young ladies in

fits of suppressed giggles and excitement. With a little eavesdropping

Sean gathered it was something to do with his Christmas present from

Ruth. However, Sean had other worries, chief of which was maintaining

his position in the fierce competition for Miss Storm Friedman's

favours. This included a heavy expenditure on sweetmeats, which were

delivered to Storm without Ruth's knowledge. The Shetland pony had

been left in Pietermaritzburg and Sean was required to substitute at

the cost of his dignity and grass stains on the knees of his breeches.

As reward he was invited to take tea each afternoon with Storm and her

dolls.

Favourite among all Storm's dolls was a female child with human hair

and an insipid expression on its large china face.

Storm wept with a broken heart when she found that china head shattered

into many pieces. With Sean's help she buried it in the back yard and

they stripped Ada's garden of flowers for the grave. Sullenly Dirk

watched the funeral. Storm was now completely reconciled to her loss

and so thoroughly enjoyed the ceremony that she insisted Sean exhume

the body and start again.

In all the doll was buried four times and Ada's garden looked as though

a swarm of locusts had descended upon it.

Christmas Day started early for Sean. He and Michael supervised the

slaughter of ten large oxen for the Zulu labour force, then distributed

pay and gifts. "for each man a khaki shirt and short pants, and for

each of their wives a double handful of coloured beads. There was much

singing and laughter. Mbejane, risen from his sickbed for the

occasion, made a speech of high dramatic content. Unable to prance on

his freshly healed legs, yet he shook his spears, postured and roared

his questions at them.

"Has he beaten you?"

"Ai-bho! " They hurled the negative back at him.

"Has he fed you?"

"Yhe-bho!" explosive accent.

"Is there gold in your pockets?"

Yhe-bho!

"Is he our father?"

"He is our father!"

All to be construed not too literally, Sean grinned. Then he stepped

forward to accept the large earthen pot of millet beer that Mbejane's

senior wife presented to him. It was a matter of honour that this be

emptied without removing it from the lips, a feat which Sean and then

Michael both accomplished. Then they climbed up into the waiting

buggy, Mbejane took the reins and with Dirk on the seat beside him

drove them down to Ladyburg.

After the first flurry of greeting and good wishes, Ruth led Sean into

the back yard followed by everyone else. There stood a large object

covered by a unmulin which Win ceremoniously removed and Sean gaped at

what Ruth had given him.

Its paintwork burnished to a high gloss, metal parts and polished

leather upholstery sparkling in the sun-stood a motor vehicle. U

Stamped in the huge metal wheel hubs, and below the mascot on the

radiator were the words

"Rolls-Royce. " Sean had seen these fiendishly beautiful machines in

Johannesburg, and now he was overcome by the feeling of unease they had

given him then.

"My dear Ruth, I haven't the words to thank you. " He kissed her

heartily to delay the moment when he must approach the monster.

"Do you really like it?"

"Like it? It's the most magnificent thing I have ever seen."

Over her shoulder Sean noticed with relief that Michael had taken over.

As the only engineer present, he was seated behind the wheel and

speaking authoritatively to the crowd about him.

"Get in! " Ruth ordered

"Let me look at it first. " With Ruth on his arm, Sean circled the

Rolls, never approaching closer than half a dozen paces. The great

headlights glared at him malevolently and Sean averted his eyes. His

unease was slowly becoming genuine fear as he realized that he was

expected not only to ride in the thing, but to direct its course and

speed.

Unable to delay any longer, he approached and patted the bonnet.

"Hey there!" he told it grimly. With an unbroken anima you must

establish mastery from the first contact.

"Get in! " Michael was still in charge and Sean obeyed, placing Ruth

in the middle of the front seat and himself nearest the door. On

Ruth's lap Storm bounded and squealed with excitement. The delay while

Michael consulted the handbook at length did nothing for Sean's

confidence.

"Ruth, don't you think it wise to leave Storm behind-just this first

time?"

"Oh, she isn't any trouble." Ruth regarded him quizzically, then

smiled. "It's really quite safe, darling. " Despite her assurance,

Sean stiffened in terror when the motor finally roared into life; and

he held that pose, staring fixedly ahead, during the whole of their

triumphal progress through the streets of Ladyburg. Citizens and

servants boiled from the houses along their route and lined the road to

cheer in wonder and delight.

At last they were back in Protea Street and when Michael stopped

outside the cottage Sean escaped from the vehicle like a man waking

from a nightmare. He firmly vetoed the suggestion that the family

motor to church, on the grounds that it was irreverent and in bad

taste. The Reverend Smiley was flattered that Sean remained awake

throughout his sermon, and judged by Sean's worried expression that at

last he was in fear for his soul.

After church Michael went out to Theuniskraal to eat Christmas dinner

with his parents, but returned early in the afternoon to begin Sean's

instruction. The entire population of Ladyburg turned to watch Sean

and Michael circling the block at a walking pace. By early evening

Michael decided that Sean was ready for a solo circuit and accordingly

he disembarked.

Alone at the wheel, sweating nervously, Sean looked at the sea of

expectant faces around him and saw Mbejane grinning hugely in the

background.

"Mbejane! " he bellowed.

-Nkosi! I I

"Come with me," and Mbejane's grin dissolved. He backed away a little.

It was unnatural that a vehicle should move of its own accord-and

Mbejane wanted no part of it.

"Nkosi, there is much pain still in my legs.

Among the crowd were many of the Zulu labourers from Lion Kop, who had

come down from the hills when news of the miracle reached them.

Now one of these laughed in such a manner as to cast doubt on Mbejane's

courage. Mbejane drew himself to his full height and withered the man

with his eyes, then he stalked proudly to the Rolls, sat on the seat

beside Sean and folded his arms across his chest.

Sean drew a deep breath and gripped the steering-wheel with both hands,

his eyes narrowed and he scowled ahead down the road.

"Clutch in!" he muttered to himself. "In gear! Brake off!

Throttle down! Clutch out! " The Rolls leapt forward so violently

that both he and Mbejane were nearly thrown over the back of the seat.

Fifty yards farther on the machine expired from lack of fuel, a stroke

of good fortune because it was unlikely that Sean would have been able

to remember the procedure for stopping it.

Grey of face and unsteady of limb, Mbejane allgbted from the Rolls for

the last time. He never rode in it again-and secretly Sean envied him

his freedom. He was greatly relieved to hear that it would be weeks

before more fuel could be sent up from Cape Town.

Three weeks before Sean's wedding Ada Courtney went into her orchard

one morning early to pick fruit for breakfast. She found Mary there,

dressed in her white nightgown, and hanging by her neck from the big

avocado tree. Ada cut her down and sent one of the servants to call

Doctor Fraser.

Between them they carried the dead girl to her cubicle and laid her on

her bed. While Doc Fraser made a hasty examination Ada stood staring

down at the face that death had made more pitiful.

"What depths of loneliness drove her to this? " she whispered, and Doc

Fraser pulled the sheet over the corpse and looked across at Ada.

"That wasn't the reason-in fact, it might have been better if she were

a little more lonely. " He pulled out his tobacco pouch and began to

load his pipe. "Who was her boy friend, Aunt Ada? " "She had none."

"She must have.

"Why do you say that?"

"Aunt Ada, this girl was four months pregnant."

It was a small funeral, just the Courtney family and Ada's girls.

Mary was an orphan and she had no other friends.

Two weeks before the wedding, Sean and Michael finished the season's

cut of bark and switched the Zulus to planting out the blocks destroyed

by the fire. "together they drew up a draft Profit and Loss Account.

Combining their rudimentary knowledge of accounting and arguing far

into the night, they finally agreed that from fifteen hundred acres of

wattle they had cut fourteen hundred and twenty tons of bark, to gross

a little over twenty-eight thousand pounds sterling.

But here all agreement ended. Michael insisted that the stocks of

material and expenditure on planting of new trees be carried forward,

giving a net profit for the year of nine thousand pounds.

Sean wanted to write all expenditure off against income and show a

profit of one thousand, so they deadlocked and finally sent all the

books to a qualified accountant in Pietermaritzburg.

This gentleman sided with Michael.

They then considered the prospects for the coming season and were a

little awed when they realized that there would be four thousand acres

of wattle to reap and an expected gross of eighty thousand pounds

sterling-always providing there were no more fires. That evening,

without Sean's knowledge, Michael wrote two letters. One to a

manufacturer of heavy machinery in Birmingham, whose name and address

Michael had furtively copied from one of the huge boilers in the Natal

Wattle Estate Company's plant. The other to the firm of Foyle's

booksellers in Choring Cross Road, London, requesting the immediate

dispatch of all and any literature on the processing of wattle bark.

Michael Courtney had caught from Sean the habit of dreaming

extravagantly. He had also acquired the trick of setting out to make

those dreams become reality.

Three days before the wedding Ada and her young ladies set out for

Pietermaritzburg by train and Sean, Michael and Dirk followed in the

Rolls.

The three of them arrived dusty and bad-tempered outside the White

Horse Hotel. It had been a nerve-racking journey. Sean had enlivened

it by shouting incessant warnings, instruction and blasphemy at

Michael, the driver.

"Slow down, for God's sake, slow down! Do you want to kill us all!"

Look out! Watch that cow!"

"Don't drive so close to the verge!

Dirk had done his share by demanding halts for urination, hanging over

the sides, climbing tirelessly between the front and back seats and

urging Michael to exceed the speed-limit set by Sean. Finally, in

anger, Sean had Michael stop the car and administered corporal

punishment with the birch of a melkbos tree cut from beside the road.

On arrival Dirk was met by Ada, and led away snivelling.

Michael took the Rolls and disappeared in the direction of the Natal

Wattle Company's plant, where he was to spend most of the following

three days snooping and asking questions, and Sean went to find Jan

Paulus Leroux, who had come down from Pretoria in response to Sean's

wedding invitation. By the day of the wedding Michael Courtney had

compiled a small volume of notes on wattle processing, and Jan Paulus

had given Sean a minute account of the aims and objects of the South

African Party. But in response to his urging Sean had promised only to

"'think about it."

The wedding ceremony had given everybody much cause for thought.

Although Sean had no qualms about marrying in a synagogue, yet he

steadfastly refused to undergo the painful little operation which would

enable him to do so. His halfhearted suggestion that Ruth should

convert to Christianity was met with a curt rejection. Finally, a

compromise was agreed, and Ben Goldberg persuaded the local Magistrate

to perform a civil ceremony in the dining-room of The Golds.

Ben Goldberg gave the bride away and Ma Goldberg wept a little.

Ruth was magnificent in Ada's creation of green satin and seed

pearls.

Storm wore an exact miniature of Ruth's dress and sparked off a minor

brawl with the other flower girls during the ceremony. Michael as Best

Man conducted himself with aplomb.

He quelled the riot among the flower girls, produced the wedding ring

on cue and prompted the groom when he muffed his lines.

The reception on the lawns was attended by a large crowd of the

Goldbergs" friends and business associates and by half the population

of Ladyburg, including Ronny Pye, Dennis Petersen and their families.

Garrick and Anna Courtney were not there, nor had they acknowledged the

invitation.

Brilliant sunshine blessed the day and the lawns were smooth and green

as expensive carpets. There were long trestle tables laden with the

fruits of Ma Goldberg's kitchen and the products of Ben Goldberg's

brewery.

Storm Friedman went from group to group of guests, boosting up her

skirts to display the pink ribbons in her pantaloons, until Ruth caught

her at it.

Having found his first taste of champagne very much to his liking, Dirk

went on to drink six glasses of it behind the rose bushes. He was then

copiously ill. Fortunately Michael found him before Sean did, and

spirited him away to one of the guest roomns and left him there to

languish.

With Ruth on his arm, Sean inspected the display of wedding gifts and

was impressed. He then circulated among the crowds on the lawn until

he reached Jan Paulus and fell into an earnest political discussion.

Ruth left them to it and went to change into her going-away clothes.

The prettiest and most blonde of Ada's young ladies caught the bouquet.

Immediately thereafter she caught Michael's eye and blushed to match

the crimson carnations in her hand.

Amid a hum of appreciative comment and a snowstorm of confetti Ruth

returned and, a queen ascending the throne, took her seat in the Rolls.

Beside her Sean, in dust coat and goggles, steeled himself, muttered

his usual incantations and gave the Rolls its head. Like a wild horse

the machine seemed to rear on its hind wheels and then tear down the

driveway scattering gravel and guests. Ruth clutching desperately at

her hatful of ostrich feathers and Sean shouting at the Rolls to

"Whoa! There, girl, --they headed out along the road that led through

the Valley of a Thousand Hills to Durban and the sea, and disappeared

in a tall column of dust.

Three months later, having picked up Storm from Ma Goldberg en passant,

they reappeared at lion Kop homestead. Sean had put on weight and both

of them had that smugly complacent look found only in the faces of

couples returning from a successful honeymoon.

On the front stoep and in the outbuildings of Uon Kop were the crates

and packing-cases which contained wedding gifts, Ruth's furniture and

carpets, and the additional furniture and curtains they had purchased

in Durban. Ruth, ably assisted by Ada, threw herself joyously into the

task of unpacking and moving in. Meanwhile Sean began a tour of

inspection of the estate to determine how much of it had suffered in

his absence, and he felt vaguely cheated when he found that Michael had

managed very well without him. The plantations were trim and cleared

of undergrowth, the vast black scar through their centre was nearly

obliterated with freshly planted rows of saplings, the labour force was

half as productive again under the new incentive payment scheme which

Michael, in consultation with the Accountant, had introduced. Sean

gave Michael a lecture on "not getting too bloody clever" and "learning

to walk before you ran" which he ended with a few words of praise.

Thus encouraged, Michael approached Sean one night when he was alone in

his study. Sean was in a state of deep contentment induced by a meal

from an enormous roast sirloin which he was digesting, by the fact that

Ruth had finally agreed to his adoption of Storm and the change of her

name from Friedman to Courtney, and by the prospect of joining Ruth in

their gargantuan double bed just as soon as he finished his brandy and

his hand-rolled Havana cigar.

"Come in, Michael. Sit down. Have a brandy. " Sean greeted him

genially, and almost defiantly Michael crossed the Persian carpet and

laid a thick sheaf of papers on the desk in front of him.

"What's this all about?" Sean smiled at him.

"Read it and you'll see. " Michael retreated to a chair across the

room. Still smiling Sean glanced at the heading on the top sheet.

"Preliminary estimates and ground plan for proposed Tannin Extraction

Plant. Lion Kop Estates.

The smile faded. Sean turned the page and as he read he began to frown

and then to scowl. When at last he finished he relit his dead cigar

and sat in silence for five minutes while he recovered from the

shock.

"Who put you up to this?

"Nobody.

"Where would you sell your extract?"

"Page 5. The outlets are listed there-and the ruling prices over the

last ten years.

"This plant needs 20,000 tons of bark a year-if we planted every foot

of Lion Kop and Mahobo's Kloof to wattle we could only supply half of

that. " "We'd buy the rest from the new estates along the valley-we

could offer a better price than Jackson, because we'd save rail age to

Pietermaritzburg. " "Who would run the plant?"

an engineer.

"On paper you are," Sean grunted. "What about water?"

"We'd dam the Baboon Stroom above the falls. " For an hour Sean poked

and prodded at the scheme, seeking for a soft spot. His agitation

mounted as Michael calmly met each of his queries.

"All right," Sean growled. "You've done your homework.

Now answer me this one. How the hell do you propose finding seventy

thousand pounds to finance this little lot?"

Michael closed his eyes as though he were praying, his jaw was a hard,

thrusting line. And suddenly Sean wondered why he had never noticed

the strength in that face, the stubborn almost fanatical determination.

Michael opened his eyes again and spoke softly.

"A loan on Lion Kop and Mahobo's Kloof for twenty-five thousand, a

notarial bond on the plant for as much again-and a public share issue

on the balance.

Sean jumped up from his desk and roared.

"No!"

"Why not?" still calmly and reasonably.

y

"Because I've spent half my life in debt up to here!" Sean rubbed his

own throat. "Because now at last I'm in the clear and I want to stay

that way. Because I know what it feels like to have more money than I

need, and I don't like the feeling.

Because I'm happy just the way things are now-and I don't want to catch

another lion by the tail and have him cum round and claw the hell out

of mee." He stopped panting and then shouted: "Because a certain

amount of money belongs to you, but more than that you belong to it.

Because I don't want to be that wealthy again! " Lean and fast as an

angry leopard, Michael came out of his chair and smashed a balled fist

on to the top of the desk. He glared across at Sean, flushed angry red

under his tan, quivering like an arrow.

"Well, I do! Your only objection to my plan is that it's sound, he

blazed. Sean blinked in surprise and then rallied.

"If you get it, you won't like it!" he bellowed, and Michael matched

his volume.

"Let me be the judge of that!"

At that moment the door of the study opened and Ruth stood on the

threshold and stared at them. They looked like a pair of game cocks

with their hackles up.

What on earth is going on?" she demanded. Both Michael and' Sean

looked up guiltily, then slowly they relaxed. Michael sat down and

Sean coughed awkwardly.

"We are just having a discussion, my dear.

"Well, you've woken Storm and just about torn the roof off.

Then she smiled and crossed to take Sean's arm. "Why don't you leave

it until tomorrow. Then you can continue your discussion at twenty

paces with pistols."

The pygmies of the Ituri Forests hunt elephant with tiny arrows.

Once the barb is lodged they follow quietly and doggedly, camping night

after night on the spoor until at last the poison works its way to the

animal's heart and brings it down. Michael had placed his arrow-head

deep in Sean's flesh.

At Lion Kop Ruth found a happiness she had never expected, had not

believed existed.

Up to this time her existence had been ordered and determined by an

adoring but strict father, and then in the same manner by Ben Goldberg.

The few short years with Saul Friedman had been happy, but now they

were as unreal as memories of childhood. Always she had been wrapped

in a cocoon of wealth, hemmed in by social taboos and the dignity of

the family. Fven Saul had treated her as a delicate child for whom all

decisions must be made. Life had been placid and orderly, but deadly

dull. Only twice she had rebelled, once to run away from Pretoria and

again when she had gone to Sean in the hospital.

Boredom had been her constant companion.

But now suddenly she was mistress of a complex community.

The sensation had been a little overpowering at first and from habit

she had appealed to Sean for him to make the fifty decisions that each

day brought forward.

"I'll make a bargain with you," he answered. "You don't tell me how to

grow wattle and I'll not tell you how to run the house-put the damn

sideboard where it looks best. " Hesitantly at first, then with

growing confidence and at last with sureness and pride she made Lion

Kop into a home of beauty and comfort. The coarse grass and scrub

around the homestead fell back to make room for lawns and flower-beds,

the outer walls of Lion Kop gleamed in a crisp new coat of whitewash.

Inside, the yellow-wood floors shone like polished amber setting off

the vivid Bokhara carpets and draped velvet curtains.

After a few disastrous experiments the kitchens began to yield a

succession of meals that moved Michael to raptures, and even Sean

pronounced them edible.

Yet, with a dozen servants, she had time for other things. To read, to

play with Storm and to ride. Sean's wedding gift to her was a string

of four golden palarninos. There was time also for long visits from

and with Ada Courtney. The two of them established an accord stronger

than that of mother and daughter.

There was time for dancing and barbecues, there was time for laughter

and for long quiet evenings when she and Sean sat alone on the wide

front stoep or in his study and talked of many things.

There was time for love.

Her body, hard from riding and walking, was also healthy and hot.

It was a sculpture sheathed in velvet and fashioned for love.

There was only one dark place in her happiness-Dirk Courte they.

When her overtures were met with sullenness and her small specially

cooked gifts were rejected, she realized the cause of his antagonism.

She sensed the bitter jealousy which was eating like a canker behind

those lovely eyes and the passionately beautiful face.

For days she prepared what she would say to him.

Then she found the opportunity when he came into the kitchens while she

was alone. He saw her and turned quickly to leave, but she stopped

him.

"Oh, Dirk, please don't go. I want to discuss something with you He

came back slowly and leaned against the table. She saw how tall he had

grown in the last year, his shoulders were thickening into the shape of

manhood and his legs were strong and tapered from the narrow hips that

he thrust forward in a calculated insolence.

"Dirk. . . " she began and paused. Suddenly she was unsure of

herself. This was not a child as she had imagined; there was a

sensuality in that beautiful face she found disturbing-he carried his

body with awareness, moving like a cat. Suddenly she was afraid, and

she swallowed jerkily before she went on: "I know how difficult it has

been for you-since Storm and I came to live here. I know how much you

love your father, how much he means to you. But . . . " She spoke

slowly, her carefully prepared speech forgotten so that she had to

grope for the words to explain. She tried to show him that they were

not in competition for Sean's love; that all of them-Ruth, Michael,

Storm and Dirk-formed a whole; that their interests did not overlap,

but that each of them gave to Sean and received from him a different

kind of love. When at last she faltered into silence she knew he had

not listened nor tried to understand.

"Dirk, I like you and I want you to like me.

With a thrust of his buttocks against the table, Dirk straightened up.

He smiled then and let his eyes move down over her body, slowly "Can I

go now?" he asked, and Ruth stiffened. Then she knew there was no

compromise, that she would have to fight him.

"Yes, Dirk. You may go," she answered. She knew with sudden clarity

that he was evil, and if she lost this contest he would destroy her and

her child. In that moment she was no longer afraid.

Catlike, Dirk seemed to sense a change in her. For a moment she

thought she saw a flicker of doubt, of uncertainty in his eyes-then he

turned away and sauntered out of the kitchen.

She guessed that it Would Come soon, but not as soon as it did.

Every afternoon Ruth would ride out into the plantations with Storm's

pony on a lead rein beside her. They made a game of finding Sean and

Michael, following the labyrinth of roads that crisscrossed through the

blocks of" trees, guided by the vague directions of the gangs of Zulus

until finally they ran them down and delivered the canteens of coffee

and the hamper of sandwiches. Then, all four of them would picnic on

the soft carpet of dead leaves beneath the trees.

This afternoon, dressed in riding habit and carrying the hamper, Ruth

came out into the kitchen yard. The young Zulu nursemaid was sitting

in the shade of the kitchen wall flirting with one of the grooms. Storm

was nowhere in sight, and Ruth asked sharply: "Where is Miss Storm?"

"She went with Nkosikana Dirk." And Ruth felt the tingling premonition

of danger.

"Where are they?" and the nursemaid pointed vaguely in the direction

of the stables and outbuildings that sprawled away down the back slope

of the hill.

"Come with me." Ruth dropped the hamper and ran with her skirts

gathered in one hand. She reached the first row of stables and hurried

down them, glancing into each stall as she passed. Then into the feed

rooms with the big concrete bins and the smell of oats and molasses and

chopped lucerne mixing with the sharp tang of dung and dubbined

leather, out again into the sunlight, running for the barns.

Storm screamed in terror, just once, but high and achingly clear, so

the silence afterwards quivered with the memory of it.

The harness room. Ruth swirled in her run. God, please No!

Don't let it happen. Please! Please!

She reached the open door of the harness room. It was gloomy and cool

within the thick stone walls, and for a moment the scene made no sense

to Ruth.

Her back wedged into the far corner, Storm stood with hands lifted to

shield her face-small fingers rigid, splayed open, spread like the tip

feathers of a bird's wing. Her body shook silently with her sobs.

In front of Storm, squatting on his heels, Dirk leaned forward with one

hand outstretched as though he offered a gift. He was laughing.

Then Ruth saw the thing in Dirk's hand move and she froze with horror.

It uncoiled from around his wrist, and slowly reached out towards

Storm, its head cocked back in a half-loop of its body, tiny black

tongue vibrating between the grinning pink lips.

Ruth screamed, and Dirk jumped to his feet and spun to face her with

his right hand hidden behind his back.

------ . ..... .

From the corner Storm darted across the room and bailed her face in

Ruth's skirts, weeping piteously. Ruth picked her up and held her

tight against her shoulder, but she never took her eyes off Dirk's

face.

"It's only a rooi-slang. " Dirk laughed again, but nervously.

"They're harmless-I was only having a joke." He brought the snake out

from. behind his back, dropped it on to the stone flagged floor and

crushed its head under the heel of his riding boot He kicked it away

against the wall, then with an impatient gesture he brushed the black

curls from his forehead and made to leave the room. Ruth stepped

across to block his path.

"Nannie, take Miss Storm back to the house." Gently Ruth handed the

child to the Zulu nursemaid and closed the door after them and slid the

bolt across.

Now it was darker in the room, two square shafts of sunlight filled

with moving dust motes fell from the high windows, and the quiet was

spoiled only by the sound of Ruth's laboured breathing.

"I was only having a joke," Dirk repeated, and grinned defiance at her.

"I suppose you'll run and tell my father?"

The walls of the room were studded with wooden pegs from which were

suspended the harness and saddlery. Beside the door hung Sean's

raw-hide stock whips eight foot of braided leather tapering from the

butt handle into nothingness. Ruth lifted one down from the rack and

flicked the lash out to lie upon the floor between them.

"No, Dirk, I'm not going to tell your father. This thing is between

you and me alone.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to settle it."

"How?" Still grinning, he placed his hands on his hips. Beneath

rolled sleeves his upper arms bulged smooth and brown as though they

had been freshly oiled.

"Like this," Ruth flicked her skirt aside and stepped forward, using

the whip underhand she sent the lash snaking out to coil around Dirk's

ankle and immediately she jerked back on it.

Taken completely off balance, Dirk went over backwards. His head hit

the wall as he fel and he lay stunned.

To give herself space in which to wield the whip, Ruth moved into the

centre of the room. Her anger was cold as dry ice, it gave strength to

arms already finely muscled from riding, and it seared away all mercy.

Now she was a female animal fighting for the survival of herself and

her child.

She had learned to use a stock whip in the process of becoming an

expert horsewoman, and her first blow split Dirk's shirt from the

shoulder to the waist. He shouted with anger and rolled on to his

knees. The next blow cut down from the base of his neck along his

spine, paralysing him in the act of rising. The next, across the back

of both knees, knocked his legs out from under him.

On his belly Dirk reached for the pitchfork against the wall, but

braided leather exploded around his wrist. He shouted again and rolled

on his side to nurse the hand against his chest.

Ruth hit him and he writhed across the floor towards her like a wounded

leopard with its hindquarters shattered by buckshot.

Step by step Ruth retreated before him, and the long lash hissed and

cracked.

Without mercy she beat him until his shirt hung in tatters from his

waist and shoulders, exposing the smooth white skin with the fat

crimson welts superimposed upon it.

She beat him until his shouts turned to shrieks and finally to

sobbing.

She beat him until he lay shivering, moaning, moving feebly with his

blood sprinkled in dark blobs on the stone paving around him.

Then she folded the whip and turned to open the door. In the stable

yard, standing in silent curiosity, were gathered a the grooms and the

household servants.

Ruth selected four of them.

"Take the Nkosikana to his room."

Then to one of the grooms" "Ride to the Nkosi. Tell him to come

quickly."

Sean came quickly; he came wild with anxiety and nearly tore the door

off Dirk's bedroom in his haste. He stopped dead on the threshold and

stared aghast at Dirk's back.

Stripped to the waist, Dirk lay face downwards on his bed and Ruth

worked over him with a sponge. On the table beside her stood a

steaming basin and the pungent reek of antiseptic filled the room.

"Good God! What happened to him?"

"I beat him with a stock whip- Ruth answered him calmly and Sean gaped

at her, then dropped his gaze to Dirk

"You did that?"

"Yes.

The anger tightened Sean's mouth.

"Jesus God! You've cut him to pieces. You've half killed him.

" And he glanced at Ruth. "Why?"

"It was necessary." The absolute assurance and lack of remorse in her

reply confused Sean. He was suddenly uncertain in his anger.

"What did he do?"

"I can't tell you that. It is something private between us. You must

ask Dirk. " Sean crossed quickly to the bed and knelt beside it.

"Dirk. Dirkie, my boy, what happened? What did you do?"

And Dirk lifted his face from the pillow and looked at his father, "It

was a mistake. It doesn't matter. " Then he buried his face in the

pillow once more, and his voice was muffled, so Sean had excuse for not

believing that he had heard correctly.

"What did you say?" he demanded, and there was a short delay before

Dirk replied quite distinctly.

"I said-it was my fault. " "That's what I thought you said. " Sean

stood up with a puzzled expression on his face. "Well, I don't know

why you sent for me, Ruth. You seem to have the situation fairly well

in hand.

He moved to the door, looked back as though he were going to speak,

then, changing his mind, he shook his head and went out.

That night in the quiet, exhausted minutes before sleep, Sean murmured

against her cheek,

"I think you did today what I should have done years ago. " And then,

with a sleepy chuckle,

"At least the res no doubt in anyone's mind as to who is the mistress

of Lion Kop.

There was a guileless simplicity in Sean's approach to life-in his mind

any problem when met with direct action disintegrated.

If you became obsessed with a woman, you tumbled her. If that didn't

produce the desired effect, then you married her.

If you wanted a piece of land or a horse or a house or a gold mine,

then you paid your money and took it. If you didn't have the money,

you went out and found it.

If you liked a man, you drank with him, hunted with him, laughed

together If you disliked him, you either punched him in the head or

subjected him to a ponderous sarcasm and mockery. Either way you left

him in no doubt of your feelings.

When a son got out of hand you whaled the tripe out of him, then gave

him an expensive present to demonstrate your affection. Now he

admitted he had been tardy in the matter of Dirk; but Ruth had done a

most effective job. It only remained for him to call Dirk into the

study and shout at him a little. A week later he returned from a trip

to Pietermaritzburg and with an embarrassed scowl presented to Dirk his

peace offerings. The first was a brass-bound leather case, which

contained a hand-made shotgun by Greener of London; tooled silver

inlay, glossy walnut stock and butt, and interchangeable Damascus

barrels. The other was a two-year-old filly from the Huguenot stud at

Worcester in the Cape. By Sun Lord out of Harvest Dance, Sun Dancer

was an animal of the most distinguished blood in Africa and of

surpassing beauty and speed. Sean paid a thousand guineas for her and

considered he had got the best of the bargain.

As far as he was concerned there was no longer any problem with Dirk,

and Sean could devote all his energy to furthering the three major

ventures in which he was engaged.

Firstly, there was the matter of putting Ruth with child. Here he had

her wholehearted co-operation. But their efforts, apart from providing

a deal of healthy exercise and pleasure, were singularly unproductive.

Sean remembered the deadly skill he had shown in their first encounter

and was puzzled. Ruth suggested they keep in training until the rainy

season began; she had developed a superstitious belief in the power of

thunder. On one of his trips to Pietermaritzburg Sean saw a carved

wooden statue of Thor in a junk dealer's window. He bought it for her,