The Sound of Thunder

and from then on the god stood on their bedside table clutching his

hammer and overlooking their strivings with such a knowing expression

that at last Ruth turned him face to the wall.

Then there was Michael's Thnnin Extract Plant. He had resorted to a

piece of underhand villainy that shocked Sean and, he professed, killed

his belief in the essential decency of mankind. Michael had visited

each of the new growers along the valley, men who had followed Sean's

lead in the planting of wattle, and after swearing them to secrecy had

offered them shares in the Company. They were enthusiastic and with

Michael at the head they visited Lion Kop in formal deputation.

The meeting was conducted with so much verbal thunder and lightning

thrown about that the Great God Thor might have been in the Chair. At

the end Sean, who had teased the idea all the months since Michael had

approached him and who was now as enthusiastic as any of them, allowed

himself to be persuaded.

He spoke for seventy per cent of the shares and the balance was

allotted to the other growers. A Board of Directors, with Sean as

Chairman, was elected and the Accountant was instructed to proceed with

the registration of The Ladyburg Wattle Cooperative Ltd. For the first

time Sean exercised his majority vote to crush the misgivings of the

other shareholders and appoint Michael Courtney as Plant Engineer.

Then, with an older director to act as a steadying influence, Michael

was put aboard the next Union Castle mail ship for England, a letter of

authority in his pocket and Sean's warnings and words of wisdom in his

head. Remembering himself at the age of twenty-three, Sean decided it

necessary to point out to Michael that he was being sent to London to

buy machinery and increase his knowledge of it, not to populate the

British Isles nor to tour their hostelries and gaming establishments.

There was swift reaction from Jackson at Natal Wattle, who regretted

that the contracts between the Valley growers and his company would not

be renewed-and that owing to heavy demands from elsewhere he could no

longer supply seed or saplings. But Sean's seed beds were now well

enough established to meet the needs of the whole valley-and, with

luck, their plant would be in production by the beginning of the next

cutting season.

Before Michael and his chaperon returned flushed with the success of

their mission, Sean had another visitor. Jan Paulus Leroux, weary of

the three-year argument he and Sean had conducted with the aid of the

postal authority, arrived at Ladyburg and expressed his intention of

staying until Sean agreed to head the Natal branch of the South African

Party and to contest the Ladyburg seat at the next Legislative Assembly

elections. Two weeks later, after he and Sean had hunted and killed a

number of guinea-fowl, pheasant and bush buck; had consumed huge

quantities of coffee and more moderate quantities of brandy; had talked

each other hoarse and had closed the last gap between them, Jan Paulus

left on the Johannesburg train with the parting words: "Toe Maar! It

is settled then."

The South African Party's platform was a Federation of the Cape, the

Transvaal, the Orange Free State and Natal, under government

responsible to Whitehall. It was opposed by extreme English and Dutch

opinion-the jingoes who shouted

"God Save the King," and the Republicans who wanted the Almighty to

treat the King differently.

After meeting with the men on the list Jan Paulus had given him, Sean

began the campaign. His first convert was Ruth Courtney, won over by

the prospect of the excitement associated with an election battle

rather than by Sean's oratory. Now a week or more of every month was

spent in travelling about Natal to attend political gatherings. Ruth

rehearsed Sean in his speech he had only one-until he was word perfect.

She kissed the babies and played hostess to the wives, tasks in which

Sean showed no special aptitude. She sat beside him on the platform

and restrained him from going down into the audience to engage in

hand-to-hand combat with hecklers. The way she smiled and the way she

walked certainly lost no votes for the South African Party. From

London Lord Caisterbrook promised his support, and it looked as though

Sean could count on twenty-two seats out of the Assemblys thirty.

On the level ground below the escarpment, nearby the Baboon Stroom, lay

the plant of the Ladyburg Wattle Co-operative Maine Bob wok shape. It

covered ten acres of ground and beyond the cottages of the employees

were laid out in neat blocks.

Despite Michael's vehement protests, Sean bowed to the will of his

fellow directors and a consulting engineer was employed until such time

as the plant was in production. Without him they would have lost a

year's harvest of bark, for although Michael was eager and tireless,

yet he was a young man with no practical experience. Even with the

older man to help him, the plant was still a long way from ready before

the season's cutting began.

When at last the tall silver smoke stack began spewing smoke and the

furnaces lit the night with a satanic glow, there were thousands of

tons of bark piled up in the open-sided warehouses around the

factory.

It was a wonderful season. Good rains had filled the bark with rich

sap and when the year ended the Co-operative had shown a profit of ten

thousand pounds on its first year's operation Lion Kop Estates a profit

four times greater. Sean had been in and out of debt as swiftly as a

small boy visits the bathroom when sent to wash his face.

Despite the good rains, there were only three spectacular storms that

summer. On each occasion Sean was away from Lion Kop on business.

While the lightning leapt across the hills and the hammer strokes of

thunder broke over the valley, Ruth stood at the window of their

bedroom and lamented another wasted opportunity. Mbejane did much

better-all his seed brought forth fruit and he reaped four fat sons

that season.

It was a busy year for Dirk Courtney also. After his resounding defeat

at the thin end of the stock whip Dirk and Ruth fell into a state of

wary neutrality-but he conceded control of Lion Kop to her.

Storm Courtney he ignored unless she was in Sean's lap or initial

riding on his shoulder. Then he watched them covertly until he could

find an excuse to interrupt their play or to get away from Lion Kop.

His absences became more frequent; there were trips to Pietermaritzburg

and the surrounding districts to play rugby and polo; there were

mysterious night excursions to Ladyburg, and in the day he rode away at

dawn each morning, Sean believed he rode to school until he received a

note from the headmaster asking him to call.

After showing him the attendance register and a copy of Dirk's academic

record, the headmaster leaned back in his chair and waited for Sean's

comments.

"Not so good, hey?"

"I agree, Mr. Courtney. Not so good."

"Couldn't we send him to a boarding establishment somewhere, Mr.

Besant?"

"Yes, you could do that," Besant agreed dubiously, "but would it serve

any real purpose-apart from providing him with expert coaching in rugby

football?"

"How else will he get his University entrance?" Sean was impressed

with what higher education had done for Michael. He looked upon it as

a sovereign alchemy for all the ills of youth.

"Mr. Courtney . . . " The headmaster hesitated delicately.

He had heard of Sean's temper and did not want a personal demonstration

of it. "Some young men are not really suited for University training.

" "I want Dirk to go," Sean interjected.

"I doubt that either Stellenbosch or Cape Town Universities share your

ambitions. " The schoolroom manner re-asserted itself for a moment,

and Besant spoke with dry sarcasm.

"You mean he's stupid?" Sean demanded.

"No, no. " Hurriedly Besant soothed him. "It'sjust that lies not,

shall we say, academically inclined.

Sean pondered on that awhile. It seemed a very nice distinction, but

he let it go and asked: "Well, what do you suggest?"

Besant's suggestion was that Dirk Courtney get the hell out of his

school-but he phrased it gently.

"Although Dirk is only sixteen-he is very mature for his age. Say you

were to start him at the Wattle Company . . . ?"

"You recommend I take him away from school, then?" Sean asked

thoughtfully, and Besant suppressed a sigh of relief.

Dirk Courtney was apprenticed to the foreman boilermaker at the

factory. His first action was to inform his journeyman that he'd be

running this show one day and what was he going to do about it'? That

gentleman, forewarned by Dirk's reputation, regarded him dolefully,

spat a long squirt of tobacco juice an inch It from Dirk's gleaming

toecap, and replied at some length. He then pointed to a kettle on the

workshop forge and told Dirk to make him a cup of coffee, and while he

was about it to remove his thumb from his posterior orifice. Within a

week the two of them were cronies and the man, whose name was Archibald

Frederick Longworthy, began to instruct Dirk in arts other than the

fabrication of steel plate Archy was thirty-six years old. He had come

out to Africa after completing a five-year term in Leavenworth Prison

for the intriguing offence of Crimen Injuria-and when he explained the

meaning Dirk was delighted.

Archy introduced Dirk to one of his friends, Hazel, a plump and

friendly girl who worked at the Ladyburg Hotel as a barmaid and

dispensed her favours in the same cheerful manner that she did her

liquor-but Dirk quickly became her favourite, and he learned some

pretty little tricks from her.

Shrewdly, Archibald Longworthy examined the situation and decided that

nothing but profit could come from friendship with Sean Courtney's

heir. Besides which the boy was a lot of fun.

He could tumble a tart and swig gin with the best of them-also he had a

seemingly inexhaustible supply of sovereigns.

In exchange Dirk hero-worshipped Archy, diverting much of his feelings

from his father to his first real friend. Ignoring the grey wrists and

neck which bespoke Archy's disaffection for soap and water, the pale

wispy hair through which pink scalp showed, ignoring also the black

tooth in the front of his mouth Dirk invested him with the glamour and

excitement of an old time pirate.

When Dirk found himself to be suffering from a painless but

evil-smelling condition, it was Archy who assured him it was only

"whites" and went with him to a doctor in Pieten-naritzburg. On the

train coming home they planned their revenge with much laughter,

comradely banter-and rising anticipation.

Hazel was surprised to see them in the middle of a Sunday afternoon,

she sat up quickly as they came into her room overlooking the back yard

of the hotel.

"Dirkie, you shouldn't come here in the daytime-your Pa will find out.

It was warm in the shabby little room, and the smell of cheap went and

a half-filled chamber-pot blended harshly with the odour of female

perspiration. Hazel's thin chemise clung damply to her body and

outlined the heavy hang of her breasts and the deep lateral fb1d around

the level of her navel.

There were dark smudges below her eyes and a curl was sweat plastered

down her cheek where the pillow had left little creases in the skin.

The two of them stood in the doorway and grinned at her, from many

experiences Hazel recognized the wolfish eagerness those grins

masked.

"What do you want?" Suddenly she was afraid and instinctively she

covered the deep cleft of her bosom with one hand.

"Dirkie here wants to have a little chat with you. " Carefully Archy

closed the door and turned the key in the lock, then he ambled towards

the bed. Manual labor had sheathed his arms in hard, knotty muscle and

the hands that hung at his sides were disproportionately large and

coated with coarse, blond hair.

"You keep away from me, Archy Longworthy. " Hazel swung her legs off

the bed, the chemise pulled up to expose fat white thighs. "I don't

want no trouble, you just leave me alone. " "You give Dirkie here a

clap. Now Diride here is my friend and he don't like what you give

him. " "I didn't" It couldn't have been me. I'm clean-I tell you."

She stood up, still holding the front of her chemise closed and backed

away before him. "You keep away from me." Then as Archy jumped

forward,

"No-don't! I'll . "And she opened her mouth to scream, but Archy's

hand closed over it like a great hairy spider. She struggled

desperately, clawing at the hand over her face.

"Come on, Dirk. " Archy chuckled, as he held her easily with one arm

around her waist. Uncertainly Dirk hesitated at the door, no longer

grinning.

"Come on, man. I'll hold her." With a sudden swing of his arm Archy

hurled the girl face down on the bed, then jumped across to keep her

mouth smothered in the pillow. "Come on, Dirk, use this!" With his

free hand Archy unbuckled the wide belt he wore. The leather was

studded with blunt metal spikes.

"Double it over!"

"Hell's teeth, Arch-you reckon we should?" Dirk still hesitated, the

belt hanging limply from his hands.

"You scared, or something?" And Dirk's mouth hardened at the gibe. He

stepped forward and swung the belt in a full overarm stroke across the

wriggling body. Hazel froze at the sting of it and she gasped

explosively into the pillow.

"That's the stuff-hold on a second!" Archy hooked his thumb into the

thin fabric of her chemise and ripped it down from the shoulder-blades

to the hem. Her fat woman's buttocks bulged through, dimpled and

white. "Now, give it hell!"

Again Dirk lifted the heavy doubled leather, he stood poised like that

while a sensation of giddy power buoyed him upwards to the level of the

gods, then he swung his body down into the next stroke.

"He's unopposed," Ronny Pye murmured, and beside him Garrick Courtney

stirred uneasily.

"Have you heard him speak?" Ronny persisted.

"No.

"He wants to throw in Natal with that bunch of Dutchmen up in the Free

State and Transvaal.

"Yes, I know."

"Do you agree with him?"

Garry was silent, he seemed to be engrossed with the antics of the

small herd of foals in the paddock in front of them as they chased each

other on legs that seemed to have too many joints, clumsy in their

fluffy baby coats.

"I'm sending twenty yearlings up to the show sales in

Pietermaritzburg--should average about four, five hundred a head

because they're all first-class animals. Be able to let you have a

sizeable payment on the bond. " "Don't worry about that now, Garry. I

didn't come out here looking for money. " Ronny offered his

cigar-case, and when Garry refused he selected one himself and began

preparing it carefully. "Do you agree with this idea of a Union?"

"No.

"Why not?" Ronny did not look up from his cigar, he did not want to

show his eagerness prematurely.

"I fought them-Leroux, Niemand, Botha, Smuts. I fought them-and we

won. Now they're sitting up there in Pretoria calmly plotting to take

over the whole country-not just the Free State and Transvaal, but Natal

and the Cape as well. Any Englishman who helps them is a traitor to

his King and his country.

He should be put against the wall and shot.

"Quite a few people round here think that way-quite a few.

And yet no one is opposing Sean Courtney-he's just going to walk into

the Assembly. " Garry turned and began limping slowly along the

paddock fence towards the stables, and Ronny fell in beside him.

"Seems to me and the others we need a good man to put against

him-someone with a lot of prestige. Good war record, man who has

written a book and knows what's going on-knows how to use words. If we

could find someone like that, then we'd be happy to put up the expense

money. " He struck a match and waited for the sulphur to clear before

he lit his cigar and spoke through the smoke. "Only three months to

election time-we got to get organized right away. He's holding a

meeting at the schoolhouse next week-" Sean's political campaign, which

had been ambling along mildly without causing much interest, suddenly

took on new dramatic quality.

His first meeting in Ladyburg was attended by most of the local

population-all of them so starved for entertainment that they were

prepared to listen to Sean reel off the little speech that they had

already read reported verbatim in most of the Natal newspapers. With

hardy optimism they hoped that question time Might be more

rewarding-and some of them had prepared queties on such momentous

matters as the price of hunting licenses, the public library system,

and the control of foot and mouth disease. At the very least it was an

opportunity to meet friends from the outlying areas.

But, apart from Sean's employees, friends and neighbours, others

arrived at the schoolhouse and filled the first two rows of desks. All

of them were young men Sean had never seen before, and he eyed them

with heavy disapproval while they laughed and joked loudly during the

preliminaries.

"Where did this bunch come from?" he demanded of the Chairman.

"They came in on the afternoon train-all in one party."

"Seems as though they're looking for trouble." Grimly Sean sensed in

them the slightly feverish excitement of men steeling themselves to

violence. "Most of them have been on the bottle.

"Now, Sean." Ruth leaned across and laid her hand on his knee.

"You must promise not to get worked up. Don't antagonize them."

Sean opened his mouth to reply, then left it like that as Garry

Courtney came in through the crowd around the doorway and moved across

to sit with Ronny Pye in the back row.

"Close your mouth, darling," Ruth murmured and Sean obeyed, then smiled

and waved a greeting to his brother. Garry replied with a nod, and

immediately fell into deep discussion with Ronnie Pye.

Amid coughing and feet shuffling the Chairman rose to introduce Sean to

men who had been his schoolmates, who had drunk his brandy and hunted

with him. He went on to tell them how Sean had won the Anglo-Boer war

virtually single-handed, how he had brought prosperity to the district

with his factory and his wattle. Then he ended with a few remarks that

had Sean squirming in his seat and trying to get two fingers into his

collar.

"So, ladies and gentlemen of our fair district-I give you a man of

vision and foresight, a man with a heart as big as his fists-your

candidate and mine, Colonel Sean Courtney!"

Sean stood up smiling, to be rocked by a blast of. jeers and catcalls

from the front rows. The smile faded and his fists curled into great

bony hammers on the table in front of him. He scowled down on them,

beginning to sweat with anger. A light tug on the tail of his coat

steadied him and his fists opened a little. He began to speak,

bellowing above the shouts of

"Sit down!" " "Speak up!" "Give him a chance! " "Stand down!" and

the thunder of booted feet stamping in unison on the wooden floor.

Three times in the uproar he lost the run of his speech and had to turn

to Ruth for prompting, scarlet in the face with anger and

mortification, while waves of derisive laughter broke over him. He

ended up reading out the last half from his notebook it made little

difference that he stumbled and lost his place repeatedly for no one

more than three feet away could hear a word.

He sat down and a sudden silence descended on the hall, an air Oft'L of

expectancy that made Sean realize that this must have been carefully

planned-and that the main entertainment was still to follow.

"Mr. Courtney. " At the back of the hall Garry Courtney was on his

feet, and every head was craned around towards him.

"May I ask you a few questions?"

Sean nodded slowly. So that is it! Garry planned this reception.

"My first question, then. Can you tell us what the name is for a man

who sells his country to the enemies of his King?"

"Traitor!" howled the hecklers.

"Boer!" They stood up in a mass and roared at him. The pandemonium

lasted perhaps five minutes.

"I'm taking you out of here," Sean whispered to Ruth and reached for

her arm, but she pulled away.

"No, I'm staying."

"Come on, do as I tell you. This is going to get rough."

"You'll have to carry me out first," she flared at him, angry and

beautiful.

Sean was about to accept the challenge, when suddenly the uproar ceased

abruptly. Again, all heads turned towards Garrick Courtney, where he

stood ready with his next question. In the silence he grinned

maliciously.

"One other thing, do you mind telling us the nationality and faith of

your wife?"

Sean's head jerked back. He felt the sickening physical jolt of it in

his stomach, and he started to struggle to his feet. But Ruth was

already standing, and she laid a hand on his shoulder to prevent him

rising.

"I think I will answer that one, Garry." She spoke clearly with just a

trace of huskiness in her voice

"I am a Jewess."

The silence persisted. Still with her hand on Sean's shoulder,

standing straight and proud beside him, she held Garry's stare across

the room. Garry broke first. Flushing up along his neck, he dropped

his eyes and shifted clumsily on his bad leg. Among the men in the

front rows the same guilty reaction followed her words. They glanced

at each other and then away, moving awkwardly in shame. A man stood

up, and started down the aisle towards the door. Half-way there he

stopped and turned.

"Sorry, Missus. I didn't know there'd be any of that," and he went on

towards the door. As he passed Ronny Pye he tossed a sovereign into

his lap. Another man stood up, grinned uneasily at Ruth and hurried

out. Then in twos and threes the others followed him. The last of

them trooped out in a bunch, and Sean noted with relish that not all of

them returned Ronny's sovereigns.

At the end of the schoolroom Garry dithered, uncertain whether to leave

or to stay and attempt to brazen his way out of a situation he had

seriously misjudged.

Sean stood up slowly and encircled Ruth's waist with one arm, he

cleared his throat for it was choked with his pride of her.

"Not only that," he called, "but she's one of the best goddamned cooks

in the district also. " In the laughter and cheers that followed Garry

stumbled and pushed his way out of the room.

The following day Garrick Courtney announced his intention of

contesting the Ladyburg seat as an Independent, but not even the

Loyalist newspapers gave him an outside chance of winning-until six

weeks before polling-day.

On that evening, long after dark, Dirk hitched Sun Dancer at the rail

outside the hotel. After he had loosened the girth and slipped the bit

from her mouth, he left her to drink at the trough and went up onto the

sidewalk. As he sauntered past the bar he peered in through the large

window with its gold-and-red-lettered slogan,

"Got a thirst, drink a Goldberg Beer!"

Quickly he checked the clientele at the bar for informers.

There were none of his father's foremen-they were always dangerous, nor

were Messrs. Petersen or Pye or Erasmus present this evening. He

recognized two of the factory mechanics, a couple of railway gangers, a

bank clerk, a counter-hand from the Co-operative Society among the

half-dozen strangers-and he decided that it was safe.

None of these ranked high enough in Ladyburg society to carry news to

Sean Courtney of his son's drinking habits.

Dirk walked to the end of the block, paused there for a few seconds,

and then strolled casually back. But his eyes were restlessly checking

the shadows for tale carriers. Tonight the main street was deserted,

and as he came level with the swing doors of the bar he stepped

sideways through them and into the warm yellow lamplight of the saloon.

He loved this atmosphere-he loved the smell of sawdust, liquor, tobacco

smoke and men. It was a place of men. A place of rough voices and

laughter, of crude humour and companionship.

A few of the men along the bar glanced up as he entered.

"Hey, Dirk!"

"We've missed you-where have you been all week?" Dirk returned Archy's

greeting self-consciously and when he walked to take the stool beside

him at the end of the bar counter he held himself erect and swaggered a

little-for this was a place of men,

"Good evening, Dirk.

What will it be?" The barman hurried across to him.

"Hello, Henry-is it all right tonight?" Dirk dropped his voice to a

whisper.

"Should be-we aren't expecting any snoopers," Henry reassured him.

"But the door behind you isn't locked."

Dirk's seat in the corner had been selected with care. From it he

could survey each newcomer to the room while being screened himself by

the drinkers along the counter. Behind him a door led through the wash

up into the back yard-a necessary precaution when you're seventeen and

both the law and your father forbid you liquor.

"Very well, then-give me the usual," Dirk nodded.

"You're out late tonight," Henry remarked as he poured gin into a

tumbler and filled it with bottled ginger beer "You been out hunting

again?" Henry was a small man in his early fifties, with a pale un

sunned face and little blue eyes, and now as he asked the question he

winked one of them at Archy Longworthy.

"Did you get it tonight?" Archy took over the catechism.

Dirk laid a finger along the side of his nose. "What do you think?" He

grinned and they all laughed delightedly.

""Who was it? Madame?" Archy drew him out, playing for the other

listeners, who were leaning forward still chuckling.

"Oh, her! " Dirk shrugged contemptuously. Madame was the code name of

the wife of one of the railway drivers. Her husband ran the night

train to Pietermaritzburg every alternate day. She was not considered

much of a conquest.

"Who then?" Henry kidded softly.

"I'll let you know when I'm finished nesting there myself," Dirk

promised.

"A pretty one?" they insisted. "Young, hey?"

"She's all right-not too bad." Dirk tasted his gin.

"Man, you get so much you don't hardly "preciate it any more,"

Archy chided him, grinning at his audience, and Dirk bridled with

pleasure. "Come on, Dirk-tell us, man. Is she hot? " For answer Dirk

extended one finger cautiously and touched his glass, hissed sharply as

though he had touched red hot steel and jerked his hand back with an

exclamation of pain. They roared with appreciation and Dirk laughed

with them, flushing, eager for their acceptance.

I've us the story-" Henry insisted. "You don't have to give us the

name, just give us the details. Where did you take her?"

"Well-" Dirk hesitated.

"Come on, Dirk. Tell us about it."

And of course he obliged. Telling it in detail so that the indulgent

quality of their laughter changed and they leaned closer to him

listening hungrily.

"Jesus! Did she say that?"

"Then what did you do?" they encouraged him.

And Dirk told them. He was a natural storyteller and he built up the

suspense until there was a small island of attentive silence around

him. But the rest of the bar-room was louder with laughter and voices

than it had been when he entered. One group in particular were feeling

their liquor.

--So I took her hand," Dirk went on, "and I said,

"Now I've got a little surprise for you. " "What is it?" she asked,

as though she didn't know. "Close your eyes and I'll show you." I

told her . And a voice rang loudly from across the room: --You take

that big ugly bastard Courtney. What does he do except drive around in

a big motor-car and make speeches.

Dirk stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked up. Suddenly his

face was pale. The man who had spoken was one of the group at the far

end of the bar. He was dressed in a shabby over-all of blue denim.

A man no longer young, with the lines of hardship etched deep around

his eyes and mouth.

"You know who gives him his money? I tell you-we give it to him.

Without these he'd be finished-he wouldn't last a month." The man held

up his hands, they were calloused and the nails were split and ragged,

encrusted with dark semicircles of dirt. "That's where he gets his

money. Colonel Bloody Courtney. Dirk was staring across at the

speaker; his hands lay clenched on the counter in front of him.

Now suddenly the room was very quiet-so that the man's next words

seemed even louder.

"You know what he pays,- thirty-two pounds a month top journeyman's

wages! Thirty-two pounds a month!"

"The minimum rate is twenty-five-" one of his companions observed

dryly. "I reckon you're free to move on to a better job-if you can

find it. Me, I'll stay on here. " "That's not the point. That big

idle bastard's making a fortune out of us-I reckon he can afford to pay

more. I reckon . . . " "Do you reckon you're worth that much?" Dirk

jumped up from his stool and shouted the question down the length of

the counter. There was a stir of interest and every head turned

towards him.

"Leave him, Dirk, he's drunk. Don't start anything," Henry whispered

in agitation, and then raising his voice and turning to the other,

"You've had enough, Norman. Time you were on your way. Your old lady

will be waiting dinner for you."

"Good God!" the man was peering in Dirk's direction, his eyes focusing

blearily.

"Good God! It's Courtney's pup."

And Dirk's face set into nervous rigidity. He began to walk slowly

down the room towards the man.

"Leave him, Dirk." To restrain him Archy caught his arm as he passed.

But Dirk shrugged it off.

"You insulted my father. You called him a bastard!"

"That's right." Norman nodded. "Your daddy's a bastard all right.

Your daddy's a big lucky bastard who's never done a full day's work in

his life-a big, lucky, bloodsucking bastard. And he's whelped an

equally useless pup, who spends his time .

Dirk hit him in the mouth, and he went over backwards off the stool,

flailing his arms as he fell. He hit the floor with his shoulders and

rolled on to his knees spitting blood and a broken tooth from his

mouth.

"You little bastard-- he mouthed through the blood. Dirk stepped

forward with his left foot and swung his boot with the whole weight of

his body behind it. The toe of his boot thudded into the man's chest

and flung him on to his back.

,

"Christ, stop him," shouted Henry from behind the bar. But they sat

paralyzed as Dirk stooped for the bar stool, lifted it above his head

and then brought it down, swinging his body with it as though he were

chopping a log. The heavy wooden seat hit the man in the centre of his

forehead, it hit solidly for the back of his head was against the floor

and could not give with the blow. It split his skull cleanly and twin

spurts of blood shot from his nostrils into the sawdust on the floor.

"You've killed him. " A single voice broke the long silence that

followed.

"Yes." Dirk agreed. I've killed him. I've killed a man. It sang

within him savagely. It came up and filled his chest so that he could

hardly breathe. And he stood over the corpse not wanting to miss a

moment of it. He felt his legs trembling under him, the muscles of his

cheeks so tight with excitement they felt they must tear.

"Yes, I killed him. " His voice was choked with the violence of the

pleasure that gripped him. His vision narrowed down so that the dead

man's face filled the whole field of it. The forehead was deeply

dented and the eyes bulged from their sockets.

Around him there was a sudden bustle of consternation.

"You'd better send for his father."

"I'm getting out of here!"

"No, stay where you are. Nobody must leave."

"My God, call Doc Fraser."

"Doc's not wanted-get the police."

"He was so quick-like a bloody leopard-"Christ, I'm getting out of

here."

TWo of them stooped over the body.

"Leave him!" snapped Dirk. "Don't touch him.

a young lion of its kill. And instinctively they obeyed. They stood

up and moved away. With them everyone else drew back, leaving Dirk

standing alone.

"Get his father," repeated Henry. "Someone ride out and call Sean

Courtney. " An hour later Sean strode into the room. He wore an

overcoat over his nightshirt and his boots had been pulled hurriedly

over his bare feet. He stopped on the threshold and glared around the

room, his hair in wild disorder from sleep-but when he entered, the

atmosphere in the room changed. The tense silence relaxed and every

face turned eagerly towards him.

"Mr. Courtney-thank God you've come," blurted the young police

constable who was standing beside Dr. Fraser.

"How bad is it, Doc?" Sean asked.

"He's dead, Sean."

"Pa," Dirk started.

"Shut up!" Sean ordered him grimly. "Who is he?" he fired at the

constable.

"Norman Van Eek, one of your fitters from the mill.

"How many witnesses?"

"Fourteen of them, sir. They all saw it."

"Right," Sean ordered, "get the body down to the police station.

You'll be able to take statements from them tomorrow morning.

"What about the accused ... I mean what about your son, sir? " The

constable corrected himself.

"I'll be responsible for him.

"I'm not sure that I shouldn't . He saw the expression on Sean's face.

"Well, that will be all right, I suppose, " he agreed reluctantly.

"Pa . Dirk started again.

"I told you to keep your mouth shut-you've done enough damage for one

night. " Sean spoke without looking at him, then to the barman.

"Fetch a blanket." Then to the police constable,

"Get some of them to help you," and he pointed towards the window which

was lined four deep with curious faces.

"Very well, Mr. Courtney. " After they had shuffled out with the

blanket-wrapped body, Sean glanced significantly at Dr. Fraser.

"I'd better get down there and complete my examination.

"You go ahead," Sean agreed and the doctor packed his bag and went.

Sean closed the door behind him and slammed the shutters across the

window. Then he turned to the men who stood anxious along the bar.

"What happened?" They stirred restlessly and looked everywhere but at

him.

"You, George?" Sean selected one of his mechanics.

"Well, Mr. Courtney your Dirk went up to Norman and hit him off the

stool.

Then he kicked him as he was trying to get up, then he picked up the

stool and hit him with it." The mechanic stumbled hoarsely through his

explanation.

"Did this man provoke him?" Sean demanded.

"Well, he called you a-begging your pardon, Mr. Courtney-he called you

a big, idle, bloodsucking bastard. " Sean frowned quickly. "Did he

now! What else did he say?"

"He said you were a slave owner-that you starved your men.

He said that he was going to get even with you sometime."

Arrhy Longwortby took over the telling of it with a note of

interrogation in his voice as he glanced around at the others for

support. After a few seconds there was a guilty nodding of heads and a

few murmurs of agreement. Archy took courage from it.

"He sort of hinted that he was going to wait for you one night and get

even.

"Did he say that in so many words?" Sean's presence dominated the room

with such an obvious air of authority that when Archy looked again for

support he found it in their faces.

"He said: "One night I'm going to wait for that big bastard then I'll

show him a few things." " Archy gave them the exact words. No one

protested.

"Then what happened?"

"Well then he sort of picked on young Dirk. And "here's Courtney's

brat," he said. "Yellow as his old man, I reckon!

"What did Dirk do?" Sean asked.

"Well, Mr. Courtney, he just laughed-like the gentleman, sort of, nice

and friendly. "Forget it, he said-you've had too much to drink." " A

sudden thought occurred to Sean. "What was Dirk doing in here,

anyway?"

"Well, its like this, Mr. Courtney-a few weeks ago he lent me a couple

of pounds. I asked him to call round here tonight so I could give it

back to him-that's all it was.

"He wasn't drinking then?" Sean asked suspiciously.

"Good Lord, no!" Archy was so obviously shocked at the suggestion that

Sean nodded.

"All right, what happened then? " he pursued,

"Well, Norman went on ribbing him. Called him a coward and all that-I

can't remember the exact words. But at last young Dirk lost his

temper. He walked across and hit him off the stool.

"Well, I guess Norman deserved that-what do you drink, boys?"

Archy looked at them again.

"That's right-fair made my blood boil to hear him picking on Dirk like

that. " The mechanic backed him up and the others murmured

agreement.

"Well, then," Archy took up the tale again,

"Norman's lying on the floor and pulls out his knife." There was a

rustle of astonishment from along the bar. One man opened his mouth

and lifted his hand in protest, but suddenly embarrassed, he carried

the gesture through and massaged his neck.

"Knife. What knife-where's it now?" Sean leaned forward eagerly.

Standing beside him Dirk began to smile softly. When he smiled his

face was beautiful.

"Here's the knife." Henry, the barman, reached under the counter and

brought out a large bone-handled clasp knife. Everybody in the room

stared at it blankly.

"How did it get there?" Sean asked, and now for the first time he was

aware of the sickly guilt-ugly faces in front of him.

He knew then for certain it was a lie.

"I took it off Norman afterwards. We thought it best you should be the

first one to know the truth-you being his father, and all. " Archy

wriggled his shoulders ingratiatingly and smiled around at his

witnesses.

Slowly Sean turned to the man nearest to him, the bank clerk.

"Is this the knife with which Norman Van Eek threatened my son?

"Yes, Mr. Courtney. " The man's voice squeaked unnaturally.

Sean looked at the man beyond him and repeated the question exactly.

"Yes, that's the one, sir.

"That's it."

I

"Yes.

"No doubt about it-that's it."

He asked each man in turn and each answered the same.

"Dirk. " Sean came last to him. He asked it slowly and heavily.

Looking into the clear innocent eyes of his son. "As God is your

witness-did Norman Van Eek draw this knife on you?"

Please, my son, deny it now. Say it so they all can hear you.

If you value my love-tell me the truth now. Please, Dirk, please.

All this he tried to say, tried to convey it with the sheer force of

his gaze.

"As God is my witness, Pa," Dirk answered him and was silent again.

"You have not answered," Sean insisted. Please, my son.

"He drew that knife from the hip pocket of his overalls-the blade was

closed. He opened it with the thumbnail of his left hend, Pa,"

Dirk explained softly. "I tried to kick it out of his hand, but hit

his chest instead. He fell onto his back and I saw him raise the knife

as though he were going to throw it. I hit him with the stool. It was

the only way I could stop him. " All the passion went out of Sean's

face. It was stony and hard.

"Very well, " he said. "We'd better get home now." Then he addressed

the rest of the bar-room. "Thank you, gentlemen."

And he walked out through the door to the Rolls. Dirk followed him

meekly.

The next afternoon Dirk Courtney was released by the local magistrate

into his father's custody on bail of fifty pounds, pending the visit of

the Circuit Court two weeks later, when he was to stand trial on a

charge of manslaughter.

His case was set down at the head of the Court list. The whole

district attended the old, packing the tiny Courthouse and clustering

at each of its windows.

After a retirement of seven minutes the jury brought back its verdict

and Dirk, walking out of the dock, was surrounded by the laughing,

congratulating crowd and borne out into the sunlight.

In the almost deserted Courtroom Sean did not rise from his seat in the

front row of chairs. Peter Aaronson, the defence lawyer Sean had

imported from Pieten-naritzburg, shuffled his papers into his

briefcase, made a joke with the Registrar, then walked across to

Sean.

"In and out again in seven minutes already-that's one for the record

book. " When he smiled he looked like a koala bear.

"Have a cigar, Mr. Courtney. " Sean shook his head and Peter thrust a

disproportionately large cigar into his own mouth and lit it.

"I tell you truly, though, I was worried by the knife business. I

expected trouble there. I didn't like that knife."

"No more did I, " Sean agreed softly, and Peter held his head on one

side examining Sean's face with bright, birdlike eyes.

"But I liked those witnesses-a troupe of performing seals.

"Bark," you say to them-Woof! Woof! Just like magic. Someone trained

them pretty well!"

"I don't think I understand you," Sean said to him grimly, and Peter

shrugged.

"I'll post my account-but I warn you I'm going to hit you with a big

one. Say, five hundred guineas?"

Sean lay back in his seat and looked up at the little lawyer.

"Say, five hundred," he agreed.

"Next time you need representation-I recommend a bright youngster name

of Rolle. Humphrey Rolle," Peter went on.

"You think I'll need a lawyer again?"

"With your boy-you'll need a lawyer, " Peter told him with certainty.

"And you don't want the job?" Sean leaned forward with sudden

interest. "At five hundred guineas a throw?"

"Money I can get anywhere." Peter took the cigar from his mouth and

inspected the fluffy grey ash at its tip. "Remember the name, Mr.

Courtney-Humphrey Rolle. He's a bright boy and not too choosy.

He walked away down the aisle lugging his heavy briefcase, and Sean

stood up and followed him slowly. Pausing on the steps of the

Courthouse he looked across the square. The centre of a small knot of

men, Dirk stood laughing, with Archy's arm around his shoulder. Archy's

voice carried to where Sean stood.

"Don't let any of you get the idea you can tangle with Dirkie

here-you'll end up with your teeth busted clean out the back of your

head. " Archy grinned so that the blackened tooth showed. "I say it

so you can all hear me. Dirkie here is my friend-and I'm proud of

him.

" You alone, thought Sean. He looked at his son and saw how tall he

stood. Shaped like a man-broad in the shoulders with muscle in his

arms, no fat on the belly and long legs dropping away clean from

hips.

But he is only sixteen. He's a child-perhaps there is still time to

prevent him setting hard. Then with truth he knew he was deceiving

himself, and he remembered what a friend had said to him long ago:

"Some grapes grew in the wrong soil, some were diseased before they

went to the press, and others were soiled by a careless vintner-not all

grapes make good wine.

And I am the careless vintner, he thought.

Sean walked across the square. "You're coming home," he told Dirk

harshly, knowing as he looked at the lovely face that he no longer

loved his son. The knowledge nauseated him.

"Congratulations, Colonel. I knew we'd win," Archy Longworthy beamed,

and Sean glanced at him.

"I'll be in my office ten o'clock tomorrow morning. I want to talk to

you! - " "Yes, sir!" grinned Archy happily, but he was not grinning

when he left Ladyburg on the following evening's train with a month's

pay in lieu of notice to compensate him.

With the storm of adverse editorial comment raised by Dirk's trial,

Garry Courtney's chances in the coming election increased

significantly. The jingo press spoke darkly of a "surprise outcome,

which thinking men will welcome as a true assessment of the worth of

the two candidates for the Ladyburg constituency. " Only the Liberal

papers reported the generous pension which the Ladyburg Wattle

Co-operative Co. voted to Norman Van Eek's widow and orphan.

But everyone knew that Sean Courtney was still a long way ahead.

He could be certain of the vote of the two hundred men employed at the

factory and on his estates, the other wattle producers of the valley

and their employees, as well as a good half of the townsfolk and

ranchers-that was until the Pietermaritzburg Farmer & Trader devoted a

full front page to the exclusive story of one Archibald Frederick

Longworthy.

Mr. Longworthy related how, by the threat of physical violence and

loss of employment, he had been forced to pedure himself in court.

How, after the case, he had been summarily dismissed from his work.

The exact nature of his peury was not revealed.

Sean cabled his lawyers in Pietermaritzburg to begin immediate

proceedings against the &rmer & Trader for defamation of character,

libel, contempt, treason, and anything else they could think of. Then,

reckless of his own safety, he climbed into the Rolls and raced at

thirty miles an hour in pursuit of his cable.

He arrived in Pietermaritzburg to find that Mr. Longworthy, after

signing a sworn statement and graciously accepting a payment of fifty

guineas, had departed without leaving a forwarding address. Legal

advice was against Sean visiting the editor of the Farmer & Rader and

laying himself open to a counter-suit of assault and battery. It would

be two months before the defamation trial was heard in court, and the

election was to be held in ten days" time.

All Sean could do was publish a full-page denial in each of the Liberal

papers, then return to Ladyburg at a more sedate pace. There a

telegram awaited him from Pretoria. Jan Paulus and Jan Niemand

suggested that in the circumstances it might be better if Sean withdrew

from nomination. Sean's reply went sizzling back over the wires.

Like a pair in harness, Garry and Sean Courtney swept up to the

polling-day finishing line.

The actual voting took place in the Ladyburg Village Management offices

under the beady eyes of two Government registration officers.

Thereafter, the ballot boxes would be removed to Pietermaritzburg,

where on the following day in the City Hall the votes would be counted

and the official results announced.

On opposite sides of the square the opposing candidates set up the

large marquee tents from which free refreshments would be served to the

voters. Traditionally the candidate who fed the largest number would

be the loser. Nobody wished to put their choice to additional expense,

so they patronized the other man's stall. This day, however, both

candidates served an almost equal amount of food.

It was a day that threatened the approach of the wet season, humid heat

lay trapped beneath grey overcast clouds and the occasional bursts of

sunlight stung like the blast of an open furnace door. Sean, suited

and waist coated sweated with anxiety as he greeted each visitor to his

stall with a booming, false camaraderie. Beside him Ruth looked like a

rose petal, and smelled as sweet. Storm, demure for once, stood

between them.

Dirk was not there-Sean had found work for him on the far side of Lion

Kop. Many sly eyes and snide sallies remarked his absence Ronny Pye

had persuaded Garry not to wear his uniform.

Anna was with him, pretty in mauve and artificial flowers. It was only

at closer range that the ugly little lines around her mouth and eyes,

and the gray hairs that were woven into the shiny black mass of her

hair showed up. Neither she nor Garry let their eyes wander across the

square.

Michael arrived and spoke first with his father, kissed his mother

dutifully, then crossed to resume the argument Sean had broken off the

night before. Michael wanted Sean to buy ten thousand acres of the

coastal lowlands around Tongaat and plant it to sugar-cane. Within a

few minutes he realized that this was not the best time to push his

idea; Sean greeted each of his points with hearty laughter and offered

him a cigar. Discouraged but not resigned, Michael went into the

ballot office and, settling his problem of divided loyalty,

deliberately spoiled his paper.

Then he returned to his office at the wattle factory to whip his sugar

estimates into shape for the next attack on Sean.

Ada Courtney never left the Protea Street cottage all that day.

She had steadfastly denied appeals to join either camp, and refused to

allow any of her girls to help in the preparations. She had prohibited

any political discussion in her house-and ordered Sean to leave when he

had disregarded this rule. Only after Ruth had interceded and Sean had

made an abject apology, was he allowed to return. She disapproved of

the whole business and considered it undignified and common that

members of her family should not only be standing for public office but

actually competing for it. Her deep distrust of and contempt for

officialdom stemmed from the time the Village Board had wanted to place

street lamps along Protea Street.

She had attended their next meeting armed with an umbrella, and in vain

they had tried to convince her that street lights did not attract

mosquitoes.

However, Ada was the only person in the district who did not attend.

From midmorning until polling closed at five o'clock the square was

jammed solid with humanity, and when the sealed ballot boxes were borne

in state to the railway station, many of them climbed on the same train

and went up to Pieten-naritzburg for the official counting.

It had been a day of unremitting nervous tension, so a very short time

after entering their suite in the White Horse Hotel, Ruth and Sean fell

into exhausted sleep in each other's arms.

When, in the early morning a brilliant electrical storm raged down upon

the town, Ruth moved restlessly in her sleep, coming slowly back to

consciousness-and to the realization that she and Sean were already

engaged in the business that had been delayed so long. Sean woke at

the same time and, for the few seconds that it took him to understand

what was happening, was as bewildered as she-then both of them went to

it with a will.

BY dawn Ruth knew that she would bear a son, though Sean felt it was a

little soon to tell for certain.

After bathing, they ate breakfast in bed together with a renewed sense

of intimacy. Ruth in a white silk gown, with her hair loosed into a

shiny mass on her shoulders and her skin glowing as though she had been

freshly scrubbed, was extreme provocation to Sean.

Consequently they arrived late at the City Hall, much to the agitation

of Sean's supporters.

The counting was well advanced. In a roped-off section of the hall

ballot officers sat in silent industry at the tables piled with the

small pink slips of paper. On a placard above each table was printed

the name of the district and the candidates, and between the tables

scrutineers paced watchfully.

The body of the hall was filled with a milling, humming swarm of men

and women. Before it engulfed them Sean caught a glimpse of Garry and

Anna moving through the press, then for the next ten minutes he was

subjected to an orgy of hand-shaking, back-slapping and well

wishes-interrupted by a bell and a complete silence.

"The result for the legislative assembly seat of Newcastle .

a high thin voice announced in the hush Mr. Robert Sanipson 986 votes.

Mr. Edward Sutton 423 votes . And the rest was lost in a burst of

cheers and groans. Sampson was the South African Party candidate, and

Sean fought his way through the pack that surrounded him.

"Well done, you old son of a gun," shouted Sean and beat him between

the shoulder-blades.

"Thanks, Sean. It looks as though we are home and dry-I never expected

a majority that size!" and they wrung each other's hands

deliriously.

The morning went on with intervals of excited, buzzing ten exploding

into applause as each result was announced.

Sean's confidence rose as his party captured each seat they had

expected, and one that they were resigned to lose-but then the bell

rang again and in the satire impersonal tone the Chief Registration

Officer at last announced: "The resuk for the legislative assembly seat

of Ladyburg and the lower lbgela-" he felt the cold emptiness of

apprehension in his stomach, and his breath burning up the back of his

throat.

Standing beside him he could sense the rigidity of Ruth's body and he

groped for her hand.

"Colonel Garrick Courtney 638 votes. Colonel Sean Courtney 631

votes."

Ruth's hand squeezed hard, but Sean did not reply to the pressure.

The two of them stood very still, a tiny island of quiet in the surge

and roar-in the triumphant cheers and despairing groans-until Sean said

softly: "I think we'll go back to the hotel, my dear.

"Yes," she answered as softly, and the sound of her voice was helpless

pity. Together they started across the floor and a way opened for

them. A passage lined by faces that bore expressions of regret,

happiness, curiosity, indifference and triumphant malice.

Out into the sunlight and across the street to the rank of hire cabs

they walked together, while behind them the uproar was muted-sounding

at this distance like the voices of wild animals.

Sean handed Ruth up into the coach and was about to join her before he

remembered what there was still to be done. He spoke to the driver and

gave him money before coming back to Ruth.

"Please wait for me at the hotel, my dear. " "Where are you going?"

"I must offer Garry our congratulations.

Through the screen of bodies that surrounded him Garry saw Sean

approaching, and he felt his body tensing involuntarily racked by that

conflict of hatred and love he bore for this man.

Sean stopped in front of him and smiled. "Well done, Garry!"

he said and offered his right hand. "You beat me in a hard straight

fight-and I'd like to shake your hand. " Garry took the words up with

temerity, examined them with growing realization of their meaning and

found that they were true. He had fought Sean and beaten him. This

was something that could not be destroyed-something that Sean could

never take away from him. I've beaten him. For the first time-the

very first time in all my life" It was an emotional orgasm so intense

that for a long moment Garry could not move or make any reply.

"Sean . . ." His voice choked up. He caught Sean's outstretched hand

in both of his and held it with desperate strength.

"Sean, perhaps now . . . " he whispered,

"I'd like to . . . I mean, when we get back to Ladyburg . . . " Then

he stopped and blushed scarlet with embarrassment. Quickly he released

Sean's hand and stepped back. "I thought you might like to come out to

Theuniskraal,"

he mumbled, "some day when you're not busy. Look around the old

place.

" Then more eagerly,

"It's been a long time. I've still got Pa's old . . . " "Never!" Anna

Courtney hissed the word. Neither of them had noticed her cross the

hall, but now she appeared suddenly at Garry's side. Her eyes were

bright gems of hatred set in their patterns of wrinkles, and her face

was white as she glared at Sean.

"Never," she hissed again, and took Garry's arm. "Come with me," she

commanded, and Garry followed her meekly.

But he glanced back at where Sean still stood, and there was a

desperate plea in his eyes. A plea for understanding, for forgiveness

of this weakness.

Like one who lives in a hurricane belt, and recognizes the shape of

clouds and the breathless hush that precedes high wind-Ruth knew she

would have to deal with the brooding undirected rage which would be

Sean's reaction to this failure of his plans. His moods came at widely

spaced intervals and did not last long-but she feared those moods of

his, and like the prudent householder forewarned of the hurricane's

approach, she took precautions to minimize its wrath.

When she reached the hotel she sent an urgent summons to the Manager.

"In half an hour I want lunch served in the suite-not your ordinary

bill of fare. Something really good." The Manager thought a moment.

"Oysterl We have a barrel just arrived from UmWanga Rocks."

"Excellent. " Ruth liked the man's response to the emergency.

"Then I could do a smoked ham, cold venison, cold rock lobster, salads?

" "Excellent again. What about cheese?"

"Gruyre. Danish Blue. Camembert."

"Wine?

"Champagne?"

"Yes," Ruth agreed instantly. She would shamelessly exploit Sean's

weakness for it. "A bottle of Veuve Clicquot-no, on second thoughts,

three bottles. " "I'll send the wine up first?"

"Immediately-with your best glass and a silver bucket," Ruth told

him.

Then she fled to her toilet. Thank the Lord for French perfume and

this morning dress of grey silk she had been saving for just such an

occasion. She worked quickly, but with skill, upon her face and hair,

and when she was finished she sat quietly before the mirror and

composed her features into an expression of peace. The effect was very

satisfactory, she decided after critical contemplations. Since it was

the way he had first seen it, Sean could never resist her hair in

braids. It made her look like a little girl.

"Shall I open the wine, Madam?"

"Yes, please. " She called into the sitting-room, then went through to

await the onslaught of the hurricane.

Ten minutes later it came wafting in like a gentle zephyr, with a cigar

clamped between its teeth, its hands thrust deep into trousers pockets

and a bemused expression on its face.

"Hey, now!" Sean stopped when he saw her, and removed the cigar.

"That's nice!"

The fact that he had noticed her appearance was proof that her weather

forecast was hopelessly incorrect and she burst out laughing.

"Whats so funny?" Sean asked mildly Nothing and everything. You and

me. Have a glass of champagne.

"Mad woman," Sean said and kissed her. "I like your hair like this

"Aren't you disappointed?"

"About the result, you mean? yes, I suppose I am. " He went to the

central table and poured wine into the crystal glasses, handed one to

her and took up the other.

"I give you a toast-the short, exciting political career of Sean

Courtney. " "You wanted to win so badly-but now . . . ?"

Sean nodded. "Yes, I always want to win. But now that the game is

lost. . . " He shrugged. "Shall I tell you something? I was getting

a bit sick of all the speechifying and hand-shaking.

I feel that even in my sleep I have a vacant grin on my face."

He crossed to one of the leather arm-chairs and sank down into it

gratefully. "There is something else also. Come here and let me tell

you about it. " She went to him, sat in his lap and slid her hand into

the front of his shirt so that she could feel the soft springy hair of

his chest, and the hard rubbery flesh beneath.

"Tell me," she said, and he told her about Garry. He spoke slowly,

telling her everything-about the leg, how it was when they were

children, and finally, about Michael. She was quiet for a while, and

he could see the hurt in her eyes that Sean had been another woman's

lover. At last she asked: "Does Garry know that Michael is your

son?"

"Yes. Anna told him one night. She told him the night I left

Ladyburg-he wanted to kill me."

"Why did you leave?

"I couldn't stay on. Garry hated me for siring his son,- and anna

hated me because I would not go to her."

"She still wanted you, then?"

"Yes. That night-the night I left, Anna came to me and

"Yes."

Ruth nodded, hurt still and jealous, but making the effort to

understand.

"I refused her-and she went to Garry and, in spite, she told him about

the child. My God, what a poisonous bitch she is!"

"But if she wanted you, why did she marry Garry?"

"She was with child. She thought I had been killed in the Zulu war-she

married him to provide a father for her child."

"I see, " Ruth murmured. "But why do you tell me this?

"I wanted you to understand how I feel about Garry. After What he did

to you at that meeting I can't expect you to have much sympathy for

him,- but he wasn't trying to hurt you, he asked me to .

Sean paused. "You know what I mean.

was aiming at me. I owe him so much, I now seem able to pay him.

That's why . . . " "That's why you are glad he won today?" Ruth

finished for him.

"Yes," Sean answered eagerly. "You see, don't you, how important this

must have been to him. For the first time he was able to ... able to

... Sean fluttered his hands in confusion as he sought the words.

"He was able to compete with you on equal terms," Ruth supplied them

for him.

"Exactly!" Sean struck the arm of his chair with clenched fist.

"When I went to congratulate him, he was ready to meet me. He invited

me out to Theuniskraal-just then that evil, bloody woman interfered and

took him away. But somehow I know it's going to be all right now. " A

knock on the outer door interrupted him, and Ruth jumped up from his

lap.

"That will be the waiter with the lunch," but before she was half-way

across the room, the knock was repeated with such Insistence that it

threatened to loosen the plaster.

"I'm coming." Irritated, Ruth raised her voice and swung the door

open.

Led by Bob Sampson a flood of men rushed into the room; jabbering and

gesticulating they bore down on Sean.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded.

"You've won!" shouted Bob. "A recount, you won on a recount-by ten

votes!"

"My God!" breathed Sean, and then so softly that only Ruth heard

him,

"Garry. Poor Garry!"

"Open that champagne-send for another case. We're in solidly-all of

us!" exulted Bob Sampson. "So let's drink to the Union of South

Africa!"

"Not even this once. Out of so many times, so many thing snot even

this once." Already Garry Courtney was drunk. He lay deep in his

chair with a tumbler held in both hands, stirring the brown liquid with

a circular movement so a few drops slopped over the rim and stained the

cloth of his trousers.

"No," agreed Anna. "Not even this once." She stood with her back to

him, staring out of the window of their suite into the ga slit street

below, for she did not want him to see her face. But she could not

control the harsh, gloating quality of her voice.

"Now you can go back to writing your little books. You've made your

point-you've proved to yourself and the rest of the world how effective

you are. " Moving her hands slowly, she began to massage her own upper

arms with sensual pleasure. A tiny shudder thrilled her so she moved

restlessly and her skirts rustled like leaves in the wind.

God, how close it had been-and she had been afraid.

"You're a loser, Garry Courtney. You have always bee nand you will

always be. " Again she shuddered with the memory of her fear. He had

so nearly escaped. She had seen it begin from the moment the first

result was announced, every minute it had grown stronger. Even his

voice had changed, deeper with the first hint of confidence in it. He

had looked at her strangely, without submission, with the beginning of

his contempt. Then the flare of rebellion when he had spoken to Sean

Courtney. She had been truly afraid then.

"You are a loser," she repeated, and heard the sound he made-half-gulp,

half-sigh. She waited and when she heard the soft gurgle of brandy

poured from bottle to glass she hugged herself tighter and now she

smiled as she remembered the announcement of the recount.

The way he had shrunk, the way he had crumpled and turned to her with

all of it gone-the confidence and contempt wiped away. Gone!

Gone for ever. Sean Courtney would never have him. She had made that

oath-and now it would be kept.

As so many times before, she played over in her mind the details of

that night. The night she had made the oath.

It was raining. She was standing on the wide stoep of Theuniskraal,

and Sean was leading his horse up across the lawns of Theuniskraal. The

damp linen of his shirt clung to his shoulders and chest, the rain had

made his beard break out in tiny curls so he looked like a mischievous

pirate,

"Where's Garry? " Her own voice, and his voice answering.

"Don't worry. He's gone into town to see Ada. He'll be back by

supper-time. " Then he was coming up the steps towards her, standing

tall above her, and his hand on her arm was cold from the rain.

"You must take better care of your-self now. You can't stand in the

cold any more. "And he led her through the french doors.

The top of her head was on a level with his shoulders, and his eyes as

he looked down at her were gentle with masculine awe of pregnancy

"You're a damn fine woman, Anna. And I'm sure you're going to make a

fine baby.

"Sean!" She remembered how his name had come up her throat like an

involuntary exclamation of pain. The fierce forward surge that had

flattened her body against his, arching to send her hips forward

searchingfbr his manhood. The coarse electric feeling of his hair in

her hands as she pulled his face down and the taste of his mouth opened

warm and moist.

"Are you mad! " As he tried to break away from her, her arms locked

around his body and her face pressed to his chest.

"I love you. Please, Sean, please. Just let me hold you, that's all.

I just want to hold you. " "Get away from me! "And she felt herself

thrown roughly on to the couch beside the fireplace.

"You're Garry's wife and you'll soon be the mother of his child.

Keep your hot little body for him. " And his face thrust forward,

close to hers. "I don't want you. I could no more touch you than I

could go with my own mother. You're Garrys wife.

If ever again you look at another man I'll kill you. I'll kill you

with my bare hands. " Love congealing instantly, transformed to hatred

by his words Her fingernails raking across his cheek so the blood slid

down into his beard, and he caught her wrists. Holding her while she

struggled and screamed at him.

"You swine, you dirty, dirty swine. Garry's wife you say.

Garry's baby you say! Now hear the truth. What I have within me you

put there. It's yours-not Garry's! " Then he was backing away from

her. "You're lying. It can't be. " Following him now, speaking those

cruel words softly. "You remember how we said good-bye when you went

to war? You remember that night in the wagon? " "Leave me, leave me

alone. I've got to think. I didn't know.

And he was gone. She heard the door of his study slam, and she stood

in the centre of the floor while the storm surf of her anger abated and

exposed the black reefs of hatred beneath.

Then she was alone in her bedroom, standing before the mirror-making

her oath.

"I hate him. There's one thing I can take from him. Garry belongs to

me now. Mine, not his. I will take that away from him. " The pins

pulled from her hair, so it tumbled to her shoulders.

Her fingers tangling it into confusion. Teeth closing on her own lips

so she could taste the blood.

"Oh God, I hate him, " she whispered through the pain. Tearing open

the blouse of her dress, watching in the mirror the great pink bosses

of her nipples already darkening with the promise of fruition

"I hate him. " Pantaloons torn and discarded, bowls of face powder and

cosmetics swept from the dressing-table to burst and fill the room with

the pungent reek of joerfitme.

The lying alone in the darkening room. Waiting for Garry to come.

Now she turned away from the window and looked down at Garry,

triumphantly, knowing he could never escape again.

I have kept my oath, she thought, and crossed to the chair.

"Poor Garry." She forced her voice to croon gently, and she stroked

the hair back from his forehead. He looked up at her, surprised, but

eager for affection. "Poor Garry. Tomorrow we'll go home to

Theuniskraal.

She moved the bottle on the side table closer to his hand.

Then she kissed his cheek lightly, and went on into the bedroom of the

suite-smiling again, secure and safe in his weakness.

Four months passed quickly. Sean, distracted by the responsibilities

of his office, the mountains of correspondence, the meetings and

sessions, the petitioners and the schemers-offered only a token

resistance to Michael's sugar plans. Michael went off to the coast,

purchased the land, and became deeply involved with the seller's eldest

daughter. This young lady had the dubious distinction of being one of

the few divorcees in Natal. When the scandal reached his ears, Sean,

secretly pleased that Michael's chastity was at last shed, boarded the

Rolls and went off on a flying mission of rescue. He returned to

Ladyburg with a penitent Michael in tow. Two weeks later the young

lady married a travelling salesman and moved from Tongaat to Durban,

whereupon Michael was allowed to return to Tongaat and begin the

development of the sugar estate.

Ruth no longer accompanied Sean on all of his absences from Ladyburg.

Her swiftly increasing girth and a mild malady which assailed her in

the mornings kept her at Lion Kop, where she and Ada spent much time in

the design and fabrication of baby wear In this Storm rendered

assistance. The matinee jacket, which took three months to knit, was

certain to fit the infant perfectly-provided it was a hunchback with

its one arm twice as long as the other.

Kept busy from early morning to nightfall in the capacity of overseer

on Mahobo's Kloof, Dirk found little time for distraction.

Ladyburg was now well covered by Sean's espionage system, and Dirk's

few visits were reported in detail.

But on the far side of Ladyburg, derelict and shabby from want of love,

brooded the great homestead of Theuniskraal, In the night a single

window showed a pale yellow square of light as Garry Courtney sat alone

at his desk. In front of him lay a pathetically thin sheaf of papers.

Hour after hour he stared at it-but no longer seeing it.

He was dry inside, deprived of the juice of life and seeking its

substitute in the bottle, which was always near him.

The days drifted into weeks, and they in turn became months-and he

drifted with them.

Each afternoon he would go down to the paddocks, then leaning against

the heavy wooden paling, he would watch Ins blood stock Hour after hour

he stood unmoving and it seemed that, in time, he left his own body and

lived within those richly gleaming skins, as though his own hooves

drove deep into the turf as he ran, as though his own voice squealed

and his muscles bunched and moved in the savage mating of heaving

bodies.

Ronny Pye found him there one afternoon; without Garry being aware of

his presence, he came up silently and stood beside him, studying the

pale intense face with the chisel-marks of pain and doubt and terrible

yearning sculptured deep around the mouth and below the pale blue

eyes.

"Hello, Garry. " He spoke softly, but recognizing the pity in his own

voice he thrust it aside. There was no room for softness now, and

ruthlessly he hardened his resolve.

"Ronny. " Vaguely, Garry turned to him, and when he smiled it was

shyly. "Business or social?"

"Business, Garry."

"The bond?"

"Yes.

"What do you want me to do?"

"How about coming into town-we can go over things in my office.

"Now?

"Yes, please."

"Very well." Garry straightened up slowly. "I'll come with you.

They rode together over the crest of ground and down towards the

concrete bridge over the Baboon Stroom. Both of them silent, Garry

because there was nothing in him, nothing to give voice to; Ronny Pye

because of his sense of shame for the thing he was about to do. He was

going to take a mans home from him and turn him loose upon a world in

which he would have no chance of survival.

At the bridge they stopped automatically to rest their horses, and they

sat without speaking, an incongruous pair. One man sitting quietly,

slim and wasted, his clothing slightly rumpled, his face austere with

suffering; the other plump, red-faced below bright ginger hair, dressed

in expensive cloth, fidgeting in the saddle.

There was little sign of life across the river. A long, fired smear of

smoke from the wattle factory stack rising straight into the still hot

air, a black boy moving cattle down to drink at the river, the huff and

clatter and clang of a locomotive shunting in the goods-yards-but

otherwise the town of Ladyburg lay slumbering in the heat of a summer

afternoon.

Then on the open grassy plain below the escarpment, urgent movement

caught Ronny's eye, and he focused his attention upon it with relief.

A horseman riding fast, and even at this distance Ronny recognized

him.

"Young Dirk," he grunted, and Garry roused himself and peered out

across the river. Horse and rider blended into one unit, seeming to

touch the earth so lightly they were bound to it only be a pale feather

of dust that drifted low behind them.

"My God, that little bastard can ride." In reluctant admiration Ronny

shook his head solemnly and a drop of perspiration broke from his

hairtme and slid down his cheek. The horse reached the road and

pivoted neatly, flattening into the increased speed of its run.

Movement of such rhythmic grace and power that the watchers were

stirred.

"Look at him go!" whistled Ronny. "Don't reckon there's anything to

catch that horse in the whole of Natal. " "You think so?" Garry's

voice was suddenly alive, and his lips were pursed in anger.

"I'm damned certain of it."

"Mine. My colt-Grey Weather. Over a point-to-point course, I'd match

him against any of Sean Courtney's stud."

And those words gave Ronny Pye the idea. He turned it over in his mind

while with slightly narrowed eyes he watched Dirk Courtney race Sun

Dancer down towards the wattle factory.

When horse and rider had disappeared through the tall gates, Ronny

spoke softly: "Would you back your colt with money?"

"Id back him with my life." There was savagery in Garry's voice.

Yes, thought Ronny, this way at least I will give him a chance.

This way the fates will make the decision, there will be no blame to my

account.

"Would you back him with The Uniskraal? he asked, and the silence drew

out.

"How do you mean?" whispered Garry.

"If you win, the bond on Theuniskraal is set aside.

"And if I lose?"

"You lose the farm."

"No," snapped Garry. "Christ, That's too much.

Ronny shrugged indifferently. "It was just an idea-you're probably

wise. You wouldn't have much of a chance against Sean. " Garry gasped

sharply, that challenge had wounded deep as a lance. Made it a direct

competition between Sean and himself, to ignore it would be to admit he

could never win.

"I'll take the bet.

"The whole bet? You'll cover my money with what you have left of

Theuniskraal?

"Yes, damn you. Yes. I'll show you how much chance I have against

him.

"We'd better get it down in writing, Ronny suggested gently.

"Then I'll see if I can arrange it with Sean." He touched his mount

with his spurs and they moved forward across the bridge.

"By the way, I think it best we tell nobody about our little bet.

We'll pretend it's just an honour match. " Garry nodded his agreement.

But that night when he wrote to Michael he told him about it, then went

on to plead with Michael to ride Grey Weather in the race.

Two days before the competition Michael confided in his grandmother.

Ada went out to Theuniskraal to try and dissuade Garry from this

reckless gamble, without success. Garry was almost fanatical in his

determination. The stake meant nothing to him-it was the prospect of

winning.

And now he had Grey Weather and Michael to run for him.

This time he would win. This time!

down the lane to the stables In the dark Sean walked with Dirk The

clouds banked along the escarpment were fired red by the hidden sun and

the wind fretted through the plantations, so that the wattle moaned and

shook.

"North wind," grunted Sean. "It'll rain before nightfall."

"Sun Dancer loves the rain, Dirk answered him tensely, and Sean glanced

at him.

"Dirk-if you lose today he started, but Dirk cut him short.

"I wont lose," and again as though it were a vow,

"I won't lose!

" "If you'd only show as much determination in other things the more

important.

"Important! Pa, this is important. This is the most important thing

I've ever done. " Dirk stopped and turned to his father. He caught

Sean's sleeve, clinging to him. "Pa, I'm doing this for you-for you,

Pa! " Sean looked down and what he saw in his son's face, in that

beautiful face, silenced the retort that he was about to make.

Where did I go wrong with you, he asked himself with love stained by

loathing. Where did you get this blood, why are you this way, demanded

his pride and his contempt.

"Thanks," he said dryly, freed his arm and walked on towards the

stables.

Sightless in his deep preoccupation with Dirk, Sean was into the stable

yard before he noticed Mbenjane.

"Nkosi. I see you." Mbejane rose solemnly from the hand carved stool

on which he sat.

"I see you also," Sean cried with pleasure, and then controlled

himself. A display of emotion in front of lesser persons would

embarrass Mbenjane. "You are well?" he asked gravely, and restrained

the desire to prod the swelling dignity of Mbenjane's stomach,

reminding himself that Mbejane's abundant flesh and fat had been

carefully cultivated as a sign to the rest of the world of his

prosperity.

"I am well," Mbeiane assured him.

"That you have come gives me pleasure.

"Nkosi, on a day of importance it is right that we should be

together-as it was before." And Mbejane allowed himself to smile for

the first time, a smile that within seconds became a mischievous grin

that Sean gave back to him. He should have guessed that Mbejane would

never miss a fight, or a hunt, or a contest.

Then Mbejane turned to Dirk.

"Do us honour today," he commanded, as though he spoke to one of his

own sons. "Your father and I will be watching you." He placed a huge

black hand upon Dirk's shoulder as though in benediction, then he

turned to gesture with his fly whisk at the stable-boys waiting behind

him.

"Bring the horse!"

TWo of them led her out, her hooves ringing on the paving of the yard

as she danced a little. Head up, moving greyhoundI bellied, pricking

her ears forward and back, she saw Dirk and wrinkled the soft velvet of

her nostrils as she whickered.

"Hey, girl!" Dirk walked towards her. At his approach she rolled her

eyes until the whites showed and her small dainty ears flattened

wickedly against her neck.

"Stop that nonsense," Dirk admonished, and she bared yellow teeth

menacingly and reached with her slender snakelike neck. He put out his

hand to her and she took his fingers between those terrible teeth and

nibbled them tenderly. Then, finished with pretence, she snorted,

pricked her ears and nuzzled his chest and neck.

"Where is her blanket'? Has she eaten? Put the saddle and bridle in

the car." Dirk snapped a chain of questions and instructions at the

stable-boys as he caressed Sun Dancer's face with the gentle hands of a

lover.

So many contradictions in one person. Sean watched his son with

sadness heavy upon him, oppressive as this red dawn Where did I go

wrong?

"Nkosi, I will walk down with the horse." Mbejane sensed his mood and

sought to end it.

"Better that a man of your station should ride with me in the

motor-car, " Sean demurred, and took a fiendish pleasure in the shifty

glance that Mbejane cast at the great gleaming Rolls parked at the far

end of the yard. It has eyes like a monster, thought Mbejane and

looked quickly away.

"I will walk with the horse and see that it comes to no harm," he

announced.

"As you wish," Sean agreed. The small procession set off towards

Ladyburg. The two grooms leading Sun Dancer in her red tartan blanket,

and Mbejane following sedately with his small black sons carrying his

carved stool and his spears behind him.

Two hours later Sean drove the Rolls into the field behind the

stockyards. Staring straight ahead, both hands gripping the wheel so

that the knuckles of his hands gleamed white-Sean did not hear the

shouted greetings nor see the gala crowds and the bunting until the

Rolls bumped to a halt in the grass and his hands unfroze from the

wheel. Then he exhaled gently and the rigid muscles of his face

softened into a grin of uncertain triumph.

"Well, we made it! " He spoke as if he were not quite certain.

"You did very well, my dear." Ruth's voice was also a little scratchy

and she relaxed her protective hold on Storm.

"You should let me drive, Pa." Dirk was lounging against the saddlery

on the back seat. Sean turned furiously upon him, but Dirk was too

quick. He flung open the door and was absorbed into the crowd that had

gathered around the Rolls before Sean could assemble his words. Sean

glowered after him.

"Hello, Sean. Nice to see you. " Dennis Petersen had opened the door

at his elbow and Sean hastily rearranged his features into a smile.

"Hello, Dennis. Nice turn-out."

"Everybody in the district," Dennis assured him, as they shook hands,

and then looked with satisfaction around the field.

There were at least fifty carriages parked haphazard along the

stockyard fence, an open wagon had been arranged as a refreshment stall

with silver urns of coffee and piles of cakes laid out upon it. A dog

fight was in progress near the gate, while small boys in already wilted

church clothes shrieked and whooped and chased each other through the

crowd.

"Who's responsible for the decorations?" Sean asked, surveying the

flags and bunting that fluttered from the poles that marked the

finishing line and from the wide roped-off lane that led up to them.

"The Board-we voted it last week."

"Very nice." Sean was looking now at the stock pen where the horses

were. A solid barricade of humanity lined the railings, but he saw

Dirk climb over and jump down beside Sun Dancer amid a splatter of

applause from the onlookers.

"Good-looking lad. " Dennis was watching Dirk also, but there was

something in his tone that added, but I'm glad he's not mine.

"Thanks. " The defiance in Sean's voice was not lost on Denrus and he

smiled ironically.

"We'd better go across and talk to the other judges, Garrick is

waiting. " Dennis jerked his head towards the carriage at the end of

the line, and although he had been painfully aware of it, Sean looked

at it for the first time.

Together with Pye, Erasmus and his father, Michael was standing beside

it watching them. Tall and lean in tight black riding-boots, and an

open shirt of white silk accentuating the breadth of his shoulders, he

leaned against the wheel. Above him Ada and Anna sat together on the

rear seat and suddenly Sean felt a twist of anger in his stomach that

Ada should be there with them.

"Mother. " He greeted her without smiling.

"Hello, Sean. " And he could not fathom the tone of her voice nor her

expression. Was it regret, or perhaps a reluctant rejection? For a

long minute they held each other's eyes-until at last Sean had to

break, because now, instead of anger, he felt guilty.

But he did not understand the source of his guilt-it was only the

sorrowful accusation in Ada's eyes that had given it to him.

"Anna. " He greeted her and received in exchange a stiff nod.

"Garry." Sean tried to smile. He made a movement to lift his right

hand, but as he did so he knew it would be rejected, for the same

accusation that he had seen in Ada's eyes was also in Garry's. He

turned with relief to Michael.

"Hello, Mike. You know you're going to get the pants thrashed off

you?

"I'm going to make you eat those words without salt! " and they

laughed together easily, laughed with such obvious joy in each other

that Anna moved restlessly in her seat and spoke sharply.

"Can't we get this over with, Ronny?"

"Yes," Ronny Pye agreed hastily. "Well, then. Where Is young Dirk?

We'd better go and find him."

In a group they left the women and moved through the crowd towards the

stock pen where Dirk stood laughing with two girls that Sean recognized

as daughters of one of the factory foremen.

They were both looking up at Dirk and reacting with such unashamed

adoration that Sean felt a lift of indulgent pride. Casually Dirk

dismissed the girls and came across to meet them.

All set, Pa."

"So I see," Sean gruffed, and waited for Dirk to show courtesy to the

men with him, but Dirk ignored them and spoke only to Ronny Pye.

"Let's hear it."

"Well, then. A contest between Garry Courten ey's colt Grey Weather

and Sean Courtney's filly Sun Dancer. An honour match with no stake

put up by the owners. Agreed?

"Right," said Sean.

Garry opened his mouth and then closed it firmly and nodded.

He was sweating a little. He unfolded the handkerchief in his hand and

wiped his forehead.

"The distance approximately five miles around four points.

The points being firstly the posts that have been erected on this

field, secondly the northeastern boundary marker of the farm

Theuniskraal. " Ronny pointed at the crest of the escarpment that

stood above them, its slope golden with grass in the morning sun and

smeared with streaks of dark green bush. "Thirdly, the No. 3 dip-tank

of Mahobo's Kloof farm, which you can't see from here as it is behind

those trees." Ronny's arm described a long arc along the crest of the

escarpment and stopped pointing at the spires of a clump of saligna

gums. "But both of you know it?" "Sure," agreed Dirk, and Michael

nodded. "The fourth and finishing-point is the same as the

starting-point-here. " He jerked his thumb at the two posts that

fluttered gay with flags.

Stewards have been posted at the Theuniskraal boundary and the

dip-tank-make sure You pass on the far side of them.

The judges are Messrs. Petersen, Erasmus and myself. All and any

dispute regarding the running or interpretation of the rules will be

decided by us. - . ." Ronny went on talking and Sean felt. his

excitement mounting from his stomach and beginning to tingle along his

forearms. It was taking a hold on all of them now, even Ronny's voice

had an edge to it. Though Sean did not understand that the fox like

eagerness of his face came from the knowledge that this was a contest

in which he stood to gain more than any of them. But Garrick

understood also, and his eyes watched Ronny's lips hypnotically.

"That's it, then, " Ronny finished and then to the riders,

"Get saddled up, and bring your horses to the start. " The judges

walked away and left the four Courtneys standing together.

"Sean Garry spoke first, his eyes were stricken. "I think you should

know . . . " but he did not finish.

"What?" Sean asked abruptly, and at the tone of his voice Garrick

straightened up. The thing in his eyes changed shape, and became what

Sean had never expected to see there-pride.

"It doesn't matter. " Garry turned away and walked purposefully

towards his horse, and there was a spring in his stride and a set to

his shoulders.

"Good luck, Mike." Sean punched his arm.

"And the same to you." Michael started after Garrick, then stopped and

turned back to Sean. "Whatever anyone else says, Sean, I know you

didn't plan this. " Then he was striding away.

"What the hell did he mean by that?" puzzled Sean, but Dirk cut into

his thoughts.

"Why did you have to do that, Pa? " he demanded.

"What?" Sean looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Give him luck. Why did you have to give him luck? I'm riding for

you-not him. I'm your son-not him!"

The two riders moved together towards the start, and buzzing with

excitement the crowd went with them.

Sean walked beside Sun Dancer, with Dirk leaning attentively from the

saddle to listen to him.

"'rake it gently to the swamp, don't push her for she'll need all her

steam in the mud. Michael will gain there, that colt is strong in the

leg, but heavy. Follow him and let him break a path for you. Out of

the swat rip you can catch up and pass him on the slope, push hard

there. You must lead him to the top and hold your lead along the crest

to the dip-tank.

"All right, Pa."

"Now, when you start down again keep well out beyond the Van Essen

plantation on to hard ground.-that way you can cut the edge of the

swamp. My guess is that Mike will come straight down and plough

through the middle-but you must take the longer route-and use Sun

Dancees speed against Grey Weather's strength. " They had reached the

starting-posts and the crowd scattered and spread away to line the

ropes. An open funnel of humanity faced the two horsemen, then the

swamp with its deceptively lush papyrus grass concealing the glutinous

mud holes Beyond it the great soar of the escarpment. A long course. A

hard course.

"Are both of you ready?" called Ronny Pye from the sidelines.

"Clear the field, please, Sean."

Sean put his hand on Dirk's knee.

"Let's see what you can do, boy. " Then he ducked under the ropes into

the crowd.

Sun Dancer was skittering nervously, coming up on her back legs and

throwing her head so that the mane flew red-gold in the sunlight.

She was sweating in dark patches on her shoulders.

Michael was circling Grey Weather, keeping him moving gently, leaning

forward and patting his neck, talking to him so that he switched his

ears, cocking them half back to listen.

"Quiet, please, everybody! " Dennis was using a megaphone, and the

buzz of voices descended into an expectant rusding.

"You're under starter's orders now," he shouted at the riders.

"Turn wide, and walk up together."

They swung away from the posts, and came together. Dirk touched Sun

Dancer with the spur and she jumped back thrusting her quarters into

Michael's leg.

"Keep your bloody animal under control," he snarled at Michael.

"Don't crowd me!"

"Are you nervous, Dirkie? " Obediently Michael wheeled his mount

aside.

"Damn you! -I'll show you whos nervous," and Sun Dancer threw her head

in protest, as Dirk sawed her with the curb.

"Come round, swing them round." Dennis's voice through the megaphone

boomed distortedly.

They turned in line and started walking up, twenty yards from the

start, two horses with the sunlight glowing on their polished skins.

Pale gold and dark red. The crowd sighed softly like wind in the

grass.

Ten paces and Sun Dancer was pushing forward, lengthening her stride,

crabbing a little.

"Hold your line! Keep together," Dennis cautioned them, and Dirk

yanked her back roughly. The rims of his nostrils were flared and

white with tension.

Michael moved up beside him, holding his hands low. The big red colt

stepping high in the exaggerated action of an animal under restraint.

Quickening together over the last five paces, their riders hunching

lower in the saddles, they came to the posts.

"Go! " bellowed Dennis, and

"Go! " roared a hundred voices.

Still in line, matching each other's stride, they changed from a walk

into an easy, free, swinging canter. Both Dirk and Michael rising

slightly in their stirrups to hold them from headlong flight.

Half a mile ahead lay the swamp and beyond it five miles of mountain

and rough, rocky ground, of don ga and thombush.

They cantered down between the yelling lines and out of the funnel into

the open.

The crowd broke and scattered to various points of vantage and Sean ran

with them, un slinging his binocular-case, chuckling with excitement in

the general confusion of shouts and laughter.

Ruth was waiting for him beside the Rolls and he caught her around the

waist and lifted her on to the bonnet.

"Sean, you'll scratch the paintwork, " she protested, as she clutched

at her hat and teetered dangerously on the high, round bonnet.

"The hell with the paintwork, " he laughed as he climbed up beside her

and she clung to him for support. "There they are!"

Far out across the field the two horses ran down towards the bright

green of the swamp. Sean lifted and focused his binoculars, and

suddenly they were so close he expected to hear the drumming of the

hooves. Grey Weather was pulling ahead, forcing powerfully with his

great boulders lunging into each stride and Sun Dancer trailed him with

her neck arched against the pressure of the bit. On her back Dirk sat

upright with his elbows pressed into his flanks as he held her.

"The little bugger is listening to advice," Sean growled. "I quite

expected him to be using the whip already."

Across the distance that separated them Sean could feel as a tangible

thing Dirk's determination to win, he could see it in the way he held

his shoulders, he could see it in the rigid lines of his arms.

But what he did not see were the harsh lines of hatred in Dirk's face

as he stared at Michael's back ahead of him.

The beat of hooves changed its tone, no longer ringing on hard ground,

but dulling as they reached the swamp. Now lumps of damp clay flew

from Grey Weather's hooves and a piece hit Dirk's chest and sprayed

dirt on the white silk of his shirt. Sun Dancer's gait altered as she

felt the soft ground.

"Easy, girl. Hey there, girl," Dirk whispered and held her firmly with

his knees to give her confidence. The grass brushed his stirrups and

ahead of him Grey Weather splashed into the first mud hole, plunged

through it and into the swamp proper.

The tall papyrus engulfed him.

"The old man was right," Dirk smiled for the first time.

Michael was forcing a path through the reeds, Battening them for Dirk

to follow with half the effort. TWice Grey Weather sunk to his belly

in potholes of black glue, rearing and struggling to free himself while

Dirk skirted them.

Both horses were shiny with mud, and their riders were soaked to the

waist and splattered above. The swamp stank like an animal cage and

marsh gas erupted sullenly as they disturbed it. Clouds of insects

rose about them, a sakabula bird fled shrieking as they ploughed

through the papyrus. One of the razor leaves lashed Michael's cheek

and a thread of blood ran down his jaw washing the blobs of mud with it

and dripped on to his shirt.

Then suddenly the ground firmed under them, the solid papyrus broke

into clumps, thinned and was left behind and Grey Weather led them out

on to the first slope of the escarpment. He was running heavily now,

and grunting with each stride, while Sun Dancer moved up beside him.

"You're finished!" Dirk shouted at Michael as they drew level.

"I'll see you at the finish-line," and he leaned forward in the saddle

and gave Sun Dancer the spurs and the whip together.

Without pressing his horse Michael angled him off towards the right,

letting him move under slack rein to pick his own way and he began the

first leg of a series of zigzags that would take him to the top.

On the steep ground below the crest Dirk used the whip incessantly, and

Sun Dancer went up in a series of scrambling leaps with the loose rock

rolling under her hooves. The sweat had washed away the mud from her

shoulders and she landed with less control at each jump. "Pull, you

bitch. Pull!" Dirk shouted at her, and looked back in agony at

Michael's sedate ascent. He was two hundred yards below and coming

steadily.

Dirk's movement caught Sun Dancer off balance and she landed awkwardly

at the next jump, her hooves scrabbled and she started to fall. Dirk

kicked his feet from the stirrups and jumped with the reins still in

his hands. The instant he landed he leaned back on the reins to hold

her, but she was down on her knees now, sliding back and she pulled

Dirk down with her on to the level place below.

They struggled together and when at last he got her on her feet she was

trembling with terror, dust and pieces of dry grass Coated her muddy

legs.

"Damn you! Damn you, you clumsy bitch," whispered Dirk as he ran his

hands over her hocks to check for damage. He glanced back at Michael

and found him much closer now.

"Oh, God!" he blurted, snatched up Sun Dancer's reins and ran at the

slope dragging her after him. Dirk came out on the Crest with sweat

pouring down his face and soaking through his shirt. Saliva had dried

to a thick gummy froth in his mouth and he was panting harshly-but he

had held on to his lead and Sun Dancer was over her trembling fit. She

had recovered sufficiently to cavort a little as he mounted.

"This way, Dirk!" The two stewards standing on the pile of stones that

marked the Theuniskraal boundary were waving and shouting wild

encouragement. Dirk clouted the spurs into her and was off again,

galloping along the ridge, sweeping past them and on towards the clump

of gums three miles ahead.

"Catch him, Mike. Ride, man, ride!" Faint shouts behind him-and Dirk

knew without looking back that Mike had reached the top and was chasing

him. He rode on, grimly mourning the time lost on the ascent and

hating both Sun Dancer and Michael for it. At this point he should

have led by four hundred yards-not fifty.

Directly ahead now was the gorge through which the Baboon Stroom

dropped down the escarpment, its side choked with dark green river

bush. Dirk found the path and turned away from the skyline aiming

upstream at the ford. Without grass to muffle them Sun Dancer's hooves

hammered in staccato rhythm on the hard-packed earth of the path, but

also he could hear behind him like an echo the beat of other

hooves-Michael was on to the path behind him. Dirk looked back under

his own arm. Michael was so close that he could see the laughter lines

creasing the corners of his mouth, and the mockery inflamed him.

"I'll show him-l" And Dirk started with the whip again, cracking it

across Sun Dancer's flanks and shoulders so that she jumped forward

with a new urgency. Down the steep bank of the river and out on to the

white sandbank, he plunged with Grey Weather's nose drawing level with

his boot. Into the dark green water they rode abreast, throwing up a

veil of spray that sparkled in the sunlight, slipping from their

saddles to swim beside the horses through the deep, while the current

moved them down towards the falls. Up into the saddles again the

instant the horses found the bottom and splashed towards the far

bank.

Out on to the sand, with water streaming from sodden clothing, shouting

with excitement as they raced for the narrow path that climbed the far

bank. First man on to it would hold the advantage.

I I Give way! I'm leading-give me way," screamed Dirk furiously.

"Make your own way!" Michael laughed back at him.

"You bastard!" Dirk used his knees and reins to thrust Sun J Dancer's

shoulder into Michael, tying to force him clear.

"None of that! " Michael warned him.

"You bastard-I'll show you."

They rode knee to knee now. Dirk sat up quickly and twisted his foot,

placing his booted toe under Michael's instep. With a sudden vicious

lift of his leg he slipped Michael's foot from the stirrup and threw

him sideways. As he felt himself going over i Michael clutched

desperately at the pommel, pulling the saddle with him so it slid on to

Grey Weather's flank and the shift of weight forced the horse to

disengage and slew away from the path.

Michael went down on his shoulder into the sand and rolled with his

knees drawn up against his stomach.

"That's for you!" Dirk yelled in defiance as he went up the bank and

out into the open veld again. Behind him in the riverbed Michael

staggered to his feet, his wet clothing coated white with sand, and ran

after Grey Weather who was trotting back towards the water with the

saddle hanging under his chest.

"The dirty little swine. My God, if only Sean knew!" Michael caught

the horse before it started to drink, wrestled the saddle on to his

back again and clinched the girth.

"Now, I can't let him win! " He Jumped up on to Grey Weather and

booted him towards the bank "I can't let him win."

Two hundred yards ahead Dirks shirt was a white blob against the brown

grass. As he rounded the dip-tank and pointed Sun Dancer's head at the

ridge for the last leg, one of the stewards shouted: "What happened to

Michael?"

"He fell in the river," Dirk called back. "He's finished!"

And his voice rang with triumph.

"He's leading-Dirk's leading! " Sean stood on the Rolls with his

glasses trained on the clump of gum-trees, and now he was the first to

spot the tiny figure of the horseman as it showed on the crest of the

escarpment.

"Where's Michael?" Ruth asked.

"He can't be far behind," Sean muttered and waited anxiOusly for him to

appear. He had fretted while he watched Dirk's reckless ascent of the

slope, and cursed him loudly for his brutal treatment of Sun Dancer.

Then he had entreated him to get a bOOdY move on during the run along

the ridge with Michael gaining steadily on him. When the two horsemen

had veered away from the skyline to cross the Baboon Stroom they had

disappeared from view and this was the first glimpse the spectators had

received of either competitor since that moment.

"The little idiot's riding too wide. I told him to cut the edge of the

swamp-not ride round it altogether. " "Where's Michael?" Ruth

repeated Sean swung the glasses back and scanned the crest with the

first twinges of concern.

"Not showing yet-he must have run into trouble."

"Do you think he's all right? Has he been hurt?"

"How should I know?" Sean's anxiety made him irritable, but

immediately he was penitent and encircled Ruth's waist with his arm.

"He can look after himself, that one. No sense fussing about him."

Dirk was well down the slope now, leaving a thin trail of dust, for Sun

Dancer skidded on her haunches most of the way,

"Still no sign of Michael?" Ruth moved restlessly against him.

"No. Not yet," Sean grunted. "Dirk can afford to miss the swamp-he's

leading by a quarter of a mile."

Suddenly a sigh of relief moved the crowd like a gust of wind through a

field of wheat.

"There he is!"

"He's coming straight down the slope."

"He can't make it unless he flies!"

Sean swung his glasses from Dirk to Michael and back, estiInating their

spin and positions, allowing for Michael's delay in the swamp, but

setting against that the additional distance that Dirk had to cover.

"It's going to be close-" he decided aloud. "Dirk's got the edge, but

it's going to be very close."

Ada did not see it that way. Dirk was leading and Dirk was going to

win. She looked across at Garrick. He stood beside the finishing-post

a hundred yards away, but even at that distance there was no mistaking

the droop of his shoulders and the air of misery that surrounded him

like an aura of defeat. Sun Dancer's hooves were slashing his LIFE to

threads.

Unable to bear it a moment longer, Ada jumped down from the carriage

and ran through the crowd to where Sean stood like a triumphant

colossus on the bonnet of the Rolls.

"Sean." She reached up and touched his leg, but he was so engrossed he

did not feel or hear her.

"Sean," she shouted and tugged at his trouser-leg.

"Mother?" He turned vaguely to look down at her.

"I must talk to you," Ada shouted above the sound of the crowd that was

rising with excitement.

"Not now. They're coming in to the finish-climb up here where you can

see it. " "Now. I must speak to you now. Come down this instant!"

Her tone shocked him, for a second he wavered and peered furtively back

at the race. Then he shrugged with resignation and jumped down beside

her.

"What is it? Please be quick-I don't want to miss-" "I'll be quick. "

Sean had never seen such a cold fury on her before. "I wanted to say

that I never thought I'd see that day when I had nothing left for you

but contempt. Thoughtless you've been often-but never downright

merciless."

"Mother, . He was bewildered.

"Listen to me. You set out to destroy your brother and you've done it.

Well, I hope you have the pleasure of it. You've got Theuniskraal now.

Enjoy it, Sean. Sleep well at night."

"Theuniskraal! What do you mean?" He shouted at her now in his

confusion. "I didn't wager for the farm!"

"Ah, no," Ada scoffed at him. "Of course you didn't-you let Ronny Pye

do that for you. " "Pye? What's he got to do with it?"

"Everything! He helped you plan it. He helped you provoke Garry into

this stupidity. He holds the mortgage on Thetmiskraal.

"But . Slowly the enormity of it all began to shape up in Sean's

mind.

"You took his leg-now take Theuniskraal, but pay for it with my love."

She looked steadily into his eyes, but the pain was there clouding her

own. "Good-bye, Sean. We won't speak to each other again." And she

walked slowly away. She walked like an old woman at last, a tired and

worn old woman.

Sean understood and began to run towards the finishing line.

He drove through the crowd like a shark through a shoal of sardines.

Over their heads he saw the two horsemen galloping in across the

field.

Dirk was leading, standing in the stirrups to thrash Sun Dancer with

the whip. His black hair fluttered in the wind, and his shirt filthy

with thrown mud. Under him the filly danced on flying hooves and the

beat of them druninted above the rising roar of the crowd. Her body

was black and shiny with sweat, and froth flew from her gaping pink

mouth to form white lace on her chest and flanks.

Fifty hopeless yards behind her plunged the colt with Michael flogging

his heels into him with despair. Michael's face was twisted in an

agony of frustration. Grey Weather was finished, his legs loose with

exhaustion and his breath sawing hoarsely with each stride.

Sean tore his way through the press of bodies that lined the guide

ropes. He reached the front rank and shouldered two women from his

path. Then he stooped and ducked under the rope into the open.

Sun Dancer was almost up to him, hammering down in a crescendo of

hooves, her head nodding with each stride.

Dirk! Stop her!" roared Sean.

"Pa! Pa! Get out of the way Dirk screamed back at him, but Sean

sprang to intercept him.

"Pa! Sean was in front of him, crouching with arms extended. Too

close to swing Sun Dancer's head away from him, too late to stop her

charge.

"Jump, girl, jump," shouted Dirk and gathered the horse with his knees,

feeling her respond with a bunching of her quarters; feeling her lift

her forelegs against her chest and drive upwards in a high parabola.

But sensing also the sluggishness of her exhausted body and knowing she

had not gone high enough to clear Sean's head.

An aching moment as Sun Dancer lifted clear of the ground, the

horrified groan of the crowd as her forelegs smashed into Sean and she

twisted in the air, falling. Dirk thrown, his stirrup leathers parting

like whip cracks. Then all of them down together in the grass. Shrill

screams of women in the crowd.

Sun Dancer struggling up again with a foreleg swinging loosely from the

knee, whinnying in the pain of broken bone.

Sean on his back, his head twisted to the side and blood from his torn

cheek dribbling into his nose and mouth so that his breathing snored

hoarsely.

Dirk with the skin smeared from elbows and one cheek, crawling towards

Sean, kneeling beside him, raising both hands clenched, hammering down

with them so that his fists splattered the blood, beating them into the

chest and slack, unconscious face of his father.

"Why did you? Oh, God, I hate you." Shock and fury and despair.

"For you! You stopped me, you stopped me."

Michael dragging Grey Weather down on his haunches, flinging from the

saddle, running to them, holding Dirk's arms, dragging him off,

fighting him.

"Leave him, you little bastard."

"He didn't want me to. He stopped me. I hate him. I'll kill him.

The crowd surging forward, flattening the guide ropes, two men helping

Michael hold Dirk, the rest of them ringing Sean's body.

The cries and questions.

"Where's Doc Fraser?"

"Jesus, he's badly hurt!"

"Catch that horse. Get a gun."

"What about the bets?"

"Don't touch him. Wait .

"Got to straighten his arm.

"Get a gun. For Christ sake, get a gun."

Then a new silence on them, their ranks opening quietly and Ruth coming

through to him running-Mbejane behind her.

"Sean." She knelt beside him, clumsy in her pregnancy.

"Sean," she began again, and the men about her could not look at her

face.

-Mbejane, bring him to the car," she whispered.

He slipped the monkeY-skin cloak from his shoulder and let it drop,

stooped over Sean and lifted him. The great black muscles of his chest

and arms swelled, and he stood with his legs braced wide against the

weight.

"His arm, Nkosikazi. " She arranged the hanging arm comfortably across

his chest.

- "Bring him, " she ordered and together they walked through the crowd.

Sean's head lolled against Mbejane's shoulder like that of a sleeping

child. Mbejane laid Sean gently on the back seat with his head in

Ruth's lap.

"My daddy," Storm kept repeating, her face screwed up with horror at

the blood and her tiny body trembling like that of a frightened

rabbit.

"Will you drive us please, Michael?" Ruth looked up at him as he stood

beside the Rolls. "Take us to Protea Street."

With Mbejane loping alongside, the big car bumped across the field

through the throng of anxious watchers, then swung on to the main road

and moved away towards Ladyburg.

While about him the crowds scattered slowly and drifted to their

carriages, Dirk Courtney stood alone and watched the Rolls disappear in

its own blown dust.

Waves of reaction shivered up his legs and turned to heavy nausea in

his gut. The open gravel rash on his face burned like acid spilled

upon the skin.

"You'd better go in and have Doc Fraser put something on your face."

Coming from his carriage with a heavy service revolver, Dennis Petersen

paused beside him.

"Yes," Dirk answered dully, and Dennis walked on to where two native

grooms held Sun Dancer. Unsteadily on three legs, but quiet now, she

stood between them with her head hanging dejectedly.

Dennis touched the muzzle of the revolver to her forehead, and at the

shot she recoiled violently and dropped, shuddering.

Her legs stiffened in one last convulsion, then she lay still.

Watching, Dirk shuddered in sympathy and then leaned forward to vent

his nausea in the grass. It came up sour and scalding hot. He wiped

it from his mouth with the palm of his hand, then he began to walk.

Without direction, blindly, from the field towards the escarpment.

Over in his mind, keeping pace with his legs like the refrain of a

marching song: He doesn't want me. He doesn't want me.

And then savagely: f hope he dies. Please let him die.

I

"Please let him die." Anna Courtney said it softly, so that Garry

standing below her seat in the buggy did not hear her. He stood with

his shoulders hunched, and his head thrust forward in thought, hands

hanging at his sides slowly folding and unfolding, then he raised one

of them and squeezed the fingers into his closed eyelids.

"I'm going to him," he said. "God help me, but I'm going to him.

" "No! I forbid it. Leave him-let him suffer as I suffered."

Slowly, bewildered, Garry shook his head.

"I must. It's too long, too much. I must. Pray God it's not too

late.

"Let him die." Then suddenly it snapped in her head, broke under the

weight of the hatred so long sustained.

She rose screaming in her seat. "Die! Damn you. Die!" And Garry

uncovered his eyes, and looked at her in alarm.

"Compose yourself, my dear!"

"Die! Die!" Her face was blotched with flaming spots of red, and her

voice squawked as though she were being strangled.

Garry scrambled up beside her and flung his arms around her

Protectively.

"Get away from me. Don't touch me." She screamed at him; fighting

from his embrace. "Because of you I lost him. He was so big, so

strong. He was mine-and because .

"Anna, Anna. Please don't." He tried to soothe her raving.

"Please stop it, my dear."

"You, you crawling, crippled thing. Because of you." And suddenly it

had to come out, like pus from a canker. "But I paid you back. I took

him from you also-and now he's dead. You'll never have him. " She

laughed, gloating, demented.

"Anna. Stop it."

"That night-do you remember that night. Will you or he ever forget it?

I wanted him, I wanted him big like a bull on top of me, I wanted him

rutting deep like it was before-I begged him. I pleaded-but because of

you. Because of his crippled little weakling brother.

Christ, I hated him! " She laughed again, a shriek of pain and

hatred.

"I tore my clothing and bit into my own lips, as I had wanted him to

do. When you came-I wanted you to ... but you, I had forgotten you

were only half a man!

I wanted you to kill him-kill him! Pale, so that the sweat on his face

shone like water on white marble, Garry pulled away from her with

loathing.

"All this time I thought he-I believed you." And he half fell from the

buggy, leaning against it for a moment to steady himself.

". . . All this time wasted. " Then he launched himself and began to

run, his bad leg jerking and catching under him.

"You want a lift, Garry?" Dennis Petersen drew level with him and

called down from the car rage

"Yes. Oh, yes. " Garry caught the handrail and dragged himself up

beside Dennis. "Take me to him, please, as fast as you can.

Silent, deserted, the great house crouched over her. Dark with

shutters closed against the sun, brooding and immense, smelling musty

as though old passions had died within its walls.

Anna stood alone in the huge central room and screamed its name.

"Theuniskraal!

And the thick stone walls smothered the sound of her madness.

"He is dead! Do you hear me? I took him away from all of you. " And

she shrieked in triumphant laughter, with the tears greasing her

cheeks. "I won! Do you hear me! I won!" And her grief distorted the

laughter She picked up the heavy glass lamp and hurled it across the

room; it burst and the paraffin sprayed wide, glistening on the walls

and soaking into the carpet.

"Theuniskraal! Hear me! I hate you also. I hate him. I hate you

all-all of you."

She raged through the room tearing down the gilt-ri-amed pictures and

smashing them so that the glass sparkled like tiny jewels in the gloom;

she used a chair to smash in the front of the display cabinet and wreck

the old china and glassware in it; she swept the books from the shelves

into fluttering heaps, and threw their torn pages in the air.

"I hate! " she screamed. "I hate! " And the great house waited

silent. Exhausted with worn-out emotions-old and sad and wise.

"I hate you-all of you." And she ran out into the passage, through the

kitchens to the pantries. On the lowest shelf stood a four-gallon drum

of methylated spirit and she panted as she struggled with the stopper.

The stopper came out, the clear liquid welled and ran down the metal

sides, and she picked the drum up across her chest and stumbled back

into the kitchen. It spilled down her skirts, soaking in, drenching

the heavy cloth.

forming a spreading pool on the stone flags.

"I hate!" She laughed and stumbled, staggering off balance, still

clutching the drum she fell against the kitchen range. Hot metal

scorched her clothing and burned through to the flesh of her hip, but

she did not feel it. Her sodden skirts brushed over the fire-box, a

tiny point of flame caught and grew. So when she ran on into the house

a fiery train swept behind her.

Back in the central room, she poured from the drum over the books and

the carpet, laughing as she splashed the long-draped velvet curtains.

Oblivious of the flames that followed, until her petticoats caught and

burned against her legs. Then she screamed again at the agony of her

tortured flesh and brain. She dropped the metal drum and it exploded,

showering her with liquid blue flame, turning her hair and her face and

her whole body into a living torch, a torch that fell and writhed and

died before the flames reached the thatch of the roof of "heuniskraal.

They faced each other across the waist of the bow, and the bright

sunlight threw their shadows along the filthy planking of the deck. TWo

tall young men, both dark-haired and burned rich brown by the sun, both

with the big Courtney nose-both angry. From the poop three of the Arab

crew watched with mild curiosity.

"So you won't come home, then?" Michael asked. "You're going through

with this childishness?"

-Why do you want me to?"

"Me? Good God, if I never see you again it would be too soon.

Ladyburg will be a cleaner town without you.

"Then why did you come?"

"Your father asked me.

"Why didn't he come himself?" Dirk's bitterness echoed in his voice.

"he's still a sick man-his head. Hurt badly."

"If he wanted me, he would have come."

"He sent for you, didn't he?"

"But why did he want you to win, why did he stop me? "Listen to me,

Dirk. You're young yet. There are many things you don't understand.

" "Don't I! " And Dirk threw back his head and laughed scornfully.

"Oh, I understand all right. You'd better get off this boat, we're

just about to sail."

"Listen, Dirk . . ."

"Get off. Run back to him-you can have my share."

"Dirk, listen to me. He said if you refused to come-then I was to give

you this." From inside his coat Michael drew an envelope and offered

it.

"What is it? "I don't know-but I expect that it's money.

Dirk came slowly across the deck and took the envelope from him.

"Have you a message for him?" Michael asked, and when Dirk shook his

head he turned and jumped down on to the wooden jetty. Immediately a

bustle began behind him as the Arab crew cast off the lines.

Standing on the edge of the jetty, Michael watched the stubby little

craft drift out on the waters of Durban Bay. He could smell the stench

of her bilges, her sides were streaked with human filth, and the single

sail that rose slowly as the crew hoisted the long teak boom was

stained and patched like a quilt.

The wind took her and the pregnant belly of the sail bulged Out, she

heeled and thrust forward through the chop of dirty green water-headed

towards the bar, where a low surf broke In languid lines of white.

The two half-brothers stared at each other across the widening gap.

Neither of them lifted an arm or smiled. The dhow bore away.

Dirk's face was a tiny brown fleck above the white tropical suit, then

suddenly his voice.

"Tell him . . . 11 Small in the distance. "Tell him . and the rest

of it was lost on the wind, in the soft lap and sigh of the wavelets

beneath the jetty.

Below where they sat on the lip of the escarpment, the walls of

Theuniskraal stood up like smoke-browned tombstones marking the burial

ground of hatred,

"About time you started rebuilding," Sean grunted, "you can't stay on

at Protea Street for ever. " "No." Garry paused before going on:

"I've picked out the new site for the homestead-there, beyond the

number two dip.

Both of them looked away from the roofless ruins, and they were silent

again until shyly Garry asked,

"I'd like you to have a look at the plans. It won't be as big as the

old house now that there is just Michael and I. Could you . . . ?"

"Good," Sean cut in quickly. "Why don't you bring them across to Lion

Kop tomorrow evening? Ruth will want you to stay for dinner."

"I'd like that."

"Come early," said Sean, and started to stand up from the rock on which

he sat. He moved heavily, awkwardly-and Garry jumped up to help him.

Hating the weakness of his slowly Mending body, Sean would have brushed

Garry's eager hands away. But he saw the expression on his brother's

face and instead he submitted meekly.

"Give me an arm over the rough ground, please." He spoke gruffly.

Side by side, with Sean's arm across Garry's shoulder, they moved to

where the buggy waited.

Ponderously Sean climbed up and settled himself into the padded leather

seat.

"Thanks." He gathered up the reins and smiled down at Garry, and Garry

flushed with pleasure and looked away to the infinite lines of young

wattle trees that covered the hills of Theuniskraal.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" he asked.

"You and Michael have done wonders up here," Sean agreed, still

smiling.

"Courtney Brothers and Son. " Softly Garry spoke the name of the new

company which had merged the lands of Theuniskraal and Lion Kop into

one vast estate. "Now at last it is the way it should have been long

ago."

"Until tomorrow, Garry." Sean flipped the reins and the buggy rolled

forward, rocking gently over the uneven Surface of the new road.

"Until tomorrow, Sean," Garry called after him, and watched until the

buggy was lost to sight among the blocks of dark mature wattle, Then he

walked to his horse and mounted. He sat a while watching the distant

ranks of Zulu labourers singing as they worked. He saw Michael moving

on horseback amongst them, stopping occasionally to lean from the

saddle and urge them on.

And Garry began to smile. The Smile smoothed away the lines from

around his eyes. He touched the horse with his spurs and cantered down

to join Michael.