Vulture Is a Patient Bird

Chapter Six

Fennel came awake as someone turned on a powerful flashlight. He could see Ken wriggling out of his sleeping bag. Themba held the flashlight and was leaving the tent.

“Time to go?” Fennel asked with a yawn.

“Just about. Themba’s getting the breakfast. I’m going down for a swim… coming?”

Fennel grunted, slipped on his shoes and shorts and grabbed up a towel. He followed Ken out into the damp half light. It had stopped raining, but the clouds were heavy and swollen.

“Going to be sticky,” Ken said as the two men trotted down to the pool, “but with the winch, and if we’re lucky, we’ll make it.”

Reaching the pool, they dived in, swam across, turned and swam back and came out. They towelled themselves vigorously, slipped into their shorts, then trotted back to the camp.

Both Gaye and Garry were up and squatting by the fire watching Themba frying a batch of eggs and bacon.

By the time they had finished breakfast and Themba had cleared up, it was light enough to move.

“Well, let’s go,” Ken said. Turning to Garry, he went on, “Do you think you can get the tent down and fold it?”

“Sure. I’ll pack it in the chopper… right?”

“If you leave it here, it’ll disappear for sure.” Ken looked a Themba. “All okay?”

Themba nodded.

“Let’s synchronize our watches. We’ll call you on radio at 11.00 hrs. just to report progress. After that we’ll call you every two hours… okay?”

They checked their watches, then Garry offered his hand.

“Good luck… watch that bastard.”

Fennel was putting his tool kit in the Land Rover. He got in at the back and sat on the bench seat, staring moodily ahead.

“Sweet type, isn’t he?” Ken grinned. He turned to Gaye and shook hands. They watched him slide into the driving seat. Themba waved a cheerful hand and got in the front seat beside Ken.

Ken drove into the jungle where it was dark enough for him to put on the headlights. He drove slowly, and Fennel wondered how the hell anyone could know where he was going in this dense jungle. Themba was continually directing Ken. Maybe this blackie wasn’t all that of a monkey, Fennel thought. He knew he himself would be helpless on his own, and this thought riled him.

As they progressed, the sun began to come up and Ken switched off the headlights. He was able to increase speed’ slightly. It was a nagging, bumpy ride and Fennel had to hang on.

Themba suddenly pointed and Ken slowed.

“To your right… a rhino!”

Fennel swivelled his head.

Standing not more than twenty metres away was a huge rhinoceros. The ungainly animal slowly turned its head to stare at them. Fennel eyed the big horn and he reached for the Springfield, aware his heart was beginning to thump.

“They’re dangerous, aren’t they?” he asked, his voice low. “That’s the white rhino. He’s docile,” Ken told him. “It’s the black one you have to watch out for.”

He drove on, increasing speed. At this hour the bush seemed alive with game. Herds of impala scattered at the approach of the Land Rover. Two warthogs went crashing into the shrubs, their tails up like periscopes. Black bellied storks watched them from the tree tops. It was as they were nearing the edge of the bush that Themba pointed, and Ken said, “Lions!”

Lying by the side of the track were two full grown male lions. Fennel calculated they would pass within four metres of them.

“You’re not passing those bastards?” he demanded.

“Nothing to worry about,” Ken said cheerfully. “You leave a lion alone and he’ll leave you alone.”

But Fennel wasn’t convinced. He picked up the Springfield, his finger curling around the trigger.

They were nearly on the lions now. Both beasts raised their heads and regarded the on-coming Land Rover with sleepy indifference. Fennel felt sweat on his face. As they passed, they were so close he could have touched the lions with the end of the rifle.

“See?” Ken said. “You don’t have to worry about lions, but you wound one and go in after him and you’ll have a hell of a lot to worry about.”

Fennel put down the rifle and wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand.

“That was too damn close.”

They came out of the jungle on to a dirt road. Themba indicated that Ken should turn to the right.

“This is the road leading to Kahlenberg’s estate… the whole sixty kilometres of it,” Ken said after he had talked with Themba. He looked at his watch. The time was 08.00 hrs. “Themba reckons we’ll get to the edge of the estate in three hours. We’ll radio back to Garry when we get there.”

“Three hours to do sixty kilometres. You nuts?”

“The road’s bad. It could take us longer.”

The road was bad, and gradually deteriorated. It was climbing gently all the time. The night’s rain had softened the surface and the Land Rover began to slide a little. Ahead of them was a very sharp rise and as Ken increased speed for the run up, the back wheels slid and Ken hurriedly steered into the skid just as it seemed they were about to leave the road.

“Watch what you’re doing!” Fennel snarled, startled.

“I can do without a back seat driver,” Ken returned. “Just shut up, will you?”

The Land Rover crawled up the rise and Ken slammed on his brakes when he saw the dip below was full of water and there was another sharp rise to get out of the dip.

“We’re not going through that,” he said and put the truck into reverse, slowly sliding back down the rise. He then drove off the road and on to the tangle of dead branches, shrubs and coarse, rain soaked grass. They hadn’t gone more than ten metres when the rear wheels spun and Fennel felt the truck sink.

Ken gave the engine more gas, resulting only in producing a shower of wet, sticky mud that sprinkled them as the wheels spun.

Themba sprang out and went around to the back. Ken engaged gear while Themba pushed, but they only sank deeper.

Ken turned, and as he disengaged gear, he looked straight at Fennel.

“Let’s get this straight, Lew. Are you with us or are you just a goddamn passenger?”

Fennel hesitated, then got down from the Land Rover. His bull strength combined with Themba’s weight began to tell. There was more splattering of mud, then the tyres got a new purchase and the Land Rover came out of the two holes it had dug. Walking beside it, ready to go into action again, Fennel and Themba, watched warily. Twice the Land Rover skidded but righted itself. They were past the dip now and Ken steered back on the road.

“See what I mean?” he said. “Twenty minutes wasted.”

Fennel grunted and climbed on board. He was breathing heavily. By now the sun was hot and beat down on them. Ken increased speed and they continued to climb, banging and bumping over the stony road, avoiding the water filled pot-holes where he could, and when he couldn’t, banging into them, jolting them all and making Fennel curse.

The road narrowed suddenly and became nothing better than a rough track, strewn with fair-sized boulders. Three times during the next hundred metres, Themba had to jump down and heave the rocks out of the way. They were now crawling at around ten kilometres an hour.

It didn’t look to Fennel as if any vehicle had ever come along this narrow track which kept climbing. Branches of trees hung low, causing both men to keep ducking. Themba was walking ahead now as the Land Rover’s speed was even more reduced.

“You mean we’ve got another fifty kilometres of this bitching road to drive on? Fennel exclaimed as he ducked under another branch.

“That’s about it. According to Themba it gets worse as we go on, but at least we are moving.”

That appeared to be a rash thing to have said for almost immediately they struck a soft patch of ground and before Ken could control the skid, they had slid off the narrow track and the offside wheels slammed down into a gutter.

They stopped.

“Themba came running back as Ken got out of the Land Rover. The two men surveyed the position of the wheels and discussed it together while Fennel got down and lit a cigarette. He felt irritatingly useless. To him, they looked stuck for good.

“Only thing to do is to lift her out,” Ken said.

He began to unload the truck, handing the jerrycans of water and gas to Themba. Fennel got the rucksacks, sleeping bags and his heavy tool bag out.

“Back wheels first,” Ken said.

The three men got grips and at Ken’s shout, heaved up. Their combined strength lifted the wheels and the next heave got the tail of the truck back on to the road.

“I can pull her out now,” Ken said. “You two shove against the side in case she slides in again.”

Three minutes later, the Land Rover was once more on the road. They hastily reloaded, then Fennel said, “I’m having a drink.”

Ken nodded and Themba opened two bottles of beer and a bottle of tonic water for himself.

Fennel looked at Themba.

“You say it’s going to get worse?”

“So he says,” Ken broke in. “No use talking to him, he doesn’t understand English.”

Fennel emptied his bottle of beer.

“Looks like we three have picked the crappy end of the stick, doesn’t it?” he said.

“That’s the way the cookie crumbles.” Ken finished his beer, tossed the bottle into the gutter and climbed under the driving wheel. “Let’s go.”

At least the two incidents seemed to have made Fennel more human, he thought as he engaged gear. He had spoken to Themba and he had shown a spark of comradeship.

They now came to a series of steep hairpin bends. Using the four wheel drive, Ken continued the climb but at not much more than twelve kilometres an hour. The exertion of dragging the wheel around as he came into the bends and then straightening was making him sweat. The bends seemed to go on and on and they climbed higher and higher.

Fennel leaned forward.

“Want me to take a turn? I can handle this crate.”

Ken shook his head.

“Thanks… I can cope.” He spoke to Themba in Afrikaans and Themba replied.

Feeling out of it, Fennel demanded, “What are you talking about?”

“At the top is the bad place. Themba says this is where we could get stuck for good.”

“That’s fine! Bad place! What the hell does he call this?” Ken laughed.

“From what he says, this is like driving down Piccadilly to what we’re coming to.”

Then from nowhere grey sluggish clouds crossed the sun, shutting it out and it turned cold. As Ken left the last hairpin bend and started up a long narrow, rocky rise, the rain came down in solid warm sheets.

The three men were soaked to the skin in seconds and Ken, blinded, stopped the Land Rover. They all crouched forward, shielding their faces with their arms while the rain slammed down on their bowed backs. They remained like that for some minutes. Water was in the Land Rover and sloshing around. Fennel’s shoes, and water lay inches deep on the tarpaulin covering their equipment.

Abruptly as it began, the rain ceased, the clouds moved away and the sun came out. In a very few minutes their clothes began to steam.

“This is one hell of a picnic,” Fennel said. “My goddamn cigarettes are soaked!”

Ken took a pack from the glove compartment and offered it. “Take these.”

“I’ll take one… keep the rest in there. If the bitch is going to

start again, we don’t want to run short.”

They both lit up and then got back into the truck. Themba had walked on ahead. By now he was at the top of the rise and stood waiting.

As they reached him, he motioned Ken to stop. Both men looked beyond him at the road ahead. They appeared to be on the top of a mountain and the track abruptly narrowed. One side was a sloping bank of coarse grass and shrubs; the other side was a sheer drop into the valley.

Fennel stood up in the Land Rover and stared at the track. He was never sure of himself when in high places, and the sight of the distant valley far below and the narrowness of the rough track brought him out in a sweat.

“We’re bitched!” he said, his voice unsteady. “We can’t hope to get through there!”

Ken turned and looked sharply at him. Seeing his ashen face and how his hands were shaking, he realized this was a man with no head for heights and felt sorry for him.

“Look, Lew, you get out. I think I can get through. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but it can be done.”

“Don’t be a fool! You’ll kill your goddamn self!”

Ken shouted to Themba. “Can I do it?”

The Bantu stood in the middle of the track and regarded the Land Rover, then he nodded.

“Just,” he said.

“What’s he say?” Fennel demanded.

“He thinks it’s all right.”

“All right? Hell! You’ll go over!”

“You get out.”

Fennel hesitated, then picking up his tool bag, he got down on to the track.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sweat pouring down his face, “If you’re going to kill yourself, I’m goin to get all the equipment off first. If she goes over, we’ll be stuck without food or drink.”

“Maybe you have something there,” Ken said with a wide grin. He climbed over the back and Themba realizing what they were doing joined them. The three men carefully lifted off the tarpaulin, draining the rain water on to the track, then they hastily unloaded all the equipment.

Fennel glanced at his watch. It was 10.55 hrs.

“We’ll have a beer,” he said. “In five minutes you have to contact Edwards. How much farther have we to go?”

Ken consulted Themba as he opened two beer bottles.

“About twenty kilometres. Then another ten kilometres to the big house,” Themba told him.

Ken translated.

“Rough going?”

Themba said once over this bit the going was good.

They finished the beer and then Ken picked up the two-way radio.

“Ken to Garry… are you receiving me?”

Immediately: “Garry to Ken… loud and clear. How goes it?”

Briefly Ken explained the situation.

“Sounds dicey. Look, Ken, why not use the winch? Anchor ahead and wind yourself in. If the truck slips you have a chance to jump.”

“Idea. Roger. Call you back. Out.”

“I bet he feels smug,” Fennel growled. “Did he say if he’s laid that bitch yet?”

“Skip it, Lew,” Ken said impatiently. He talked to Themba who nodded and taking the tarpaulin cover off the winch, he ran the cable out until he was beyond the narrowest part of the track. Ken gave Fennel the drag.

“You any good at splicing? It’s got to be secure.”

“I’ll fix it.”

Averting his eyes from the drop on his right, Fennel joined Themba, anchor in hand, his tool bag slung over his shoulder. It took him a little over half an hour before he was satisfied. While he worked, Ken sat behind the wheel and smoked. He had steady nerves and was quite cool. He knew there was a risk, but he was also confident that he could get through.

Finally Fennel stood up.

“It’s okay.”

He had fixed the drag firmly in a root of a massive tree, growing nearby and using a club hammer, he hammered the drag well home.

He walked back to the Land Rover.

“That won’t come out. The cable won’t burst. Depends now if the winch gets torn out of its casing.”

“Cheer up,” Ken said, grinning. “Well, let’s try. Will you stay behind me, Lew? If the back begins to slide either correct it or yell to me if you can’t. I want Themba ahead to watch the offside wheels.”

“I’ll tell you something,” Fennel said, breathing heavily. “You’ve got more bloody guts than I have.”

The two men looked at each other, then Ken turned, set the engine going, released the handbrake and moved the lever operating the winch forward. The drum began to revolve. He quickly cut the speed of the drum and the Land Rover began to inch forward.

Fennel walked behind, both his hands on the tailboard of the truck, his eyes on Themba who was squatting down, his eyes glued to the front wheels, beckoning Ken on.

The truck covered ten metres before Themba raised his hand sharply to stop.

Ken flicked the winch lever to neutral.

“What’s the matter now?” Fennel growled from behind. Themba had gone to the drag and was looking at it.

“Does that black ape think I would let it pull loose?” Fennel snarled. “That’s in, and it’ll stay in!”

“Don’t get so worked up,” Ken said, taking out a soiled handkerchief and wiping his face.

Satisfied, Themba went back to the middle of the track. “Four more metres and you’re on the narrow bit,” he called. Ken set the drum revolving again.

The Land Rover began to crawl forward again. Then the unpredictable happened, three metres before the narrows. The road, sodden by the rain, crumbled under the weight of the truck. Fennel felt the back sliding towards the drop and he threw his weight desperately against the tailboard, trying to steer the truck back, yelling to Ken to jump. He felt himself being dragged to the edge, and shuddering, he let go and rolled on his back towards the grass slope. He was on his feet in an instant, but the Land Rover had gone.

He looked wildly up the road. Themba, on the edge of the drop, was staring down, his big eyes rolling. Cursing, Fennel saw the taut cable was vibrating, and steeling himself, he went to the edge, feeling sick and dizzy, and looked over.

Four metres below, dangling by the cable was the Land Rover.

Ken was standing on the back of the seat, his hands gripping the wind shield. Far, far below spread out like an aerial map, was the valley.

Even as he looked, Fennel saw the drum was slowly parting from the casing.

“Get to the drum!” he bawled. “Ken… it’s coming away! Get the drum!”

Ken balanced himself, stepped over the wind shield and flattened himself up right on the perpendicular bonnet. He caught hold of one of the steel stanchions supporting the drum, heaved forward, his hands around the cable of the drum. Even as he got a grip, the drum parted from the truck and the truck went hurtling down into the void.

Ken swung on the end of the cable. Themba had the cable in his hands and was trying to haul him in. Shaking from head to foot, Fennel joined him. Ken swung hard against the side of the mountain and his feet got a purchase. As the two men hauled, he began to walk up the slightly sloping side and moments later, he rolled on to the track.

He sat up and forced a grin.

“Now, we will damn well have to walk,” he said.

As the Land Rover drove into the bush, Gaye sighed with relief.

“Well, thank goodness, he’s out of the way,” she said. “He was really beginning to get on my nerves.”

“Mine too.” Garry lit a cigarette. “Do you want some more coffee?”

She shook her head.

“When it gets lighter, I’ll have a swim. The pool looks marvellous.” She wandered over to the fire and knelt before it.

Garry watched her, thinking how lovely she looked, the flames of the fire lighting up her face. Then he went into the tent, found his cordless electric razor and shaved in the light of the flash-lamp. As he shaved, he thought of the hours ahead of them before they took off. He was sharply aware that they were alone together. Firmly, he put the thought out of his mind. Picking up the towel, he left the tent. The light was brighter now. In another hour the sun would be up, but he felt in need of cold water and was too impatient to wait.

“I’ll take my swim first,” he called to her. “Are you all right alone here?”

“Yes, unless a lion turns up. It’ll be cold.”

“That’s how I like it.”

She watched him move off into the shadows and she fed the fire with more sticks collected in a big heap by Themba. She also thought of the hours ahead. She admitted to herself that Fennel in his brutish way had stirred a dormant desire in her for a man. How long, she pondered, had it been since she had had a satisfactory lover? Her mind went back over the number of men who had shared her bed. She could remember only two who had really pleased and satisfied her. The first had been a little like Garry, not so tall and more handsome… an American on vacation. She had been in Paris, modelling clothes. On one hot July night, she had been sitting alone at Fouquet’s cafe which had been crowded. He had come up and asked if he could share her table. They had looked at each other, and she knew immediately that she would be sleeping with him within a few hours as he too seemed to know. Again, the second man, also an American and also who had looked a little like Garry, had come out of the dimness of a bar where she had been waiting for friends and had invited her to drink with him. They had left the bar together before her friends arrived. She decided this Garry type of man had sexual attraction for her that sparked with her instantly as two flints struck together will cause a spark.

She had only met these two men once and only knew their Christian names, but the few hours she had spent with them were etched on her mind, and now after that ape Fennel had aroused her after so long, she knew that sometime during the day, Garry would become her lover.

The sun was rising, and already she could feel its warmth. She moved away from the fire and went into the tent to straighten up. By the time she had finished, she could feel the heat of the sun coming through the canvas of the tent and she went out, taking a towel with her.

She saw Garry coming towards her, wearing shorts and shoes, his towel over his shoulder.

She smiled at him.

“Was it good?”

“Marvellous, but cold. It’ll be fine now.”

“See you later.” She was aware that he was looking at her as the two Americans had looked at her, then he looked away.

She nodded and ran off, swinging her towel, towards the pool.

She seldom had the opportunity of swimming naked and this she loved to do. She stripped off and dived in. The sun was fully on the pool by now and the chill was off the water. She swam for some time, then turned on her back, closed her eyes and let herself float.

Two grey, black-faced monkeys high up in a tree watched her. Then as if by agreement, they slid down the tree, moved swiftly to where she had left her shorts, shirt and towel, snatched them up and shinned up the tree again. Having examined the clothes and finding them of no interest, they left them hanging on a high branch and went swinging from tree to tree farther into the forest.

As they went, Gaye opened her eyes and saw them. She watched them, thinking how cute they looked, but she didn’t think them cute when, on climbing out of the pool, she found only her shoes on the bank.

Looking up, she caught sight of her towel hanging on a branch. She hesitated, knowing she could never climb up there, then shrugging, she put on her shoes and walked back to the camp. Garry, sitting in the shade of the tent, was examining the aerial map Shalik had given him. He glanced up as she came out of the line of trees and startled, he dropped the map. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes, then he got to his feet.

Quite unconcerned, naked as she was born, Gaye came on.

“Monkeys have stolen my clothes… the little devils. They are up a tree by the pool. Could you get them for me, Garry?” she called as she was half-way across the plain. She made no attempt to hide her nakedness. Her arms swung loosely at her sides as she moved. She behaved as if she were fully dressed.

“Sure…”

He started towards her, then deliberately made a wide half circle so he wouldn’t pass close to her and she liked him for that.

They passed and she went into the tent. She was quite sure he hadn’t looked back at her. Her heart was beating fast. She went to her rucksack to get her duplicate shirt and shorts. She got them out, looked at them, hesitated, then dropped them to the ground and stretched herself out on top of her sleeping bag. With her legs crossed and her hands covering her breasts, she waited his return.

“It’s nearly 11.00 hrs.,” Garry said. “They will be coming through on the radio.”

She was loath to let him go, but as he moved away from her, she let her arms slide away from his body. She watched him stand up and put on his shorts, then she closed her eyes.

She had been right about him. It had been even better than it had been with the other two Americans, and also, she did know his surname. The tensions that had been building up inside her for the past year had been released by the explosive coupling, and now she felt as if she had had a shot of some hard drug. She didn’t wish to be disturbed, but to be allowed to remain still and to do nothing. She drifted off int0 semi-sleep which was all the more relaxing and pleasant in the heat of the tent.

She was startled awake by Garry coming to the opening of the tent and calling her name sharply.

She half sat up and immediately became fully alert at the sight of his worried expression.

“What is it?”

“Those three are in trouble. Put your things on and come out. It’s too damn hot in here.”

There was a hard note in his voice and she could see he was impatient with her lying there like a cat before a fire. She slipped into her clothes and came out to join him in the shade.

The road collapsed, and they’ve lost the Land Rover,” Garry told her. “Ken was nearly killed.”

“Is he hurt?”

“No… shaken, but all right, now they’ll have to walk and it’s a hell of a walk.”

“But they’ll get there?”

“They think so. They’ll be contacting me again in two hours.”

“And the equipment?”

“That’s all right. They unloaded before attempting to get over the worst part of the track.”

“How will they get back?”

“We’ll all have to fly out… nothing else for it. It’ll be a load, but it can be done.”

She relaxed, resting her back against the tree.

“So it really isn’t so bad… they’ll just have to walk.”

“In this heat, it won’t be so good.”

“Oh, well… get some of that ape’s fat off. Do you know how to pluck and draw a bird, Garry?”

“No… do you?”

“No. So we won’t bother to hunt guinea-fowl. We’ll have beans and bacon for lunch.” She got to her feet. “I’m going to have another swim… coming?”

He hesitated. “Those three are worrying me, Gaye.”

“Then a swim with me will put them out of your mind. There’s nothing we can do for them… so come on and swim.”

She went into the tent for the towels and then together they walked in the burning sun towards the pool.

Fennel wished now he hadn’t drunk so much beer in the past. The rough, stony track, the hot sun and the pace that Ken was setting all reminded him of how out of condition he was. The strap of his tool bag was rubbing his shoulder raw. Sweat streamed down his face and blackened his shirt. He was breathing heavily.

At a guess, he thought, they had covered only six kilometres. Ken had talked of thirty kilometres before they reached Kahlenberg’s place. Twenty-four kilometres! Fennel gritted his teeth. He was certain he couldn’t do it with this tool kit: it got heavier and heavier with every step he took. Apart from his tool kit, he was also carrying his rucksack.

Before setting off, they had decided to leave the sleeping bags and the shotgun. Ken carried the Springfield and his own rucksack, Themba was carrying a rucksack stuffed with provisions and a five litre jerrycan of water.

Fennel plodded on, dragging one foot after the other. He longed for some shade, but there was none on this narrow track. He badly wanted a drink and thought regretfully of the beer they had left behind them. He had wanted it along with them, but when Ken said it was okay with him if Fennel would carry it, Fennel decided against the idea.

He paused to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and was stung with mortification to see the other two walking and chatting together, well ahead of him.

Ken glanced back and then stopped. Themba continued on for a few steps and then he stopped.

Fennel felt a spurt of rage go through him. He came plodding up to them. One look at his exhausted face told Ken that he was going to be a liability. Themba thought so too, and putting down the jerrycan he said something to Fennel who didn’t understand.

“He says he’ll carry your tool bag if you’ll carry the jerrycan,” Ken translated.

Fennel hesitated, but he knew the bag now was too much for him.

“What makes him think he can carry it?” he demanded, lowering the bag thankfully to the ground.

“He wouldn’t make the offer if he didn’t,” Ken pointed out as Themba hoisted up the bag and slung it on his shoulder.

Fennel hesitated, then said, “Well, tell him… thanks. It’s a bitch of a thing to carry.” He caught hold of the jerrycan and the three men continued on their way: the other two slowing down to keep pace with Fennel.

The next hour was a hellish up-hill grind for Fennel, but he kept plodding on, breathing heavily, furious with himself to see how easily the other two were taking the ordeal.

“How about a drink?” he gasped, coming to a halt.

But the drink gave him no satisfaction as the water was warm and anyway, Fennel loathed drinking water.

Ken looked at his watch.

“In another ten minutes, we’ll call Garry. Then we’ll have a rest.”

“That guy must have been born lucky,” Fennel growled, picking up the jerrycan. “He doesn’t know how well off he is.” They continued on, and at 13.00 hrs., they left the track and sat down in the shade of the jungle. Ken contacted Garry and reported progress.

“We should be in position by 18.00 hrs.,” he said, and added the going was rough.

Garry made sympathetic noises, said he would be standing by at 15.00 hrs. and switched off.

After half an hour’s rest, they continued on for another hour, then Ken said it was time to eat. They left the sun soaked track and sat down in the shade of the trees. Themba opened cans of steak pie and baked beans.

“How much farther?” Fennel asked, his mouth full.

Ken consulted Themba.

“About six kilometres and then we’ll be in the jungle.”

“Ask him if he wants me to carry the bag again.”

“He’s okay… don’t bother about it.”

“Ask him! That bag’s goddamn heavy!”

Ken spoke to Themba who grinned and shook his head.

“Black people are used to carrying white men’s burdens,” Ken said, keeping his face straight.

Fennel eyed him.

“Okay, I’ll take that… so he’s a better man than I am.”

“Skip it or I’ll burst into tears.”

Fennel smiled sourly.

“My time’s coming. You two may be pretty hot with this jungle and walking crap, but you wait until you see me in action.”

Ken offered his pack of cigarettes and the two men lit up.

Do you think he’s giving it to her?” Fennel asked abruptly. When not on his discomforts, his mind kept returning to Gaye.

“Who’s giving what to whom?” Ken asked blandly.

Fennel hesitated, then shrugged. “Forget it!”

An hour later, they again contacted Garry and again reported progress, then they left the mountain track and entered the jungle. Although it was steamy hot, the relief of constant shade helped them to quicken their pace.

Themba led the way with Ken and Fennel following. A narrow track through the dense undergrowth forced them to walk in single file. Overhead, Vervet monkeys swung from tree to tree, watching them. A big sable buck that was standing in the middle of the track as they rounded a high shrub went crashing away into the jungle, startling Fennel.

They had to keep a watch-out for shrubs with long, sharp thorns, and they all concentrated on the ground ahead of them. None of them suspected that they were being watched. High on a branch of a tree sat a giant Zulu, wearing only a leopard skin. In his right hand, he held a two-way radio. He waited until the three men had passed, then spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece of the radio, his message being picked up by Miah, Kahlenberg’s secretary, who had been detailed to keep in touch with the twenty watching Zulus positioned to report the movements of strangers on the estate.

From the moment the three men entered the jungle, they were never out of sight from the watchful eyes of the Zulus, hidden in the undergrowth or concealed in the tree tops.

Miah took down the Zulus’ reports in rapid shorthand, passed them to Ho-Du who rapidly transcribed them on a typewriter and then had them sent immediately to Kahlenberg.

Kahlenberg was enjoying this. The drama of the Land Rover had been observed and reported to him, and now he knew these three men were actually on his estate.

He turned to Tak. "The Bantu is expendable,” he said. “Give the order that if the occasion presents itself, he is to be got rid of. As he seems to be acting as a guide, it is unlikely the others will be able to find their way out without him.”

Tak picked up a two-way radio and spoke softly into it.

While he was speaking, Ken called a brief rest as they reached a clearing in the jungle. The three men sat down in the shade and all took a drink of water.

Ken talked to Themba for a few minutes. Themba pointed. Ahead of them was a narrow track that led into dense undergrowth.

“That’s the track that leads directly to Kahlenberg’s place,” Ken explained to Fennel. “We can’t miss it. We’ll leave Themba here, and we’ll go on. If we come unstuck, I don’t want him involved. When we have done the job, we’ll pick him up here and he’ll guide us out. Okay?”

“You’re sure we can find our way without him?

“We follow the track. It leads directly to the house.”

“Well, okay.” Fennel looked at his watch. “How long will it take to get to the house?”

“About two hours. We’ll go now. We’ll get near enough to the house before dark.”

Fennel grunted and got to his feet.

Ken talked again to Themba who grinned, nodding his head.

“We’ll take some food with us. I’ve got a water bottle,” Ken said, turning to Fennel. “You’ll have to carry your kit again.”

“Okay, okay, I’m not a cripple.”

Themba put some canned food into Ken’s rucksack.

“We’ll leave our other stuff here,” Ken went on, shouldering the rucksack, “and the rifle.” He shook hands with Themba. Speaking in

Afrikaans, he said, “We’ll be back the day after tomorrow night. If we are not back in four days, go home.”

Fennel came up to Themba. He looked slightly embarrassed as he pointed to his bag of tools, then grinning sheepishly, he offered his hand. Themba was delighted and grinning widely, he gripped the offered hand.

As he fell into step beside Ken, Fennel said, “I was wrong about him… he’s a good man.”

“We all make mistakes,” Ken looked at Fennel with a sly grin. “I seemed to have been wrong about you.”

Themba watched them walk into the jungle and disappear. He set out collecting sticks for the fire he would light at dusk. He liked being on his own and was always at home in the jungle. He was slightly curious why the two white men had gone off on their own, but decided it was no business of his. He was being well paid for acting as a guide, and already Ken had given him enough money to enable him to buy a small car when he returned to Durban where he rented a bungalow in which his wife and son lived. He didn’t see much of them as he was constantly on various game reserves in the district, but every other week-end, he would come home… something he always looked forward to.

He made a neat pile of sticks near the tree where the equipment was stacked, then moved into the jungle to find a few dead branches to give guts to the fire.

Suddenly he paused to listen. Something had moved not far from him. His keen ears had distinctly heard the rustle of leaves. A baboon? he wondered. He stood motionless, looking in the direction of the sound.

Out of a thicket behind him, rose a Zulu, wearing a leopard skin across his broad muscular shoulders. The sun glittered; on the broad blade of his assagai. For a brief moment, he balanced the heavy stabbing spear in his huge black hand, then threw it with unerring aim and with tremendous force at Themba’s unprotected back.

High in the evening sky, six vultures began to circle patiently.