When the Lion Feeds

she said, knowing he did not. I love you, Anna. He came towards her clumsily and she looked up at his face. She did not want to think about the leg. I love you, nothing else matters. He reached for her and she let him hold her.

Will you marry me, Anna? He was trembling. Yes. Her hands were quiescent on his shoulders. He sobbed softly and her expression changed to one of distaste, she made the beginnings of a movement to push him away but stopped herself. My darling, you won't regret it. I swear you won't, she whispered. We must do it quickly, Garry. Yes. I'll go into town this afternoon and speak to Padre No! Not here in Lady-burg, Anna cut in sharply. People will have too much to say. I couldn't stand it. We'll go up to Pietermaritzburg, Garrick acquiesced. When, Garry? soon as you like. Tomorrow, she said. We'll go tomorrow.

The Cathedral in Pietermaritzburg stands on Church Street. Grey stone with a bell-tower and iron railings between the street and the lawns. Pigeons strut puff- kchested on the grass.

Anna and Garrick went up the paved path and into the semi-dark of the Cathedral. The stained glass window had the sun behind it, making the interior glow weirdly with colour. Because they were both nervous they held hands as they stood in the aisle.

There's no one here, whispered Garrick. There must be, Anna whispered back. Try through that door there. What shall I say? Just tell him we want to get married.

Garrick hesitated. Go on. Anna still whispered, pushing him gently towards the door of the vestry. You come with me, said Garrick. I don't know what to say. The priest was a thin men with steel-rimmed spectacles. He looked over the top of them at the nervous pair in the doorway and shut the book on the desk in front of him. We want to get married, Garrick said and blushed crimson. Well, said the priest drily, you have the right address.

come in.

He was surprised at their haste and they argued a little, then he sent Garrick down to the Magistrates Court for a special licence. He married them, but the ceremony was hollow and unreal. The drone of the priest's voice was almost lost in the immense cavern of the Cathedral as they stood small and awed before him. Two old ladies who came in to pray stayed on gleefully to witness for them, and afterwards they both kissed Anna and the priest shook Garrick's hand. Then they went out again into the sunlight. The pigeons still strutted on the lawn and a mule wagon rattled down Church Street with the coloured driver singing and cracking his whip. It was as though nothing had happened.

We're married, said Garrick doubtfully. Yes, agreed Anna, but she sounded as though she didn't believe it either.

They walked back to the hotel side by side. They didn't talk or touch each other. Their luggage had been taken up to their room and the horses had been stabled. Garrick signed the register and the clerk grinned at him.

I've put you in Number Twelve, sir, it's our honeymoon suite. One of his eyelids drooped slightly and Garrick stammered in confusion.

After dinner, an excellent dinner, Anna went up to the room and Garrick sat on in the lounge drinking coffee. It was almost an hour later that he mustered the courage to follow her. He crossed the drawing-room of their suite, hesitated at the bedroom door then went in. Anna was in bed. She had pulled the bedclothes up to her chin and she looked at him with her inscrutable cat's eyes. I've put your nightshirt in the bathroom, on the table, she said.

Thank you, said Garrick. He stumbled against a chair as he crossed the room. He closed the door behind him, undressed quickly and leaning naked over the basin splashed water onto his face; then he dried and pulled the nightshirt over his head. He went back into the bedroom: Anna lay with her face turned away from him. Her hair was loose on the pillow, shining in the lamplight.

Garrick sat on the edge of the chair. He lifted the hem of his nightshirt above his knee and unfastened the straps of his leg, laid, the peg carefully beside the chair and massaged the stump with both hands. It felt stiff. He heard the bed creak softly and he looked up. Anna was watching him, staring at his leg. Hurriedly Garrick pulled down his nightshirt to cover the protruding slightly enlarged end with its folded line of scar-tissue. He stood up, balancing, and then hopped one-legged across to the bed. He was blushing again.

He lifted the edge of the blankets and slipped into the bed and Anna jerked violently away from. him.

Don't touch me, she said hoarsely. Anna. Please don't be scared, I'm pregnant, you mustn't touch me. I won't. I swear I won't. She was breathing hard, making no attempt to hide her revulsion.

Do you want me to sleep in the drawing-room, Anna?

I will if you say so. Yes, she said, I want you to. He gathered his dressing-gown from the chair and stooping picked up his leg. He hopped to the door and turned back to face her. She was watching him still. I'm sorry, Anna, I didn't mean to frighten you She did not answer him and he went on. I love you. I swear I love you more than anything in the world. I wouldn't hurt you, you know that, don't you?

You know I wouldn't hurt you? Still she did not answer and he made a small gesture of appeal, the wooden leg clutched in his hand and the tears starting to fill his eyes. Anna. I'd kill myself rather than frighten you! He went quickly through the door and closed it behind him. Anna scrambled out of the bed and with her nightdress flurrying around her legs she ran across the room to the door and turned the key in the lock.

In the morning Garrick was bewildered to find Anna in a mood of girlish gaiety. She had a green ribbon in her hair and her green frock was faded but pretty. She chattered happily through breakfast and while they were having there coffee she leaned across the table and touched Garrick's hand.

What shall we do today, Garry?

Garrick looked surprised, he hadn't thought that far ahead. I suppose we'd better catch the afternoon train back to Lady-burg, he said.

oh, Garry Anna pouted effectively. Don't you love me enough to give me a honeymoon? I suppose - Garrick hesitated and then of course, I didn't think of it He grinned excitedly. Where can we go?

We could take the mail boat down the coast to capetown, Anna suggested. Yes! Garrick adopted the idea immediately. It'll be fun. But, Garry - Anna's eagerness faded. I only have two Old dresses with me. She touched her clothes. Garrick sobered also while he grappled with this new problem.

Then he found the solution. We'll buy you some more! Oh, Garry, could we? Could we really?

We'll buy you all you can use, more than you can use.

Come on, finish your coffee and we'll go into town and see what they have. I'm finished. Ann, stood up from the table ready to go.

They had a stateroom on the Dunottax Castle from Port Natal to Capetown. There were other young people aboard. Anna, in her elegant new clothing and sparkling with excitement, formed the centrepiece of a gay little group that played deck games, dined, danced and flirted as the mailboat drove south through the sunny, golden days of early autumn.

At first Garrick was content to stay unobtrusively close to Anna. He was there to hold her coat, fetch a book or carry a rug. He watched her fondly, revelling in her success, hardly jealous when she almost disappeared behind a palisade of attentive young men, not resenting the sofa which formed his uncomfortable bed in the drawing-room of their suite.

Then gradually there came a realization among their travelling companions that Garrick was paying for most of the refreshments and other little expenses that came up each day. They became aware of him and of the fact that he appeared to be the richest of the group. From there it needed only a small adjustment to their thinking to admit Garrick to the circle. The men addressed remarks directly at him and some of the other girls flirted with him openly and sent him on small errands. Garrick was at once overjoyed and appalled by these attentions, for he could not cope with the lightning exchange of banter that flickered around him and left him stammering and blushing. Then Garrick found how easy it really was. Have a dram, old chap? No, really. I don' t, you knowNonsense, everybody does. Steward, bring my friend here a whisky. Really, no really I won't. And of course Garrick did. It tasted foul and he spilt a little on Anna's evening dress; while he wiped it up with his handkerchief she whispered a barbed reprimand and then laughed gaily at a joke from the moustached gentleman on her right. Garrick shrank miserably back in his chair and forced down the rest of the whisky. Then slowly and exquisitely the glow came upon him, starting deep down inside him and spreading out warmly to the very tips of his fingers.

Have another one, Mr Courtney? Yes, thanks. I'll have the same again, but I think it's my round He had the next drink. They were sitting in deck-chairs on the upper deck in the shelter of the superstructure, there was a moon and the night was warm Someone was talking about Chelmsford's Zulu campaign.

You're wrong on that point, Garrick said clearly.

There was a small silence.

I beg your pardon! the speaker glanced at him with surprise. Garrick leaned forward easily in his chair and began talking. There was a stiffness at first but he made a witticism and two of the women laughed. Garrick's voice strengthened. He gave a quick and deep-sighted resumi of the causes and effects of the war. One of the men asked a question. It was a sharp one but Garrick saw the essence of it and answered neatly. It was all very clear and he found the words without effort.

YOU must have been there, one of the girls hazarded. My husband was at Rorke's Drift, said Ann, quietly, looking at him as though he were a stranger. Lord Chelmsford has cited him for the award of the Victoria Cross. We are waiting to hear from London The party was silent again, but with new respect. I think it's my round, Mr Courtney. Yours is whisky, isn't it? Thank you. The dry musty taste of the whisky was less offensive this time; he sipped it thoughtfully and found that there was a faint sweetness in the dry.

As they went down to their staterooms later that night Garrick put his arm around Anna's waist.

What fun you were tonight! she said. Only a reflection of your charm, my darling, I am your mirror. He kissed her cheek and she pulled away, but not violently. You're a tease, Garry Courtney. Garrick slept on his back on the sofa with a smile on his face and no dreams, but in the morning his skin felt tight and dry and there was a small ache behind his eyes.

He went through to the bathroom and cleaned his teeth; it helped a little but the ache behind his eyes was still there. He went back to the drawing-room and rang for the cabin steward. Good morning, sir. Can you bring me a whisky and soda? Garry asked hesitantly. Certainly, sir. Garry did not put the soda into it but drank it neat, like medicine. Then afterwards miraculously the glow was L there again, warming him. He had hardly dared to hope for it.

He went through to Anna's cabin. She was rosy with sleep, her hair a joyous tangle on the pillow. Good morning, my darling. Garrick stooped over her and kissed her, and his hand moved to cover one of her breasts through the silk of her gown. Garry, you naughty boy. She slapped his wrist, but jokingly.

There was another honeymoon couple aboard returning to their farm near Capetown, seventy-five acres of the finest vines on the whole of the Cape Peninsula, the man's own words. Anna and Garrick were forced by sheer persistence to accept their invitation to stay with them.

Peter and Jane Hugo were a delightful pair. Very much in love, rich enough, popular and in demand with Capetown society.

With them Anna and Garrick spent an enchanted six weeks.

They went racing at Milnerton.

They swam at Muizenberg in the warm Indian Ocean.

They picnicked at Clifton and ate crayfish, fresh caught and grilled over open coals. They rode to hounds with the Cape Hunt and caught two jackals after a wild day's riding over the Hottentots Holland. They dined at the Fort and Anna danced with the Governor.

They went shopping in the bazaars that were filled with treasures and curiosities from India and the orient, Whatever Anna wanted she was given. Garry bought himself something as well, a silver flask, beautifully worked and set with comelians. It fitted into the inside pocket of his coat without showing a bulge. With its help Garrick was able to keep pace with the rest of the company.

Then the time came for them to leave. The last night there were only the four of them for dinner and it was sad with the regret of present parting, but happy with the memory of shared laughter.

Jane Hugo cried a little when she kissed Anna goodnight. Garry and Peter lingered on downstairs until the bottle was finished and then they walked upstairs together and shook hands outside Garry's bedroom. Peter spoke gruffly. Sorry to see you two go. We've got used to having you round. I'll wake you early and we can go out for a last early morning ride before the boat leaves.

Garry changed quietly in the bathroom and went through to the bedroom. His peg made no sound on the heavily carpeted floor. He crossed to his own bed and sat down to unstrap his peg.

Garry, Anna whispered. Hullo, I thought you were asleep. There was a stirring and Anna's hand came out from under the bedclothes, held towards him in invitation. I was waiting to say goodnight to you.

Garry crossed to her bed, suddenly awkward again. Sit down for a minute, said Anna and he perched on the edge of her bed. Garry, you don't know how much I've enjoyed these last weeks. They've been the happiest days of my whole life. Thank you so much, my husband. She reached up and touched his cheek. She looked small and warm curled up in the bed. Kiss me goodnight, Garry. He leaned forward to touch her forehead with his lips but she moved quickly and took it full on her mouth. You can come in, if you like, she whispered, her mouth still against his. She opened the bedclothes with one hand.

So Garry came to her when the bed was warm, and the wine still sang a little in her head and she was ready in the peculiar passion of early pregnancy. it should have been so wonderfully good.

Impatient now, ready to lead him, she reached down to touch and then stilled into surprised disbelief. Where there should have been hardness, male and arrogant, there was slackness and uncertainty.

Ann, started to laugh. Not even the shotgun blast had hurt as deeply as that laugh. Get out, she said through the cruel laughter. Go to your own bed. Anna and Garrick had been married two full months when they came back to Theunis Kraal. Garrick's arm was out of plaster, Peter Hugo's doctor had fixed that for him.

They took the road that by-passed the village and crossed the Baboon Stroorn bridge. At the top of the rise Garry pulled the horses to a halt and they looked out across the farm. I can't understand why Ma moved into town, said Garrick. She didn't have to do that. There's plenty of room for everybody at Theunis Kraal. Ann, sat silently and contentedly beside him. She had been relieved when Ada had written to them at Port Natal after they had telegraphed her the news of their marriage.

Young as she was Anna was woman enough to recognize the fact that Ada had never liked her. Oh, she was sweet enough when they met, but Anna found those big dark eyes of hers disconcerting. They looked too deep and she knew they found the things she was trying to hide. We'll have to go and see her as soon as we can. She must come back to the farm, after all Theunis Kraal is her home too, Garrick went on. Annn moved slightly in her seat, let her stay in the house in Lady-burg, let her rot there, but her voice was mild as she answered, Theunis Kraal belongs to you now, Garry, and I'm your wife. Perhaps your stepmother knows what's best. Anna touched his arm and smiled at him, Anyway we'll talk about it some other time. Let's get home now, it's been a long drive and I'm very tired. Immediately concerned, Garrick turned to her. I'm terribly sorry, my dear. How thoughtless of me. He touched the horses with the whip and they went down the slope towards the homestead.

The lawns of Theunis Kraal were green and there were cannas in bloom, red and pink and yellow.

It's beautiM, thought Anna, and it's mine. I'm not poor any more. She looked at the gabled roof and the heavy yellow wood shutters on the windows as the carriage rolled up the drive.

There was a man standing in the shade of the veranda.

Anm and Garrick saw him at the same time. He was tall with shoulders as wide and square as the crosstree of a gallows, he stepped out of the shadow and came down the front steps into the sunlight. He was smiling with white teeth in a brown burnt face; it was the old irresistible smile.

Sean, whispered Anna.

Sean really noticed him for the first time when they stopped to water the horses. They had left Chelmsford's Column the previous noon to scout towards the northeast. It was a tiny patrol, four mounted white men and a half-a-dozen Nongaai, the loyal Native troops from Natal.

He took the reins from Sean's hands. I will hold your horse while you drink. His voice had a resonance to it and Sean's interest quickened. He looked at the man's face and liked it immediately. The whites of the eyes had no yellow in them and the nose was more Arabic than negroid. His colour was dark amber and his skin shone with oil.

Sean nodded. There is no word in the Zulu language for thank you, just as there are no words for I am sorry.

Sean knelt beside the stream and drank. The water tasted sweet for he was thirsty; when he stood again there were damp patches on his knees and water dripping from his chin.

He looked at the man who was holding his horse. He wore only a small kilt of civet-cat tails: no rattles nor cloak, no head-dress. His shield was black rawhide and he carried two short stabbing spears. How are you called? Sean asked, noticing the breadth of the man's chest and the way his belly muscles stood out like the static ripples on a windswept beach.

Mbejane. Rhinoceros. For your horn? l The -an chuckled with delight, his masculine vanity tickled. How are you called, Nkosi? Sean Courtney. Mbejane's lips formed the name silently and then he shook his head.

ZIt is a difficult name. He never said Sean's name, not once in all the years that were to follow.

Mount up, called Steff Erasmus. Let's get moving.

They swung up onto the horses, gathered the reins and loosened the rifles in the scabbards. The Nongaai who had been stretched out resting on the bank stood up.

Come on, said Steff. He splashed through the stream.

His horse gathered itself and bounded up the far bank and they followed him. They moved in line abreast across the grassland, sitting loose and relaxed in their saddles, the horses trippling smoothly.

At Sean's right stirrup ran the big Zulu, his long extended stride easily pacing Sean's horse. Once in a while Sean dropped his eyes from the horizon and looked down at Mbejane, it was a strangely comforting feeling to have him there.

They camped that night in a shallow valley of grass.

There were no cooking fires; they ate biltong for supper, the black strips of dried salt meat, and washed it down with cold water. We're wasting our time. There hasn't been a sign of Zulu in two days riding, grumbled Bester Klein, one of the troopers. I say we should turn back and rejoin the Column, We're getting farther and farther away from the centre of things, we're going to miss the fun when it starts. Steff Erasmus wrapped his bLanket more closely about his shoulders: the night's first chill was on them. Fun, is it? He spat expertly into the darkness. Let them have the fun, if we find the cattle. Don't you mind missing the fighting? Look, you, I've hunted bushmen in the Karroo and the Kalahari, I've fought Xhosas and Fingoes along the Fish river, I went into the mountains after Moshesh and his Basutos. Matabele, Zulu, Bechuana, I've had fun with all of them. Now four or five hundred head of prime cattle will be payment enough for any fun we miss. Steff lay back and adjusted his saddle behind his head. Anyway what makes you think there won't be guards on the herds when we find them. You'll get your fun, I promise you.

How do you know they've got the cattle up here?

insisted Sean. They're here, said Steff, and we'll find them. He turned his head towards Sean. You've got the first watch, keep your eyes open. He tilted his top hat forward over his face, groped with his right hand to make sure his rifle lay beside him and then spoke from under the hat, Goodnight The others settled down into their blankets: fully dressed, boots on, guns at hand. Sean moved out into the darkness to check the Nongaai pickets.

There was no moon, but the stars were fat and close to earth; they lit the land so that the four grazing horses were dark blobs against the pale grass. Sean circled the camp and found two of his sentries awake and attentive.

He had posted Mbejane on the north side and now he went there. Fifty yards in front of him he picked up the shape of the small bush beside which he had left Mbejane.

Suddenly Sean smiled and sank down onto his hands and knees, he cradled his rifle across the crooks of his elbows and began his stalk. Moving flat along the ground silently, slowly he closed in on the bush. Ten paces from it he stopped and lifted his head, careful to keep the movement inchingly slow. He stared, trying to find the shape of the Zulu among the scraggy branches and bunches of leaves.

The point of a stabbing spear pricked him below the ear in the soft of his neck behind the jaw bone. Sean froze but his eyes rolled sideways and in the starlight he saw Mbejane kneeling over him holding the spear. Does the Nkosi seek me? asked Mbejane solemnly, but there was laughter deep down in his voice. Sean sat up and rubbed the place where the spear had stung him.

only a night ape sees in the dark, Sean protested. And only a fresh caught catfish flops on its belly, chuckled Mbejane, You are Zulu, Sean stated, recognizing the arrogance, although he had known immediately from the man's face and body that he was not one of the bastard Natal tribes who spoke the Zulu language but were no more Zulu than a tabby-cat is a leopard. Of Chaka's blood, agreed Mbejane, reverence in his voice as he said the old king's name. And now you carry the spear against Cetewayo, your king? My king? The laughter was gone from Mbejane's voice. My king? he repeated scornfully.

There was silence and Sean waited. Out in the darkness a jackal barked twice and one of the horses whickered softly. There was another who should have been king, but he died with a sharpened stick thrust up into the secret opening of his body, until it pierced his gut and touched his heart. That man was my father, said Mbejane. He stood up and went back into the shelter of the bush and Sean followed him. They squatted side by side, silent but watchful. The jackal cried again up above the camp and Mbejane's head turned towards the sound.

Some jackals have two legs, he whispered thoughtfully. Sean felt the tingle along his forearms.

Zulus? he asked. Mbejane shrugged, a small movement in the darkness. Even if it is, they will not come for us in the night. In the dawn, yes, but never in the night Mbejane shifted the spear in his lap. The old one with the tan hat and grey beard understands this. Years have made him wise, that's why he sleeps so sweetly now but mounts up and moves in the darkness before each dawn Sean relaxed slightly. He glanced sideways at Mbejane. The old one thinks that some of the herds are hidden near here. Years have made him wise, repeated Mbejane. Tomorrow we will find the land more broken, there are hills and thick Thorn bush. The cattle will be hidden among themDo you think we'll find them? Cattle are difficult to hide from a man who knows where to look. Will there be many guards with the herds? I hope so answered Mbejane, his voice a purr.

His hand crept to the shaft of his assegai and caressed it. I hope there will be very many. -You would kill your own people, your brothers, your cousins? asked Sean. I would kill them as they killed my father. Mbejane's voice was savage now. They are not my people. I have no people. i have no brothers, I have nothing. Silence settled between them again, but slowly the ughness of Mbejane's mood evaporated and in its place came a sense of companionship. Each of them felt comforted by the other's presence. They sat on into the night.

Mbejane reminded Sean of Tinker working a bird, he had the same half-crouched gait and the same air of complete absorption. The white men sat their horses in silence watching him. The sun was well up already and Sean unbuttoned his sheepskin coat and pulled it off. He strapped it onto the blanket roll behind him.

Mbejane had moved out about fifty yards from them and now he was working slowly back towards them. He stopped and minutely inspected a wet pat of cow dung. Hierdie Kaffir verstaan wat by doen, opined Steff Erasmus approvingly, but no one else spoke. Bester Klein fidgeted with the hammer of his carbine; his red face was already sweaty in the rising heat.

Mbejane had proved right, they were in hilly country.

Not the smoothly rounded hills of Natal but bills with rocky crests, deeply gullied and ravined between. There was thorn forest and euphorbia. covering the sides of the hills with a lattice work of reptile grey trunks, and the grass was coarse and tall. I could use a drink, said Frikkie Van Essen and wiped his knuckles across his lips. Chee peep, chee peep, a barbet called stridently in the branches of the kaffir boom tree under which they waited.

Sean looked up; the bird was brown and red among the scarlet flowers which covered the tree. How many? asked Steff and Mbejane came to stand at his horse's head.

Fifty, no more, he answered. When? Yesterday, after the heat of the day they moved slowly down the valley. They were grazing. They cannot be more than half an hour's ride ahead of us.

Steff nodded. Fifty head only, but there would be more. How many men with them? Mbejane clucked his tongue disgustedly. Two umfaans. He pointed with his spear at a dusty place where the print of a half grown boy's bare foot showed clearly. There are no men. Good said Steff. Follow them. They told us that if we found anything we must go back and report, protested Bester Klein quickly. They said we shouldn't start anything on our own. , Steff turned in his saddle, Are you frightened of two umfaans? he asked coldly. I'm not frightened of anything, it's just what they told us. Klein flushed redder in his already red face.

i know what they told us, thank you, said Steff. I'm not going to start anything, we're just going to have a look. I know you burst out Klein. If you see cattle you'll go mad for them. All of you, you're greedy for cattle like some men are for drink. Once you see them you won't stop Klein was a railway ganger.

Steff turned away from him. Come on, let's go. They rode out of the shade of the kaffir boom tree into the sunlight, Klein muttering softly to himself and Mbejane leading them down the valley.

The floor of the valley sloped gradually and on each side of them the ground rose steep and rocky. They travelled quickly with Mbejane and the other Nongaai thrown out as a screen and the horsemen cantering in a fine with their stirrups almost touching.

Sean levered open the breech of his rifle and drew out the cartridge. He changed it for another from the bandoher across his chest.

Fifty head is only ten apiece, complained Frikkie. That's a hundred quid, as much as you earn in six months. Sean laughed with excitement and Frikkie laughed with him. You two keep your mouths shut and your eyes open. Steff's voice was phlegmatic, but he couldn't stop the excitement from sparkling in his eyes. I knew you were going to raid, sulked Klein. I knew it, sure as fate. You shut up also, said Steff and grinned at Sean.

They rode for ten minutes; then Steff called softly to the Nongaai and the patrol halted. No one spoke and every man stood with his head alert and his ears straining. Nothing, said Steff at last. How close are we?

Very close, Mbejane answered. We should have heard them from here. Mbejane's exquisitely muscled body was shiny with sweat and the pride of his stance set him apart from the other Nongaai. There was a restrained eagerness about him, for the excitement was irifectious. All right, follow them, said Steff. Mbejane settled the rawhide shield securely on Ins shoulder and started forward i , Twice more they stopped to listen and each time Sean and Frikkie were more restless and Inpatient. Sit still, snapped Steff. How can we hear anything with you moving aboutV Sean opened Ins -mouth, but before he could answer they all heard an ox low mournfully ahead of them among the trees.

That's it! We've got them! Come on! No, wait! Steff ordered. Sean, take my farlookers; and climb up that tree. Tell me what you can see. We're wasting time, argued Sean. We should We should learn to do as we're damn well told said Steff. Get up that tree With the binoculars slung around his neck, Sean climbed upwards until he sat high in a crotch of two branches. He reached out and broke off a twig which obscured his vision, then exclaimed immediately, There they are, right ahead of us!

How many? Steff called up to him. A small herd, two herdboys with them. Are they among the trees? No, said Sean, they're in the open. Looks like a patch of swamp. Make sure there aren't any other Zulus with them No - Sean started to answer but Steff cut him short. Use the glasses, dammit. They'll be hiding if they're there. Sean brought up the glasses and focused them. The cattle were fat and sleek skinned, big homed and bodies dappled black on white. A cloud of white tick-birds hovered over them. The two herdboys were completely naked, youngsters with the thin legs and the disproportionately large genitals of the Africans. Sean turned the glasses slowly back and forth searching the patch of swamp and the surrounding bush. At last he lowered them.

only the two herdboys, he said.

Come down then, Steff told him.

The herdboys fled as soon as the patrol rode out into the open. They disappeared among the fever trees on the far side of the swamp.

Let them go laughed Steff. The poor little buggers are going to be in enough trouble as it is. He spurred his horse forward into the vivid green patch of swamp grass. It was lush: thick and tall enough to reach his saddle.

The others followed him in with the mud squelching and sucking at the hooves of the horses. They could see the backs of the cattle showing above the grass a hundred yards ahead of them. The tick-birds circled squawking. you and Frikkie cut around to the left! Steff spoke over his shoulder and before he could finish the grass around them was full of Zulus, at least a hundred of them in full war dress. Ambush! yelled Steff. Don't try and fight, too many of them. Get out! and they dragged him off his horse.

Horses panicked in the mud, whinnying as they reared.

The bang of Klein's rifle was almost drowned in the triumphant roar of the warriors. Mbejane jumped to catch the bridle of Sean's horse; he dragged its head around.

, Ride, Nkosi, quickly. Do not wait Klein was dead, an assegai in his throat and the blood bursting brightly from the corners of his mouth as he fen backwards. Hold on to my stirrup leather. Sean felt surprisingly calm. A Zulu came at him from the side; Sean held his rifle across his lap and fired with the muzzle almost in the Tn:an's face. It cut the top off his head. Sean ejected the cartridge case and reloaded. Ride, NkosiI, Mbejane shouted again. He had made no effort to obey Sean: his shield held high he barged into two of the attackers and knocked them down into the mud. His assegai rose and fell, rose and fell.

Ngi Dhla! howled Mbejane. I have eaten. Fighting madness on him, he jumped over the bodies and charged.

A man stood to meet him and Mbejane hooked the edge of his shield under his and jerked it aside, exposing the man's left flank to his blade. Ngi Dhla, Mbejane howled He had torn an opening in the ring of attackers and Sean rode for it, his horse churning heavily through the mud. A Zulu caught at his reins and Sean fired with his muzzle touching the man's chest. The Zulu screamed. Mbejane, shouted Sean. Take my stirrupp Frikkie Van Essen was finished; his horse was down and Zulus swarmed over him with red spears.

Leaning out of the saddle Sean circled Mbejane's waist with his arm and plucked him out of the mud. He struggled wildly but Sean held him. The ground firmed under his horse's hooves, they were moving faster. Another Zulu stood in their way with his assegai ready. With Mbejane kicking indignantly under one arm and Ins empty rifle in his other hand Sean was helpless to defend himself. He shouted an obscenity at the Zulu as he rode down on him. The Zulu dodged to one side and darted in again. Sean felt the sting of the blade across his shin and then the shock as it went on into his horse's chest. They were through, out of the swamp and into the trees.

Sean's horse carried him another mile before it fell. The assegai had gone in deep. It fell heavily but Sean was able to kick his feet out of the irons and jump clear. He and Mbejane stood looking down at the carcass, both of them were panting.

Can you run in those boots? asked Mbejane urgently.

Yes They were light veldschoen. Those breeches will hold your legs, Mbejane knelt swiftly and with his assegai cut away the cloth until Sean's legs were bare from the thighs down. He stood up again and listened for the first sounds of pursuit. NotHing.

Leave your rifle, it is too heavy. Leave your hat and your bandolier I must take my rifle, protested Sean. Take it then, Mbejane flashed Unpatiently. Take it and die. If you carry that they'll catch you before noon Sean hesitated a second longer and then he changed his grip, holding the rifle by the barrel like an axe. He swung it against the trunk of the nearest tree. The butt shattered and he threw it from him.

Now we must go, said Mbejane.

Sean glanced quickly across at his dead horse, the leather thongs held his sheepskin coat onto the saddle.

All Anna's hard work wasted, he thought wryly. Then following Mbejane he started to run.

The first hour was bad; Sean had difficulty matching his step to that of Mbejane. He ran with his body tensed and soon had a stabbing stitch in his side. Mbejane saw his pain and they stopped for a few minutes while Mbejane showed him how to relax it away. Then they went on with Sean running smoothly. Another hour went by and Sean had found his second wind. How long will it take us to get back to the main army?

grunted Sean.

Two days perhaps.... don't talk, answered Mbejane.

The land changed slowly about them as they ran. The hills not so steep and jagged, the forest thinned and again they were into the rolling grassland. It seems we are not being followed. It was half an hour since Sean had last spoken. Perhaps, Mbejane was non-committal. It is too soon yet to tell. They ran on side by side, in step so their feet slapped in unison on the hard-baked earth.

Christ, I'm thirsty, said Sean. No water, said Mbejane, but we'll stop to rest a while at the top of the next rise. They looked back from the crest. Sean's shirt was soaked with sweat and he was breathing deeply but easily. No one following us, Sean's voice was relieved.

We can slow down a bit now. Mbejane did not answer. He also was sweating heavily but the way he moved and held his head showed he was not yet beginning to tire. He carried his shield on his shoulder and the blade of the assegai in his other hand was caked with black, dry blood. He stared out along the way they had come for fully five minutes before he growled angrily and pointed with his assegai. There! Close to that clump of trees. Can you see them? Oh, hell! Sean saw them: about four miles behind, on the edge of the forest where it thinned out, a black pencil line drawn on the brown parchment of grassland. But the line was moving.

How many of them? asked Sean. Fifty, hazarded Mbejane. Too many. I wish I had brought my rifle, muttered Sean. If you had they would be much closer now, and one gun against fifty! Mbejane left it unfinished.

all right, let's get going again, said Sean. We must rest a little longer. This is the last time we can stop before nightfall. Their breathing had slowed. Sean took stock of himself: he was aching a little in the legs, but it would he hours yet before he was really tired. He hawked a glob of the thick gummy saliva out of his throat and spat it into the grass. He wanted a drink but knew that would be fatal folly. Oh! exclaimed Mbejane. They have seen us. How do you know? asked Sean. Look, they are sending out their chasers From the head of the line a trio of specks had detached themselves and were drawing ahead.

What do you mean? Sean scratched the side of his nose uneasily. For the first time he was feeling the fear of the hunted, vulnerable, unarmed, with the pack closing in. They are sending their best runners ahead to force us beyond our strength. They know that if they push us hard enough, even though they break their own wind while they do it, we will fall easily to the others that follow Good God! Sean was now truly alarmed. What are we going to do about it? For every trick, there is a trick, said Mbejane. But now we have rested enough, let us go. Sean took off down the hill like a startled duiker, but Mbejane pulled him up sharply. That is what they want. Run as before. And once again they fell into the steady lope, swinging long-legged and relaxed. They're closer, said Sean when they reached the top of the next hill. Three specks were now well ahead of the others. Yes. Mbejane's voice was expressionless. They went over the crest and down the other side, the slap-slap-slap of their feet together and their breathing an unaltering rhythm: suck blow, suck blow.

There was a tiny stream in the bottom of the valley, clean water rippling over white sand. Sean jumped it with only a single longing glance and they started up the far slope. They were just short of the crest when behind them they heard a thin distant shout. He and Mbejane looked round. on the top of the hill they had just left, only a half a mile away, were the three Zulu runners, and as Sean watched they plunged down the slope towards him with their tall feather head-dresses bobbing and their leopardtail kilts swirling about their legs. They had thrown aside their shields, but each man carried an assegai. Look at their legs, exulted Mbejane. Sean saw that they ran with the slack, blundering steps of exhaustion. They are finished, they have run too hard MbeJane laughed. Now we must show them how afraid we are: we must run like the wind, run as though a hundred Tokoloshe. breathe on our necks. It was only twenty paces to the crest of the slope and they pelted panic-stricken up and over the top. But the instant they were out of sight Mbejane caught Sean's arm and held him. Get down, he whispered. They sank into the grass and then crawled back on their stomachs until they lay just below the crest.

Mbejane held his assegai pointed forward, his legs were gathered up under him and his lips were drawn back in a half grin.

Sean searched in the grass and found a rock the size of an orange. It fitted neatly into his right hand.

A chimera of Zulu mythology.

They heard the Zulus coming, their horny bare feet pounding up the hill and then their breathing, hoarse hissing gasps, closer and closer until suddenly they came up over the crest. Their momentum carried them down to where Sean and Mbejane stood up out of the grass to meet them. Their fatigue-grey faces crumbled into expressions of complete disbelief; they had expected to find their quarry half a mile ahead of them. Mbejane killed one with his assegai, the man did not even lift his arms to parry the thrust; the point came out between his shoulders.

Sean hurled the rock into the face of another. It made a sound like a ripe pumpkin dropped on a stone floor; he fell backwards with his assegai spinning from his hand.

The third man turned to run and Mbejane landed heavily on his back, bore him down and then sat astride his chest, pushed his chin back and cut his throat.

Sean looked down at the man he had hit; he had lost his head-dress an his face had changed shape. His jaw hung lopsided, he was still moving feebly.

I have killed three men today, thought Sean, and it was so easy.

Without emotion he watched Mbejane come across to his victim. Mbejane stooped over him and the man made a small gasping sound then lay still. Mbejane straightened up and looked at Sean. Now they cannot catch us before dark. And only a night ape can see in the dark!

said Sean.

Remembering the joke, Mbejane smiled; the smile made his face younger. He picked up a bunch of dry grass and wiped his hands on it.

The night came only just in time to save them. Sean had run all day and at last his body was stiffening in protest; his breathing wheezed painfully and he had no moisture left to sweat with. A little longer, just a little longer.

Mbejane whispered encouragement beside him.

The pack was spread out, the stronger runners pressing a scant mile behind them and the others dwindling back into the distance. The sun is going; soon you can rest. Mbejane reached out and touched his shoulder, strangely, Sean drew strength from that brief physical contact. His legs steadied slightly and he stumbled less frequently as they went down the next slope. Swollen and red, the sun lowered itself below the land and the valleys were full of shadow. Soon now, very soon Mbejane's voice was almost crooning. He looked back. the figures of the nearest Zulu were indistinct. Sean's ankle twisted under him and he fell heavily; he felt the earth graze the skin from his cheek and he lay on his chest with his head down. Get up, Mbejane's voice was desperate. Sean vomited painfully, a cupful of bitter bile. Get up, Mbejane's hands were on him, dragging him to his knees. Stand up or die here, threatened Mbejane. He took a handful of Sean's hair and twisted it mercilessly. Tears of pain ran down Sean's eyes and he swore and lashed out at Mbejane.

Get up, goaded Mbejane and Sean heaved to his feet. Run, said Mbejane, half-pushing him and he's legs began to move mechanically under him. MbeJane looked back once more. The nearest Zulu was very close but almost merged into the fading twilight. They ran on, Mbejane steadying Sean when he staggered, Sean grunting in his throat with each step, his mouth hanging open, sucking air across a swollen tongue.

Then quickly, in the sudden African transition from day to night, all colour was gone from the land and the darkness shut down in a close circle about them.

Mbejane's eyes flicked restlessly back and forth, picking up shapes in the gloom, judging the intensity of the light.

Sean reeled unseeing beside him. We will try now, decided Mbejane aloud. He checked Sean's run and turned him right at an acute angle on their original track, now they were heading back towards the hunters at a tangent that would take them close past them but out of sight in the darkness.

They slowed to a walk, Mbejane holding Sean' s arm across his shoulders to steady him, carrying his assegai ready in his other hand. Sean walked dully, his head hanging.

They heard the leading pursuers passing fifty paces away in the darkness and a voice called in Zulu, Can you see them? Albo! l Negative answered another. Spread out, they, may try to turn in the dark. Yeh-ho! l Affirmative.

Then the voices were passed and silence and night closed about them once more. Mbejane made Sean keep walking. A little bit of moon came up and gave them light and they kept going with Mbejane gradually working back onto a course towards the southeast. They came to a stream at last with trees along its bank. Sean drank with difficulty, for his throat was swollen and sore. Afterwards they curled together for warmth on the carpet of leaves beneath the trees and they slept.

They found Chelmsford's last camp on the following afternoon: the neat lines of black camp fires and the flattened areas where the tents had stood, the stakes which had held the horse pickets and the piles of empty bully-beef tins and five-pound biscuit tins.

They left two days ago, said Mbejane.

Sean nodded, not doubting the correctness of this. Which way did they go? Back towards the main camp at Isandhlwana.

Sean looked puzzled. I wonder why they did that. MbeJane shrugged. They went in haste, the horsemen galloped ahead of the infantry. We'll follow them, said Sean.

The spoor was a wide road for a thousand men had passed along it and the wagons and gun carriages had left deep ruts.

They slept hungry and cold beside the spoor and the next morning there was frost in the low places when they started out.

A little before noon they saw the granite dome of Isandhlwana standing out against the sky and unconsciously they quickened their pace. Isandhlwana, the Hill of the Little Hand. Sean was limping for his boot had rubbed the skin from one heel. His hair was thick and matted with sweat and his face was plastered with dust. Even army bully beef is going to taste good, said Sean in English, and Mbejane did not answer for he did not understand, but he was looking ahead with a vaguely worried frown on his face.

INkosi, we have seen no one for two days, march. it comes to me that we should have met patrols from the camp before now. We might have missed them, said Sean without much interest, but Mbejane shook his head. In silence they went on. The hill was closer now so they could make out the detail of ledge and fissure that covered the dome in a lacework pattern. No smoke from the camp, said Mbejane. He lifted his eyes and started visibly.

What is it? Sean felt the first tingle of alarm. N'yoni, said MbeJane softly and Sean saw them. A dark pall, turning like a wheel slowly, high above the hill of Isandhlwana, still so far off that they could not distinguish the individual birds: only a shadow, a thin dark shadow in the sky. Watching it Sean was suddenly cold in the hot noonday sun. He started to run.

There was movement below them on the plain. The torn canvas of an overturned wagon flapped like a wounded bird, the scurry and scuffle of the jackals and higher up the slope of the kopje the hunch-shouldered trot of a hyena. Oh, my God! whispered Sean. Mbejane leaned on his spear; his face was calm and withdrawn but his eyes moved slowly over the field. Are they dead? Are they all dead? The question required no answer. He could see the dead men in the grass, thick about the wagons and then scattered more thinly back up the slope. They looked very small and inconsequential. Mbejane stood quietly waiting. A big black kolbes vulture planed across their front, the feathers in its wing-tips flated like the fingers of a spread hand. Its legs dropped, touched and it hopped heavily to rest among the dead, a swift transformation from beautiful flight to obscene crouching repose. It bobbed its head, ruffled its feathers and waddled to dip its beak over a corpse that wore the green Hunting Tartan of the Gordons. Where is Chelmsford? Was he caught here also?

Mbejane shook his head. He came too late. Mbejane pointed with his spear at the wide spoor that skirted the battlefield and crossed the shoulder of Isandhlwana towards the Tugela. He has gone back to the river. He has not stopped even to bury his dead. Sean and Mbejane walked down towards the field. On the outskirts they picked their way through the debris of Zulu weapons and shields; there was rust forming on the blades of the assegais. The grass was flattened and stained where the dead had lain, but the Zulu dead were gone sure sign of victory.

They came to the English lines. Sean gagged when he saw what had been done to them. They lay piled upon each other, faces already black, and each one of them had been disemboweled. The flies crawled in their empty stomach cavities. Why do they do that? he asked. Why do they have to hack them up like thatF He walked on heavily past the wagons. Cases of food and drink had been smashed open and scattered in the grass, clothing and paper and cartridge cases lay strewn around the dead, but the rifles were gone. The smell of putrefaction was so thick that it coated his throat and tongue like castor oil.

I must find Pa, Sean spoke quietly in almost a conversational tone.

Mbejane walked a dozen paces behind him.

They came to the lines where the Volunteers had camped.

The tents had been slashed to tatters and trampled into the dust. The horses had been stabbed while still tethered to their picket lines, they were massively bloated. Sean recognized Gypsy, his father's mare. He crossed to her. Hello, girl, he said. The birds had taken her eyes out; she lay on her side, her stomach so swollen that it was as high as Sean's waist. He walked around her. The first of the Lady-burg men lay just beyond. He recognized all fifteen of them although the birds had been at them also.

They lay in a rough circle, facing outwards. Then he found a sparse trail of corpses leading up towards the shoulder of the mountain. He followed the attempt that the Volunteers had made to fight their way back towards the Tugela and it was like following a paper chase. Along the trail, thick on each side of it, were the marks where the Zulus had fallen. At least twenty of them for every one of us, whispered Sean, with a tiny Ricker of pride. He climbed on up and at the top of the shoulder, close under the sheer rock cliff of Isandhlwana, he found his father.

There were four of them, the last four: Waite Courtney, Tim Hope-Brown, Hans and Nile Erasmus. They lay close together. Waite was on his back with his arms spread open, the birds had taken his face away down to the bone, but they had left his beard and it stirred gently on his chest as the wind touched it. The flies, big metallic green flies, crawled thick as swarming bees in the open pit of his belly.

Sean sat down beside his father. He picked up a discarded felt hat that lay beside him and covered his terribly mutilated face. There was a green-and-yellow silk cockade on the hat, strangely gay in the presence of so much death. The flies buzzed sullenly and some came to settle on Sean's face and lips. He brushed them away.

You know this man? asked Mbejane.

My father, said Sean, without looking up. You too. Compassion and understanding in his voice, Mbejane turned away and left them alone. I have nothing, Mbejane had said. Now Sean also had nothing. There was hollowness: no anger, no sorrow, no ache, no reality even. Staring down at this broken thing, Sean could not make himself believe that this was a man.

Meat only; the man had gone.

Later Mbejane came back. He had cut a sheet of canvas from one of the unburned wagons and they wrapped Waite in it. They dug his grave. It was hard work for the soil was thick with rock and shale. They laid Waite in the grave, with his arms still widespread in rigor mortis beneath the canvas for Sean could not bring himself to break them. They covered him gently and piled rocks upon the place. They stood together at the head of the grave. Well, Pa - Sean's voice sounded unnatural. He could not make himself believe he was talking to his father. Well, Pa - he started again, mumbling selfconsciously. I'd like to say thanks for everything you've done for me. He stopped and cleared his throat. I reckon you know I'll look after Ma and the farm as best I can, and Garry also. His voice trailed away once more and he turned to Mbejane.

there is nothing to say. Sean's voice was surprised, hurt almost. No, agreed Mbejane. There is nothing to say. For a few minutes long-a Sean stood snuggling to grapple with the enormity of death, trying to grasp the utter finality of it, then he turned away and started walking towards the Tugela. Mbejane walked a little to one side and a pace behind him. It will be dark bare we reach the river, thought Sean. He was very tired and he limped from his blistered heel.

Not much farther, said Dennis Petersen. No, Sean granted. He was irritated at the statement of the obvious; when you come out of Mahobals Kloof and have the Baboon Stroom next to the road on your left hand, then it is five miles to Lady-burg. As Dennis had said: not much farther.

Dennis coughed in the dust. That first beer is going to turn to steam in my throat. I think we can ride ahead now. Sean wiped at his face, smearing the dust. Mbejane and the other servants can bring them in the rest of the way. I was going to suggest it. Dennis was obviously relieved. They had almost a thousand head of cattle crowding the road ahead of them and raising dust for them to breathe. it had been two days drive from Rorkes Drift where the Commando had disbanded. We'll hold them in the sale pens tonight and send them out tomorrow morning, I'll tell Mbejane Sean clapped his heels into his horse and swung across to where the big Zulu trotted at the heels of the herd. A few minutes, talk and then Sean signalled to Dennis.

They circled out on each side of the herd and met on the road ahead of it.

They've lost a bit of condition, grumbled Dennis looking back. Bound to, sad Sean. We've pushed them hard for two days. A thousand head of cattle, five men's share of Cetewayo Is herds, Dennis and his father, Waite, Sean and Garrick, for even dead men drew a full share. How far ahead of the others do you reckon we are?

asked Dennis. Dunno, said Sean. It wasn't important and any answer would be only a guess: pointless question is just as irritating as obvious statement. It suddenly occurred to Sean that but a few months previously a question like that would have started a discussion and argument that might have lasted half an hour. What did that mean? It meant that he had changed. Having answered his own question, Sean grinned sardonically.

What're you laughing at! asked Dennis. I was just thinking that a lot has changed in the last few months. Ja, said Dennis and then silence except for the broken beat of their hooves. It's going to seem funny without Pa, Dennis said wistfully. Mr Petersen had been at IsandhIwana. It's going to seem funny being just Ma, the girls and me on the farm. They didn't speak again for a while. They were thinking back across the brief months and the events that had changed their lives.

Neither of them yet twenty years of age, but already head of his family, a holder of land and cattle, initiated into grief and a killer of men. Sean was older now with new lines in his face, and the beard he wore was square and spade-shaped. They had ridden with the Commandos who had burnd and plundered to avenge Isandhlwana.

At Ulundi they had sat their horses behind the ranks of Chelmsford's infantry in the hot sun, quietly waiting as Cetewayo massed his impis and sent them across open ground to overwhelm the frail square of men. They had waited through the din of the regular, unhurried volleys and watched the great black bull of Zulu tearing itself to shreds against the square. Then at the end the ranks of infantry had opened and they had ridden out, two thousand horsemen strong, to smash for ever the power of the Zulu empire. They had chased and hunted until the darkness had stopped them and they had not kept score of the kill.

There's the church steeple, said Dennis.

Sean came back slowly out of the past. They were at Lady-burg. Is your stepmother out at Theunis Kraal? asked Dennis. No, she's moved into town, the cottage on Protea Street. I suppose she doesn't want to be in the way now that Anna and Garry are married, said Dennis.

Sean frowned quickly, How do you like old Garry getting Anna? Dennis chuckled and shook his head. I reckon you could have got twenty-to-one odds he didn't have a chance Sean's frown became a scowl. Garry had made him look such a dAmn fool, Sean hadn't finished with Anna. Have you heard from them yet? When are they coming home? The last time we heard was from Pietermaritzburg;

they sent a wire to Ma just to say they were married.

She got it a couple of days before I arrived home from Isandhlwana. That was two months ago; as far as I know we haven't heard since. I suppose Garry's so firmly settled on the nest they'll have to prise him off with a crowbar. Dennis chuckled again, lewdly. Sean had a sudden and shockingly vivid mental picture of Garry on top of Anna; her knees were up high, her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed; she was making that little mewing sound.

Shut up, you dirty bastard, snarled Sean.

Dennis blinked. Sorry, I was only joking. Don't joke about my family, he's my brother And she was your girl, hey? murmured Dennis. Do you want a Punch? Cool down, man, I was joking. I don't like that kind of joke, see!

all right. All right. Cool down. It's dirty, that's dirty talk.

Sean was trying desperately to shut out the picture of Anna, she was in wild orgasm, her hands pleading at the small of Garrick's back.

Jesus, since when have you become a saint? asked Dennis and, urging his horse into a gallop, drew ahead of Sean; he kept going along the main street towards the hotel. Sean considered calling him back, but finally let him go.

Sean turned right into a shady side street. The cottage was the third house down, Waite had purchased it three years before as an investment. It was a charming little place, set among trees in a small green garden with flowers: thatched, whitewashed and surrounded by a wooden picket fence. Sean hitched his horse at the gate and went up the path.

There were two women in the sitting-room when he pushed the door open. They both stood up, surprise instantly becoming delight as they recognized him. It warmed him inside to see it, it's good to be welcome.

Oh Sean, we weren't expecting you. Ada came quickly to him. He kissed her and saw that sorrow had left its marks on her. He felt vaguely guilty that Waite's death had not wrought so obvious a change in him. He held her away at arm's length.

You're beautiful, he said. She was thin. Her eyes were too big for her face and the grief was in them like shadows in the forest, but she smiled and laughed at him.

We thought you'd be back on Friday. I'm so glad you've come earlier. Sean looked past Ada.

Hello, Strawberry Pie. She was hovering impatiently for his attention.

Hello, Sean. She blushed a little with his eyes on her, but she did not drop hers.

You look older, she said, hardly noticing the dust that caked his skin, powdered his hair and eyelashes, and reddened his eyes.

You've just forgotten what I look like, he said, turning back to Ada.

No, I'd never do that, whispered Audrey so softly that neither of them heard her. She felt swollen up inside her chest.

Sit down, Sean. Ada led him to the big armchair across from the fireplace. There was a daguerreotype of Waite on the mantel. I'll get you a cup of tea. How about a beer, Ma? Sean sank into the chair. Of course, I'll get it. No. Audrey flew across the room towards the kitchen. I'll get it. They're in the pantry, Audrey, Ada called after her, and then to Sean, She's such a sweet child. Look again, Sean smiled.

She's no child! wish Garry - Ada cut herself short.

What do you wish? Sean prompted her. She was quiet for a moment, wishing that Garrick could have found a girl like Audrey instead of Nothing, she said to Sean and came to sit near him.Have you heard from Garry again? asked Sean.No. Not yet, but Mr Pye says he had a cheque come through the bank, cashed in Capetown Capetown? Sean raised a dusty eyebrow. Our boy's living life to the hilt. Yes, said Ada, remembering the size of that cheque. He is. Audrey came back into the room: she had a large bottle and a glass on a tray. She crossed to Sean's chair. Sean touched the bottle; it was cold.

Quickly, wench, Sean encouraged her. I'm dying of thirst The first glass emptied in three swallows, Audrey poured again and, with the replenished glass in his fist, Sean settled back comfortably in the chair. Now, said Ada, tell us all about it. In the warmth of their welcome, his muscles aching pleasantly, the glass in his hand, it was good to talk. He had not realized that there was so much to tell. At the first hint of slackening in his flow of speech either Ada or Audrey was ready with a question to keep him going. Oh, my goodness, gasped Audrey at last. It's nearly dark outside, I must go. Sean, Ada stood up. Will you see that she gets home safely? They walked side by side in the half darkness, under the flamboyants. They walked in silence until Audrey spoke. Sean, were you in love with Anna? She blurted out the question and Sean experienced his standard reaction: quick anger. He opened his mouth to blast her, then checked. It was a nice question. Had he been in love with Anna? He thought about it now for the first time, phrasing the question with care that he might answer it with truth. He felt a sudden rush of relief and he was smiling when he told her. No, Strawberry Pie, no, I was never in love with Anna. The tone of Ins voice was right, he wasn't lying. She walked on happily beside him. Don't bother to come up to the house. She noticed for the first time his stained and dirty clothing that might embarrass him in front of her parents. She wanted it to be right from the start.

I'll watch you till you get to the door, said Sean.

I suppose you'll be going out to Theunis Kraal tomorrow? she asked. First thing in the morning, Sean assured her. There's a hell of a lot of work to do. But you'll be coming to the store! Yes! said Sean and the way he looked at her made her blush and hate her redhead's skin which betrayed her so easily. She went quickly up the path and then stopped and looked back. Sean, please don't call me Strawberry Pie any more. Sean chuckled. All right, Audrey, I'll try to remember. Six weeks had gone since his return from the Zulu Campaign, Sean reflected, six weeks that had passed in a blur of speed. He sipped coffee from a mug the size of a German beer stein, sitting in the centre of his bed with his nightshirt hitched up to his waist and his legs crossed in comfortable Buddha fashion. The coffee was hot; he sipped noisily and then exhaled steam from his mouth.

The last six weeks had been full, too full for brooding grief or regret, although in the evenings, when he sat in the study with Waite's memory all about him, the ache was still there.

The days seemed to pass before they had fairly begun.

There were three farms now: Theunis Kraal and the other two rented from old min Pye. He had stocked them with the looted cattle and the purchases he had made since his return. The price of prime beef had dropped to a new low, with nearly a hundred thousand cattle brought back from Zululand and Sean could afford to be selective in His buying. He could also afford to wait while the price climbed up again.

Sean swung his legs off the bed and walked across the room to the washstand. He poured water from the jug into the basin and tested it tentatively with one finger. It was so cold it stung. He stood hesitating in his ridiculously feminine nightshirt, with dark chest hairs curling out above the elaborately embroidered front. Then be mustered his courage and plunged his face into the basin; he scooped water with both hands and poured it over the back of his neck, massaged it into his hair with hooked fingers and emerged at last blowing heavily with water dripping down onto his nightshirt. He towelled, stripped off the damp garment and stood naked peering out of the window. It had lightened enough for him to make out the smoky swirl of drizzle and mist beyond the pane. A hell of a day, he grumbled aloud, but his tone was deceptive. He felt excitement for this day; he was fresh and sharp-edged, hungry for breakfast, ready to go for there was work to do.

He dressed, hopping on one leg as he got into his breeches, stuffing in the tails of his shirt and then sitting on the bed to pull on his boots. Now he was thinking about Audrey, he must try and get into town tomorrow to see her.

Sean had decided on matrimony. He had three good reasons. He had found that it was easier to get into the Bank of England's vaults than to get under Audrey's petticoats without marrying her. When Sean wanted something no price was too high to pay.

Living at Theunis Kraal with Garry and Anna, Sean had decided that it would be pleasant to have his own woman to cook for him, mend his clothes and listen to his stories, for Sean was feeling a little left out.

The third consideration, by no means the least significant, was Audrey's connections with the local bank. She was one of the very few weaknesses in old man Pye's armour. He might even weigh in with Mahobals Kloof Farm as a wedding present, though even the optimist in Sean realized that this hope was extravagant. Pye and his money were not easily parted.

Yes, Sean decided, he would have to find time to get into town and tell Audrey, in Sean's mird it wasn't a question of asking her. Sean brushed his hair, combed his beard, winked at himself in the mirror and went out into the passage. He could smell breakfast cooking and his mouth started to water.

Anna was in the kitchen. Her face was flushed from the heat of the stove. What's for breakfast, little sister? She turned to him, quickly brushing the hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. I'm not your sister, she said, I wish you wouldn't call me that. Where's Garry? Sean asked as though he had not heard her protest. He's not up yet. The poor boy's exhausted, no doubt. Sean grinned at her and she turned away in confusion. Sean looked at her bottom without desire. Strange that Anna being Garry's wife should kill his appetite for her. Even the memory of what they had done before was vaguely obscene, incestuous. You're getting fat, he said noticing the new heaviness of her body. She ducked her head but did not answer and Sean went on, I'll have four eggs, please, and tell Joseph not to dry them out completely. Sean went through into the dining-room and Garry came in through the side door at the same moment. His face was still vacant from sleep. Sean got a whiff of his breath; it smelled of stale liquor. Good morning Romeo, said Sean and Garry grinned sheepishly. His eyes were bloodshot and he hadn't shaved.

Hello, Sean. How did you sleep? Beautifully, thank you. I take it that you did also Sean sat down and spooned porridge from the tureen.

Have some! he asked Garry. Thanks. Sean passed him the plate. He noticed how Garry's hand shook. I'll have to talk to him about letting up on the bottle a trifle. Hell, I'm hungry. They talked the jerky, disconnected conversation of the breakfast table. Anna came through and joined them. Joseph brought the coffee. Have you told Sean yet, Garry? Anns spoke suddenly, clearly and with decision. No. Garry was taken by surprise, he spluttered his coffee. Told me what! Sean asked. They were silent and Garrick fluttered his hand nervously. This was the moment he had been dreading, what if Sean guessed, what if he knew it was his baby and took them away, Anna and the baby, took them away and left Garry with nothing.

Haunted by wild unreasonable fears, Garrick stared fixedly across the table at his brother.

Tell him, Garry, commanded Anna. Anna's going to have a baby, he said. He watched Sean's face, saw the surprise change slowly to delight, felt Sean's arm close round his shoulders in a painful hug almost crushing him.

That' s great Sean exulted! that's wonderful. We'll have the house full of kids in no time if you keep that up, Garry. I'm proud of you. Grinning stupidly with relief Garrick watched Sean hug Anna more gently and kiss her forehead.

WeLl done, Anna, make sure it's a boy. We need cheap labour around here. He hasn't guessed, thought Garrick, he doesn't know and it will be mine, No one can take it away from me now.

That day they worked in the south section. They stayed together, Garry laughing in happy confusion at Sean's banter. It was delightful to have Sean give him so much attention. They finished early; for once Sean was in no mood for work. My reproductive brother, every barrel loaded with buck-shot. Sean leaned across and punched Garry's shoulder. Let's knock it off and go into town. We can have a few quick ones to celebrate at the hotel and then go and tell Ada. Sean stood up in the stirrup and yelled above the moo and mill of the herd.

Mbejane, bring those ten sick ones up to the house and don't forget that tomorrow we are going to fetch cattle from the sale pens. Mbejane waved in acknowledgement and Sean turned back to Garrick. Come on, let's get the hell out of here. They rode side by side, globules of moisture covering their oilskins and shining on Sean's beard. it was still cold and the escarpment was hidden in the wet mist. It's real brandy-drinking weather, said Sean and Garrick did not answer. He was lightened again. He didn't want to tell Ada. She would guess. She guessed everything, she would know it was Sean's child. You couldn't lie to her. The horses hooves plopped wetly in the mud. They reached the spot where the road forked and climbed over the ridge to Lady-burg. Ada's going to love being a grandma, chuckled Sean, and at that moment Ins horse stumbled slightly, broke its gait and started favouring its near fore. Sean dismounted, lifted the hoof and saw the splinter driven deep into the frog. Damn it to hell, he swore. He bent his head, gripped the hilt of the splinter with his teeth and drew it out. Well, we can't go into Lady-burg now, that leg will be sore for days. Garry- was relieved; it put off the time when he must tell Ada. Your horse isn't lame. Off you go, man! give her my love. Sean looked up at him. We can tell her some other time. Let's get back home Garry demurred. Go on, Garry, it's your baby. Go and tell her Garrick argued until he saw Sean's temper rising, then with a sigh of resignation he went and Sean led his own horse back to Theunis Kraal. Now that he was walking the oilskin was uncomfortably hot and heavy, Sean took it off and slung it over the saddle.

Anna was standing on the stoep as he came up to the homestead.

Where's Garry? she called. Don't worry. He's gone into town to see Ada. He'll be back by supper-time One of the stable boys came to take Sean's horse. They talked together and then Sean stooped to lift the injured hoof. His breeches tightened across his buttocks and enhanced the long moulded taper of his legs. Anna looked at him. He straightened up and his shoulders were wide beneath the damp white linen of his shirt. He smiled at her as he came up the steps of the stoep. The rain had made his beard curl and he looked like a mischievous pirate. You must take better care of yourself now He put his hand on her upper arm to lead her aside. You can't stand around in the cold any more. They went in through the glass doors. Anna looked up at him, the top of her head on a level with his shoulder. You're a dAArnn fine woman, Anna, and I'm sure you're going to make a fine baby. It was a mistake, for as he said it his eyes softened and his face turned down towards her. He let his arm drop around her shoulders.

Sean! She said his name as though it were an exclamation of pain. She moved quickly, fiercely within the circle of his arm, her body flattened itself against his and her hands went up to catch in the thick hair at the back of his head. She pulled his head down and her mouth opened warm and wet across his lips, her back arched and thrust her thighs against his legs. She moaned softly as she kissed him. For startled seconds Sean stood imprisoned in her embrace, then he tore his face away. Are you mad? He tried to push her from him, but she fought her way back through his fending hands. she locked her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest. I love you. Please, please. I love you. just let me hold you. I just want to hold you. Her voice was muffled by the damp cloth of his shirt. She was shivering. Get away from me. Roughly Sean broke her hold and almost threw her backwards onto the couch beside the fireplace. You're Garry's wife now, and you'll soon be the mother of his child. Keep your hot little body for him. Sean stood back from her with his anger starting to mount. But I love you, Sean. Oh, my God, if I could only make you understand how I've suffered, living here with you and not being able to touch you even, Sean strode across to where she sat. Listen to me. His voice was harsh, I don't want you. I never loved you, but now I could no more touch you than I could go with my own mother. She could see the revulsion in his face. You're Garry's wife; if ever again you look at another man I'll kill you. He lifted his hands holding them with the fingers crooked ready. I'll kill you with my bare hands. His face was close to hers. She could not bear the expression in his eyes: she lashed out at him. He pulled back in time to save his eyes, but her nails gouged bloody lines across his cheek and down the side of his nose. He caught her wrists and held her while a thin trickle of blood dribbled down into his beard. She twisted in his hands, jerking her body from side to side, and she screamed at him. You swine, you dirty, dirty swine. Garry's wife, you say. Garry's baby, you say. She threw her head back and laughed wildly through her screaming. Now I'll tell you the truth. What I have within me you gave me. It's yours!

Not Garry's! Sean let go her wrists and backed away from her.

It can't be, he whispered, you must be lying. She followed him. Don't you remember how you said goodbye to me before you went to war? Don't you remember that night in the wagon? Don't you remember, don't you? Don't you? She was talking quietly now, using her words to wound him.

That was months ago. It can't be true, Sean stammered, still moving away from her. Three and a half months, she told him. Your brother's baby will be a little early, don't you think? But lots of people have premature babies - Her voice droned on steadily, she was shivering uncontrollably now and her face was ghostly pale. Sean could stand it no longer. Leave me, leave me alone. I've got to think. I didn't know. He brushed past her and went out into the passage.

She heard the door of Waite's study slam shut and she stood still in the centre of the floor. Gradually her panting came under control and the storm surf of her anger abated to expose the black reefs of hatred beneath. She crossed the floor, went down the passage and into her own bedroom. She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself.

I hate him, her lips formed the words in the nodffor.

Her face was still pale. There's one thing I can take from him. Garry's mine now, not his. She pulled the pins from her hair and let them drop onto the floor; her hair fell down her back. She shook it onto her shoulders then lifted her hands and tangled it into confusion. Her teeth closed on her own lips, she bit until she tasted blood. Oh, God, I hate him, I hate him, she whispered through the pain. Her hands came down onto the front of her dress. She tore it open, then in the mirror looked without interest at the round bosses of her nipples that were already darkening with the promise of fruition. She kicked off her shoes.

I hate him. She stooped and her hands went up under her skirts into the petticoats. She loosened her pantaloons and stepped out of them; she held them across her chest to tear them, then threw them next to the bed. She swept her arm across the top of her dressing-table: one of the bowls hit the floor and burst with a splash of face-powder and there was the sudden pungent reek of spilled perfume.

She crossed to the bed and dropped onto it. She lifted her knees and her petticoats fell back like the petals of a flower: her white legs and lower body were the stamen.

just before nightfall there was a shy knock an her door.

What is it? she asked. The Nkosikazi has not told me what I should cook for dinner, Old Joseph's voice was raised respectfully. There will be no dinner tonight. You and all the servants may go. Very well, Nkosikazi Garrick came home in the dark. He had been drinking; she heard him stagger as he crossed the stoep, and his voice slur as he called. Hallo. Where's everybody? Anna! Anna! I'm back Silence for a while as he lit one of the lamps and then the hurried thump, thump of his peg along the passage and his voice again edged with alarm. Anna, Anna, where are you?

He Pushed the door open and stood with the lamp in his hand. Anna rolled away from the light, pressing her face into the pillow and hunching her shoulders. She heard him set the lamp down on the dressing-table, felt his hands pulling down her skirts to cover Her nakedness, then gently turn her to face him. She looked into his face andsaw the uncomprehending horror in it. MY darling Oh Anna, my darling, what's happened? He stared at her broken lips and her breasts. Bewildered he turned his head and looked at the bottles on the floor, at her torn pantaloons. His face hardened and came back to her.

Are you hurt? She shook her head. Who? Tell me who did it She turned away from him again, hiding her face.

My darling my poor darling. Who was it, one of the servants? No, her voice stifled with shame. Please tell me, Anna. What happened?

She sat up quickly and threw her arms about him, holding him hard so her lips were near his ear. you know, Garry. You know who did itNo, I swear I don't, please tell me Anna drew her breath in deep, held it a second then breathed it out. Sean! Garrick's body convulsed in her arms, she heard him grunt as though he had been hit. Then he spoke. This too. Now this too He loosened her hands from his neck and pushed her gently down onto the pillows. He crossed to the cupboard, opened one of the drawers and took out Waites service pistol.

He's going to kill Sean, she thought. Garrick went out of the room without looking at her again. She waited with her hands clenched at her sides and her whole body stretched tightly. When the shot came at last it was surprisingly muted and un-warlike. Her body relaxed, her hands opened and she began to cry softly.

Garry limped down the passage. The pistol was heavy and the checkered grip rough in his hand. There was light showing under the study door at the end of the passage.

It was unlocked. Garrick went in.

Sean sat with his elbows on the desk and his face in his hands but he looked up as Garrick came in through the door. The scratches had already dried black across his cheek, but the flesh around them was red and inflamed.

He looked at the pistol in Garrick's hand. She has told you. There was no question or expression in his voice. Yes. I hoped that she wouldn't, said Sean. I wanted her to spare you that at leastSpare me? Garrick asked. What about her? Did you think of her? Sean did not answer, instead he shrugged and laid back tiredly in his chair. I never realized before what a merciless swine you are, choked Garrick. I have come to kill you! Yes. Sean watched the pistol come up. Garrick was holding it with both hands, his sandy hair hung forward onto his forehead. My poor Garry, Sean said softly and immediately the pistol started to shake. It sank until Garrick held it, still with both hands between his knees. He crouched over it, blubbering, chewing at his lips to stop himself. Sean started out of his chair to go to him, but Garrick recoiled against the door-jamb. Keep away from me! he yelled, don't touch me. He threw the pistol, the sharp edge of the hammer cut across Sean's forehead, jerking his head back. The pistol glanced off and hit the wall behind him. It fired and the bullet splintered the panelled woodwork.

We're finished, Garrick screamed. We're finished for ever. He groped wildly for the door and stumbled out into the passage, through the kitchens into the rain. He fell many times as the grass caught his peg but each time he scrambled up and kept running. He sobbed with each step in the utter darkness of the night.

At last the growl of the rain-engorged Baboon Stroorn blocked his way. He stood on the bank with the drizzle blowing into his face. Why me, why always me? He screamed his agony into the darkness. Then with a rush of relief as strong as the torrent in the river-bed below him he felt the moth flutter its wings behind his eyes. The warmth and the greyness closed about him and he sank down onto his knees in the mud.

Sean took very little with him: his bedroll, a rifle and a spare horse. Twice in the darkness he lost the path to Mbejane's kraal but each time his horse found it again.

Mbejane had built his big grass beehive hut well away from the quarters of the other servants, for he was Zulu of royal blood. When at last Sean came to it there were a few minutes of sleepy stirring and muttering within before Mbejane, with a blanket draped around his shoulders and an old paraffin lamp in his hand, came out to Sean's shouts.

What is it, Nkosi? I am going, Mbejane. Where to? Wherever the roads lead. Will you follow? I will get my spears, said Mbejane.

Old man Pye was still in his office behind the bank when they reached Lady-burg. He was counting the sovereigns and stacking them in neat golden piles and his hands were as gentle on them as a man's hands on the body of the woman he loves, but he reached quickly for the open drawer at his side as Sean shouldered the door open. You don't need that, said Sean and Pye lifted his hand guiltily off the pistol. Good gracious! I didn't recognize you, my boy. How much have I got credited to my account! Sean cut through the pleasantries. This isn't banking hours, you know. Look here, Mr Pye, I'm in a hurry. How much have I got?

Pye climbed out of his chair and crossed to the big iron safe. Shielding it with his body he tumbled the combination and swung open the door. He brought the ledger across to the desk. Carter, Cloete, Courtney, he muttered as he turned the pages. Ah, Ada, Garrick, Sean. Here we are.

Twelve hundred and ninety-six pounds eight and eight pence; of course, there are last month's accounts at the store still unpaid. Call it twelve hundred then, said Sean. I want it now and while you are counting it you can give me pen and paper. Help yourself, there on the desk. Sean sat at the desk, pushed the piles of gold out of his way, dipped the pen and wrote. When he had finished he looked up at old Pye.

Witness that, please. Pye took the paper and read it through. His face went limp with surprise. You're giving your half share of Theunis Kraal and all the cattle to your brother's first born! he exploded. That's right, please witness it. You must be mad, protested Pye. That's a fortune you're giving away. Think what you're doing, think of your future. I had hoped that you and Audrey -'He stopped himself and went on. Don't he a fool, manPlease witness it, Mr Pye, said Sean and, muttering under his breath, Pye signed quickly. Thank you. Sean folded the document, slipped it-into an envelope and sealed it. He put it away inside his coat.

Where's the money? he asked.

Pye pushed a canvas bag across to him. His expression was one of disgust; he wanted no truck with fools.

Count it, he said. I'll take your word for it, said Sean and signed the receipt.

Sean rode out past the sale-pens and up the escarpment along the road to Pietermaritzburg. Mbejane trotted at his stirrup leading the spare horse. They stopped at the top of the escarpment. The wind had blown the clouds open and the starlight came through. They could see the town below them with here and there a lighted window.

I should have said goodbye to Ada, Sean thought. He looked down the valley towards Theunis Kraal. He could see no light. He touched the letter in the inside pocket of Witwatersrand his coat. I'll post it to Garry from Pietermaritzburg, he spoke aloud.

Nkosi? asked Mbejane. I said, "It's a long road, let us begin. "'Yes, agreed Mbejane. Let us begin. They turned north from Pietermaritzburg and climbed steadily up across bleak grassland towards the mountains.

On the third day they saw the Drakensberg, jagged and black as the teeth of an ancient shark along the skyline.

It was cold; wrapped in his kaross Mbejane trailed far behind Sean. They had exchanged perhaps two dozen words since they left Pietermaritzburg for Sean had his thoughts and they were evil company. Mbejane was keeping discreetly out of his way. Mbejane felt no resentment, for a man who had just left his home and his cattle was entitled to brood. Mbejane was with sadness himself, he had left a fat woman in his bed to follow Sean.

Mbejane unplugged his small gourd snuff-box, picked a pinch and sniffed it delicately. He looked up at the mountains. The snows upon them were turning pink in the sunset and in a little while now they would make camp, and then again perhaps they would not. It made no difference.

Sean rode on after dark. The road crossed another fold in the veld and they saw the lights in the valley below.

Dundee, Sean thought without interest. He made no effort to hasten his horse but let it amble down towards the town. Now he could smell the smoke from the coal mine, tarry and thick in the back of his throat. They entered the main street. The town seemed deserted in the cold. Sean did not intend stopping, he would camp on the far side; but when he reached the hotel he hesitated.

There was warmth in there and laughter and the sound of men's voices and he was suddenly aware that his fingers were stiff with cold.

Mbejane, take my horse. Find a place to camp beyond the town and make a fire so I won't miss you in the dark. Sean climbed down and walked into the bar. The room was full, miners most of them, he could see the grey coal dust etched into their skins. They looked at him incuriously as he crossed to the counter and ordered a brandy. He drank it slowly, making no attempt to join the loud talk around him.

The drunk was a short man but built like Table Mountain, low, square and solid. He had to stand on tiptoe to put his arm around Sean's neck. Have a drink with me, Boetie. His breath smelt sour and old.

No thanks. Sean was in no mood for drunks. Come on, come on, the drunk insisted; he staggered and Sean's drink slopped onto the counter.

Leave me alone. Sean shrugged the arm away. You've got something against me? No. I just feel like drinking alone. You don't like my face, maybe? The drunk held it close to Sean's. Sean didn't like it. Push off, there's a good fellow.

The drunk slapped the counter. Charlie, give this big ape a drink. Make it a double. If he don't drink it, I ram it down his throat. Sean ignored the proffered glass. He swallowed what remained in his own and turned for the door. The drunk threw the brandy in his face. The spirit burned his eyes and he hit the man in the stomach. As his head came down Sean hit him again, in the face. The drunk spun sideways, fell and lay bleeding from his nose. What you hit him for? Another miner was helping the drunk into a sitting position. It wouldn't cost you nothing to have a drink with him.

Sean felt the hostility in the room; he was the outsider. This boy is looking for troubleIgoHe's a tough monkey. We know how to handle tough monkeysCome on, let's sort this bastard out Sean had hit the man as a reflex action. He was sorry now, but his guilt evaporated as he saw them gathering against him. Gone too was his mood of depression and in its place was a sense of relief. This was what he needed.

There were six of them moving in on him in a pack.

Six was a fairly well-rounded number. One of them had a bottle in his hand and Sean started to smile. They were talking loudly, spreading courage and waiting for one of their fellows to start it.

Sean saw movement out of the side of his eye and jumped back to cover it with his hands ready. Steady on there, a very English voice soothed him. I have come to offer my services. It seems to me you have adversaries and to spare. The speaker had stood up from one of the tables behind Sean. He was tall, with a gauntly ravage d face and an immaculate grey suit.

I want them all, said Sean.

Damned unsporting. The newcomer shook his head.

I'll buy the three gentlemen on the left if your price is reasonable. Take two as a gift and consider yourself lucky. Sean grinned at him and the man grinned back. They had almost forgotten the impending action in the pleasure of meeting'Very decent of you. May I introduce myself, Dufford Charleywood. He shifted the light cane into his left hand and extended his right to Sean.

Sean Courtney. Sean accepted the hand. Are you bastards going to fight or what! protested one of the miners impatiently.

rWe are, dear boy, we are, said Duff and moved lightly as a dancer towards him, swinging the cane. Thin as it was it made a noise like a well-hit baseball along the man's head.

Then there were five, said Duff. He flicked the cane and, weighted with lead, it made a most satisfactory swish. Like a swordsman he lunged into the throat of the second miner. The man lay on the floor and made a strangling noise.

,The rest are yours, Mr Courtney, said Duff regretfully.

Sean dived in low, spreading his arms to scoop up all n the pile of bodies four pairs of legs at once. He sat up i and started punching and kicking.

Messy, very messy, murmured Duff disapprovingly.

The yelps and thuds gradually petered into silence and Sean stood up. His lip was bleeding and the lapel was torn off his jacket.

Drink? asked Duff.

Brandy, please. Sean smiled at the elegant figure against the bar. I won't refuse another drink this evening. They took the glasses to Duff's table, stepping over the bodies as they went.

Mud in your eye!

Down the old red lane!

Then they studied each other with frank interest, ignoring the clearing up operations being conducted around them.

,You are travelling? asked Duff.

Yes, are you? No such luck. I am in the permanent employ of Dundee Collieries Ltd. You work here! Sean looked incredulous for Duff was a peacock among pigeons.

Assistant Engineer, nodded Duff. But not for long; the taste of coal-dust sticks in my craw. May I suggest something to wash it outV

A splendid idea, agreed Duff.

Sean brought the drinks to the table.

Where are you headed? asked Duff.

I was facing north when I started, shrugged Sean, I just kept going that way. Where did you start from? South. Sean answered abruptly.

Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Duff smiled. Yours is brandy, isn't it? The Barman came round from behind the counter and crossed to their table.

Hello, Charlie, Duff greeted him. I take it you require compensation for the damage to your fittings and furniture?

Don't worry about it, Mr Charleywood. Not often we have a good barney like that. We don't mind the odd table and chair as long as it's worth watching. Have it on the house. That's extremely good of you. That's not what I came across for, Mr Charleywood.

I've got something I'd like you to take a look at, you being a mining chap and all. Could you spare a minute, sir? Come on, Sean.

Let's see what Charlie's got for us. My guess is it's a beautiful woman. It's not actually, sir, said Charlie seriously and led the way through into the back room. Charlie reached up and took a lump of rock down from one of the shelves. He held it out to Duff. What do you make of that?

Duff took it and weighed it in his hand, then peered closely at it. It was glassy grey, blotched with white and dark-red and divided by a broad black stripe.

Some sort of conglomerate. Duff spoke without enthusiasm. What's the mystery? Friend of mine brought it down from Kruger's Republic on the other side of the mountains. He says it's gold bearing.

They've made a big strike at a place called Witwatersrand just outside Pretoria. Of course, I don't put much store by these rumours cos you hear them all the time: diamonds and gold, gold and diamonds Charlie laughed and wiped his hands on his apron.

Anyway my friend says the Boers are selling licences to them as want to dig for the stuff. Thought I'd just get you to have a look. I'll take this with me, Charlie, and pan it in the inoming. Right now my friend and I are drinking. Sean opened his eyes the next morning to find the sun burning in through the window above his bed. He closed them again hurriedly and tried to remember where he was. There was a pain in his head that distracted him and a noise. The noise was a regular croaking rattle; it sounded as though someone was dying. Sean opened his eyes and turned his head slowly. Someone was in the bed across the room. Sean groped for a boot and threw it; there was a snort and Duff's head came up. For a second he regarded Sean through eyes as red as a winter sunset and then he subsided gently back into the blankets. Keep it down to a bellow, whispered Sean. You are in the presence of grave illness.

A long time later a servant brought coffee.

'Send word to my office that I am sick, commanded Duff. I have done so. The servant clearly understood his master. He went on, There is one outside who seeks the other Nkosi! He glanced at Sean. He is greatly worried IMbejane. Tell him to wait, said Sean.

They drank coffee in silence, sitting on the edge of their beds.

How did I get here? asked Sean. Laddie, if you don't know, then nobody does Duff stood up and crossed the room to find fresh clothing. He was naked and Sean saw that although he was slim as a boy his body was finely muscled.

My God, what does Charlie put in his liquor? complained Duff as he picked up his jacket.

He found the lump of rock in the pocket, brought it out and tossed it onto the packing-case that served as a table.

He regarded it sourly as he finished dressing then he went to the great pile of bachelor debris that filled one corner of the room. He scratched around and came out with a steel pestle-and-mortar and a battered black gold pan. I feel very old this morning, he said as he started to crush the rock to powder in the mortar. He poured the powder into the pan, carried it out to the corrugated iron water tank beside the front door and filled the pan from the tap.

Sean followed him and they sat together on the front step. Duff worked the pan, using a practised dip and swing that set the contents spinning like a whirlpool and slopped a little over the front lip with each turn. He filled it again with clean water.

Suddenly Sean felt Duff stiffen beside him. He glanced at his face and saw that his hangover had gone; his lips were shut in a thin line and his bloodshot eyes were fastened on the pan.

Sean looked down and saw the gleam through the water, like the flash of a trout's belly as it turns to take the fly. He felt the excitement prickle up his arms and lift the hair on his neck.

Quickly Duff splashed fresh water into the pan; three more turns and he flicked it out again. They sat still, not speaking staring at the golden tail curved round the bottom of the pan. How much money have you got? Duff asked without looking up.

little over a thousand. As much as that. Excellent! I can raise about five hundred but I'll throw in my mining experience. Equal partners, do you agree? Yes. Then why are we sitting here? I'm going down. to the bank. Meet me on the edge of town in half an hour. What about your job? Sean asked.

I hate the smell of coal, the hell with my job. What about Charlie? Charlie is a poisoner, the hell with Charlie. They camped that night in the mouth of the pass with the mountains standing up before them. They had pushed the pace all that afternoon and the horses were tired they turned their tails to the wind and cropped at the dry winter grass.

Mbejane built a fire in the shelter of a red stone outcrop and they huddled beside it brewing coffee, trying to keep out of the snow-cold wind, but it came down off the mountains and blew a plume of sparks from the fire. They ate; then Mbejane curled up beside the fire, pulled his kaross over his head and did not move again until morning.

How far is it to this place? Sean asked. I don't know, Duff admitted. We'll go up through the pass tomorrow, fifty or sixty miles through the mountains, and then we'll be out into the high veld. Perhaps another week's riding after that. Are we chasing rainbows? Sean poured more coffee into the mugs.

I'll tell you when we get there Duff picked up his mug and cupped his hands around it. One thhing is certain that sample was stinking with gold. If there's much of that stuff around somebody's going to get rich. Us, perhaps? I've been on gold stampedes before. The first ones in make the killings. We might find the ground for fifty miles around as thick with claim pegs as quills on a porcupine's back.

Duff sipped noisily at his coffee. But we've got money, that's our ace in the hole. If we peg a proposition we've got capital to work it. If we're too late we can buy claims from the brokers. If we can't, well, there're other ways of getting gold than grubbing for it, a store, a saloon, a transport business, take your pick. Duff flicked the coffee grounds out of his mug. With money in your pocket you're somebody; without it anyone can kick you in the teeth. He took a long black cheroot out of his top pocket and offered it to Sean. Sean shook his head and Duff bit the tip from the cheroot and spat it into the fire. He picked up a burning twig and lit it, sucking with content. Where did you learn mining, Duff? Canada. The wind whipped the smoke away from his mouth as Duff exhaled. You've been around? I have, laddie. It's too damn cold to sleep; we'll talk instead. For a guinea I'll tell you the story of my life. Tell me first, I'll see if it's worth it! Sean pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and waited. Your credit is good, agreed Duff. He paused dramatically. I was born thirty-one years ago, fourth and youngest son to the sixteenth Baron Roxby, that is, not counting the others who never made it to puberty Blue blood, said Sean. Of course, just look at my nose. But please don't interrupt. Very early in the game my father, the sixteenth Baron, dispelled with a horsewhip any natural affection we may have owed him. Like Henry the Eighth he preferred children in the abstract. We kept out of his way and that suited everybody admirably. A sort of armed truce. Dear father had two great passions in life: horses and women. During his sixty-two glorious years he acquired a fine collection of both. My fifteen-year-old cousin, a comely wench as I recall, was his last and unattained ambition. He took her riding every day and fingered her most outrageously as he helped her in and out of the saddle. She told me about it with giggles. However father's horse, a commendably moral creature, cut short the pursuit by kicking father on the head, presumably in the middlle of one of these touching scenes.

Poor father was never the same again. In fact so much was he altered by this experience that two days later, to the doleful clangour of bells and a collective sigh of relief from his sons and his neighbours who owned daughters, they buried him. Dufford leaned forward and prodded the fire.

It was all very sad. I or any of my brothers could have told father that not only was my cousin comely but she had the family sporting instincts developed to a remarkable degree After all who should know better than we?

We were her cousins and you know how cousins will be cousins. Anyway father never found out and to this day I feel guilty, I should have told him. He would have died happier... Do I bore you? No, go on. I've had half a guinea's worth already, Sean laughed.

Father's untimely decease made no miraculous changes in my life. The seventeenth Baron, brother Tom, once he had the title was every bit as tight-fisted and unpleasant as father had been. There I was at nineteen on an allowance too small to enable me to pursue the family hobbies, gathering mould in a grim old castle forty miles from London, with the development of my sensitive soul being inhibited by the undiluted company of my barbaric brothers.

I left with three months advance allowance clutched in my sweaty palm and the farewells of my brothers ringing in my ears. The most sentimental of these was

"don't bother to write!

Everybody was going to Canada: it seemed like a good idea so I went too. I made money and spent it. I made women and spent them also, but the cold got to me in the end. Duff's cheroot had died; he re-lit it and looked at Sean.

It was so cold you couldn't urinate without getting frostbite on your equipment, so I began to think of lands trropical, of white beaches and sun, of exotic fruits and even more exotic maidens. The peculiar circumstances that finally decided me to leave are painful to recall and we will not dwell upon them. I left, to say the least, under a cloud. So here you see me freezing slowly to death, with a bearded ruffian for company and not an exotic maiden within a day's ride. 'A stirring tale, well told, applauded Sean.

One story deserves another, let's hear your tale of woe. Sean's smile slid off his face. Born and bred here in Natal. Left home a week or so ago, also in painful circumstances! A woman? asked Duff with deep compassion. A woman, agreed Sean. The sweet bitches, sighed Duff. How I love them.

The pass ran like a twisted gut through the Drakensberg.

The mountains stood up sheer and black on each side of them, so they rode in shadow and saw the sun only for a few hours in the middle of the day. Then the mountains dropped away and they were out into the open.

Open was the word for the high veld. It stretched away flat and empty, grass and brown grass dwindling to a distant meeting with the pale empty sky. But the loneliness could not blunt the edge of their excitement: each mile covered, each successive camp along the ribbon road ground it sharper until at last they saw the name in writing for the first time. Forlorn as a scarecrow in a ploughed land the signpost pointed right and said, Pretoria, pointed left and said, Witwatersrand.

The Ridge of White Waters, whispered Sean. It had a ring to it that name, a ring like a hundred millions in gold.

We're not the first, muttered Duff. The left-hand fork of the road was deeply scored by the passage of many wagons.

No time to worry about that. Sean had the gold sickness on him now.

There's a little speed left in these makes, let's use it. It came up on the horizon as a low line above the emptiness, a ridge of hills like a hundred others they had crossed. They went up it and from the top looked down.

Two ridges ran side by side, north and south, four miles or so apart. In the shallow valley between they could see the flash of the sun off the swamp pools that gave the hills their name.

Look at them, groaned Sean.

The tents and wagons were scattered along the length of the valley and in between them the prospect trenches were raw wounds through the grass. The trenches were concentrated along a line down the centre of the valley.

That's the strike of the reef, said Duff, and we're too late, it's all pegged! How do you know? protested Sean. Use your eyes, laddie. It's all gone. There might be some they've overlooked These boys overlook nothing. Let's go down and I'll show you. Duff prodded his horse and they started down.

He spoke over his shoulder to Sean. Look up there near that stream, they aren't wasting time. They've got a mill going already. It's a four-stamp rig by the looks of it They rode into one of the Luger encampments of tents and wagons; there were women at work around the fires and the smell of food brought saliva jetting from under Sean's tongue. There were men also, sitting among the wagons waiting for their suppers.

I'm going to ask some of these characters what's going on here, said Sean. He climbed down off his horse and tossed the reins to Mbejane. Duff watched him with a wry grin as he tried in succession to engage three different men in conversation. Each time Sean's victim avoided his eyes, mumbled vaguely and withdrew. Sean finally gave up and came back to the horses.

What's wrong with me, he asked plaintively. Have I got a contagious clap? Duff chuckled. They've got gold sickness he said.You're a potential rival. You could die of thirst and not one of them would spit on you, lest it gave you strength to crawl out and peg something they hadn't noticed. He sobered We're wasting time. There's an hour left before dark, let's go and have a look for ourselves They trotted out towards the area of mauled earth. Men were working pick and shovel in the trenches, some of them lean and tough-looking with a dozen natives working beside them; others fat from an office stool, sweating and gritting teeth against the pain of blistered palms, their faces and arms burnt angry red by the sun. All of them greeted Sean and Duff with the same suspicious hostility.

They rode slowly towards the north and every hundred yards with sickening regularity they came across a claim peg with a cairn of stones around its foot and the scrap of canvas nailed to it. Printed in crude capitals on the canvas was the owner's name and his licence number.

Many of the claims were as yet untouched and on these Duff dismounted and searched in the grass, picking up pieces of rock and peering at them before discarding them again. Then once more they moved on with sinking spirits and increasing exhaustion. They camped after dark on the open windy ridge and while the coffee brewed they talked.

We're too late. Sean scowled into the fire.

We've got money, laddie, just remember that. Most of these gentlemen are broke, they are living on hope, not beef and potatoes. Look at their faces and you'll see despair starting to show. It takes capital to work reef gold: you need machinery and money for wages, you have to pipe in water and pile rock, you need wagons and time. Money's no good without a claim to work, brooded Sean.

Stay with me, laddie. Have you noticed how many of these claims haven't been touched yet? They belong to speculators and my guess is that they are for sale. In the next few weeks you'll see the men sorted out from the boys! feel like packing up. This isn't what I expected. You're tired. Sleep well tonight and tomorrow we'll see how far this reef runs, then we'll start some scheming.

Duff lit one of his cheroots, and sucked on it: in the firelight his face was as punt as a Red Indian's. They sat on in silence for a while, then Sean spoke.

What's that noise? It was a dull torn-torn beat in the darkness. You'll get used to that if you stay around here much longer, said Duff. It's the stamps on that mill we saw from the high ground. It's a mile or so farther up the valley; we'll pass it in the morning.

They were on the move again before the sun was up and they came to the mill in the morning's uncertain light. The mill crouched black and ugly on the smooth curve of the ridge, defiant as a quixotic monster. Its jaws thumped sullenly as it chewed the rock; it snorted steam and screeched metallically.

I didn't realize it was so big, said Sean. It's big all right, agreed Duff, and they cost money, they don't give them away. Not many men around here can afford a set-up like that. There were men moving around the mill, tending its needs, feeding it rock and fussing about the copper tables over which its gold-laden faeces poured. One of the men came forward to offer them the usual hospitality. This is private ground. We don't want sightseers around here keep on going. He was a dapper little man with a round brown face and a derby hat pulled down to his ears. His mustache bristled like the whiskers of a fox terrier. Listen, Francois, you miserable bloody earthworm, if you talk to me like that I'll push your face around the back of your head, Duff told him, and the dapper one blinked uncertainly and came closer, peering up at them.

Who are you? Do I know you?

Duff pushed his hat back so the man could see his face. Duff! crowed the little man delightedly. It's old Duff. He bounced forward to take Duff's hand as he dismounted. Sean watched the orgy of reunion with amusement. It lasted until Duff managed to bring it under control and lead the little Afrikander across to make the introduction.

Sean, this is Francois du Toit. He's an old friend of mine from the Kimberley diamond fields. Francois greeted Sean and then relapsed once more into the excited chorus of Gott, it's good to see you old Duff.

He pounded Duff's back despite the nimble footwork that Duff was using to spoil his aim. Another few minutes of this passed before Francois composed himself to make his first coherent statement.

Listen, old Duff, I'm just in the middle of cleaning the amalgam tables. you and your friend go down to my tent.

I'll be with you in half an hour, tell my servant to make breakfast. I won't be long, man. Gott, man, it's you some good to see you.

An old lover of yours? asked Sean when they were alone.

Duff laughed. We were on the diamond fields together.

I did him a favour once, Pulled him Out Of a caving drive when the rock fall had broken his legs- He's a good little guy and meeting him here is the proverbial answer to a prayer. What he can't tell us about this goldfield no one else can. Francois came bustling into the tent well under the promised half hour and during breakfast Sean was an outsider in a conversation where every exchange began, you remember -? or what happened to old so and so?

Then, when the plates were empty and the coffee mugs filled, Duff asked, so, what are you doing here, Franz? Is this your own outfit? No, I'm still with the Company. Not that whoreson Hradsky? Duff registered mock alarm. That, that that's ta, to, terrible, he imitated a stutter. Cut it out, Duff. Francois looked nervous. Don't do that, you want me to lose my job? Duff turned to Sean with an explanation-'Norman Hradsky and God are equals, but in this part of the world God takes his orders from Hradsky.

Cut it out, Duff. Francois was deeply shocked but Duff went on imperturbably.The organization through which Hradsky exercises his divine powers is referred to with reverently hated breath as "The Company". In actual fact its full and resounding title is The South African Mining and Lands Company.

Do you get the picture? Sean nodded smiling and Duff added as an afterthought, Hradsky is a bastard and he stutters.It was too much for Francois. He leaned across and caught Duff's arm. Please, man. My servant understands English, cut it out, Duff. So the Company has started on these fields, hey? Well, well, it must be pretty big, mused Duff and Francois followed with relief onto safer ground. It is! You just wait and see, it's going to make the diamond fields look like a church bazaar!

Tell me about it, said Duff.They call it the Rotten Reef or the Banket or the Heidelberg Reef, but in fact there are three reefs, not one. They run side by side like layers in a sandwich cake. All three have pay gold? Duff shot the question and Francois shook his head. There was a light in his eyes; he was happy talking gold and No, you can forget about the outer reef, just traces there. Then there's the Main Reef. That's a bit better, it's as much as six feet thick in places and giving good values, but it's patchy. Francois leaned eagerly across the table; in his excitement his thick Afrikaans accent was very noticeable.The bottom reef is the winner, we call it the Leader Reef. It's only a few inches thick and some places it fades out altogether, but it's rich. There's gold in it like plums in a pudding. It's rich, Duff, I'm telling you that you won't believe it until you see itV 'I'll believe you, said Duff. Now tell me where I can get some of this Leader Reef for myself. Francois sobered instantly, a shutter dropped over his eyes and hid the light that had shone there a moment before. It's gone. It's all gone, he said defensively. It's all been pegged, you've come too late. Well, that's that, said Duff and a big silence settled on the gathering. Francois fidgeted on his stool, chewing at the ends of his mustache and scowling into his mug.

Duff and Sean waited quietly; it was obvious that Francois was wrestling with himself, two loyalties tearing him down the middle. Once he opened his mouth and then closed it again; he blew on his coffee to cool it and the heat came off it in steam.Have you got any money? He fired the question with startling violence.

Yes, said Duff. Mr Hradsky has gone down to Capetown to raise money. He has a list of a hundred and forty claims that he will buy when he gets back. Francois paused guiltily. I'm only telling you this because of what I owe you. Yes, I know! Duff spoke softly. Francois took an audible breath and went on. On the top of Mr Hradsky's list is a block of claims that belongs to a woman. She is willing to sell and they are the most likely-looking propositions on the whole field. Yes? Duff encouraged him. This woman has started an eating-house about two miles from here on the banks of the Natal Spruit. Her name is Mrs Rautenbach, she serves good food. You could go and have a meal there. Thanks, Francois. I owed it to you, Francois said gruffly, then his mood changed quickly and he chuckled. You'll like her, Duff, she's a lot of woman.

Sean and Duff went to eat lunch at Mrs Rautenbach's.

It was an unpainted corrugated-iron building on a wooden frame and the sign above the veranda said in letters of red and gold Candy's Hotel. High-class cuisine. Free toilet facilities. No drunks or horses admitted. Proprietor Mrs Candella Rautenbach.They washed off the dust in the enamel basin which stood on the veranda, dried themselves on the free towel and combed in the free mirror on the wall.

How do I look! asked Duff.

Ravishing, said Sean, but you don't smell so good.

When did you last bath? They went into the dining-room and found it almost full, but there was an empty table against the far wall.

The room was hot and thick with pipe smoke and the smell of cabbage. Dusty, bearded men laughed and shouted or ate silently and hungrily. They crossed the room to the table and a coloured waitress came to them.

Yes? she asked. Her dress was damp at the armpits. May we have the menu? The girl looked at Duff with faint amusement. Today we got steak and mashed potatoes with pudding afterwards. We'll have it, Duff agreed. You sure as hell won't get nothing else, the girl assured him and trotted back to the kitchen. The service is good, Duff enthused. We can only hope that the food and the proprietress are of the same high standard The meat was tough but well flavoured and the coffee was strong and sweet. They ate with appreciation until Sean who was facing the kitchen stopped his fork on its way to his mouth. A hush was on the room.

Here she is, he said.

Candy Rautenbach was a tall and bright, shiny blonde and her skin was Nordic flawlessness as yet unspoiled by the sun. She filled the front of her blouse and the back of her skirt with a pleasant abundance. She was well aware of and yet not disconcerted by the fact that every eye in the room was on one of those areas. She carried a ladle which she twitched threateningly at the first hand that reached out to pinch her rump, the hand withdrew and Candy smiled sweetly and moved on among the tables.

She stopped occasionally to chat with her customers and it was clear that many of these lonely men came here not only to eat. They watched her avidly, grinning with pleasure when she spoke to them. She reached their table and Sean and Duff stood up. Candy blinked with surprise.

Sit down, please. The small courtesy had touched her. You are new here? We got in yesterday, Duff smiled at her. And the way you cook a steak makes me feel as though I were home again. Where are you from! Candy looked at the two of them with perhaps just a shade more than professional interest. We've come up from Natal to have a look around. This is Mr Courtney, he is interested in new investments and he thought that these goldfields might provide an outlet for some of his capital. Sean just managed to stop his jaw dropping open and then quickly assumed the slightly superior air of a big financier as Duff went on. My name is Charleywood. I am Mr Courtney's mining adviser. Pleased to meet you. I am Candy Rautenbach. She was impressed. Won't you join us for a few minutes, Mrs Rautenbach?

Duff drew back a chair for her and Candy hesitated. I have to check up in the kitchen, perhaps later. Do you always lie so smoothly? Sean spoke with admiration when Candy had gone.

I spoke no untruths, Duff defended himself. No, but the way you tell the truth! How the hell am I going to play up to the role you have created for me? You'll learn to live with it, don't worry. just look wise and keep your mouth shut, Duff advised. "What do you think of her anyway? Toothsome, said Sean.

Decidedly palatable, agreed Duff.

When Candy came back Duff kept the conversation light and general for a while, but when Candy started asking some sharp questions it was immediately apparent that her knowledge of geology and mining was well above average and Duff remarked on it. Yes, my husband was in the game. I picked it up from him. She reached into one of the pockets of her blue and white checked skirt and brought out a small handful of rock samples. She put them down in front of Duff. Can you name those? she asked. It was the direct test, she was asking him to prove himself Kimberlite. Serpentine. Feldspar.

Duff reeled them off and Candy relaxed visibly. As it happens I have a number of claims pegged along the Heidelberg Reef. Perhaps Mr Courtney would care to have a look at them. Actually, I am negotiating at the moment with The South African Mining and Lands Company who are very interested. Sean made his solitary but valuable contribution to the conversation. Ah yes, he nodded sagely. Good old Norman. Candy was shaken, not many men used Hradsky's Christian name. Will tomorrow morning be convenient? she asked.

That afternoon they bought a tent from a disillusioned hopeful who had thrown up his job on the Natal Railways to make the pilgrimage to Witwatersrand and now needed money to get home. They pitched it near the Hotel and went down to the Natal Spruit to take a long overdue bath. That night they held a mild celebration on the half bottle of brandy that Duff produced from his saddlebag and the next morning Candy took them out to the claims.

she had twenty of them pegged right along the Banket.

She led them to a spot where the reef out iT leave you two to look around. If you're interested we can talk about it when you come to the Hotel. I've got to get back now, there'll be hungry mouths to feed. Duff escorted Candy to her horse, giving her his arm across the rough ground and helping her into the saddle in a manner he must have learned from his father. He watched her ride away then came back to Sean. He was elated. Tread lightly, Mr Courtney, walk with reverence for beneath your feet lies our fortune. They went over the ground, Sean like a friendly bloodhound and Duff cruising with the restless circling of a tiger shark. They inspected the claim notices paced out the boundaries and filled their pockets with chips of rock, then they rode back to their tent and Duff brought out his pestle, mortar and pan. They took them down to the bank of the Natal Spruit and all afternoon crushed the rock and worked the pan. When they had tested the last sample Duff gave his judgement.

Well, theres gold, and I'd say it's payable gold. It's not nearly as rich as the one we panned at Dundee but that must have been a selected piece of the Leader Reef! He paused and looked seriously at Sean. I think it's worth a try. If the Leader Reef is there we'll find it and in the meantime we won't lose money by working the main reef. Sean picked up a pebble and tossed it into the stream in front of him. He was learning for the first time the alternate thrill and depression of gold sickness when one minute you rode the lightning and the next you dropped abruptly into the depths. The yellow tails in the pan had looked pathetically thin and undernourished to him. Supposing you're right and supposing we talk Candy into selling her claims, how do we go about it? That fourstamp mill looked a devilishly complicated and expensive bit of machinery to me, not the kind of thing you can buy over the counter in every dealer's store Duff punched his shoulder and smiled lopsidedly at him. You've got your Uncle Duff looking after you.

Candy will sell her claims, she trembles when I touch her, a day or two more and she'll be eating out of my hand. As for the mill... When I came out to this country I fell in with a rich Cape farmer whose lifelong ambition had been to have his own gold mine. He selected a ridge which in his undisputed wisdom as a grower of grapes he considered to be an ideal place for his mine. He hired me to run it for him, purchased a mill of the latest and most expensive vintage and prepared himself to flood the market with gold. After six months when we had processed vast quantities of assorted quartz, schist and earth and recovered sufficient gold to fit into a mouse's ear without touching the sides, my patron's enthusiasm was somewhat dampened and he dispensed with my invaluable service s and closed the circus down. I left for the diamond fields and as far as I know the machinery is still lying there waiting for the first buyer with a couple of hundred pounds to come and pick it up. Duff stood up and they walked back towards the tent. However, first things first.

Do you agree that I should continue the negotiations with Mrs Rautenbach? I suppose so. Sean was feeling more cheerful again. But are you sure your interest in Mrs Rautenbach is strictly line of duty?

Duff was shocked. Don't think for a minute that my intentions are anything but to further the interests of our partnership. You can't believe that my animal appetite plays any part in what I intend doing? No, of course not, Sean assured him. I hope you can force yourself to go through with it. Duff laughed. While we are on the subject I think this is as good a time as any for you to develop a stomach ailment and retire to your lonely bed. From now on until we've got the agreement signed your boyish charm will be of no great value in the proceedings. I'll tell Candy that you've given me authority to act on your behalf. Duff combed his curls, put on the clothes that Mbejane had washed for him and disappeared in the direction of Candy's Hotel. Time passed slowly for Sean; he sat and chatted with Mbejane, drank a little coffee and when the sun went down retired to his tent. He read one of Duff's books by the light of the hurricane lamp but could not concentrate on it; his mind kept straying to thoughts of blonde hair. When someone scratched on the canvas door he leapt up with a confused hope that Candy had decided to come and deal with him direct. It was the coloured girl from the Hotel, her crinkly black hair at odds with what he had been thinking. Madame says she's sorry to hear about your sickness and to tell you to have two spoons of this, she told him and offered Sean the bottle of castor oil. Tell your mistress, thank you very much. Sean accepted the medicine and started to close the tent flapMadame told me to stay and make sure that you took two full spoons, I have to take the bottle back and show her how much you've had. Sean's stomach cringed. He looked at the coloured girl standing resolute in the doorway, determined to carry out her instructions. He thought of poor Duff doing his duty like a man, he could do no less. He swallowed down the thick clinging oil with his eyes closed then went back to his book. He slept uneasily starting up occasionally to look at the empty bed across the tent. The medicine drove him out into the cold at half past two in the morning.

Mbejane was curled up next to the fire and Sean scowled at him. His regular contented snoring seemed a calculated mockery. A jackal yelped miserably up on the ridge, expressing Sean's feelings exactly, and the night wind fanned his bare buttocks.

Duff came home in the dawning. Sean was wide awake.

Well, what happened? he demanded.

Duff yawned. At one stage I began to doubt whether I was man enough. However, it worked out to the satisfaction of all concerned. What a woman! He pulled off his shirt and Sean saw the scratches across his back.

Did she give you any castor oil? Sean asked bitterly.

I m sorry about that Duff smiled at him sympathetically. I tried to dissuade her, truly I did. She's a very motherly person. Most concerned about your stomachYou still haven't answered my question. Did you make any progress with the claims? Oh that -, Duff pulled the blankets up under his chin. We disposed of that early on in the proceedings. She'll take a down payment of ten pounds each on them and give us an option to buy the lot at any time during the next two years for ten thousand. We arranged that over dinner. The rest of the time was devoted, in a manner of speaking, to shaking hands over the deal. Tomorrow afternoon, or rather this afternoon, you and I'll ride across to Pretoria and get a lawyer to write up an agreement for her to sign. But right now I need some sleep. Wake me at lunch time. Goodnight, laddie. Duff and Sean brought the agreement back from Pretoria the following evening. It was an impressive four-page document full of in so much as and party of the first part. Candy led them to her bedroom and they sat around anxiously while she read it through twice.

She looked up at last and said, That seems all right but there is just one other thing. Sean's heart sank and even Duff's smile was strained. It had all been too easy so far.

Candy hesitated and Sean saw with faint surprise that she was blushing. It was a pleasant thing to see the peach of her cheeks turning to ripe apple and they watched it with interest, their tension lessening perceptibly. I want the mine named after me.

They nearly shouted with relief. An excellent idea! How about the Rautenbach Reef Mine? Candy shook her head. I'd rather not he reminded of him, we'll leave him out of it Very well, let's call it the Candy Deep. A little premature, I suppose, as we are still at ground level, but pessimism never pays, suggested Duff. Yes, that's lovely, Candy enthused, flushing again but this time with pleasure. She scrawled her name across the bottom of the document while Sean fired out the cork of the champagne which Duff had bought in Pretoria. They clinked glasses and Duff gave the toast To Candy and the Candy Deep, may one grow sweeter and the other deeper with each passing day. We'll need labour, about ten natives to start with. That'll be your problem, Duff told Sean. It was the following morning and they were eating breakfast in front of the tent. Sean nodded but didn't try to answer until he had swallowed his mouthful of bacon. I'll get Mbejane onto that right away. He'll be able to get us Zulus, even if he has to drive them here with a spear at their backs. Good, in the meantime you and I'll ride back to Pretoria again to buy the basic equipment. Picks, shovels, dynamite and the like. Duff wiped his mouth and filled his coffee cup. I'll show you how to start moving -the overburden and stacking the ore in a dump. We'll pick a site for the mill and then I'll leave you to get on with it while I head south for the Cape to see my farmer friend. God and. the weather permitting ours will be the second mill working on these fields. They brought their purchases back from Pretoria in a small ox wagon. Mbejane had done his work well. There were a dozen Zulus lined up for Sean's approval next to the tent with Mbejane standing guard over them like a cheerful sheepdog. Sean walked down the line stopping to ask each man his name and joke with him in his own language. He came to the last in the line. How are you called? My name is Blubi, Nkosi. Sean pointed at the man's well-rounded paunch bulging out above his loincloth. If you come to work for me, we'll soon have you delivered of your child They burst out in delighted laughter and Sean smiled at them affectionately: proud simple people, tall and bigmuscled, completely defenceless against a well-timed jest. Through his mind flashed the picture of a hill in Zululand, a battlefield below it and the flies crawling in the pit of an empty stomach. He shut the picture out quickly and shouted above their laughter. So be it then, sixpence a day and all the food you can eat. Will you sign on to work for me? They chorused their assent and climbed up onto the back of the wagon. Sean and Duff took them out to the candy Deep and they laughed and chattered like children going on a picnic.

it took another week for Duff to instruct Sean in the use of dynamite, to explain how he wanted the first trenches dug and to mark out the site for the mill and the dump. They moved the tent up to the mine and worked twelve hours every day. At night they rode down to Candy's Hotel to eat a full meal and then Sean rode Home alone. He was so tired by evening that he hardly envied Duff the comfort of Candy's bedroom; instead he found himself admiring Duff's stamina Each morning he looked for signs of fatigue in his partner but, although his face was lean and punt as ever, his eyes were just as clear and his lopsided smile just as cheerful. How you do it beats me, Sean told him the day they finished marking out the mill site.

Duff winked at him. Years of practice, laddie, but between you and me the ride down to the Cape Will be a welcome rest!

When are you going? Sean asked. Quite frankly I think that every day I stay on here increases the risk of someone else getting in before us.

Mining machinery is going to be at a premium from now on. You have got things well in hand now... What do you say? I was starting to think along the same lines, Sean agreed. They walked back to the tent and sat down in the camp chairs, from where they could look down the length of the valley. The week before about two dozen wagons had been outspanned around Candy's Hotel, but now there were at least two hundred and from where they sat they could count another eight or nine encampments, some even larger than the one around Candy's place.

Wood and iron buildings were beginning to replace the canvas tents and the whole veld was crisscrossed with rough roads along which mounted men and wagons moved without apparent purpose.

The restless movement, the dust clouds raised by the passage of men and beasts, and the occasional deep crump, crump of dynamite firing in the workings along the Banket, all heightened the air of excitement, of almost breathless expectancy that hung over the whole goldfleld.

I'll leave at first light tomorrow, Duff decided. Ten days, riding to the railhead at Colesberg and another four days by train will get me there. With luck I'll be back under two months. He wriggled round in his chair and looked directly at Sean. After paying Candy her two hundred pounds and with what I spent in Pretoria I've only got about a hundred and fifty left. Once I get to Paarl I'll have to pay out three or four hundred for the Mill, then I'll need to hire twenty or thirty wagons to bring it up here, say eight hundred pounds altogether to be on the safe side. Sean looked at him. He had known this men a few short weeks. Eight hundred was the average man's earnings for three years. Africa was a big land, a man could disappear easily. Sean loosened his belt and dropped it onto the table; he unbuttoned the money pouch.

Give me a hand to count it out, he told Duff. Thanks, said Duff and he was not talking about the money. With trust asked for so simply and given so spontaneously the last reservations in their friendship shrivelled and died.

When Duff had gone Sean drove himself and his men without mercy. They stripped the overburden off the Reef and exposed it across the whole length of the Candy claims, then they broke it up and started stacking it next to the mill site. The dump grew bigger with every twelve-hour day worked. There was still no trace of the Leader Reef but Sean found little time to worry about that. At night he climbed into bed and slept away his fatigue until another morning called him back to the workings. On Sundays he rode across to Francois's tent and they talked mining and medicines. Francois had an enormous chest of patent medicines and a book titled The Home Physician. His health was his hobby and he was treating himself for three major ailments simultaneously. Although he was occasionally unfaithful, his true love was sugar diabetes.

The page in The Home Physician which covered this subject was limp and grubby from the touch of his fingers.

He could recite the symptoms from memory and he had all of them. His other favourite was tuberculosis of the bone; this moved around his body with alarming rapidity taking only a week to leave his hip and reach his wrist.

Despite his failing health, however, he was an expert on mining and Sean picked his brain shamelessly. Francois's sugar diabetes did not prevent him from sharing a bottle of brandy with Sean on Sunday evenings. Sean kept away from Candy's Hotel, that shiny blonde hair and peach skin would have been too much temptation. He couldn't trust himself not to wreck his new friendship with Duff by another importunate affair, so instead he sweated away his energy in the trenches of the Candy Deep.

Every morning he set his Zulus a task for the day, always just a little more than the day before. They sang as they worked and it was very seldom that the task was not complete by nightfall. The days blurred into each other and turned to weeks which quadrupled like breeding amoebae and became months. Sean began to imagine Duff giving the Capetown girls a whirl with his eight hundred pounds. One evening he rode south for miles along the Cape road, stopping to question every traveller he met and when he finally gave up and returned to the goldfields he went straight to one of the canteens to look for a fight. He found a big, yellow-haired German miner to oblige him. They went outside and for an hour they battered each other beneath a crisp Transvaal night sky surrounded by a ring of delighted spectators. Then he and the German went back into the canteen, shook each others bleeding hands, drank a vow of friendship together and Sean returned to the Candy Deep with his devil exorcized for the time being The next afternoon Sean was working near the north boundary of the claims, at this point they had burrowed down about fifteen feet to keep contact with the reef.

Sean had just finished marking the shot holes for the next blast and the Zulus were standing around him taking snuff and spitting on their hands before attacking the rock once more. Mush, you shag-eared villains. What's going on here, a trade union meeting? The familiar voice came from above their heads, Duff was looking down at them. Sean scrambled straight up the side of the trench and seized him in a bear hug. Duff was thinner, his jowls covered with a pale stubble and his curly hair white with dust.

When the fury of greeting had subsided a little Sean demanded, Well, where's the present you went to fetch me? Duff laughed, Not far behind, all twenty-five wagons full of it. You got it then? Sean roared. You're damn right I did! Come with me and I'll show you. # Duff's convoy was strung out four miles across the veld, Most Of the wagons double-teamed against the enormous weight of the machinery. Duff pointed to a rust-streaked cylinder that completely filled one of the leading wagons. That is my particular cross, seven tons of the most spiteful, stubborn and evil boiler in the world. if it's broken the wagon axle once it's broken it a dozen times since we left Colesberg, not to mention the two occasions on which it capsized itself, once right in the middle of a river.

They rode along the line of wagons. Good God! I didn't realize there'd be so much. Sean shook his head dubiously. Are you sure you know how it all fits together? Leave it to your Uncle Duff. Of course, it's going to need a bit of work done on it, after all it's been lying out in the open for a couple of years. Some of it was rusted up solid, but the judicious use of grease, new paint and the Charleywood brain will see the Candy Deep plant breaking rock and spitting out gold within a month. Duff broke off and waved to a horseman coming towards them. This is the transport contractor. Frikkie Malan, Mr Courtney, my partner. The contractor pulled up next to, them and acknowledged the introduction. He wiped the dust off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Gott, man, Mr Charleywood, I don't mind telling you that this is the hardest money I've ever worked for.

Nothing personal, but I'll be vragtig glad to see the last of this load. Duff was wrong, it took much longer than a month. The rust had eaten deep into parts of the machinery and each bolt they twisted open was red with the scaly cancer.

They worked the usual twelve-hour day chipping and scraping filing and greasing, knuckles knocked raw against steel and palms wet and red where the blisters had burst.

Then one day suddenly and miraculously they were finished. Along the ridge of the Candy Deep, neat and sweet smelling in its new paint, thick with yellow grease and waiting only to be fitted together, lay the dismembered mill.

How long has it taken us so far? Duff asked. It seems like a hundred years. Is that all? Duff feigned surprise. Then I declare a holiday, two day's of meditation. You meditate, brother, I'm going to do some carousing. , That's an excellent alternative, let's go! They started at Candy's place but she threw them out after the third fight so they moved on. There were a dozen places to drink at and they tried them all. Others were celebrating, because the day before old Kruger, the President of the Republic, had given official recognition to the goldfields. This had the sole effect of diverting the payments for mining licences from the pockets of the farmers who owned the land into the Government coffers. No one worried about that, except possibly the farmers. Rather it was an excuse for a party. The canteens were packed with swearing, sweating men. Duff and Sean drank with them.

The Crown and Anchor boards were doing a steady business in every bar and the men who crowded around them were the new population of the goldfields. Diggers bare to the waist and caked with dirt, salesmen with loud clothes and louder voices selling everything from dynamite to dysentery cure, an evangelist peddling salvation, gamblers mining pockets, gentlemen trying to keep the tobacco juice off their boots, boys new-flown from home and wishing themselves back, Boers bearded and drabsuited, drinking little but watching with inscrutable eyes the invaders of their land. Then there were the others, the clerks and farmers, the rogues and contractors listening greedily to the talk of gold.

The coloured girl, Martha, came to find Sean and Duff on the afternoon of the second day. They were in a mudbrick and thatch hut called The Tavern of the Bright Angels. Duff was doing a solo exhibition of the Dashing White Sergeant partnered by a chair; Sean and the fifty or so other customers were beating the rhythm on the bar counter with glasses and empty bottles.

Martha skittered across to Sean, slapping at the hands that tried to dive up her skirts and squealing sharply every time her bottom was pinched. She arrived at Sean's side flushed and breathless. Madame says you must come quickly, there's big trouble, she gasped and started to run the gauntlet back to the door. Someone flipped up her dress behind and a concerted masculine roar approved the fact that she wore nothing under the petticoats.

Duff was so engrossed in his dancing that Sean had to carry him bodily out of the bar and dip Ins head in the horse through outside before he could gain his attention. What the hell did you do that for? spluttered Duff and swung a round-arm punch at Sean's head. Sean ducked under it and caught him about the body to save him falling on his back. Candy wants us, she says there's big trouble. Duff thought about that for a few seconds, frowning with concentration, then he threw back his head and sang to the tune of London's Burning, Candy wants us, Candy wants us We don't want Candy, we want brandy.

He broke out of Sean's grip and headed back for the bar.

Sean caught him again and pointed him in the direction of the Hotel. Candy was in her bedroom. She looked at the two of them as they swayed arm-in-arm in the doorway. Did you enjoy your debauch? she asked sweetly.

Duff mumbled and tried to straighten his coat. Sean tried to steady him as his feet danced an involuntary sideways jig. What happened to your eye? she asked Sean and he fingered it tenderly; it was puffed and blue. Candy didn't wait an answer but went on, still sweetly:Well, if you two beauties want to own a mine by tomorrow you'd better sober up. They stared at her and Sean spoke deliberately but nevertheless indistinctly. Why, what's the matter? They're going to jump the claims, that's the matter.

This new proclamation of a State goldfield has given the drifters the excuse they've been waiting for. About a hundred of them have formed a syndicate. They claim that the old titles aren't legal any more; they are going to pull out the pegs and put in their own. Duff walked without a stagger across to the washbasin beside Candy's bed; he splashed his face, towelled it vigorously then stooped and kissed her. Thanks, my sweet. Duff, please be careful, Candy called after them.

Let's see if we can't hire a few mercenaries, Sean suggested. Good idea, we'll try and find a few sober characters there should be some in Candy's dining-room. They made a short detour on their way back, to the mine and stopped at Francois's tent; it was dark by then and Francois came out in a freshly ironed nightshirt. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the five heavily armed men with Sean and Duff.

You going hunting? he asked.

Duff told him quickly and Francois was hopping with agitation before he had finished. Steal my claims, the thunders, the stinking thunders!

He rushed into his tent and came out again with a doublebarrelled shotgun. We'll see, man, we'll see how they look full of buckshotFrancois, listen to me, Sean shouted him down. We don't know which claims they'll go to first. Get your men ready and if you hear shooting our way come and give us a hand, we'll do the same for you. Ja, ja, we'll come all right, the dirty thunders. His nightshirt flapping around his legs Francois trotted off to call his men. Mbejane and the other Zulus were cooking dinner, squatting round the three-legged pot. Sean rode up to them. Get your spears, he told them. They ran for their huts and almost immediately came crowding back.

Nkosi, where's the fight! they pleaded, food forgotten. Come on, I'll show you. They placed the hired gunmen amongst the mill machinery from where they could cover the track which led up to the mine. The Zulus they hid in one of the prospect trenches. If it developed into a hand-to-hand fight the syndicate was in for a surprise. Duff and Sean walked a little way down the slope to make sure their defenders were all concealed.

How much dynamite have we got? Sean asked thoughtfully. Duff stared at him a second, then he grinned. Sufficient, I'd say. You're full of bright ideas this evening He led the way back to the shed which they used as a storeroom.

In the middle of the track a few hundred yards down the slope they buried a full case of explosive and placed an old tin can on top of it to mark the spot. They went back to the shed and spent an hour making grenades out of bundles of dynamite sticks, each with a detonator and a very short fuse. Then they settled down huddled into their sheepskin coats, rifles in their laps and waited.

They could see the lights of the encampments straggled down the valley and hear an occasional faint burst of singing from the canteens, but the moonlit road up to the mine remained deserted. Sean and Duff sat side by side with their backs against the newly painted boiler. How did Candy find out about this, I wonder? Sean asked.

She knows everything. That hotel of hers is the centre of this goldfield and she keeps her ears open. They relapsed into silence again while Sean formed his next question. She's quite a girl, our Candy. Yes, agreed Duff. Are you going to marry her, Duff? VGood God! Duff straightened up as though someone had stuck a knife into him. You going mad, laddie, or else that was a joke in the worst possible taste. She dotes on you and from what I've seen you're fairly well disposed towards her. Sean was relieved at Duffs quick rejection of -the idea. He was jealous, but not of the waYes, we've got a common interest, that I won't deny but marriage!

Duff shivered slightly, not altogether from the cold. Only a fool makes the same mistake twice. Sean turned to him with surprise. You've been married before? he asked. With a vengeance. She was half Spanish and the rest Norwegian, a smoking bubbly mixture of cold fire and hot ice. Duff's voice went dreamy. The memory has cooled sufficiently for me to think of it with a tinge of regret. What happened? I left her yWe only did two things well together and one of them was fight. If I close my eyes I can still see the way she used to pout with those lovely lips and bring them close to my ear before she hissed out a particularly foul word, then, hey ho! back to bed for the reconciliation. Perhaps you made the wrong choice. You look around, you'll see millions of happily, married people Name me one, challenged Duff and the silence lengthened as Sean thought.

Then Duff went on, There's only one good reason for marriage, and that's children. And companionship, that's another good reason. Companionship from a woman? Duff cut in incredulously. Like perfume from garlic. They're incapable of it.

I suppose it's the training they get from their mothers, who are after all women themselves, but how can you be friends with someone who suspicions every little move you make, who takes your every action and weighs it on the balance of he loves me, he loves me not? Duff shook his head unhappily. How long can a friendship last when it needs an hourly declaration of love to nourish it? The catechism of matrimony, "Do you love me, darling?

"Yes, darling of course I do, my sweet. " It's got to sound convincing every time otherwise tears.

Sean chuckled. All right, it's funny, it's hilarious until you have to live with it, Duff mourned. Have you ever tried to talk to a woman about anything other than love? The same things that interest you leave them cold. It comes as a shock the first time you try talking sense to them and suddenly you realize that their attention is not with you - they get a slightly fixed look in their eyes and you know they are thinking about that new dress or whether to invite Men Van der Hum to the party, so you stop talking and that's another mistake. That's a sign; marriage is full of signs that only a wife can read. I hold no brief for matrimony, Duff, but aren't you being a little unfair, judging everything by your own unfortunate experience? Select any woman slap a ring on her third finger and she becomes a wife. First she takes you into her warm, soft body, which is pleasant, and then she tries to take you into her warm, soft mind, which is not so pleasant.

She does not share, she possesses, she clings and she smothers. The relation of man to woman is uninteresting in that it conforms to an inescapable pattern, nature has made it so for the very good reason that it requires us to reproduce; but in order to obtain that result every love, Romeo and Juliet, Bonaparte and Josephine not excepted, must lead up to the co-performance of a simple biological function. It's such a small thing, such a short-lived, trivial little experience. Apart from that xnan and woman think differently, feel differently and are interested in different things. Would you call that companionship? No, but is that a true picture? Is that all there is between them? Sean asked.

You'll find out one day. Nature in her preoccupation with reproduction has planted in the mind of man a barricade; it has sealed him off from the advice and experience of his fellowmeni inoculated him against it. When your time comes you'll go to the gallows with a song on your lips. You frighten me. It's the sameness of it all that depresses me, the goddqmn monotony of it. Duff shifted his seat restlessly then settled back against the boiler. The interesting relationships are those in which sex the leveller takes no hand brothers, enemies, master and servant, father and son, man and man. Homosexuals? No, that's merely sex out of step and you're back to the original trouble. When a man takes a friend he does it not from an uncontrollable compulsion but in his own free choice. Every friendship is different, ends differently or goes on for ever. No chains bind it, no ritual or written contract. There is no question of forsaking all others, no obligation to talk about it, mouth it up and gloat on it the whole time. Duff stood up stiffly. It's one of the good things in life. How late is it? Sean pulled out his watch and tilted its face to catch the moonlight. After midnight, it doesn't look as if they're coming. ? They'll come, there's gold here, another uncontrollable compulsion.

They'll come. The question is when. The lights along the valley faded out one by one, the deep singsong voices of the Zulus in the prospect trench stilled and a small cold wind came up and moved the grass along the ridge of the Candy Deep. Sitting together, sometimes drowsing sometimes talking quietly, they waited the night away. The sky paled, then pinked prettily. A dog barked over near Hospital Hill and another joined it. Sean stood up and stretched, he glanced down the valley towards Ferrieras Camp and saw them. A black moving blot of horsemen, overflowing the road, lifting no dust from the dew-damp earth, spreading out to cross the Natal Spruit then bunching together on the near bank before coming on. Mr Charleywood, we have company.

Duff jumped up. They might miss us and go onto the Jack and Whistle first We'll see which road they take when they come to the fork. In the meantime let's get ready. Mbejane, Sean shouted and the black head popped out of the trench. Nkosi? Are you awake They are coming. The blackness parted in a white smile. We are awake. Then get down and stay down until I give the word.

The five mercenaries were lying belly down in the grass, each with a newly-opened packet of cartridges at his elbow. Sean hurried back to Duff and they crouched behind the boiler. The tin can shows up clearly from here. Do you think you can hit it? With my eyes closed, said Sean.

The horsemen reached the fork and turned without hesitation towards the Candy Deep, quickening their paces as they came up the ridge. Sean rested his rifle across the top of the boiler and picked up the speck of silver in his sights. What's the legal position, Duff? he asked out of the corner of his mouth. They've just crossed our boundary, they are now officially trespassers, Duff pronounced solemnly.

One of the leading horses kicked over the tin can and Sean fired at the spot on which it had stood. The shot was indecently loud in the quiet morning and every head in the syndicate lifted with alarm towards the ridge, then the ground beneath them jumped up in a brown cloud to meet the sky. When the dust cleared there was a struggling tangle of downed horses and men. The screams carried clearly up to the crest of the ridge.

My God, breathed Sean, appalled at the destruction. Shall we let them have it, boss? called one of the hired men. No, Duff answered him quickly. They've had enough. The flight started, riderless horses, mounted men and others on foot were scattering back down the valley. Sean was relieved to see that they left only half a dozen men and a few horses lying in the road. Well, that's the easiest fiver you've ever earned, Duff told one of the mercenaries. I think you can go home now and have some breakfast. Voit, Duff. Sean pointed. -the survivors of the explosion had reached the road junction again and there they were being stopped by two men on horseback. Those two are trying to rally them Let's change their minds, they're still within rifle range! They are not on our property any more, disagreed Sean. Do you want to wear a rope? They watched while those of the syndicate who had had enough fighting for one day disappeared down the road to the camps and the rest coagulated into a solid mass at the crossroad. We should have shot them up properly while we had the chance, grumbled one of the mercenaries uneasily. Now they'll come back, look at that bastard talking to them like a Dutch uncle. They left their horses and spread out, then they started moving cautiously back up the slope. They hesitated just below the line of boundary pegs then ran forward, tearing up the pegs as they came. All together, gentlemen, if you please, called Duff politely and the seven rifles fired. The range was long and the thirty or so attackers ran doubled up and dodging.

The bullets had little effect at first, but as the distance shortened men started falling. There was a shallow donga running diagonally down the slope and as each of the attackers reached it he jumped down into it and from its safety started a heated reply to the fire of Sean's men.

Bullets sponged off the machinery, leaving bright scars where they struck.

Mbejane's Zulus were adding their voices to the confusion. Let us go down to them now, Nkosi. They are close, let us go. Quiet down, you madmen, you'd not go a hundred paces against those rifles, Sean snarled impatiently. Sean, cover me, whispered Duff. I'm going to sneak round the back of the ridge, rush them from the side and lob a few sticks of dynamite into that donga.. Sean caught his arm, his fingers dug into it so that Duff winced. You take one step and I'll break a rifle butt over your head, you're as bad as those Blacks. Now keep shooting and let me think. Sean peered over the top of the boiler but ducked again as a bullet rang loudly against it, inches from his ear. He stared at the new paint in front of his nose, put his shoulder against it; the boiler rocked slightly. He looked up and Duff was watching him. We'll walk down together and lob that dynamite, Sean told him. Mbejane and his bloodthirsty heathens will roll the boiler in front of us. These other gentlemen will cover us, we'll do this thing in style. Sean called the Zulus out of the trench and explained to them. They chorused their approval of the scheme and jostled each other to find a place to push against the boiler. Sean and Duff filled the front of their shirts with the dynamite grenades and lit a short length of tarred rope each.

Sean nodded to Mbejane.

Where are the children of Zulu? sang Mbejane, shrilling his voice in the ancient rhetorical question. Here, answered his warriors braced ready against the boiler. JWhere are the spears of Zulu? Here. How bright are the spears of Zulu? Brighter than the Sun.

How hungry are the spears of Zulu? Hungrier than the locust. Then let us take them to the feeding. Tehho. Explosive assent and the boiler revolved slowly to the thrust of black shoulders.

Teh-ho. Another reluctant revolution.

Teh-ho. It --moved more readily.

Teh-ho. Gravity caught it. Ponderously it bumped down the slope and they ran behind it. The fire from the donga doubled its volume, rattling like hail against the huge metal cylinder. The singing of the Zulus changed its tone also; the deep-voiced chanting quickened, climbed excitedly, and became the blood trill. That insane, horrible squealing made Sean's skin crawl, tickled his spine with the ghost fingers of memory, but it inflamed him also. His mouth opened and he squealed with them. He touched the first grenade with the burning rope then flung it in a high spluttering sparking arc. It burst in the air above the donga. He threw again. Crump, crump. Duff was using his explosive as well. The boiler crashed over the lip of the donga and came to rest in a cloud of dust; the Zulus followed it in, spreading out, still shrieking, and now their assegais were busy. The white men broke, clawed frantically out of the ravine and fled, the Zulus hacking at them as they ran.

When Francois arrived with fifty armed diggers following him the fight was over. Take your boys down to the camps. Comb them out carefully. We want every one of those that got away, Duff told him. It's about time we had a little law and order on this field. How will we pick out the ones that were in on it?

asked Francois.

By their white faces and the sweat on their shirts you will know them. , Duff answered.

Francois and his men went, leaving Sean and Duff to clean up the battlefield. It was a messy job, the stabbing spears had made it so. They destroyed those horses that the blast had left still half alive and they gleaned more than a dozen corpses from the donga and the slope below it. Two of them were Zulus. The wounded, and there were many, they packed into a wagon and took them down to Candy's Hotel.

It was early afternoon by the time they arrived. They threaded the wagon through the crowd and stopped it in front of the Hotel. It seemed the entire population of the goldfield was there, packed around the small open space in which Francois was holding his prisoners.

Francois was almost hysterical with excitement. He was sweeping the shotgun around in dangerous circles as he harangued the crowd. Then he darted back to prod one of the prisoners with the twin muzzles. You thunders, he screamed. Steal our claims, hey steal our claims.

At that moment he caught sight of Duff and Sean bringing the wagon through the press. Duff, Duff. We got them. We got the whole lot of them. The crowd backed respectfully away from the menace of that circling shotgun and Sean flinched as it pointed directly at him for a second.. I see, Francois, Duff assured him. in fact, I have seldom seen anyone more completely had.

Francois's prisoners were swathed in ropes; they could move only their heads and as additional security a digger with a loaded rifle stood over each of them. Duff climbed down off the wagon.

don't you think you should slacken those ropes a little? Duff asked dubiously.

And have them escape? Francois was indignant. Do you think they'd get very far? tNo, I don't suppose so. Well, another half hour and they'll all have gangrene look at that one's hand already, a beautiful shade of blue. Reluctantly Francois conceded and told his men to untie them.

Duff pushed his way through the crowd and climbed the steps of the Hotel. From there he held up his hands for silence. There have been a lot of men killed today, we don't want it to happen again. One way we can prevent it is to make sure that this lot get what they deserve Cheers were led by Francois. But we must do it properly. I suggest we elect a committee to deal with this affair and with any other problems that crop up on these fields. Say ten members and a chairman.

More cheers. Call it the Diggers Committee, shouted someone and the crowd took up the name enthusiastically. All right, the Diggers Committee it is. Now we want a chairman, any suggestions?

Mr Charleywood, shouted Francois. Yes, Duff, he'll do. Yes, Duff Charleywood. Any other suggestions?

No, roared the crowd. Thank you, gentlemen. Duff smiled at them. I am sensible of the honour. Now, ten members Jock and Trevor Heyns. Karl Lochtkamper. Francois du Toit. Sean Courtney. There were fifty nominations. Duff baulked at counting votes so the committee was elected by applause. He called the names one at a time and judged the strength of the response to each. Sean and Francois were among those elected. Chairs and a table were brought out onto the veranda and Duff took his seat. With a water-jug he hamInered for silence, declared the first session of the DiggersCommittee open and then immediately fined three members of the crowd ten pounds each for discharging firearms during a meeting, gross contempt of Committee. The fines were paid and a proper air of solemnity achieved.

I'll ask Mr Courtney to open the case for the, prosecution.

Sean stood up and gave a brief description of the morning's battle, ending You were there, Your Honour, so you know all about it anyway. So I was, agreed Duff. Thank you, Mr Courtney. I think that was a very fair picture you presented. Now, he looked at the prisoners, who speaks for you? There was a minute of shuffling and whispering then one of them was pushed forward. He pulled off his hat and blushed purple. Your Worship, he began, then stopped, wriggling with embarrassment. Your worship. You've said that already. I don't rightly know where to begin, Mr Charleywood I mean Your Honour, sir.

Duff looked at the prisoners again. Perhaps you'd like to reconsider your choice. Their first champion was withdrawn in disgrace and a fresh one sent forward to face the Committee. He had more fire. You bastards got no right to do this to us, he started and Duff promptly fined him ten pounds. His next attempt was more polite. Your Honour, you can't do this to us. We had our rights, you know, that new proclamation and all, I mean, them old titles wasn't legal no more now, was they? We just came along as peaceful as you please, the old titles not being legal, we got a right to do what we done. Then you bastards, I mean Your Honour, dynamited us and like we had a right to protect ourselves, I mean after all, didn't we, sir? A brilliant defence most ably conducted. Your fellows should be grateful to you, Duff complimented him, then turned to his Committee. Well now, how say you merry gentlemen. Guilty or not guilty? Guilty. They spoke together and Francois added for emphasis, the dirty thunders. We will now consider sentence. String them up, shouted someone and instantly the mood changed. The mob growled: an ugly sound. I'm a carpenter, I'll whip you up a handsome set of gallows in no time at all. Don't waste good wood on them. Use a treeGet the ropes. String them up. The crowd surged in, lynch mad. Sean snatched Franco is's shotgun and jumped up onto the table. So help me God, I'll shoot the first one of you that touches them before this court says so. They checked and Sean pressed his advantage. At this range I can't miss.

Come on, try me, there's two loads of buckshot in here.

Someone will get cut in half. They fell back still muttering. Perhaps you've forgotten, but there's a police force in this country and there's a law against killing. Hang them today and it'll be your turn tomorrow! You're right, Mr Courtney, it'll be cruel heartless murder. That it will, wailed the spokesman. Shut up, you bloody fool, Duff snarled at him and someone in the crowd laughed. The laughter caught on and Duff sighed silently with relief. That had been very close. Give them the old tar and feathers. Duff grinned. Now you're talking sense. Who's got a few barrels of tar for sale! He looked round. What, no offers? Then we'll have to think of something else! We got ten drums of red paint, thirty shillings each, good imported brand. Duff recognized the speaker as a trader who had opened a general dealer's store down at Ferrieras Camp. Mr Tarry suggests paint. What about it? No, it comes off too easily, that's no goodI'll let you have it cheap, twenty-five shillings a drum No, stick your ruddy paint, the crowd booed him. Give them a twist on Satan's Roulette Wheel, shouted another voice, and the crowd clamoured agreement. That's it, give them the wheel. Round and round and round she goes, where she stops nobody knows, roared a black-bearded digger from the roof of the shanty across the road. The crowd howled.

Sean watched Duff's expression, the smile had gone.

He was weighing it up. If he stopped them again they might lose all patience and risk the shotgun. He couldn't chance it. All right. If that's what you want. He faced the terrified cluster of prisoners. The sentence of this court is that you play roulette with the devil for one hour and that you then leave this goldfield, if we catch you back here again you'll get another hour of it. The wounded are excused the first half of the sentence. I think they've had enough. Mr du Toit will supervise the punishment. We'd prefer the paint, Mr Charleywood, pleaded the spokesman again. I bet you would, said Duff softly, but the crowd was carrying them away already, out towards the open veld beyond the Hotel. Most of them had staked claims of their own and they didn't like claim jumpers. Sean climbed down off the table.

Let's go and have a drink, Duff said to him.

Aren't you going to watch? asked Sean. I've seen it done once before down in the Cape. That was enough. What do they do? Go and have a look, I'll be waiting for you at the Bright Angels. I'll be surprised if you stay the full hour. By the time Sean joined the crowd most of the wagons had been gathered from the camps and drawn up in a line.

Men swarmed round them fitting jacks under the axles to lift the big back wheels clear of the ground. Then the prisoners were hustled forward, one to each wheel. Eager hands lifted them and held them while their wrists and ankles were lashed to the rim of the wheel with the hub in the middle of their backs and their arms and legs spread-eagled like stranded starfish. Francois hurried along the line checking the ropes and placing four diggers at each wheel, two to start it and another two to take over when those were tired. He reached the end, came back to the centre again, pulled his watch from his pocket, checked the time, then shouted. All right, turn them, kerels The wheels started moving, slowly at first then faster as they built up momentum. The bodies strapped to them blurred with the speed. Round and round and round she goes, round and round and round she goes, chanted the crowd gleefully.

Within minutes there was a burst of laughter from the end of the line of wagons. Someone had started vomiting, it sprayed from him like yellow sparks from a Catherine wheel. Then another and another joined in, Sean could hear them retching and gasping as the centrifugal force flung the vomit up against the back of their throats and out of their noses. He waited a few more minutes but when their bowels started to empty he turned away gagging and headed for the Bright Angel.

Did you enjoy it? asked Duff.

Give me a brandy, answered Sean.

With the Diggers Committee dispensing rough justice a semblance of order came to the camps. President Kruger wanted no part in policing the nest of ruffians and cutthroats which was growing up just outside his Capital and he contented himself with placing his spies among them and leaving them to work out their own salvation. After all, the field was far from proved and the chances were that in another year the veld would again be as deserted as it had been nine months before. He could afford to wait; in the meantime the Diggers Committee had his tar-it sanction.

While the ants worked, cutting down into the reef with pick and with dynamite, the grasshoppers waited in the bars and shanties. So far only the Jack and Whistle min was turning out gold, and only Hradsky and Francois du Toit knew how much gold was coming out of it. Hradsky was still in Capetown crusading for capital and Francois spoke to no one, not even to Duff, about the mill's productivity.

The rumours flew like sand in a whirlwind. One day it seemed that the reef had pinched out fifty feet below the surface, and the next the canteens buzzed with the news that the Heyns brothers had gone down a hundred feet and were pulling out nuggets the size of musket balls.

Nobody knew but everybody was prepared to guess.

Up at the Candy Deep, Duff and Sean worked on relentlessly. The mill took shape on its concrete platform, its jaws open for the first bite at the rock. The boiler was swung up onto its cradle by twenty sweating, singing Zulus. The copper tables were fitted up ready to be smeared with quicksilver. There was no time to worry about the reef nor the dwindling store of money in Sean's cash belt. They worked and they slept, there was nothing else. Duff took to sharing Sean's tent up on the ridge and Candy had her featherbed to herself again.

On the twentieth of November they fired the boiler for the first time. Tired and horny-handed, their bodies lean and tempered hard with toil, they stood together and watched the needle creek up round the pressure gauge until it touched the red line at the top.

Duff grunted. Well, at least we've got power now. Then he punched Sean's shoulder What the hell are you standing here for, do you think this is a Sunday School picnic? There's work to do, laddie. On the second of December they fed the mill its first meal and watched the powdered rock flow across the amalgam tables.

Sean threw his arm round Duff's neck in an affectionate half-Nelson, Duff hit him in the stomach and pulled his hat down over his eyes, they drank a glass of brandy each at supper and laughed a little but that was all. They were too tired to celebrate. From now on one of them must be in constant attendance on that iron monster. Duff took the first night shift and when Sean went up to the mill, next morning he found him weaving on his feet, his eyes sunk deep in dark sockets. By my reckoning we've run ten tons of rock through her. Time to clean the tables and see just how much gold we've picked up. You go and get some sleep, said Sean and Duff ignored him.

Mbejane, bring a couple of your savages here, we're going to change the tables. Listen, Duff, it can wait an hour or two. Go and get your head down. Please stop drivelling, you're as bad as a wife Sean shrugged. Have it your own way, show me how you do it then. They switched the flow of powdered rock onto the second table that was standing ready; then with a broad bladed spatula Duff scraped the mercury off the copper top of the first table, collecting it in a ball the size of a coconut. The mercury picks up the tiny particles of gold, he explained to Sean as he worked, and lets the grains of rock wash across the table and fall off into the dump. Of course it doesn't collect it all, some of it goes to waste. How do you get the gold out again? You put the whole lot in a retort and boil off the mercury, the gold stays behind. Hell of a waste of mercury, isn't it? No, you catch it as it condenses and use it again. Come on, I'l show you. Duff carried the ball of amalgam down to the shed, placed it in the retort and lit the blow-lamp. With the heat on it the ball dissolved and started to bubble. Silently they stared at it. The level in the retort fell.

Where's the gold? Sean asked at last. Oh, shut up, Duff snapped impatiently, and then, repentant, Sorry, laddie, I feel a bit jaded this morning. The last of the mercury steamed off and there it was, glowing bright, molten yellow. A drop of gold the size of a pea. Duff shut off the blow-lamp and neither of them spoke for a while. , Then Sean asked, Is that all? That, my friend, is all, agreed Duff wearily. rWhat do you want to do with it, fill a tooth? He turned towards the door with a droop to his whole body. Keep the mill running we might as well go down with our colours flying.

It was a miserable Christmas dinner. They ate it at Candy's Hotel. They had credit there. She gave Duff a gold signet ring and Sean a box of cigars. Sean had never smoked before but now the sting of it in his lungs gave him a certain masochistic pleasure. The dining-room roared with men's voices and cutlery clatter, the air was thick with the smell of food and tobacco smoke while in one corner, marooned on a little island of gloom, sat Sean, Duff and Candy.

Once Sean lifted his glass at Duff and spoke like an undertaker's clerk. Happy Christmas Duff's lips twitched back in a dead m in's grin. And the same to you. They drank. Then Duff roused himself to speak. Tell me again, how much have we got left? I like to hear you say it; you have a beautiful voice, you should have played Shakespeare. Three pounds and sixteen shillings. Yes, yes, you got it just right that time, three pounds and sixteen shillings, now to really make me feel Christmassy, tell me how much we owe. Have another drink, Sean changed the subject.

Yes, I think I will, thank you, Oh please, you two, let's just forget about it for today, pleaded Candy. I planned for it to be such a nice party look, there's Francois! Hey, Francois, over here!

The dapper du Toit bustled across to their table. Happy Christmas, kerels, let me buy you a drinkIt's nice to see you. Candy gave him a kiss. How are you? You're looking fine. Francois sobered instantly. It's funny you should say that, Candy. As a matter of fact I'm a bit worried. He tapped his chest and sank down into an empty chair. My heart, you know, I've been waiting for it to happen, and then yesterday I was up at the mill, just standing there, you understand, when suddenly it was as though a vice was squeezing my chest. I couldn't breathe, well, not very well anyway. Naturally I hurried back to my tent and looked it up. Page eighty-three. Under "Diseases of the Heart". He shook his head sadly. It's very worrying.

You know I wasn't a well man before, but now this. Oh, no, wailed Candy. I can't stand it, not you too.

I'M sorry, have I said something wrong? Just in keeping with the festive spirit at this table. She pointed at Duff and Sean. Look at their happy faces, if you'll excuse me I'm going to check up in the kitchen.

She went. What's wrong; old Duff V Duff flashed his death's head grin across the table at Sean. The man wants to know what's wrong, tell himThree pounds sixteen shillings, said Sean and Francois looked puzzled. I don't understand. He means we're broke, flat broke. Gott, I'm sorry to hear that, Duff, I thought you were going good. I've heard the mill running all this month, I thought you'd be rich by now. The mill's been running all right and we've recovered enough gold to block a flea's backside. But why, man? You are working the Leader Reef, aren't YOU?

I'm beginning to think this Leader Reef of yours is a bedtime story.

Francois peered into his glass thoughtfully. How deep are you? We've got one incline shaft down about fifty feet. No sign of the Leader? Duff shook his head and Francois went on. You know when I first spoke to you a lot of what I said was just guessing.

Duff nodded. Well, I know a bit more about it now. What I am going to tell you is- for you alone, I'll lose my job if it gets out, you understand?

Duff nodded again. So far the Leader Reef has only been found at two places. We've got it on the Jack and Whistle and I know the Heyns brothers have struck it on the Cousin Jock Mine. Let me draw it for you. He picked up a knife and drew in the gravy on the bottom of Sean's plate. This is the Main Reef running fairly straight. Here I am, here is the Cousin Jock and here you are in between us. Both of us have found the Leader and you haven't. My guess is it's there all right, you just don't know where to look.

At the far end of the Jack and Whistle claims the Main Reef and the Leader are running side by side two feet apart but by the time they reach the boundary nearest to the Candy Deep they've opened up to seventy feet apart. Now on the boundary of the Cousin Jock they're back to fifty feet apart. To me it seems that the two reefs form the shape of a long bow, like this. He drew it in. The Main Reef is the string and the Leader Reef is the wood. I'm telling you, Duff, if you cut a trench at right-angles to the Main Reef you'll find it, and when you do you can buy me a drink They listened gravely and when Francois finished Duff leaned back in his chair. If we'd known this a month ago!

Now how are we going to raise the money to cut this new trench and still keep the mill running?

We could sell some of our equipment, suggested Sean. We need it, every scrap of it, and besides if we sold one spade the creditors would be on us like a pack of wolves, bowling for their money. I'd make you a loan if I had it, but with what Mr Hradsky pays me -'Francois shrugged. You'll need about two hundred pounds. I haven't got it. Candy came back to the table in time to hear Francois's last remark. What's this all about? Can I tell her, Francois? If you think it will do any good. Candy listened, then thought for a moment. Well, I've just bought ten plots of ground in Johannesburg this new Government village down the valley, so I'm short myself.

But I could let you have fifty pounds if that would help We. never borrowed money from a lady before, it'll be a new experience. Candy, I love you. I wish you meant that said Candy, but luckily for Duff his hearing failed him completely just as Candy spoke. He went on hurriedly. We'll need another hundred and fifty or so, let's hear your suggestions, gentlemen!

There was a long silence, then Duff started to smile and he was looking at Sean.

Don't tell me, let me guess, Sean forestalled him. You're going to put me out to stood? Close, but not quite right. How are you feeling, laddie? Thank you, I'm all right. Istrong? lYes. Brave? Come on, Duff, let's have it. I don't like that look in your eye.

Duff pulled a notebook out of his pocket and wrote in it with a stump of pencil. Then he tore out the page and handed it to Sean. We'll have posters like this put up in every canteen on the goldfields. Sean read it: ON NEW YEAR'S DAY MR SEAN COURTNEY HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE TRANSVAAL REPUBLIC WILL STAND TO MEET ALL COMERS IN FRONT OF CANDY'S HOTEL FOR

A PURSE OF FIFTY POUNDS ASIDE.

Spectators Fee, 2s. All Welcome.

Candy was reading it over his shoulder. She squeaked. That's wonderful. I'll have to hire extra waiters to serve drinks and I'll run a buffet luncheon. I suppose I could charge two shillings a head? I'll fix the posters, Francois was not to be outdone, and I'll send a couple of my chaps down to put up a ring. We'll close the mill down until New Year, Sean will have to get a lot of rest. We'll put him on light training only. No drinking, of course, and plenty of sleep, said Duff. It's all arranged then, is it? asked Sean. All I've got to do is go in there and get beaten to a pulp? We're doing this for you, laddie, so that you can be rich and famous. Thank you, thank you very muchYou like to fight, don't you? When I'm in the mood. Don't worry, I'll think up some dirty names to call you get you worked up in no time. How are you feeling? Duff asked for the sixth time that morning.

No change since five minutes ago, Sean reassured him.

Duff pulled out his watch, stared at it, held it to his ear and looked surprised that it was still ticking. We've got the challengers lined up on the veranda. I've told Candy to serve them free drinks, as much as they want. Every minute we can wait here gives them a little longer to take on a load of alcohol. Francois is collecting the gate money in my valise; as you win each bout the stakes will go into it as well. I've got Mbejane stationed at the mouth of the alley beside the Hotel. If there's a riot one of us will throw the bag to him and he'll head for the long grass. Sean was stretched out on Candy's bed with his hands behind his head. He laughed. I can find no fault with your planning. Now for pity's sake calm down, man. You're making me nervous. The door burst open and Duff leapt out of his chair at the crash. It was Francois, he stood in the doorway holding his chest. My heart! he panted. This is doing my heart no good. What's happening outside? Duff demanded.

we've collected over fifty pounds gate money already.

There's a mob up on the roof that haven't paid, but every time I go near them they throw bottles at me Francois cocked his head on one side. Listen to them. The noise of the crowd was barely softened by the flimsy walls of the Hotel. They won't wait much longer, you'd better come out before they start looking for you. Sean stood up. I'm ready.

Francois hesitated. Duff, you remember Fernandes, that Portuguese from Kimberley? Oh no! Duff anticipated him. Don't tell me he's here. Francois nodded. I didn't want to alarm you but some of the local boys clubbed in and telegraphed south for him. He arrived on the express coach half an hour ago. I had hoped he wasn't going to make it in time, but - He shrugged.

Duff looked at Sean sadly. Bad luck, laddie. Francois tried to soften the blow. I told him it was first come first served. He's sixth in the line so Sean will be able to make a couple of hundred quid anyway, then we can always say he's had enough and close the contest. Sean was listening with interest. This Fernandes is dangerous? They were thinking of him when they invented that word, Duff told him. Let's go and have a look at him Sean led the way out of Candy's room and down the passage. Did you get hold of a scale to weigh them with? Duff asked Francois as they hurried after Sean. No, there's not one on the fields that goes over a hundred and fifty pounds, but I have Gideon Barnard outside. How does that help us? He's a cattle dealer, all his life he's been judging animals on the hoof. He'll give us the weights to within a few pounds Duff chuckled. That'll have to do then. Besides I doubt we'll be claiming any world titles Then they were out on the veranda blinking in the brightness of the sun and the thunder of the crowd. Which is the Portuguese? whispered Sean, he needn't have asked. The man stood out like a gorilla in a cage of monkeys. A shaggy coating of hair began on his shoulders and continued down his back and chest, completely hiding his nipples and exaggerating the bulge of his enormous belly.

The crowd opened a path for Sean and Duff and they walked along it to the ring. Hands slapped Sean's back but the well-wishes were drowned in the churning sea of sound. Jock Heyns was the referee, he helped Sean through the ropes and ran his hands over his pockets. Just checking he apologized. We don't want any scrap iron in the ring. Then he beckoned to a tall, brown-faced fellow who was leaning on the ropes chewing tobacco. This is Mr Barnard our weighing steward. Well, what do you say, Gideon? The steward hosed a little juice from the side of his mouth. Two hundred and ten. Thank you Jock held up his hands and after a few minutes was rewarded with a comparative silence. Ladies and Gentlemen. -Vho you talking to, Guvnor?

We are privileged to have with us today, Mr Sean Courtney. Wake up, Boet, he's been with us for months. The heavyweight champion of the Republic. Why not make it the world, cock, he's got just as much right to that title. Who will fight six bouts , if it lasts that long. - for his title and a purse of fifty pounds each.

Sustained cheering. -The first challenger, at two hundred and ten pounds Mr Anthony -'Hold on, Sean shouted, who says he's first?

lock Heyns had taken a deep breath to bellow the name.

He let it escape with a hiss. It was arranged by Mr du Toit.

If I fight them, then I pick them, I want the Port..

Duff's hand whipped over Sean's mouth and his whisper was desperate. Don't be a bloody fool, take the easy ones first. Use your head, we aren't doing this for fun, we're trying to finance a mine, remember?

Sean clawed Duff's hand off his mouth. I want the Portuguese, he shouted. He's joking, Duff assured the crowd, then turned on Sean fiercely. Are you mad? That dago's a man-eater, we're fifty pounds poorer before you start! I want the Portuguese, repeated Sean with all the logic of a small boy picking the most expensive toy in the shop. Let him have the dago, shouted the gentlemen on the hotel roof and Jock Heyns eyed them nervously; it was clear that they were about to add a few more bottles to the argument. All right, he agreed hastily. The first challenger, at he glanced at Barnard and repeated after him, two hundred and fifty-five pounds, Mr Felezardo da Silva Fernandes. In a storm of hoots and applause the Portuguese waddled down off the veranda and into the ring. Sean had seen Candy at the dining-room window and he waved to her.

She blew him a two-handed kiss and at that instant Trevor Heyns, the timekeeper, hit the bucket which served as a gong and Sean heard Duff's warning shout.

Instinctively he started to duck. There was a flash of lightning inside his skull and he found himself sitting in amongst the legs of the first line of spectators. The bastard King hit me, Sean complained loudly. He shook his head and was surprised to find it still attached to his body. Someone poured a glass of beer over him and it steadied him. He felt his anger flaming up through his body.

Six, counted Jock Heyns.

The Portuguese was standing at the ropes. Come back, Leetle Sheet, I hal some more for you, not half.

Sean's anger jumped in his throat. Seven, eight.

Sean gathered his legs under him. I kiss your mother. Fernandes puckered his lips and smacked them. I love your sister, like this. He demonstrated graphically.

Sean charged. With the full weight of his run behind it, his fist thudded into the Portuguese's mouth, then the ropes caught Sean and catapulted him back into the crowd once more.

You weren't even in the ring, how could you hit him?

protested one of the spectators who had broken Sean's fall. He had money on Fernandes.

Like this! I Sean demonstrated. The man sat down heavily and had nothing further to say. Sean hurdled the ropes.

lock Heyns was halfway through his second count when Sean interrupted him by lifting the reclining Portuguese to his feet, using the tangled bush of his hair as a handle.

He balanced the man on his unsteady legs and hit himOne, two, three. resignedly Jock Heyns began his third count, this time he managed to reach ten.

There was a howl of protest from the crowd and Jock Heyns struggled to make himself heard above it. Does anyone want to lodge a formal objection?

It seemed that there were those who did. Very well, please step into the ring. I can't accept shouted comments. Jock's attitude was understandable he stood to lose a considerable sum if his decision were reversed. But Sean was patrolling the ropes as hungrily as a lion at feeding time. Jock waited a decent interval, then held up Sean's right arm.

, The winner, ten minutes for refreshments before the next bout. Will the keepers please come and fetch their property He gestured towards the Portuguese. Nice going laddie, unorthodox perhaps but beautiful to watch Duff took Sean's arm and led him to a chair on the veranda. Three more to go, then we can call it a day. He handed Sean a glass. What's this? Orange juice. I'd prefer something a little stronger Later, laddie. Duff collected the Portuguese purse and dropped it into the valise while that gentleman was being carried from the ring by his straining sponsors and laid to rest at the far end of the veranda.

Mr Anthony Blair was next. His heart was not in the encounter. He moved Prettily enough on his feet but always in the direction best calculated to keep him out of reach of Sean's fists. The boy's a natural long-distance champWatch it, Courtney, he'll run you to deathLast lap, Blair, once more round the ring and you've done five miles. The chase ended when Sean, now sweating gently, herded him in a corner and there dispatched him.

The third challenger had by this time developed a pain in his chest. It hurts like you wouldn't believe it, he announced through gritted teeth. Does it sort of gurgle in your lungs as you breatheV

asked Francois. Yes, that's it, gurgles like you wouldn't believe itPleurisy, diagnosed du Toit with more than a trace of envy in his voice.

Is that bad? theman asked anxiously. Yes it is. Page one hundred and Sixteen. The treatment I won't be able to fight, Hell, thats bad luck the invalid complained cheerfully It's exceptionally bad luck, agreed Duff. It means you'll have to forfeit your purse money. You wouldn't take advantage of a sick man? Try me Duff suggested pleasantly The fourth contestant was a German. Big, blond and happy-faced. He stumbled three or four times on his way to the ring, tripped over the rones and crawled to his corner on hands and knees; once there he was able to regain his feet with a little help from the ring post. Jock went close to him to smell his breath and before he could dodge, the German caught him in a bear hug and led him into the opening steps of a waltz. The crowd loved it and there were no objections when at the end of the dance lock declared Sean the winner on a technical knockout.

More correctly the decision should have gone to Candy who had provided the free drinks. We can close down the circus now if you want to, laddie, Duff told Sean. You've made enough to keep the Candy Deep afloat for another couple of months. I haven't had a single good fight out of the lot of them.

But I like the looks of this last one. The others were for business; this one I'll have just for the hell of it. You've been magnificent, now you deserve a little fun, agreed Duff.

Mr Timothy Curtis. Heavyweight champion of Georgia, U. S. A. Jock introduced him.

Gideon Barnard put his weight at two hundred and ten pounds, the same as Sean's. Sean shook his hand and from the touch of it knew he was not going to be disappointed. Glad to know you. The American's voice was as soft as his grip was hardY our servant, sir, said Sean and hit the air where the man's head had been an instant before. He grunted as a fist slogged into his chest under his raised right arm and backed away warily. A soft sigh blew through the crowd and they settled down contentedly. This was what they had come to see.

The red wine was served early; it flew in tiny drops every time a punch was thrown or received. The fight flowed smoothly around the square of trampled grass. The sound of bone on flesh was followed immediately by the growl of the crowd and the seconds between were filled with the hoarse breathing of the two men and the slither, slither of their feet. Yaaaa! Through the tense half silence ripped a roar like that of a mortally wounded foghorn. Sean and the American jumped apart startled, and turned with everyone else to face Candy's Hotel. Fernandes was with them again; his mountain-wide hairiness seemed to fill the whole veranda. He picked up one of Candy's best tables and holding it across his chest tore off two of its legs as though they were the wings of a roasted chicken. Francois, the bag! shouted Sean. Francois snatched it up and threw it high over the heads of the crowd. Sean held his breath as he followed its slow trajectory, then he blew out again with relief as he saw Mbejane field the pass and vanish around the corner of the Hotel. Yaaaa! Femandes gave tongue again. With a table leg in each hand he charged the crowd that stood between him and Sean; it scattered before him. Do you mind if we finish this some other time? Sean asked the American of course not. Any time at all. I was just about to leave myself Duff reached through the ropes and caught Sean's arm. There's someone looking for you, or had you noticed? It might just be his way of showing friendliness. I wouldn't bet on it, are you coming?

Fernandes nimbled to a halt, braced himself and threw.

The table leg whirred like a rising pheasant an inch over Sean's head, ruffling his hair with the wind of its passage. Lead on, Duff. Sean was uncomfortably conscious of the fact that Fernandes was again m motion towards him, still armed with a long oak, and that three very thin ropes were all that stood between them. The speed that Sean and Duff turned on then made Mr Blair's earlier exhibition seem like that of a man with both legs in plaster, Fernandes, carrying top weight as he was, never looked like catching them.