Hunter's Prize

To Dorothy Faye, George Edward, and Nancy Jane—my siblings. Thoughts of you call to mind pulled hair, skinned knees, and chinaberry fights. Mud pies, cardboard forts, and side-lot baseball. Poodle skirts, miniskirts, and bell-bottom jeans. Brenda Lee, Elvis, Chubby Checker, and the Beatles. It passed too fast! I wish we could live it all over again. Never forget that I love you.

Thank you, Lee, my husband, friend, and very own Superman. It’s nice to have your broad shoulders to lean on.

Special thanks to Mr. John Winn of Caddo Outback Backwater Tours, my Caddo area expert, knowledgeable historian, and all-around great guy. Bless you, John, for allowing me to pick your brain. I acknowledge freely that yours are some of the best lines in the book. Find out more about John and Caddo Lake at:
www.caddolaketours.com
.

As always, my heartfelt appreciation goes to Elizabeth Ludwig, the first responder to my first draft carnage and the reason my Barbour editors don’t tear out their hair. Lisa, dear friend, thank you for dotting my i’s, crossing my t’s, and chasing me down rabbit trails. I salute you!

Speaking of Barbour editors, thanks and blessings to Aaron McCarver for your knowledge, talent, and razor-sharp eye. It is a genuine pleasure to work with you.

And speaking of Barbour Publishing, Rebecca Germany and the rest of the crew, you guys are my heroes. Thank you for your unmerited favor and gracious support.

Pretoria, South Africa, November 1904

A
raspy, hissing
zzzzzzZZTT
spun Cedric Whitfield toward the lone African swift soaring overhead. Whimpering, he covered his ears and stumbled away from the jarring sound. Lips tightly sealed to spare his parched throat, he ran along the hard-packed road, the hot, dry air burning inside his nose with every breath.

He skittered past Denny Currie and Charlie Pickering, arching his back and shivering at the thought of touching the scary men hired to drive them to town. In his haste, he blundered into one of the great beasts Charlie led behind him like hounds on a leash.

“Mind the oxen, sonny.” The big man caught his collar, lifting him off the ground. “Unless you fancy being trampled.”

Fixing Ceddy with a bulging eye, the huge animal flared his velvet nostrils and snorted.

With a shrill scream, Ceddy struggled free and shot away.

“Blimey, he’s off again!” Mr. Currie shouted. “Mrs. Beale, can’t you keep the lad close at hand?”

At the mention of Aunt Jane, Ceddy slowed to a trot and spun, his heart thudding against his ribs. Shuffling backward, feeling the sun on the backs of his bare legs, he watched her top the rise.

“He’s frightened of your team, Mr. Currie,” she called, her brows rising to peaks.

Shifting his weight, Mr. Currie dried his forehead with his sleeve. “Appears to be frightened of most things, now, don’t he?”

Panting hard, Auntie pressed a silk hankie to her mouth and plodded up the uneven path, the grasping branches of the sweet thorn brush tangling with her hem as she passed. “My nephew is a child, sir. A child with uncommon debilitations. Must I remind you of that?”

Charlie frowned. “He seems right fit to me.”

Mr. Currie jabbed him with his elbow and spoke from the side of his mouth. “She don’t mean weak in the physical sense, you twit.”

“Nor do I mean weakness of the mind, sir,” Aunt Jane said. “Please don’t twist my words.”

Mr. Currie’s smile slid away. “Whatever ails him, if he persists in playing about, we won’t see Pretoria by nightfall.” Spinning on his heel, he forged ahead. “Never mind catching the train.”

Ignoring his growly threat, Auntie fell in behind him, dabbing her beaded forehead with the cloth. “How much farther? This pace is a bit much, I’m afraid.”

Drawn to her strong, steady voice, Ceddy lagged to wait for her … until the long, silver wings of a snout bug teased away his eyes.

“A couple kilometers,” Mr. Currie said.

“Oh my,” Auntie shrilled. “Did you say
two
kilometers?”

He quirked his mouth. “Yes, m’lady, thereabout.” He dragged off his battered cap to scratch behind his ear then used the hat to point. “If memory serves, once we round that distant grove, it’s but a few steps more.”

Staring across the rolling grassland, Auntie sniffed. “I’ll try to remain optimistic.”

Glancing around, she lowered her voice. “Could there be predators lurking in the brush? I’d prefer to survive this unscheduled trek.”

Ceddy longed to chase the darting snout bug, but his aunt’s frightened tone pained his stomach. Holding his breath, he passed the men and their oxen then fell back to match her steps.

“Predators in South Africa?” Mr. Currie’s laugh rang hollow like a gourd. “There are lions in these parts, no doubt.” He patted the longhandled pistol at his side. “But you need fear no four-footed creature, Mrs. Beale. It’s the bloodthirsty lot who creep around on two limbs we hope to avoid.”

Stopping so fast she tripped on the uneven path, Auntie lifted her eyes. “Would you care to elaborate?”

His stubby fingers cradled his sidearm. “Soulless devils lurk in the veld. The sort who slip up without warning and straddle your back … slit you from ear to ear without so much as a ‘how do.’”

Moaning, Ceddy curled into the folds of Aunt Jane’s skirt.

She clutched his shoulder with a trembling hand. “What could such men want with us?”

“Not an invitation to tea, that’s for sure.”

She drew Ceddy closer.
“Really
, Mr. Currie. If that’s the case, I should think checking the hitch for damage before we left would top your list of priorities.”

Mr. Currie scowled at Charlie Pickering. “You have my blundering assistant to thank for our present fix. He’s in charge of the rigging.”

“Quite right, missus.” Charlie lifted his sweat-stained bush hat and bowed. “An unforgivable lapse on my part.”

Guiding Ceddy with a firm grip on his neck, Aunt Jane continued up the road toward them. “You’d both better pray the train to Port Elizabeth hasn’t left without us. If we don’t make the coast in time to board the steamer for England, you’ll be explaining your lapse to my husband.”

“I’ll drop to me pious knees on the spot, you daft cow,” Mr. Currie muttered as she passed.

Frowning, Auntie paused and lowered her hankie. “Beg your pardon?”

“I say it’s a pleasant day for a walk, anyhow.”

She snorted. “Perhaps … if one considers a stifling greenhouse pleasant.” She blotted around her mouth. “Peculiar weather for mid-November, I must say.”

Charlie grinned. “Not in South Africa. November’s the first month of summer ‘round here.”

“Is that a fact?” She tilted her head. “This time of year in London they’re banking fires and airing heavy wraps.”

He swiped his damp forehead. “Wish we had cause to bank a fire today. By the feel of things, we’re due a scorcher.”

Aunt Jane patted Ceddy’s back. “I suppose the American climate will be quite the adjustment for this young man.”

“The Americas, missus? I thought you were bound for England.”

“We are. But I will accompany Cedric to Texas in a few months.

Should be quite the adventure”—she leaned to smile at Ceddy—“with all the buckaroos and Indians and such.”

“Blimey,” Charlie said, stroking his bristly chin. “I’d sorely love to see a buckaroo.”

Frowning, Mr. Currie elbowed past. “We can stand about chatting all day, if you like. Only don’t blame me when you miss your train.”

“You’re quite right, Mr. Currie,” Aunt Jane said. “Let’s soldier on, shall we?”

Ceddy clutched her skirt with both hands, allowing her steps to jerk him forward. Closing his eyes, he let his head drift back as he ambled along the path—listening.

The jumble of sound, at once frightening and familiar, settled around his shoulders like a favorite quilt. Resting in it, he picked out the rumble of a lioness calling her young to a meal, a yipping jackal, the trill of a sunbird, a huffing white rhino in the distance. Howls, barks, and calls that awakened him each morning and lulled him to sleep every night.

Mr. Currie sniffed, dragging Ceddy from his trance. Clearing his throat, the horrid man spat. “I understand his parents were missionaries?”

“Yes, the both of them.” Auntie’s voice drifted behind her, quivering like a sedge warbler’s song. “Peter and Eliza devoted themselves to sharing the Gospel in this godforsaken region.” Slowing, she looked up. “How thoughtless of me to speak so harshly of your country. Forgive me, gentlemen.”

“Quite all right, mum,” Mr. Currie said. “I find their efforts downright inspiring.” He glanced behind him. “Your husband said they drove right off a cliff?”

Auntie gasped and eased Ceddy in front of her. “Mr. Currie, please!”

He tipped his grimy cap. “Sorry, missus. Just making conversation.”

“Sadly, it’s true,” she whispered. “My poor sister and her husband lost their lives in a terrible accident.”

Ceddy squirmed. Adults often talked quietly around him, as if his ears were dull. He could hear quite well, in fact, and her words rang in his head like a gong.