The Governor's Lady (23 page)

He pointed across at the coffee pot as Harold entered.

‘Pour yourself out a cup,' he said. ‘There'll be some sausages very shortly. Better make a good breakfast. We don't know when we shall be sitting down to food again, do we?'

As he drank, Harold was aware that Sir Gardnor was watching him. It was a quizzical, half-amused sort of expression that he was wearing.

‘I rather gathered,' Sir Gardnor told him, ‘that you didn't quite approve of the way I got my last leopard. You probably felt that it was unsporting. And so it was. But I couldn't afford to come back empty-handed, could I? Leopard outwits Governor—that would never have done, now would it?'

He sat back, and patted the toe-cap where the claws had scratched it.

‘This time,' he said, ‘you'll find that the chances are about equal. It could be the leopardess. Or, again, it could be one of us.'

Harold had finished his coffee; and, across the night air, the delicious smell of frying sausages had just reached him.

‘I'll take my chance, sir,' he said.

Sir Gardnor was still smiling.

‘I thought that would be what you'd say,' he replied. ‘But it was clearly my duty to warn you.' His smile widened. ‘After that first time it's not surprising that we're all a bit anxious.'

The A.D.C. when he arrived looked sleepy and rather jaded. Harold wondered whether he had been visiting his friend, the bronze kitchen-boy again. But he was as polite and attentive as ever, concerned only with Sir Gardnor's well-being.

‘Do you want the telescopic sight clipped on, sir?' he asked. ‘It's in its little case at the moment.'

Sir Gardnor brightened.

‘Ah, the telescopic sight,' he said. ‘I may have an opportunity of using it. The gunsmiths tell me it's in perfect working-order. I shall be able to find out for myself, shan't I?' He drew his breath in sharply. ‘That is, if we see anything.'

He looked across at the travelling clock on his work table.

‘The sausages are a little late, are they not?' he remarked. ‘We have exactly nine minutes in which to finish our breakfast, and get going.'

The Kiburru had been right to bargain for extra payment. Apart altogether from the element of danger-money, the trek that they were leading was long, difficult and, in the last part, stony.

Less than a mile from the camp, they left the green shade of the forest, and came face to face with the sun on the open grasslands. It was a low sun, only just risen; not yet at full heat, but still blinding. They shaded their eyes with their hands as they walked. Then the grasses grew shorter and more meagre. Soon the little tufts and patches died out altogether, and it was loose red sand that they were crossing. In places, under the fury of the sun by day, the sand had formed itself into flat sheets like mica. With the morning glare coming back off them, they looked like pools of water, but they cracked like ice as soon as a foot in shoe-leather touched them. The bare feet of the Kiburru, Harold noticed, passed over as though skating.

The sand gave place to scree, and soon the scree became shingle. They had come up against the bluff on a sheer, blood-red escarpment; and, where it had crumbled and gone crashing, great boulders were now littered. They were piled one upon another like earthquake-ruins. And somewhere in this scene of desolation, the Kiburru asserted, the leopardess, now widowed, was still living.

Sir Gardnor beckoned his A.D.C. to him.

‘I take it they know they get paid on results,' he said. ‘We look like being here all day if it's purely speculation.'

But the Kiburru were unshakable. The lair was in there, they said, pointing to the biggest of the rock-mounds in front of them. The slanting crevice that ran beside it that was the entrance to her homestead. Down below, on some unthinkable mezzanine, was where she
had mated, littered, suckled and slept off her over-eating. At this hour in the morning, she had probably only just turned in.

There was the matter of the smell to vindicate them. Dilating their flat nostrils still further, they sniffed approvingly. It was strong, very strong, they agreed. The odour of cat was everywhere. It must, in all that sunlight, have been only minutes they said, since the leopardess had passed by, reeking.

It was at this point that Sir Gardnor intervened. More military than Major Mills, he laid down the battle plan with quiet precision.

‘If they do flush her,' he said, ‘she'll bolt in this direction. Accordingly, we'll take up our positions
there
,'—he indicated a large boulder, half-buried on the left—
‘here
where I'm standing, and'—he screwed his eyes up and inspected the rock-fall on his right—'over
there
by the cliff-face. And aim carefully, remember: we don't want any dead Kiburru on our hands.'

He seemed very much in command as he stood there, his hands resting upon his hips. He was rocking backwards and forwards, as though savouring the moment. When he turned towards Harold, he was smiling again.

‘You know all about rifles, don't you, by now?' he asked. ‘The recoil, I mean. And taking care of yourself if anything goes wrong.' He slapped at the back of his neck where something had just stung him. ‘As regards firing-order, you may have first shot. You deserve it. Then Tony. I shall come last—that is, if I'm needed at all, of course.'

He had undipped the telescopic sight while he was speaking, and handed it back to the A.D.C.

‘At this sort of range,' he said reprovingly, as though the A.D.C. should have thought of it first, ‘I shall hardly be needing it, shall I?'

The two Kiburru were busy with their own preparations. They were going round gathering up strands of dry elephant grass that the wind had blown into the gully, withered flowers, dead leaves. If they had been keepers in a Royal Park they could not have been more thorough. And, as soon as they had a handful, they deftly twisted it into a little skein, and began collecting more to weave into it. It was a torch that each one was making.

When they had finished, they came up pleading for matches. At the sight of the full box which Harold handed them, they temporarily
forgot about leopards. All that they could think of was matches. They planned how to steal them. One of them succeeded. Not that Harold would have been particularly anxious to have the box returned to him. It was up the brief sash of his loincloth that the leading hunter had stuffed the Swan Vestas.

Sir Gardnor gave a little cough.

‘Are we ready?' he asked.

He glanced round for a moment, and continued without waiting for the answer. ‘You will raise your hands when you've taken up your places,' he said. ‘And I will give the order to smoke her out.'

The Kiburru had their bundles of rubbish all ready. They had clambered up onto the terraces of the rock-temple dragging their fire-machines after them. And they were taking no chances. While the thief who had stolen the matches was securing one of the grass-torches to the handle of his spear, the other stood over him like a sculptor's model, knees flexed and spear lifted.

Miles and Harold both raised their hands. Sir Gardnor acknowledged them, and tried to attract the attention of the Kiburru. But they were preoccupied. Unused to Swan Vestas, the fire-raiser was stroking the match gently along the side of the box as if afraid of harming it. Minutes passed, broken only by the gentle scraping sound.

‘Come along. Come along, man. Get on with it,' Sir Gardnor shouted.

But the Kiburru had lost his temper. He used all his strength, and tried deliberately to hurt the match. In revenge, the match blazed up and burnt him. He dropped it hurriedly onto the bundle at his feet, and the mass ignited. As soon as it was well aflame, he thrust it home into the crevice.

By now a thin spiral of blue smoke was rising into the air above the grotto as if the rocks themselves were on fire. But still nothing happened. The Kiburru were disappointed. They shouted. Picking up large stones, they hammered on the bare rock to cause a nuisance. Lying flat on their stomachs, they thrust their heads through the smoke screen and called the leopardess names, vile unmentionable names that even a leopardess could not tolerate.

Then they jumped down rather shame-facedly and admitted that she wasn't there.

But it was only a matter of time, patience and numbers, they contended. Especially numbers. In the ordinary way, a whole team of at
least a dozen hunters would have been engaged for such an operation. As it was, there were only two. They would both, therefore, have to work six times as hard. And unprotected, there was the added danger; the peril to each of them of being pounced on from behind. In the circumstances, an entirely new fee—payable, if necessary, to the survivor—would have to be negotiated.

Sir Gardnor told the A.D.C. to agree the fee. Nevertheless, he remained entirely unconvinced.

‘I should be more ready to believe them' he said, ‘if there were any vultures around. They are like shadows. They follow leopards every-where. And you can see for yourself, the rocks are deserted.'

He indicated the vultureless landscape as he was speaking.

‘All the same,' he told them, ‘I suppose we had better deploy ourselves. If they do find her, she could be anywhere. And at all costs, we must avoid cross-fire. We must therefore get ourselves a bit further back.'

He re-surveyed the rock-hillocks behind him.

‘I myself,' he announced, ‘will be somewhere up there,' and pointed to the blood-red face of the escarpment.

The Kiburru were delighted. Like this it could go on all day. ‘Bang, bang. Bang, bang,' they cried jubilantly.

Sir Gardnor turned to the A.D.C.

‘And for this,' he said, ‘I
shall
require the telescopic sight. You might clip it on for me, would you?'

Again, there was the slight hint in his voice not so much of reproof as of surprise that the A.D.C. should not have anticipated him.

‘I intend to go some distance up,' he said. ‘The higher the better. And I shall wave my handkerchief when I'm ready. You will please do the same. And then, of course, we will none of us move. You are hardly likely to hit me, but, if I can, I want to avoid shooting one of you, don't I?'

The climb up the face of the escarpment was a stiff one. What seemed to be solid, living rock crumbled away into red dust when Sir Gardnor grasped hold of it; and ledges that looked as if civil engineers had cut them there, disappeared in powder. Small avalanches started. Twice it looked as if Sir Gardnor would be carried down on the crest of them. But, despite his size, he was certainly agile. Each time, he merely flattened his back against the wall behind him, waited for the cascade of rubble to subside, and then mounted higher.

He paused to glance momentarily over his shoulder; and, reassured that he was being observed, he climbed even faster. He was making for a depression in the cliff-face where some earlier and forgotten landslide had scooped out an alcove. When he reached it, he disappeared from sight for a moment, re-emerged at the brim and raised his hand.

The A.D.C. was the first to choose his position. In full view of Sir Gardnor, he stationed himself beside a natural firing-platform in the rock and, removing the sweat-band from his wrist, waved it in the air. Sir Gardnor waved back.

For Harold, it was not so easy. He chose the other side of the gully. This meant that there was a buttress of sandstone, shoulder-high, between him and Sir Gardnor. He selected the exact spot. Then, taking off his sunhat, he stood up to his full height and signalled to Sir Gardnor. The reply came back immediately. Apparently, Sir Gardnor had been keeping his eye on him throughout. Harold squatted down on his heels and waited.

The Kiburru had no intention of being hurried. They executed a little war-dance. They speared imaginary leopards. They recited spells. They relieved themselves. From the cliff above them, they heard Sir Gardnor shout something. The exact words escaped them but the tone sounded angry. Glancing understandingly at each other, they decided that they must at least do something.

And, in action, they were beautiful. They ran up to the tall rocks, and took them in their stride. Clinging only with their finger-tips, they scaled pillars. Goatlike, they bounded from crag to crag. They rattled their spears against the sides of caverns. They shouted. They threw stones into canyons which they could not reach themselves.

And, raising nothing, they were all the time retreating further and further up the gully, vanishing behind the rocks at times, still in search of fresh hiding-places where a tired leopardess might linger.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harold could see the A.D.C. His rifle ready, and his elbow on the rock in front of him, he was following every movement of the two Kiburru. His stance, too, was perfect. At once alert and relaxed, he was an example which any big game hunter might have copied. Resting his back up against the rock, Harold decided to make himself comfortable, too.

Then, from somewhere in front, came a shout. The Kiburru had found something, and they were calling. Harold saw the A.D.C. raise
his rifle. The shouting continued. A moment later, one of the hunters sprang suddenly into view. He was astride a boulder, and pointing. One hand had the forefinger outstretched, and the other was cupped like a megaphone against his mouth. Harold edged cautiously along the rock in the direction of that pointing forefinger.

He could still see nothing. But the Kiburru could see all right. What they had rustled out was a solitary dog baboon. It was old and mangey and hollow-stomached. When it opened its mouth to snarl at them, it showed them that one of its canine teeth was missing. Without a struggle, they could have killed it with their spears. Not that it was really worth killing: it would so soon be dead anyway.

It could still move, however. Rump up and bare bottom showing, it lolloped along the gully, stopping every few yards to see if it was being followed. The shouting meant nothing to it. It had already been stone-deaf by the time it had left the troop. At the sight of the advancing Kiburru, it broke into a short, rheumatic scamper.