Newman unhooked the horse from the cart and hung packs on it, then took the animal’s tether and nodded his readiness. “Lay on,” Fraser said cheerfully, and we set off through the trees. I had one of my favourite long guns (a four-bore that had once taken down a charging elephant) slung over my back, a revolver at my hip, and a walking stick made of stout black wood (among other things) in my hand.
“Newman scouted ahead and found a suitable campsite,” Fraser said, and the truth of that was revealed in due time. We settled in the lee of a house-sized heap of mossy boulders, on a level stretch of ground still relatively bare from the depredation of some past fire. It was hard to imagine a forest as sopping as this one could ever burn, but ashes do not lie. We set up our tents and secured our food in the branches of a nearby tree to stymie any bears attracted by the scent. After that, we checked our weapons, and declared ourselves ready to begin.
Newman lifted a coarsely woven sack from the back of the packhorse – and the sack whimpered audibly. The man froze, staring at me, and in turn I looked at Fraser.
He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about my plans for the hunt, Colonel, for fear you’d disapprove, I suppose. The particular oh-mah we’re hunting has shown an interest in children. As I mentioned, three have been stolen away in recent months, and in all cases a huge, hairy figure was sighted in the vicinity shortly before the disappearance. With that in mind, I sent Newman to secure… bait.”
I looked at the sack, judging its size. “You’ve stolen a child.”
“We’ll set him free when we’re done,” Fraser assured me. “We’ll fill his pockets with money, too, to dissuade his parents from making any complaint. He’s only four – it’s unlikely he’ll even remember this excursion, particularly given the dose of laudanum Newman administered to him last night.”
“You intend to tether the child, as we used to tether goats beneath a tree to lure tigers, is that it?”
He nodded. “Yes. Then we’ll lie in wait, rifles at the ready, as the boy’s cries attract the oh-mah.”
I could tell Newman was waiting for either my approbation or censure, but I merely shrugged. The discomfort of some American child, doubtless at least half-savage just by dint of living in this benighted place, hardly concerned me. “Let’s prepare, then.”
Newman shouldered his burden and led us through the forest to the spot he and Fraser had chosen. I had to admit, it was well suited to the task at hand: a small depression of low ground, with ample higher cover on all sides where we could settle in with our rifles, enjoying clear sightlines and waiting to see if the bait attracted any notice.
The mute man carried his sack of child to a tree in the centre of the hollow and let the boy out of the bag. The child was ragged and wretched, with a thatch of unruly black hair, and he complained in a slurring but uncomprehending voice as Newman lashed him to the tree with stout ropes. We stayed out of sight, neither Fraser nor I openly acknowledging that it was better if the boy didn’t see our faces, but acting according to that principle. A four-year-old is an unreliable witness, and perhaps unlikely to be believed in any case, but Fraser and I were foreigners, and thus more prone than most to the suspicion of the locals.
Once the boy was secured, Newman joined us behind the cover of some large rocks. The boy began to weep, and then to wail, howling inconsolably.
Fraser beamed. “If the oh-mah is anywhere nearby, that noise will surely attract its attention.”
I grunted. “And we’re sure it won’t attract the attention of anyone else?”
Fraser shook his head. “The nearest human habitation is miles away.” He dispatched Newman to a point on the far side of the hollow to keep watch in that direction, then asked me where I’d like to settle.
“Here is fine.” There was a sloping rock to lean my back against, and sitting on the stone was more appealing than squishing about in the damp soil. I had a good line of sight down to the child but was screened from his view by brush, and I was upwind besides, in case the “big man” had a keen sense of smell. Not that I believed there even was such a beast, but once a hunter, always a hunter.
Fraser clapped me on the shoulder and rose to take up his own position elsewhere on the rim of the hollow, whispering “Good hunting” as he went. Those were the last words Fraser ever spoke to me.
Much of hunting is waiting. I sat with my four-bore close to hand, and my walking stick laid across my knees, taking the occasional sip from a flask of warming whisky. The boy alternated periods of quiet whimpering with louder bouts of weeping and shouting, affirming the old maxim that children should be seen and not heard, though in this case, of course, the noise was theoretically useful. I expected nothing to come of this endeavour, and wondered how long we would be required to sit in the damp before Fraser gave up and let us return to camp.
Then, perhaps an hour before dusk, I saw movement in the trees: a towering figure, though probably closer to seven feet tall than nine, appeared briefly between the trunks of evergreens, and then disappeared. I let out a whistle, imitating the song of an English songbird, to alert Fraser that I’d seen something. I readied my gun, staring ferociously into the trees, alert to the slightest movement. The boy’s wailing rose to a new and more irritating pitch.
I can’t verify the exact order of events that followed and must indulge in a certain amount of speculation. After several long moments, there was a gunshot off to my right, the familiar boom of a large bore weapon. Then I heard Fraser shout and, shortly afterward, scream. I fancy I could make out a few words: “No,” and “Please,” and “You aren’t,” and “You mustn’t” among them.
When he cried out I immediately began moving towards the sound, crouched low, long gun in my hands, the thrill of the hunt singing in my veins. A shame about Fraser, but when a predator is busy savaging its prey, you can often take it unawares, after all, and if the major were only injured, I might be able to save him.
I also dared to hope Fraser wasn’t mad after all and that I would soon have the opportunity to kill a beast unknown to science.
By the time I reached Fraser, though, the predator was gone, leaving only the mangled body of its prey. The old soldier was on his back, head twisted at an unnatural angle, eyepatch askew, his chest a bloody ruin. The major’s weapon lay nearby, still stinking of its recent fruitless firing. I glanced around, and up, in case whatever killed him hunted from the trees like certain jungle cats, but saw no sign of any predator. I took a moment to examine Fraser’s wounds, as they seemed strangely regular. I have seen many men killed, by all manner of animals and weapons, and it seemed to me these wounds were not made by teeth or claws. If called upon to make a wager, I would have bet my fortune they were caused by an axe.
A man, then, and not a beast, had killed Fraser. Had Newman gone mad or chosen this moment to redress some injury done him by his employer? I lifted my head and saw the boy was still tethered to the tree, his shouting having subsided into whimpers. Perhaps the gunfire had frightened him into something approaching silence.
Still holding my gun at the ready, I went in search of Newman, moving more silently than most would believe a man of my stature could.
I found Newman on the far side of the hollow, face down, his head nearly severed from his shoulders by an axe blow. Perhaps, being mute, he couldn’t have cried out anyway, but I think he was taken entirely unawares. There was another person in these woods, then, armed with an axe. Perhaps the child’s father, come to rescue him and punish his abductors? That seemed most likely. I could hardly blame the chap, if so, though I would shoot him, of course, rather than succumb to his ideas of justice.