Here we are standing on French territory still, ahead of us is Ethiopia, there far to the north is Italian Eritrea."
"How far is it to the Wells of Chaldi?"Gareth interrupted.
That for him was the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold.
Gregorius shrugged. "Another forty miles, perhaps."
"How do we get across this lot?" Jake muttered, staring down into the dim depths of the ravine where the shallow pools still glowed dull silver.
"Upstream there is an old camel route to J ibuti," Gregorius told him.
"We might have to dig out the banks a little, but I think we'll be able to cross."
"I hope you are right," Gareth told him. "It's a long way home, if we have to go back." The view of water that she had glimpsed in the depths of the ravine haunted Vicky Camberwell during the night. She dreamed of foaming mountain streams and spilling waterfalls, of moss-covered boulders, swaying green ferns about a deep cold pool, and she awoke, restless and tired, with sweat plastering her hair to her neck and forehead. There was just the first promise of dawn in the sky.
She thought that she was the only one awake and she crept into the vehicle and fetched her towel and toilet bag, but as she jumped down to the ground she heard the clink of spanner on steel and she saw Jake stooped over the engine compartment of his car.
She tried to sneak away before he saw her, but he straightened suddenly.
"Where are you going?" he demanded. "As if I didn't know. Listen, Vicky, I don't like you wandering around out of camp on your own."
"Jake Barton, I feel so filthy I can smell myself. Nothing and nobody is going to stop me getting down to the river." Jake hesitated. "I'd better come down with you."
"This isn't the Folies Berg&e, my dear," she laughed, and he had learned enough not to argue with this lady. He watched her hurry to the lip of the ravine and disappear down the steep slope with vague misgivings, for which he could find no real substance.
The earth and loose stone rolled easily underfoot, and Vicky restrained her impatience and picked her way carefully towards the water, until she reached a narrow game trail that tipped down at a more comfortable angle, and she followed it with relief. Her footsteps, falling silently on to the soft earth, followed faithfully the string of round five- toed pad marks, larger than a saucer, which had been plugged deeply by the heavy weight of the animal that had made them. Vicky did not look down, however, and if she had, it was doubtful if she would have recognized what she was seeing. The faintly reflected light of the pools drew her like a beacon.
When she reached the bottom of the ravine, she found that the river was so shrunken that it was no longer flowing.
The pools were shallow, stagnant and still warm from the previous day's sun. The storm waters of the awash had cut down through the softer upper layers of earth until they exposed the sheet of hard black ironstone that formed the floor of the ravine.
Vicky stripped off her sweat-damp clothing and stepped down into one of the shallow pools, sighing with the pleasurable feel of water on her skin. She sat waist-deep and scooped handfuls of water over her face and breasts, washing away the dust and salt-sticky sweat of the desert.
Then she waded to the edge of the pool and selected a bottle of shampoo from her bag. The water was so soft that she swiftly worked up a thick coating of white suds that covered her head and ran down her neck on to her bare shoulders.
She rinsed the soap off and bound the towel around her wet head like a turban, before kneeling in the shallow pool and soaping her entire body, delighting at the slipperiness of the suds and their fragrance.
By the time she was finished, the light had strengthened and she knew that the others would be up and chafing to resume the march.
She stepped out on to the flat black rock that surrounded the pool and stood for a moment to feel the first gentle movement of the morning breeze against her naked skin, and suddenly she had a strong sensation that she was being watched. She, turned swiftly, half crouching, her hands flying instinctively to cover her bosom and her groin.
The eyes that watched her were of a savage golden colour, and the pupils were glistening black slits. The stare was steady and unblinking.
The huge reddish-gold beast crouched on a level ledge of rock, halfway up the far bank of the ravine. It lay with its forepaws drawn up under its chin, and there was a sense of deadly stillness about it that was chilling, although Vicky did not readily recognize what she was seeing.
Then very slowly the dark ruff of the mane came erect, swelling out around the head and exaggerating its already impressive bulk. Then the tail twitched and began to slash back and forth with the steady beat of a metronome.
Suddenly Vicky knew what it was. She heard again in her imagination the echoes of that terrible sound in the night and she screamed.
Jake had just completed the adjustments he was making to the ignition of his car and closed the engine cowling. He picked up the fluted bottle of Scrubbs Cloudy Ammonia to dissolve the grease from his hands.
At that instant he heard the scream and he began to run without a conscious thought.
The scream was so high and shrill, an expression of mortal terror, that Jake's heart raced in sympathy and when the scream came again, if anything shriller still, he leaped the bank and went sliding and running down the steep slope of the ravine.
It was only seconds from when he heard the first scream until he came skidding and sliding down on to the rocky floor of the ravine beside the pool.
He saw the naked girl crouching at the edge of the pool, both hands pressed to her mouth. Her body was pale and slim, with the small tight round buttocks of a lad and long graceful legs.
"Vicky," he shouted. "What is it?" And she turned quickly to him, her breasts swinging heavily at the movement, round and white with large pink nipples standing out tightly with cold and shock. Even in the extremity of the moment, he could not help but glance down at the smooth velvety plain of her belly and the fluffy dusky triangle at its base. Then she was running towards him on those long coltish legs, and her face was deadly white, and the speckled green eyes huge and swimming with rampant terror.
"Jake," she cried. "Oh God, Jake," and then he saw movement beyond her, halfway up the bank of the water course.
The wound had stiffened during the night, almost paralysing the lion's hindquarters, and the torn entrails were leaking poison and infection into the belly cavity. It had slowed the animal so drastically that the natural reflexive anger which the sight of a human form had roused was not strong enough to precipitate the charge.
However, the sound of the human voice immediately invoked memories of the hunters who had inflicted this terrible aching agony "and the anger flared higher.
Then suddenly there was another of the hated two-legged figures, more noise and movement, all of this enough to counter the stiffness and paralysing lethargy. The lion rose slightly out of his crouch and he growled.
Jake ran four paces to meet Vicky and she tried to throw her arms about his neck for protection, but he avoided the embrace and grasped her upper arm with his left hand, his fingers digging so deeply into her flesh that the pain steadied her. Using the impetus of her run, he swung her on towards the path that climbed the slope.
"Run," he shouted. "Keep running." And he turned back to face the crippled animal as it launched itself from the ledge into the bed of the river.
It was only then that Jake realized that he still carried a full bottle of Scrubbs Ammonia in his hand. The lion came bounding swiftly through the shallow stagnant pool towards him. Despite the wounds, it followed with lithe and sinuous menace. it was so close that he could see each stiff white whisker in the curled upper lip and hear the rattle of air in its throat. He let it come on, for to turn and run was suicide.