temptation. Perhaps not today, but tomorrow or the next day he'll come.
David stood up and climbed in through the open door of the cabin. He
went forward to the cockpit.
T, Sam, he spoke into the microphone. Can you hear me?
There was a long pause, presumably while Sam struggled with radio
procedure, then his voice, faint but clear:I hear you, Nkosi.
Have you seen anything? 'There is nothing. Keep good watch. 'Yebho,
Nkosi.
Jane brought a cold picnic lunch down to the airstrip, they ate heartily
despite the tension, and they were about to start on the milk tart, when
suddenly the radio set throbbed and hummed. Sam's voice carried clearly
to where they sat.
He has come!
Red standby, Go! Go! shouted David, and they rushed for the cabin
door, Debra treading squarely in the centre of Jane's milk tart before
David grabbed her arm and guided her to her seat.
Bright Lance, airborne and climbing, David laughed with excitement and
then memory stabbed him with a sharp blade. He remembered Joe hanging
out there at six o'clock but he shut his mind to it and he banked
steeply on to his headin& not wasting time in grabbing for altitude but
staying right down at tree-top level.
Conrad Berg was bunched in the seat behind them, and his face was redder
than usual, seeming about to burst like an over-ripe tomato.
Where is the Land-Rover key? he demanded anxiously. It's in the
ignition, and the tank is full Can't you go faster? Conrad growled.
Have you got your walkie talkie? David checked him.
Here! It was gripped in one of his huge paws, and his double-barrelled
. 450 magnum was in the other.
David was hopping the taller trees, and sliding over the crests of
higher ground with feet to spare. They flashed over the boundary fence
and ahead of them lay the hills of Jabulani.
Get ready, he told Conrad, and flew the Navajo into the airstrip,
taxiing up to the hangar where the Land Rover waited.
Conrad jumped down at the instant that David braked to a halt, then he
slammed the cabin door behind him and raced to the Land-Rover.
Immediately David opened the throttle and swung the aircraft around,
lining up for his take-off before the Navajo had gathered full momentum.
As he climbed, he saw the Land-Rover racing across the airstrip,
dragging a cloak of dust behind it.
Do you read me, Conrad?
Loud an clear, Conra s voice boomed out of the speaker, and David turned
for the grey ribbon of the public road that showed through the trees,
beyond the hills.
He followed it, flying five hundred feet above it, and he searched the
open parkland.
The green Ford truck had been concealed from observation at ground
level, again in a thicket of wild ebony, but it was open from the sky.
For Akkers had never thought of discovery coming from there.
Connie, I've got the truck. He's stashed it in a clump of ebony about
half a mile down the bank of the Luzane stream. Your best route is to
follow the road to the bridge, then go down into the dry river bed and
try and cut him off before he gets to the truck. 'Okay, David. 'Move
it, man.
I'm moving. David saw the Land-Rover's dust above the trees, Conrad
must have his foot down hard.
I'm going to try and spot the man himself, chase him into your arms.
You do that? David started a long climbing turn towards the hills,
sweeping and searching, up and around. Below him the pools granted and
he opened the throttles slightly, seeking altitude to clear the crests.
From the highest peak, a tiny figure waved frantically.
Sam, he grunted. Doing a war dance. He altered course slightly to
pass him closely, and Sam stopped his imitation of a windmill and
stabbed with an extended arm towards the west. David acknowledged with
a wave, and turned again, dropping down the western slopes.
Ahead of him the plain spread, dappled like a leopard's back with dark
bush and golden glades of grass. He flew for a minute before he saw a
black mass, moving slowly ahead of him, dark and amorphous against the
pale grass.
The remains of the buffalo herd had bunched up and were running without
direction, desperate from the harrying they had received.
Buffalo, he told Debra. On the ran. Something has alarmed them. She
sat still and intent beside him, hands in her lap, staring unseeingly
ahead.
All! David shouted. Got him, with blood on his hands! In the Centre
of one of the larger clearings lay the black beetle-like body of a dead
buffalo, its belly swollen and its legs sticking out stiffly as it lay
on its side.
Four men stood around it in a circle, obviously just about to begin
butchering the carcass. Three of them were Africans, one with a knife
in his hand.
The fourth man was Johan Akkers. There was no mistaking the tall gaunt
frame. He wore an old black Fedora hat on his head, strangely formal
attire for the work in which he was engaged, and his braces crisscrossed
his tan-Coloured shirt. He carried a rifle at the trail in his right
hand, and at the sound of the aircraft engines he swung round and stared
into the sky, frozen with the shock of discovery.
You swine. Oh, you bloody swine, whispered David, and his anger was
strong and bright against the despoilers.
Hold on! he warned Debra, and flew straight at the man, dropping
steeply on to him.
The group around the dead buffalo scattered, as the aircraft bore down
on them, each man picking his own course and racing away on it, but
David selected the lanky galloping frame with the black hat jammed down
over the ears and sank down behind him. The tips. of the propellers
clipped the dry grass, as he swiftly overtook the running Akkers.
He was set to fly into him, driven by the unreasoning anger of the male
animal protecting his own, and he lined up to cut him down with the
spinning propeller blades.
As David braced himself for the impact Akkers glanced back over his
shoulder, and his face was muddy grey with fright, the skull eyes dark
and deeply set. He saw the murderous blades merely feet from him, and
he threw himself flat into the grass.
The Navajo roared inches over his prone body, and David pulled it round
in a steep turn, with the wing-tip brushing the grass. As he came round
he saw that Akkers was up and running, and that he was only fifty paces
from the edge of the trees.
David levelled out, aimed for the fugitive again but realized that he
could not reach him before he was into the trees. Swiftly he sped
across the clearing, but the lumbering figure drew slowly closer to the
timber line and as he reached the sanctuary of a big leadwood trunk,
Akkers whirled and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He aimed at the
approaching aircraft; although the rifle was unsteady in his hands the
range was short.
Down, shouted David, pushing Debra's head below the level of the
windshield, and he pulled open the throttles and climbed steeply away.
Even above the bellow of the engines David heard the heavy bullet clang
into the fuselage of the aircraft.
What's happening, David? Debra pleaded.
He fired at us, but we've got him on the run. He'll head back for his
truck now, and Conrad should be there waiting for him. Akkers kept
under cover of the trees, and circling above him David caught glimpses
of the tall figure trotting purposefully along his escape route.
David, -can you hear me? Conrad's voice boomed suddenly in the tense
cockpit. What is it, Connie? We've got trouble.