Once when Nick's compass indicated they should take ;a faint track to their right Ross said, "No, stay on the main road. It bends right beyond the next line of hills. That path dead ends in the false escarpment You'd waste thirty miles."
Beyond the line of hills, Nick found out Ross had told the truth. In the afternoon they reached a small village, and Ross obtained water and mealie cake and biltong to conserve their own small supply. Nick had no choice but to let the man talk with the natives in a language he did not understand.
As they left Nick saw a horse-drawn cart being readied. "Where are they going?"
"They'll go back the way we came, dragging brush. It will wipe out our tracks, not that we're easy to track in this dry weather, but it can be done by a good man."
There were no more bridges, just fords across the creeks in which there remained a trickle of water. Most were dry. As the sun was setting they passed a herd of elephants. The great beasts were active, lumbering into each other, turning to look at the jeep.
"Keep going," Ross said quietly. "They're drank on fermented fruit juice. Sometimes there's a bad one."
"An elephant binge?" Nick asked "I never heard of that."
"It's true. You don't want to meet one when he's high and feeling mean or when he has a bad hangover."
"Do they actually make alcohol? How?"
"In their stomachs."
They forded a wider stream and Janet said, "Can't we soak our feet and wash?"
"Later," Ross advised. "Crocodiles and bad worms in there."
As darkness fell they reached an empty compound, four neat huts with a wall-and-gate courtyard and a corral. Nick inspected the huts approvingly. They had clean hide beds, simple furnishings. "This where you said we'd sleep?"
"Yes. This used to be the last patrol post when they came in on horses. Still used. There's a village about five miles away keeps an eye on it. That's one trouble with my people. So damn law-abiding and obedient."
"Those are supposed to be virtues," Nick said as he unloaded the food box.
"Not for a revolution," Ross said bitterly. "You should stay rough and mean until your rulers get civilized. When you mature and they stay barbaric — with all their tiled baths and mechanical toys — you're screwed. My people are infested with spies because they think it's the right thing to do. Run tell the policeman. They don't realize they're being robbed. They get kaffir beer and ghettos."
"If you were all that mature," Nick said, "you wouldn't be in ghettos."
Ross paused, looked puzzled. "Why?"
"You wouldn't have bred like bugs. From four hundred thousand to four million, wasn't it? You could have beat the game with brains and birth control."
"That's not so..." Ross paused. He knew there was a flaw in the idea somewhere but it hadn't been covered in his revolutionary reading.
He was quiet as night fell. They hid the jeep, ate, and divided up the available quarters. They bathed gratefully in a wash house. Ross said the water was pure.
The next morning they drove thirty miles, and the track ended at a deserted village, unlike the compound. It was falling to pieces. "Resettled," Ross said bitterly. "They were suspect because they wanted to stay independent."
Nick looked at the jungle. "You know the trails? From here — we walk."
Ross nodded. "I might make it alone."
"Then well make it together. Feet were made before jeeps."
Perhaps because of the dry weather, with the animals drawn to the remaining waterholes, the going was dry-misery instead of damp-horror. Nick fashioned head nets for all of them out of his packet, although Ross claimed he could get along without one. They camped the first night on a hillock that showed signs of recent occupancy. There were thatch shelters and firepits. "Guerrillas?" Nick asked.
"Hunters usually."
The night sounds were an uproar of roaring animals and screaming birds; crashing in the forest that sounded near. Ross assured them that most animals had learned by lethal experience to avoid the camp, but they didn't sound like it Just after midnight Nick was awakened by a soft voice coming from the door of his cabin. "Andy?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"I can't sleep." Ruth Crossman's voice.
"Scared?"
"I don't… think so."
"Here..." He found her warm arm and drew her down on the stretched-hide bed. "You're lonely." He kissed her comfortingly. "You need a little cuddling after all the excitement"
"I tell myself I like it." She snuggled against him.
On the third day they came to a narrow road. They were in bundu brush country again, and the track had been hacked fairly straight Ross said, "It marks the edge of THB holdings. They patrol four times a day-or they used to."
Nick said, "Can you take me in to where I can get a good look at the operation?"
"I can, but it would be easier to circle and get away from here. We go into Zambia or out toward Salisbury. You can't accomplish anything against THB alone."
"I want to see the operation. I want to know what's going on instead of getting all my information secondhand. Then maybe I can put real pressure on them."
"Booty didn't tell me that, Grant. She told me you helped Pieter van Prez. Who are you? Why are you an enemy of THB? Do you know Mike Bor?"
"I think I know Mike Bor. If I do and he's the man I think he is, he's a murdering tyrant."
"I could have told you that. He's got a lot of my people in the concentration camps he calls compounds. Are you with the international police? The UN?"
"No. And Ross — I don't know where you fit in."
"I'm a patriot"
"Like Pieter and Johnson?"
Ross said sadly, "We see things differently. In every revolution there are many points of view."
"Trust me to knock THB when I can?"
"Come on."
Several hours later they scrambled to the top of a miniature escarpment and Nick drew in his breath. He was looking at a mining empire. As far as he could see there were workings, camps, truck parks, warehouse complexes. A rail spur and a road came in from the southeast. Many of the operations had sturdy fences. The hut compounds, which seemed to stretch away endlessly in the clear sunlight, had high fences and watch-towers and guarded gate houses.
Nick said, "Why not slip arms to your people in the compounds and take over the place?"
"That's one of the points over which my group and Pieter's differ," Ross said sadly. "It might not work, anyway. You will find this hard to believe, but the colonial operation here over the years has made my people very law-abiding. They bend their heads and kiss the whips and polish their chains."
"Only the rulers can break the law," Nick murmured.
"That's right."
"Where does Bor live and have his headquarters?"
"Over that hill beyond the last shaft tower. He's got a beautiful place. Fenced and guarded. You won't get in."
"I don't have to. I just want to see it so that I can report I've personally seen his private kingdom. Who lives with him? The servants must have talked."
"Several Germans. Heinrich Muller is the one you're interested in, I imagine. Si Kalgan, a Chinese. And a number of men of different nationalities, but all criminals, I think He ships our ore and asbestos all over the world."
Nick looked at the rugged black features and did not smile. Ross had known all along much more than he revealed. He shook a powerful hand. "Will you take the girls to Salisbury? Or direct them to some part of civilization?"
"And you?"
"I'll be all right. I'm going to get the whole picture and get out. I have a compass."
"Why risk your life?"
"I'm paid for it. I've got to do my job right"
"I'll get the girls out tonight." Ross sighed. "I think you're taking too much of a risk. Good luck, Grant, if that's your name."