silently, staring out at the solid jungle on the far bank with its
screen of creepers and monkey-ropes hanging down, trailing the surface
of the deep green swiftflowing river. They stared at the stumps of the
bridge thrusting out from each bank towards each other like the arms of
parted lovers; at the wide gap between with the timbers still
smouldering and the smoke drifting away downstream over the green water.
"It's gone," said Shermaine. "It's been burnt."
"Oh, no," groaned
Bruce." Oh, God, no!" With an effort he pulled his eyes from the charred
remains of the bridge and turned them on to the jungle about them, a
hundred feet away, ringing them in. Hostile, silent. "Don't get out of
the car," he snapped as Shermaine reached for the door handle.
"Roll your window up, quickly." She obeyed.
"They're waiting in there." He pointed at the edge of the jungle.
Behind them the first of the convoy came round the bend into the
clearing. Bruce jumped from the Ford and ran back towards the leading
truck.
"Don't get out, stay inside," he shouted and ran on down the line,
repeating the instruction to each of them as he passed.
When he reached Ruffy's cab he jumped on to the running board, jerked
the door open, slipped in on to the seat and slammed the door.
"They've burnt the bridge."
"What's happened to the boys we left to guard it?"
"I don't know but we'll find out. Pull up alongside the others so that I
can talk to them." Through the half-open window he issued his orders to
each of the drivers and within ten minutes all the vehicles had been
manoeuvred into the tight defensive circle of the laager, a formation
Bruce's ancestors had used a hundred years before.
"Ruffy, get out those tarpaulins and spread them over the top to form a
roof We don't want them dropping arrows in amongst us." Ruffy
selected half a dozen gendarmes and they went to work, dragging out the
heavy folded canvas.
"Hendry, put a couple of men under each truck. Set up the Brens in case
they try to rush us." In the infectious urgency of defence, Wally did
not make his usual retort, but gathered his men. They wriggled on their
stomachs under the vehicles, rifles pointed out towards the silent
jungle.
"I want the extinguishers here in the middle so we can get them in a
hurry. They might use fire again." Two gendarmes ran to each of the cabs
and unclipped the fire-extinguishers from the dashboards.
"What can I do?" Shermaine was standing beside Bruce.
"Keep quiet and stay out of the way," said Bruce as he turned and
hurried across to help Ruffy's gang with the tarpaulins.
It took them half an hour of desperate endeavour before they completed
the fortifications to Bruce's satisfaction.
"That should hold them." Bruce stood with Ruffy and Hendry in the centre
of the laager and surveyed the green canvas roof above them and the
closely packed vehicles around them. The Ford was parked beside the
tanker, not included in the outer ring for its comparative size would
have made it a weak point in the defence.
"It's going to be bloody hot and crowded in here," grumbled
Hendry.
"Yes, I know." Bruce looked at him. "Would you like to relieve the
congestion by waiting outside?"
"Funny boy, big laugh," answered
Wally.
"What now, boss?" Ruffy put into words the question Bruce had been
asking himself.
"You and I will go and take a look at the bridge," he said.
"You'll look a rare old sight with an arrow sticking out of your back,"
grinned Wally. "Boy, that's going to kill me!"
"Ruffy, get us half a dozen gas capes each. I doubt their arrows will go
through them at a range of a hundred feet, and of course we'll wear
helmets."
"Okay, boss." It was like being in a sauna bath beneath the six layers
of rubberized canvas. Bruce could feel the sweat squirting from his
pores with each pace, and rivulets of it coursing down his back and
flanks as he and Ruffy left the laager and walked up the road to the
bridge.
Beside him Ruffy's bulk was so enhanced by the gas capes that he
reminded Bruce of a prehistoric monster reaching the end of its
gestation period.
"Warm enough, Ruffy?" he asked, feeling the need for humour. The ring of
jungle made him nervous. Perhaps he had underestimated the carry of a
Baluba arrow - despite the light reed shaft, they used iron heads,
barbed viciously and ground to a needle point, and poison smeared
thickly between the barbs.
man, look at me shiver," grunted Ruffy and the sweat greased down his
jowls and dripped from his chin.
Long before they reached the access to the bridge the stench of
putrefaction crept out to meet them. In Bruce's mind every smell had its
own colour, and this one was green, the same green as the sheen of
putrefaction on rotting meat. The stench was so heavy he could almost
feel it bearing down on them, choking in his throat and coating his
tongue and the roof of his mouth with the oily oversweetness.
"No doubt what that is!" Ruffy spat, trying to get the taste out of his
mouth.
"Where are they?" gagged Bruce, starting to pant from the heat and the
effort of breathing the fouled air.
They reached the bank and Bruce's question was answered as they looked
down on to the narrow beach.
There were the black remains of a dozen cooking fires along the water's
edge, and closer to the high bank were two crude structures of poles.
For a moment their purpose puzzled Bruce and then he realized what they
were. He had seen those crosspieces suspended between two uprights often
before in hunting camps throughout Africa. They were paunching racks! At
intervals along the crosspieces were the hark ropes that had been used
to string up the game, heels first, with head and forelegs dangling and
belly bulging forward so that at the long abdominal stroke of the knife
the viscera would drop out easily.
But the game they had butchered on these racks were men, his men.
He counted the hanging ropes. There were ten of them, so no one had
escaped.
"Cover me, Ruffy. I'm going down to have a look." It was a penance Bruce
was imposing upon himself. They were his men, and he had left them
there.
"Okay, boss." Bruce clambered down the well-defined path to the beach.
Now the smell was almost unbearable and he found the source of
it. Between the racks lay a dark shapeless mass. It moved with flies;
its surface moved, trembled, crawled with flies. Suddenly, humming, they
lifted in a cloud from the pile of human debris, and then settled once
more upon it.
A single fly buzzed round Bruce's head and then settled on his hand.
Metallic blue body, wings cocked back, it crouched on his skin and
gleefully rubbed its front legs together. Bruce's throat and stomach
convulsed as he began to retch. He struck at the fly and it
darted away.
There were bones scattered round the cooking fires and a skull lay near
his feet, split open to yield its contents.
Another spasm took Bruce and this time the vomit came up into his mouth,