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Chapter two

Molo waked me by pulling on the blanket in the morning and I was

dressing, dressed, and out washing the sleep out of my eyes before I was

really awake. It was still very dark and I could see Pop's back shadowed

against the fire. I walked over holding the early morning cup of hot tea and

milk in my hand waiting for it to be cool enough to drink.

'Morning, ' I said.

'Morning, ' he answered in that husky whisper.

'Sleep? '

'Very well. Feeling fit? '

'Sleepy is all.'

I drank the tea and spat the leaves into the fire.

'Tell your bloody fortune with those, ' Pop said.

'No fear.'

Breakfast in the dark with a lantern, cool juice-slippery apricots,

hash, hot-centred, brown, and catsup spread, two fried eggs and the warm

promise-keeping coffee. On the third cup Pop, watching, smoking his pipe,

said, 'Too early for me to face it yet.'

'Get you? '

'A little.'

'I'm getting exercise, ' I said. 'It doesn't bother me.'

'Bloody anecdotes, ' Pop said. 'Memsahib must think we're silly

beggars.'

'I'll think up some more.'

'Nothing better than drinking. Don't know why it should make you feel

bad.'

'Are you bad? '

'Not too.'

'Take a spot of Eno's? '

'It's this damned riding in cars.'

'Well, to-day's the day.'

'Remember to take it very easy.'

'You're not worried about that, are you? '

'Just a touch.'

'Don't. It never worries me a minute. Truly.'

'Good. Better get going.'

'Have to make a trip first.'

Standing in front of the canvas circle of the latrine I looked, as each

morning, at that fuzzy blur of stars that the romanticists of astronomers

called the Southern Cross. Each morning at this moment I observed the

Southern Cross in solemn ceremony.

Pop was at the car. M'Cola handed me the Springfield and I got in the

front. The tragedian and his tracker were in the back. M'Cola climbed in

with them.

'Good luck, ' Pop said. Someone was coming from towards the tents. It

was P.O.M. in her blue robe and mosquito boots. '{Oh}, good luck, ' she said.

{Please}, good luck.'

I waved and we started, the headlights showing the way to the road.

There was nothing on the salt when we came up to it after leaving the

car about three miles away and making a very careful stalk. Nothing came all

morning. We sat with our heads down in the blind, each covering a different

direction through openings in the thatched withes, and always I expected the

miracle of a bull kudu coming majestic and beautiful through the open scrub

to the grey, dusty opening in the trees where the salt lick was worn,

grooved, and trampled. There were many trails to it through the trees and on

any one a bull might come silently. But nothing came. When the sun was up

and we were warmed after the misty cold of the morning I settled my rump

deeper in the dust and lay back against the wall of the hole, resting

against the small of my back and my shoulders, and still able to see out

through the slit in the blind. Putting the Springfield across my knees I

noticed that there was rust on the barrel. Slowly I pulled it along and

looked at the muzzle. It was freshly brown with rust.

'The bastard never cleaned it last night after that rain, ' I thought,

and, very angry, I lifted the lug and slipped the bolt out. M'Cola was

watching me with his head down. The other two were looking out through the

blind. I held the rifle in one hand for him to look through the breech and

then put the bolt back in and shoved it forward softly, lowering it with my

finger on the trigger so that it was ready to cock rather than keeping it on

the safety.

M'Cola had seen the rusty bore. His face had not changed and I had said

nothing but I was full of contempt and there had been indictment, evidence,

and condemnation without a word being spoken. So we sat there, he with his

head bent so only the bald top showed, me leaning back and looking out

through the slit, and we were no longer partners, no longer good friends,

and nothing came to the salt.

At ten o'clock the breeze, which had come up in the east, began to

shift around and we knew it was no use. Our scent was being scattered in all

directions around the blind as sure to frighten any animals as though we

were revolving a searchlight in the dark. We got up out of the blind and

went over to look in the dust of the lick for tracks. The rain had moistened

it but it was not soaked and we saw several kudu tracks, probably made early

in the night and one big bull track, long, narrow, heart-shaped, clearly,

deeply cut.

We took the track and followed it on the damp reddish earth for two

hours in thick bush that was like second-growth timber at home. Finally we

had to leave it in stuff we could not move through. All this time I was

angry about the uncleaned rifle and yet happy and eager with anticipation

that we might jump the bull and get a snap at him in the brush. But we did

not see him and now, in the big heat of noon, we made three long circles

around some hills and finally came out into a meadow full of little, humpy

Masai cattle and, leaving all shade behind, trailed back across the open

country under the noon sun to the car.

Kamau, sitting in the car, had seen a kudu bull pass a hundred yards

away. He was headed toward the saltlick at about nine o'clock when the wind

began to be tricky, had evidently caught our scent and gone back into the

hills. Tired, sweating, and feeling more sunk than angry now, I got in

beside Kamau and we headed the car toward camp. There was only one evening

left now, and no reason to expect we would have any better luck than we were

having. As we came to camp, and the shade of the heavy trees, cool as a

pool, I took the bolt out of the Springfield and handed the rifle, boltless,

to M'Cola without speaking or looking at him. The bolt I tossed inside the

opening of our tent on to my cot.

Pop and P.O.M. were sitting under the dining tent.

'No luck? ' Pop asked gently.

'Not a damn bit. Bull went by the car headed toward the salt. Must have

spooked off. We hunted all over hell.'

'Didn't you see anything? ' P.O.M. asked. 'Once we thought we heard you

shoot.'

'That was Garrick shooting his mouth off. Did the scouts get anything? '

'Not a thing. We've been watching both hills.'

'Hear from Karl? '

'Not a word.'

'I'd like to have seen one, ' I said. I was tired out and slipping into

bitterness fast. 'God damn them. What the hell did he have to blow that lick

to hell for the first morning and gut-shoot a lousy bull and chase him all

over the son-of-a-bitching country spooking it to holy bloody hell? '

'Bastards, ' said P.O.M., staying with me in. my unreasonableness.

'Sonsabitches.'

'You're a good girl, ' I said. 'I'm all right. Or I will be.'

'It's been. awful, ' she said. 'Poor old Poppa.'

'You have a drink, ' Pop said. 'That's what you need.'

'I've hunted them hard, Pop. I swear to God I have. I've enjoyed it and

I haven't worried up until to-day. I was so damned sure. Those damned tracks

all the time -- what if I never see one? How do I know we can ever get back

here again? '

'You'll be back, ' Pop said. 'You don't have to worry about that. Go

ahead. Drink it.'

'I'm just a lousy belly-aching bastard but I swear they haven't gotten

on my nerves until to-day.'

'Belly-ache, ' said Pop. 'Better to get it out.'

'What about lunch? ' asked P.O.M. 'Aren't you frightfully hungry? '

'The hell with lunch. The thing is, Pop, we've never seen them on the

salt in the evening and we've never seen a bull in the hills. I've only got

to-night. It looks washed up. Three times I've had them cold and Karl and

the Austrian and the Wanderobo beat us.'

'We're not beaten, ' said Pop. 'Drink another one of those.'

We had lunch, a very good lunch, and it was just over when Kati came

and said there was someone to see Pop. We could see their shadows on the

tent fly, then they came around to the front of the tent. It was the old man

of the first day, the old farmer, but now he was gotten up as a hunter and

carried a long bow and a sealed quiver of arrows.

He looked older, more disreputable and tireder than ever and his get-up

was obviously a disguise. With him was the skinny, dirty, Wanderobo with the

slit and curled up ears who stood on one leg and scratched the back of his

knee with his toes. His head was on one side and he had a narrow, foolish,

and depraved-looking face.

The old man was talking earnestly to Pop, looking him in the eye and

speaking slowly, without gestures.

'What's he done? Gotten himself up like that to get some of the scout

money? ' I asked.

'Wait, ' Pop said.

'Look at the pair of them, ' I said. 'That's goofy Wanderobo and that

lousy old fake. What's he say, Pop? '

'He hasn't finished, ' Pop said.

Finally the old man was finished and he stood there leaning on his

property bow. They both looked very tired but I remember thinking they

looked a couple of disgusting fakes.

'He says, ' Pop began, 'they have found a country where there are kudu

and sable. He has been there three days. They know where there is a big kudu

bull and he has a man watching him now.'

'Do you believe it? ' I could feel the liquor and the fatigue drain out

of me and the excitement come in.

'God knows, ' said Pop.

'How far away is the country? '

'One day's march. I suppose that's three or four hours in the car if

the car can go.'

'Does he think the car can get in? '

'None ever has been in but he thinks you can make it. '

'When did they leave the man watching the kudu? '

'This morning.'

'Where are the sable? '

'There in the hills.'

'How do we get in? '

'I can't make out except that you cross the plain, go around that

mountain and then south. He says no one has ever hunted there. He hunted

there when he was young. '

'Do you believe it? '

'Of course natives lie like hell, but he tells it very straight.'

'Let's go.'

'You'd better start right away. Go as far as you can in the car and

then use it for a base and hunt on from there. The Memsahib and I will break

camp in the morning, move the outfit and go on to where Dan and Mr. T. are.

Once the outfit is over that black cotton stretch we're all right if the

rain catches us. You come on and join us. If you're caught we can always

send the car back by Kandoa, if worst comes, and the lorries down to Tanga

and around.'

'Don't you want to come? '

'No. You're better off alone on a show like this. The more people the

less game you'll see. You should hunt kudu alone. I'll move the outfit and

look after the little Memsahib.'

'All right, ' I said. 'And I don't have to take Garrick or Abdullah? '

'Hell, no. Take M'Cola, Kamau and these two. I'll teil Molo to pack

your things. Go light as hell.'

'God damn it, Pop. Do you think it could be true? '

'Maybe, ' said Pop. 'We have to play it.'

'How do you say sable? '

'Tarahalla.'

'Valhalla, I can remember. Do the females have horns? '

'Sure, but you can't make a mistake. The bull is black and they're

brown. You can't go wrong.'

'Has M'Cola ever seen one? '

'I don't think so. You've got four on your licence. Any time you can

better one, go ahead.'

'Are they hard to kill? '

'They're tough. They're not like a kudu. If you've got one down be

careful how you walk up to him.'

'What about time? '

'We've got to get out. Make it back to-morrow night if you can. Use

your own judgment. I think this is the turning point. You'll get a kudu.'

'Do you know what it's like? ' I said. 'It's just like when we were kids

and we heard about a river no one had ever fished out on the huckleberry

plain beyond the Sturgeon and the Pigeon.'

'How did the river turn out? '

'Listen. We had a hell of a time to get in and the night we got there,

just before dark, and saw it, there was a deep pool and a long straight

stretch and the water so cold you couldn't keep your hand in it and I threw

a cigarette butt in and a big trout hit it and they kept snapping it up and

spitting it out as it floated until it went to pieces.'

'Big trout? '

'The biggest kind.'

'God save us, ' said Pop. 'What did you do then? '

'Rigged up my rod and made a cast and it was dark, and there was a

nighthawk swooping around and it was cold as a bastard and then I was fast

to three fish the second the flies hit the water.'

'Did you land them? '

'The three of them.'

'You damned liar.'

'I swear to God.'

'I believe you. Tell me the rest when you come back. Were they big

trout? '

'The biggest bloody kind.'

'God save us, ' said Pop. 'You're going to get a kudu. Get started.'

In the tent I found P.O.M. and told her.

'Not really? '

'Yes.'

'Hurry up, ' she said. 'Don't talk. Get started.'

I found raincoat, extra boots, socks, bathrobe, bottle of quinine

tablets, citronella, note book, a pencil, my solids, the cameras, the

emergency kit, knife, matches, extra shirt and undershirt, a book, two

candles, money, the flask...

'What else? '

'Have you got soap? Take a comb and a towel. Got handkerchiefs? '

'All right.'

Molo had everything packed in a rucksack and I found my field glasses,

M'Cola taking Pop's big field glasses, a canteen with water and Kati sending

a chop-box with food. 'Take plenty of beer, ' Pop said. 'You can leave it in

the car. We're short on whisky but there's a bottle.'

'How will that leave you? '

'All right. There's more at the other camp. We sent two bottles on with

Mr. K.'

'I'll only need the flask, ' I said. 'We'll split the bottle.'

'Take plenty of beer then. There's any amount of it.'

'What's the bastard doing? ' I said, pointing at Garrick who was getting

into the car.

'He says you and M'Cola wont be able to talk with the natives there.

You'll have to have some one to interpret.'

'He's poison.'

'You {will} need someone to interpret whatever they speak into

Swahili.'

'All right. But tell him he's not running the show and to keep his

bloody mouth shut.'

'We'll go to the top of the hill with you, ' Pop said and we started

off, the Wanderobo hanging to the side of the car. 'Going to pick the old

man up in the village.'

Everyone in camp was out to watch us go.

'Have we plenty of salt? '

'Yes.'

Now we were standing by the car on the road in the village waiting for

the old man and Garrick to come back from their huts. It was early afternoon

and the sky was clouding over and I was looking at P.O.M., very desirable,

cool, and neat-looking in her khaki and her boots, her Stetson on one side

of her head, and at Pop, big, thick, in the faded corduroy sleeveless jacket

that was almost white now from washing and the sun.

'You be a good girl.'

'Don't ever worry. I wish I could go.'

'It's a one-man show, ' Pop said. 'You want to get in fast and do the

dirty and get out fast. You've a big load as it is.'

The old man appeared and got into the back of the car with M'Cola who

was wearing my old khaki sleeveless, quail-shooting coat.

'M'Cola's got the old man's coat, ' Pop said.

'He likes to carry things in the game pockets, ' I said.

M'Cola saw we were talking about him. I had forgotten about the

uncleaned rifle. Now I remembered it and said to Pop, 'Ask him where he got

the new coat'.

M'Cola grinned and said something.

'He says it is his property.'

I grinned at him and he shook his old bald head and it was understood

that I had said nothing about the rifle.

'Where's that bastard Garrick? ' I asked.

Finally he came with his blanket and got in with M'Cola and the old man

behind. The Wanderobo sat with me in front beside Kamau.

'That's a lovely-looking friend you have, ' P.O.M. said. 'You be good

too.'

I kissed her good-bye and we whispered something.

'Billing and cooing, ' Pop said. 'Disgusting.'

'Good-bye, you old bastard.'

'Good-bye, you damned bullfighter.'

'Good-bye, sweet.'

'Good-bye and good luck.'

'You've plenty of petrol and we'll leave some here, ' Pop called.

I waved and we were starting down hill through the village on a narrow

track that led down and on to the scrubby dry plain that spread out below

the two great blue hills.

I looked back as we went down the hill and saw the two figures, the

tall thick one and the small neat one, each wearing big Stetson hats,

silhouetted on the road as they walked back toward camp, then I looked ahead

at the dried-up, scrubby plain.