‘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
