him.
This last week had been the climax. It had taken all Anna and
Garrick's combined influence and entreaties to prevent Michael
responding to the invitations Sean had sent. Then the Zulu herd, boy,
whose duty was to follow Michael and come to Garick immediately Michael
crossed the boundary of The unieskraal, reported that each evening
Michael rode up to the high ground on the escarpment and sat there
until after dark staring in the direction of Lion Kop ranch.
I am going to lose him. He is my son, even if Sean sired him.
But he is my son, and unless I prevent it Sean is going to take that
away from me also.
Unless I prevent it. He lifted the flask to his lips once more and
found with surprise that it was empty. He screwed the stopper down and
returned the flask to his pocket.
Around him the gunfire and the shouting began. From the log beside him
he picked up the shotgun and loaded it. He stood up and cocked the
hammers.
Sean saw him, coming slowly, limping a little, crouching, making no
attempt to fend off the branches that dragged across his face.
'Don't bunch up, Garry. Stay in your position, you're leaving a gap in
the line.
Then he noticed Garry's expression. It seemed that the skin had been
stretched tight across the cheek, bones and the nose, so the rims of
his nostrils were white. His jaws were chewing nervously and there was
a fine sheen of sweat across his forehead. He looked sick or deadly
afraid.
'Garry, are you all right?' Alarmed, Sean started towards him, then
stopped suddenly. Garry had lifted the shotgun.
'I'm sorry, Sean. But I can't let you have him,' he said. The blank
double eyes of the muzzles were all Sean saw of the gun, and below
them, Garry's knuckles white with pressure, as he gripped the stock.
One finger was hooked forward around the triggers.
Sean was afraid then. He stood without moving for his legs were heavy
and numb under him.
'I've got to.' Garrys voice was a croak. 'I have to do it otherwise
you'll take him. You'll destroy him also.
With fear making his legs clumsy and slow, Sean turned deliberately
away from him and walked back to his station. The muscles of his back
were stiff with anticipation, knotted so tightly that they ached.
The beaters were close now, he could hear them shouting and thrashing
the bush just ahead. He lifted the whistle to his lips and blew three
shrill blasts. The shouting died away, and in the comparative silence
Sean heard a sound behind him, a sound half, way between a sob and a
cry of pain.
Slowly, inchingly, Sean turned his head to look back. Garry was
gone.
Beneath him Sean's legs began to tremble, and a muscle in his thigh
twitched spasmodically. He sank down and sat on the carpet of soft
damp leaves. When he lit a cheroot he used both hands to steady the
