Michael stood with his legs braced apart, he threw his shoulders open
as he wielded the whip and then sent it snaking forward to crack an
inch above the ears of the lead mules. They longed forward into the
traces and the wagon bounced and clattered out of the yard.
As they galloped in frantic convoy along the main access road towards
the plantations they met the Zulu women with their children from the
location streaming down towards the homestead, their soft voices
calling greeting and speed to their men as they passed.
But Michael hardly heard them, he stood with his eyes fastened on the
pillar of red flame and smoke that rose from the heart of Sean's
trees.
'It is in the trees we planted two years ago. ' Mbejane spoke beside
him. 'But already it will be close upon the next block of older trees.
We cannot hope to stop it there.
'Where then?
This side there are more young trees and a wide road. We can try
there.
'What is your name? ' Michael asked.
'Mbejane. ' 'I am Michael. The Nkosi's nephew.'
'I know. ' Mbejane nodded, then went on,
'Turn off where next the roads meet.
They came to the cross, roads. In the sector ahead were the young
trees, ten feet high, thick as a man's arm, massed dark leaves and
interlacing branches. Far out beyond them in the tall mature wattle
was the line of flame. Above it a towering wall of sparks and dark
smoke, coming down swiftly on the wind. It would be upon them in less
than an hour at its present rate of advance.
A fire like this would jump a thirty, foot road without checking, they
must cut back into the young wattle and increase the gap to sixty feet
at the least.
Michael swung the wagon off the road and hauled the mules to a halt. He
jumped down to meet the other wagons as they Came up.
'Go on for two hundred yards, then start your boys in chop, ping out
the wattle towards the fire, we've got to widen the road. I'll start
my gang here', he shouted at Van Wyk.
'Right. ' 'Mr. Broster, go on to the end of the block and start
working back this way, cut the timber out another thirty feet. '
Without waiting to hear more, Broster drove on. These two men, twice
Michael's age, conceded him the right of command without argument.
Snatching an axe from the nearest Zulu, Michael issued his orders as he
ran to the young wattle. The men crowded after him and Michael
selected a tree, took his stance and swung the axe in a low arc from
the side. The tree quivered and rained loose leaves upon him at the
blow. Smoothly he reversed his grip on the shaft of the axe and swung
again from the opposite side. The blade sliced through the soft wood,
the tree sagged wearily away from him and groaned as it subsided. He
stepped past it to the next. Around him the Zulus spread out along the
road and the night rang with the beat of their axes.
Four times during the next half, hour fresh wagons galloped in, wagons
