his presence, he came up silently and stood beside him, studying the
pale intense face with the chisel-marks of pain and doubt and terrible
yearning sculptured deep around the mouth and below the pale blue
eyes.
'Hello, Garry. ' He spoke softly, but recognizing the pity in his own
voice he thrust it aside. There was no room for softness now, and
ruthlessly he hardened his resolve.
'Ronny. ' Vaguely, Garry turned to him, and when he smiled it was
shyly. 'Business or social?'
'Business, Garry.'
'The bond?'
'Yes.
'What do you want me to do?'
'How about coming into town-we can go over things in my office.
'Now?
'Yes, please.'
'Very well.' Garry straightened up slowly. 'I'll come with you.
They rode together over the crest of ground and down towards the
concrete bridge over the Baboon Stroom. Both of them silent, Garry
because there was nothing in him, nothing to give voice to; Ronny Pye
because of his sense of shame for the thing he was about to do. He was
going to take a mans home from him and turn him loose upon a world in
which he would have no chance of survival.
At the bridge they stopped automatically to rest their horses, and they
sat without speaking, an incongruous pair. One man sitting quietly,
slim and wasted, his clothing slightly rumpled, his face austere with
suffering; the other plump, red-faced below bright ginger hair, dressed
in expensive cloth, fidgeting in the saddle.
There was little sign of life across the river. A long, fired smear of
smoke from the wattle factory stack rising straight into the still hot
air, a black boy moving cattle down to drink at the river, the huff and
clatter and clang of a locomotive shunting in the goods-yards-but
otherwise the town of Ladyburg lay slumbering in the heat of a summer
afternoon.
Then on the open grassy plain below the escarpment, urgent movement
caught Ronny's eye, and he focused his attention upon it with relief.
A horseman riding fast, and even at this distance Ronny recognized
him.
'Young Dirk,' he grunted, and Garry roused himself and peered out
across the river. Horse and rider blended into one unit, seeming to
touch the earth so lightly they were bound to it only be a pale feather
of dust that drifted low behind them.
'My God, that little bastard can ride.' In reluctant admiration Ronny
shook his head solemnly and a drop of perspiration broke from his
hairtme and slid down his cheek. The horse reached the road and
pivoted neatly, flattening into the increased speed of its run.
Movement of such rhythmic grace and power that the watchers were
stirred.
'Look at him go!' whistled Ronny. 'Don't reckon there's anything to
catch that horse in the whole of Natal. ' 'You think so?' Garry's
