his eye. It issued from a line of bush that obviously marked the
course of a stream. Whoever had picked that spot to camp certainly
knew how to make himself comfortable in the veld. Compared to the
bleak surroundings of the main encampment it would be paradise;
protected from the wind, close to firewood and water, well away from
the attention of senior officers. That was his answer. Sean grinned
and set out across the plain.
His guess was proved correct by the swarm of black servants among the
trees. These could only be Colonial troops, each with a personal
retainer. Also, the wagons were drawn up in the circular formation of
the laager. With a feeling of homecoming Sean approached the first
white man he saw.
In an enamel hip bath beneath the shade of a mimosa tree this gentleman
sat, waist deep, while a servant added hot water from a large black
kettle.
'Hello,' Sean greeted him. The man looked up from his book, removed
the cheroot from his mouth and returned Sean's greeting.
'I'm looking for the Guides.'
'Your search is ended, my friend. Sit down.' Then to the servant,
'Bring the Nkosi a cup of coffee.'
Thankful, Sean sank into the rezMe chair near the bath and stretched
his legs out before him. His host laid aside the book and began to
lather his hairy chest and armpits while he studied Sean with frank
appraisal.
'Who's in charge here?' Sean asked.
'You want to see him?
'Yes. ' The bather opened his mouth and yelled.
'Hey! Tim!'
'What you want?' The reply came from the nearest wagon.
'Fellow here to see you.'
'What's he want?'
-says he wants to talk to you about his daughter-' There was a long
silence while the man in the wagon digested this, then: 'What's he look
like?
'Big broke, with a shotgun.'
'You're joking!'
'The hell I am! Says if you don't come out he's coming in to get
YOU,
'The canvas of the wagon canopy was lifted cautiously and an eye showed
behind the slit. The ferocious bellow that followed startled Sean to
his feet. The canvas was thrown aside and out of the wagon vaulted the
Commanding Officer of the Guides.
He moved in on Sean with his arms like a wrestler. For a moment Sean
stared at him, then he answered the bellow and dropped into a defensive
crouch.
' Yaah! ' The man charged and Sean met him chest to chest, locking his
arms around him as they closed.
'Tim Curtis, you miserable bastard,' he roared in laughter and in pain
as Tim tried to pull his beard out by the roots.
