He murdered you, she whispered, and then gagged as she saw the black stains of blood still upon the gaudy stones. He shot you down like an animal. She hugged the necklace to her breast, and began to hum and rock herself again, her eyes tightly closed to dam back her tears. She was still sitting like that when she heard the drum of hooves and the shouts of the servants welcoming Lothar back to the wagons.
She stood up and swayed on her feet as an attack of giddiness seized her. Her grief was like an affliction, but then when she heard his voice, Here, Hendrick, take my horse! Where is the missus? her grief changed shape, and though her hands still shook, her chin lifted and her eyes burned not with tears but with a consuming rage.
She snatched up the Luger pistol and drew it from its curved wooden holster. She snapped back the slide and watched a shiny brass cartridge feed up into the chamber.
Then she dropped it into the pocket of her skirt and turned to the wagon flap.
As she jumped down, Lothar was coming towards her, and his face brightened with pleasure at the sight of her.
Centaine- he paused as he saw her expression. Centaine, something is wrong! She held out the necklace towards him, and it glittered and twinkled between her shaking fingers. She could not speak.
His face darkened and his eyes were hard and furious. You have opened my bureau! You killed her!
Who? He was truly puzzled, and then, Oh, the Bushwoman 'H'ani! I don't understand. My little grandmother. He was alarmed now. Something is very wrong, let me - He stepped towards her, but she backed away and screamed, Keep away, don't touch me! Don't ever touch me again! She reached for the pistol in her skirt.
Centaine, calm yourself. And then he stopped as he saw the Luger in her hands.
Are you mad? He gazed at her in amazement. Here, give that to me. Again he stepped forward.
You murderer, you cold-blooded monster, you killed her. And she held the pistol double-handed, the necklace entangled with the weapon, the barrel waving in erratic circles. You killed my little H'ani. I hate you for it! Centaine! He put out his hand to take the pistol from her.
There was a flash of gunsmoke and the Luger kicked upwards, flinging Centaine's hands above her head. The shot cracked like a trek whip, numbing her eardrums.
Lothar's body jerked backwards and he spun on his heels. His long golden locks flickered like ripe wheat in a high wind as he collapsed on to his knees, and then toppled on to his face.
Centaine dropped the Lugger and fell back against the side of the wagon, as Hendrick rushed forward and snatched the Luger out of her hand.
I hate you, she panted at Lothar. Die, damn you. Die and go to hell!
Centaine rode with a slack rein, letting her mount choose its own pace and path. She had Shasa on her hip with a sling under him to support his weight. She held his head in the crook of her arm, and he slept quietly against her.
The wind had scourged the desert for five days now without cease, and the driven sands hissed and slithered across the earth's surface like sea spume across a beach, and the round seed pods of tumbleweed trundled across the plain like footballs. The small herds of springbok turned their backs to its chilling blast and tucked their tails up between their legs.
Centaine had wound a scarf around her head like a turban, and thrown a blanket over her shoulders to cover Shasa and herself. She hunched down in the saddle and the cold wind tugged at the corners of the blanket and tang led her horse's long mane. She slitted her eyes against the gritty wind, and saw the Finger of God.
It was still far ahead, indistinct through the dun dustladen air, but it spiked the low sky, even in this haze visible from five miles off. This was the reason that Lothar De La Rey had chosen it. it was unique, there could be no confusion with any other natural feature.
Centaine pulled up the pony's head and urged him into a trot. Shasa whimpered a protest in his sleep at the change of gait, but Centaine straightened in the saddle, trying to throw off the sorrow and rage that lay upon her with a weight that threatened to crush her soul.
Slowly the silhouette of the Finger of God hardened against the dusty yellow sky, a slim pillar of rock, thrusting towards the heavens and then thickening into a flaring cobra's head, two hundred feet above the plain. Staring at it, Centaine was aware of the same superstitious awe that must have gripped the old Hottentots who named itMukurob.
Then from the base of the great stone monument a dart of light, reflected off metal, pricked her eyes and she shaded them with the blanket and peered intently.
Shasa, she whispered. They are there! They are waiting for us. She urged the weary pony into a canter, and rose in the stirrups.
in the shadow of the stone pillar was parked a motor vehicle, and beside it a small green cottage tent had been d. erected There was a camp fire burning in front of the tent, and a plume of smoke, blue as a heron's feather, smeared by the wind across the plain.
Centaine whipped the turban from her head and waved it like a banner. Here! she screamed. Hullo! Here I am! The two indistinct human figures rose from beside the fire, staring towards her.
She waved and hulloed, still at full gallop, and one of the figures broke into a run. It was a woman, a big woman in long skirts. She held them up over her knees, ploughing with desperate haste through the soft footing. Her face was bright scarlet with effort and emotion. Anna! Centaine screamed.
Oh, Anna! There were tears streaming down that broad red face, and Anna dropped her skirts and stood with her arms spread wide.
My baby! she cried, and Centaine flung herself from the saddle and clutching Shasa to her breast, ran into her embrace.
They were both weeping, holding hard to each other, trying to talk at once, but incoherently, laughing between the sobs, when Shasa, crushed between them, let out a protesting howl.
Anna snatched him from her and hugged him. A boy, he's a boy. Michel.
