maidenly virtue. One of the grooms was dragged down on his knees as she flashed at the stallion with terrible yellow teeth, catching him in the neck and ripping open his old dappled hide in a shallow bloody cut before they pulled her off. Poor old beggar, murmured Mark, although the injury was superficial; it was the indignity of the whole business that aroused Mark's sympathy. The old stallion must endure the kicks and bites, until at last the temperamental filly was wooed and willing. Then he would be led away, his work done. Never waste sympathy for the losers in this world, Dirk advised him. There are too many of them In the sawdust-covered arena, the filly lifted her tail, the long glossy hairs forming a soft waving Plume, and she urinated a sharp spurt that was evidence of her arousal.
The stallion circled her, -rolling back his upper lip, exposing his teeth, and his shoulder muscles spasmed violently as he nodded his head vigorously and reached out to her again.
She stood quietly now, with her tail still raised, and trembled at the soft loving touch of his muzzle, ready at last to accept him. All right, Dirk shouted. Take him out. But it required the strength of both grooms to drag his head around and lead him out of the tall gate that Dirk swung open. Strangely enough, I don't believe that you are one of this life's losers, Dirk told Mark easily, as they waited by the gate. That is why you are here at this moment. I only trouble myself with a certain type of man. Men with either talent, or strength or vision, or all of those virtues. I believe you may be of that type. Mark knew then that all this had been carefully arranged, the meeting with Peter Botes, Marion Littlejohn's brother-in-law, outside the post office in Ladyburg, the urgent summons to Dirk Courtney's estate he had delivered, so there was no opportunity to report to Sean Courtney and discuss the invitation, and now this erotic show of mating horses, all of it planned to confuse and unsettle Mark, to keep him unbalanced. I think you are more like this, Dirk went on, as the grooms led in the stud stallion, an animal too valued to risk damaging by putting to an unwilling female, a tall horse, black as a rook's wing, high-stepping and proud, kicking the soft sawdust with polished hooves, and then coming up hard and trembling on stiff legs as he smelt the waiting mare, and the great black root grew out of his belly, long as a man's arm and as thick, arrogant, and with a flaring head that pulsed with a life of its own and beat impatiently against the stallion's chest. The losers toil, and the winners take the spoil, said Dirk, as the huge beast reared up over the mare. One of the grooms darted forward to guide him, and the mare hunched her back to receive the long gliding penetration. The winners and the losers, he repeated, watching the stallion work with glistening bulging quarters, and Dirk's handsome face was flushed with high colour, and his hands gripped the poles of the fence until the knuckles blanched like marble.
When at last the stallion dropped back off the mare on to four legs, Dirk sighed, took Mark's elbow again and led him away. You were present when I spoke with my father of my dream.
I was there, Mark agreed. Oh good, Dirk laughed genially. You have a voice, I was beginning to doubt it, But my information is that you have a good brain also Mark glanced at him sharply and Dirk assured him, Naturally, I have made it my business to find out all about you. You know certain details of my plans, I must be in a position to protect myself. They skirted the ornamental pond, below the homestead, the surface covered with flat lily pads and the smell of their blooms light and sugary in the afternoon heat, and they went on through the formal rose garden, neither of them speaking again until they had entered the high-ceilinged and overfurnished study; Dirk had closed the wooden shutters against the heat, making the room cool and gloomy, and somehow forbidding.
He waved Mark to a chair across from the fireplace and went to the table on which stood a silver tray of bottles and crystal. Drink? he asked, and Mark shook his head and watched Dirk pour from a black bottle. You know my dream, Dirk spoke, still concentrating on his task. What did you think of it?
It's a large concept, Mark said cautiously. Large? Dirk laughed. It's not the word I would have chosen. He saluted Mark with the glass and sipped at it, watching him over the rim. Strange how the fates work, Dirk thought, watching the slim graceful figure. Twice I tried to be rid of the nuisance he could have caused me. If I had succeeded, I would not be able to use him now. He hitched one leg over the corner of his desk and set the glass aside carefully to leave both hands free, and he gesticulated as he talked. We are talking of opening a whole new frontier, a huge step forward for our nation, work for tens of thousands of people, new towns, new harbours, railways, progress. He spread his hands, a gesture of growth and limitless opportunity. That one wonderful word that describes it all, progress! And anybody who tries to stop that is worse than a fool, he's a criminal, a traitor to his country, and should be treated as one. He should be brushed mercilessly aside, by any means that comes to hand. He paused now and glowered at Mark. The threat was barely concealed, and Mark stirred restlessly in his chair. On the other hand, Dirk smiled suddenly, like a flooding beam of sunlight bursting through the grey overcast of a storm sky. Every man who works towards the fulfilment of this huge concept will be fully entitled to a share of the rewards. What do you want from me? Mark asked, and the abrupt question caught Dirk with his hands poised and the next flight of oratory on his lips. He let the hands drop to his sides, and watched Mark's face expectantly, as though there was something still to come. And what are the rewards you speak of? Mark went on, and Dirk laughed delightedly, those were the words for which he had been waiting, each man has a coin for which he will work.
You know what I want from you, he said.
Yes, I think I do, Mark agreed.
Tell me what I want, Dirk laughed again. You want a report that recommends that the development of the Chaka's Gate proclaimed area as a National Park is not practical. You said it, not me. Dirk picked up his glass again and lifted it to Mark. But, none the less, I'll drink to it And the rewards? Mark went on. The satisfaction of knowing that you are doing your patriotic duty for the peoples of this nation, Dirk told him solemnly. I had all the satisfaction I need for a lifetime in France, Mark said softly. But I found out you can't eat or drink it, and Dirk laughed delightedly. That really is choice, I must remember it. Are you certain you won't have a drink? Mark smiled for the first time. Yes, I'll change my mind. Whisky? Please. Dirk stood up and went to the silver tray, and he realized that he felt a sneaking relief. If it had proved that this man had no price, as he had started to believe possible, it would have destroyed one of the headstones on which he had based his whole philosophy of life. But it was all right again now. The man had a price, and he felt a sudden contempt and scorn, it would be money, and a paltry sum at that.
There was nothing different about this fellow.
He turned back to Mark. Here is something you can drink. He gave him the crystal glass. Now let's discuss something you can eat.
He went back to the desk, slid open one of the drawers, and took out of it a brown manilla envelope, sealed with red wax.
He laid it on the desk-top, and picked up his own glass.
That contains an earnest of my good will, he said. How earnest? One thousand pounds, Dirk said. Enough to buy a mountain of bread. One of your companies bought a farm from my grandfather, Mark spoke carefully. He had promised that farm to me, and he died without leaving any of the money. Dirk's expression had closed suddenly and his eyes were wary and watchful. For a moment he played with the idea of feigning ignorance, but already he had admitted he had investigated Mark thoroughly. Yes, he nodded. I know about that. The old man wasted it all away. The price of that farm was three thousand pounds, Mark went on. I feel that I am still owed that money. Dirk dropped his hand into the drawer again, and brought out two identical sealed envelopes. He laid them carefully on top of the first envelope. By a strange coincidence, he said. I just happen to have that exact amount with me. A paltry sum indeed, he smiled his contempt. What had made him suspect that there was something unusual about this man, he wondered. In the desk drawer were seven other identical manilla envelopes, each containing one
