his mouth and a long glass of beer in his hand, bellowing for Hlubi to top up with boiling water from the big kettle when his bath cooled. Big and scarred and hairy, and Mark realized then what a wide space this man had filled in his life.
As the day drew closer when he must leave again, Sean's mood changed, and in the evenings he brooded over the list of animals that Mark had compiled.Fifty zebra, he read Mark's estimate, and poured the last few inches of whisky from the pinch-bottle into his glass. On the Sabi River in 98 a single herd crossed in front of my wagons. It took forty minutes at the gallop to go by, and the leaders were over the horizon when the tail passed us. There were thirty thousand animals in that one herd.'No elephant? he asked, looking up from the list, and when Mark shook his head, he went on softly, We thought it would last for ever. In 9 9 when I rode into Pretoria from the north, I had ten tons of ivory on board. Ten tons, twenty thousand pounds of ivory. No lions there? and again Mark shook his head.I don't think so, General. I've seen no sign of them, nor heard them in the night, but when I was a boy I shot one near here. I was with my grandfather. Yes, Sean nodded. When you were a boy, but, what about your son, Mark? Will he ever see a lion in the wild? Mark did not answer, and Sean grunted, No lions on the Bubezi River, God! What have we done to this land? He stared into the fire. I wonder if it was mere chance that you and I met, Mark. You have opened my eyes and conscience. It was I, and men like me, that did this, He shook that great shaggy head and groped in the sidepocket of his baggy hunting-jacket, and produced a leatherbound pocket-size book, a thick little volume, well-thumbed and shiny with the grease of grubby hands.
Mark did not recognize it for a moment, but when he did, he was startled.I did not know you read the Book, he exclaimed, and Sean glanced up at him from under beetling brows.I read it, he said gruffly. The older I get, the more I read it. There is a lot of solace here. But, sir, Mark persisted, you never go to church. This time Sean frowned as though he resented the prying questions. I live my religion, he said. I don't go singing about it on Sunday, and drop it for the rest of the week, like some I know. His tone was final, forbidding further discussion, and he turned his attention to the battered volume.
He had marked his place with a pressed wild flower, and the Bible fell open at the right page.
I found it last night, he told Mark, as he propped the steel-rimmed spectacles on his nose. It seemed like an omen, and I marked it to read to you. Matthew x. He cleared his throat and read slowly: Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?
And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. When he had finished, he tucked the Bible away in his pocket, and they were both silent, thinking about it and watching the shapes in the ashes of the fire.
Then perhaps he will help us to save the sparrow from its fall, here at Chaka's Gate, said Sean, and he leaned forward to take a burning twig from the fire. He lit a fresh cigar with it and puffed deeply, savouring the taste of wood smoke and tobacco before speaking again. It is just unfortunate that it all comes at a time like this. It will be the end of the next year before we can make an official move to have the proclamation ratified and budget for full development here. Mark was instantly alert, and his voice sharp as he demanded, Next year? I'm afraid so. But why so long? The grim reality of politics, son, Sean growled. We have just received a shattering blow, and all else must wait while we play the game of power. What has happened? Mark asked with real concern now. I haven't read a newspaper in two months. I wish I were that lucky. Sean smiled without humour. There was a by-election in a little place up in the Transvaal. It's a seat that has always been ours, a good safe seat, in the hands of a respected backbencher of great loyalty and little intellect. He had a heart attack in the diningroom of the House, expiring between the soup and the fish.
We went to our safe little constituency to elect a new member, here Sean paused, and his expression went bleak, and we got the trouncing of our lives. A fifteen percent swing to the Hertzog Party. They fought us on our handling of the strike last year, and it was a disaster. I didn't know. I'm sorry. If that swing, fifteen percent, carries for the whole country, then we will be in opposition after the next election.
Everything else is of no significance. General Smuts has decided to go to the country next year in March, and we will be fighting for our existence. Until then, we cannot introduce this type of legislation, or ask for funds. Mark felt cold despair spread out to numb his very fingertips. What happens here? he asked. In the meantime must we stop what I am doing? Do we just leave it? Another year of poaching and hunting, another year without protection or development? Sean shook his head. I've had my people studying the existing proclamation. We have powers there that we can enforce, but no money to do it. You can't do anythingwithout money, said Mark miserably. Ah, so at last a little respect for the power of money Sean shot him a thin smile across the fire, and then went on seriously. I've decided to finance the development and running of the proclaimed area until I get a budget allocation for it.
I'll foot the bill from my own pocket. Perhaps I'll get reimbursed from the budget later, but if I don't, he shrugged, I reckon I owe that much at least. I've had a pretty good run. It won't need much, Mark rushed in eagerly but Sean quieted him irritably. You'll get the same salary as before, and we'll make a start on the main camp. I'm going to give you four men to do the work, he went on, speaking quietly. We'll have to make do without a bridge across the river, and only a wagon track for our first road, but it'll be a start, and let's just hope like hell we win our election. on the last day at breakfast, Sean laid a folder in front of Mark. I talked Caldwell, the man who did the drawings for Jock of the Bushveld, into designing the layout, he smiled, as Mark opened the folder. I wanted you to get the best for your three thousand pounds. in the folder was a mock-up of the full-page Press announcement which would launch the Friends of African Wildlife, .
The margin contained magnificent line-drawings of wild animals, and under the heavy typed announcement was set out the objects of the Society, and an eloquent plea for support and membership. I had my lawyers draft the articles and draw up the wording. We'll run it in every newspaper in the country.
The Society's address is the Head Office of Courtney Holdings and I have taken on a full-time clerk to handle all the paper work. I've also got a young journalist to edit the Society's newspaper. He's full of ideas and caught up in the whole thing. With luck, we'll get huge public support behind us. It's going to cost more than three thousand pounds. Mark was torn between delight, and concern for the size to which his simple idea had grown. Yes, Sean laughed. It's going to cost more than three thousand pounds, which reminds me. I sent Dirk Courtney a receipt for his money, and a life membership of the Society! The joke carried them over the awkwardness of the last moments before departure.
Sean's bearers disappeared among the trees, carrying head loads of equipment to where the motor lorry had been left on the nearest road twenty miles beyond the cliffs of Chaka's Gate, and Sean lingered regretfully. I'm sad to go, he admitted. It's been a good time, but I feel stronger now, ready to face whatever the bastards have got to throw at me. He looked about him, taking farewell of river and mountain and wilderness. There is magic here. He nodded. Look after it well, son, and he held out his hand. .
It was Mark's last opportunity to ask the question which he had tried to ask a dozen times already, but each time Sean had turned it aside, or simply ignored it. But now he had to have an answer, and he took Sean's big gnarled bony fist in a grip that would not be denied. You haven't told me how Storm is, sir. How is she? Is she well? How is her painting? he blurted.
It seemed even then that Sean would not be drawn. He stiffened angrily, made as if to pull his hand away, and then the anger faded before it reached his eyes. For a moment there showed in the deep-set eyes a dark unfathomable grief, and his grip tightened on Mark's hand like a steeltrap. Storm was married a month ago. But I
