aircraft sink lower. There is the homestead, white walls and thatch to
keep it cool in the hot weather, deep shaded verandas and high rooms you
will love it.
The airstrip seemed clear and safe, although the wind sock hung in dirty
tatters from its pole, David circled it carefully before lining up for
the landing, and they taxied towards the small brick hangar set amongst
the trees.
David kicked on the wheel brakes and cut the engines. This is it, he
said.
Jabulani was one of a block of estates that bounded the Kruger National
Park, the most spectacular nature reserve on earth. These estates were
not productive, in that they were unsuitable for the growth of crops and
few of them were used for grazing of domestic animals; their immense
value lay in the unspoiled bush veld and the wild life, in the peace and
space upon which wealthy men placed such a premium that they would pay
large fortunes for a piece of this Lebensraum.
When David's grandfather had purchased Jabulani he had paid a few
shillings an acre, for in those days the wilderness was still intact.
it had been used as a family hunting estate down the years, and as Paul
Morgan had never shown interest in the veld, it had passed to David's
father and so to David.
Now the eighteen thousand acres of African bush and plain, held as
freehold land, was a possession beyond price.
Yet the Morgan family had made little use of it these last fifteen
years. David's father had been an enthusiastic huntsman, and with him
most of David's school holidays had been spent here. However, after his
father's death, the visits to Jabulani had become shorter and further
apart.
It was seven years since the last visit, when he had brought up a party
of brother officers from Cobra Squadron.
Then it had been immaculately run by Sam, the black overseer, butler and
game ranger.
Under Sam's management there had always been fresh crisp linen on the
beds, highly polished floors, the exterior walls of the buildings had
been snowly white and the thatch neat and well-tended. The deep-freeze
had been well stocked with steak and the liquor cupboard filled, with
every bottle accounted for.
Sam ran a tight camp, with half a dozen willing and cheerful helpers.
Where is Sam? was the first question David asked of the two servants
who hurried down from the homestead to meet the aircraft.
Sam gone. Where to? And the answer was the eloquent shrug of Africa.
Their uniforms were dirty and needed mending, and their manners
disinterested. Where is the Land-Rover? 'She is dead. 7hey walked up
to the homestead and there David had another series of unpleasant
surprises.
The buildings were dilapidated, looking forlorn and neglected under
their rotting black thatch. The walls were dingy, grey-brown with the
plaster falling away in patches.
The interiors were filthy with dust, and sprinkled with the droppings of
