softly, and he heard the Brig's voice in his memory.
The only excuse for violence is to protect that which belongs to you. He
banked steeply away and lined up for his approach to the landing-strip
at Jabulani.
Conrad Berg called again to sample the Old Buck gin, and to tell David
that his application to have Jabulani declared a private nature reserve
had been approved by the Board and that the necessary documentation
would soon be ready for signature. Do you want me to pull the fence out
now. 'No, David answered grimly. Let it stand. I don't want Akkers
frightened off. Ja, Conrad agreed heavily. We have got to get him. He
called Zulu to him and examined the scar that was ridged and shaped like
forked lightning across the pup's belly. The bastard, 'he muttered, and
then glanced guiltily at Debra.
Sorry, Mrs. Morgan. I I couldn't agree more, Mr. Berg, she said softly,
and Zulu watched her lips attentively when she spoke, his head cocked to
one side.
Like all young things, he had healed cleanly and quickly.
The morula grove that ran thickly along the base of
the hills about the String of Pearls came -into flower.
The holes were straight and sturdy, each crowned with a fully rounded,
many-branched head of dense foliage, and the red flowers made a royal
show.
Almost daily David and Debra would wander together through the groves,
down the rude track to the pools, and Zulu regained his strength on
these leisurely strolls which always culminated in a swim and a lusty
shaking off of water droplets, usually on to the nearest bystander.
Then the green plum-shaped fruits that covered the female marulas
thickly began to turn yellow as they ripened, and their yeasty smell was
heavy on the warm evening breeze.
The herd came up from the Sabi, forsaking the lush reed beds for the
promise of the morula harvest. They were led by two old bulls, who for
forty years had made the annual pilgrimage to the String of Pearls, and
there were fifteen breeding cows with calves running at heel and as many
adolescents.
They moved up slowly from the south, feeding spread out, sailing like
ghostly grey galleons through the open bush, overloaded bellies
rumbling. Occasionally a tall tree would catch the attention of one of
the bulls and he would place his forehead upon the thick trunk and,
swaying rhythmically as he built up momentum, he would strain suddenly
and bring it crackling and crashing down. A few mouthfuls of the tender
tip leaves would satisfy him, or he might strip the bark and stuff it
Untidily into his mouth before moving on northwards.
When they reached Conrad Berg's fence the two bulls moved forward and
examined it, standing shoulder to shoulder as though in consultation,
fanning their great grey ears, and every few minutes picking up a large
pinch of sand in their trunks to throw over their own backs against the
worrisome attention of the stinging flies.
In forty years they had travelled, and knew exactly all the boundaries
of their reserve. As they stood there contemplating the game fence, it
