The day was oppressively hot, with the threat of a rainstorm looming up
out of the east, great cumulus thunderheads striding like giants across
the busliveld.
Debra and David and Conrad Berg sat in the shade of the aircraft's wing,
for it was too hot in the cockpit.
They chatted in desultory fashion, but always listening to the radio
crackle, and they were tense and distracted.
He is not going to come, said Debra a little before noon.
He'll come, Conrad contradicted her. Those buffalo are too much
temptation. Perhaps not today, but tomorrow or the next day he'll come.
David stood up and climbed in through the open door of the cabin. He
went forward to the cockpit.
T, Sam, he spoke into the microphone. Can you hear me?
There was a long pause, presumably while Sam struggled with radio
procedure, then his voice, faint but clear:I hear you, Nkosi.
Have you seen anything? 'There is nothing. Keep good watch. 'Yebho,
Nkosi.
Jane brought a cold picnic lunch down to the airstrip, they ate heartily
despite the tension, and they were about to start on the milk tart, when
suddenly the radio set throbbed and hummed. Sam's voice carried clearly
to where they sat.
He has come!
Red standby, Go! Go! shouted David, and they rushed for the cabin
door, Debra treading squarely in the centre of Jane's milk tart before
David grabbed her arm and guided her to her seat.
Bright Lance, airborne and climbing, David laughed with excitement and
then memory stabbed him with a sharp blade. He remembered Joe hanging
out there at six o'clock but he shut his mind to it and he banked
steeply on to his headin& not wasting time in grabbing for altitude but
staying right down at tree-top level.
Conrad Berg was bunched in the seat behind them, and his face was redder
than usual, seeming about to burst like an over-ripe tomato.
Where is the Land-Rover key? he demanded anxiously. It's in the
ignition, and the tank is full Can't you go faster? Conrad growled.
Have you got your walkie talkie? David checked him.
Here! It was gripped in one of his huge paws, and his double-barrelled
. 450 magnum was in the other.
David was hopping the taller trees, and sliding over the crests of
higher ground with feet to spare. They flashed over the boundary fence
and ahead of them lay the hills of Jabulani.
Get ready, he told Conrad, and flew the Navajo into the airstrip,
taxiing up to the hangar where the Land Rover waited.
Conrad jumped down at the instant that David braked to a halt, then he
slammed the cabin door behind him and raced to the Land-Rover.
Immediately David opened the throttle and swung the aircraft around,
lining up for his take-off before the Navajo had gathered full momentum.
As he climbed, he saw the Land-Rover racing across the airstrip,
dragging a cloak of dust behind it.
Do you read me, Conrad?
