Loud an clear, Conra s voice boomed out of the speaker, and David turned
for the grey ribbon of the public road that showed through the trees,
beyond the hills.
He followed it, flying five hundred feet above it, and he searched the
open parkland.
The green Ford truck had been concealed from observation at ground
level, again in a thicket of wild ebony, but it was open from the sky.
For Akkers had never thought of discovery coming from there.
Connie, I've got the truck. He's stashed it in a clump of ebony about
half a mile down the bank of the Luzane stream. Your best route is to
follow the road to the bridge, then go down into the dry river bed and
try and cut him off before he gets to the truck. 'Okay, David. 'Move
it, man.
I'm moving. David saw the Land-Rover's dust above the trees, Conrad
must have his foot down hard.
I'm going to try and spot the man himself, chase him into your arms.
You do that? David started a long climbing turn towards the hills,
sweeping and searching, up and around. Below him the pools granted and
he opened the throttles slightly, seeking altitude to clear the crests.
From the highest peak, a tiny figure waved frantically.
Sam, he grunted. Doing a war dance. He altered course slightly to
pass him closely, and Sam stopped his imitation of a windmill and
stabbed with an extended arm towards the west. David acknowledged with
a wave, and turned again, dropping down the western slopes.
Ahead of him the plain spread, dappled like a leopard's back with dark
bush and golden glades of grass. He flew for a minute before he saw a
black mass, moving slowly ahead of him, dark and amorphous against the
pale grass.
The remains of the buffalo herd had bunched up and were running without
direction, desperate from the harrying they had received.
Buffalo, he told Debra. On the ran. Something has alarmed them. She
sat still and intent beside him, hands in her lap, staring unseeingly
ahead.
All! David shouted. Got him, with blood on his hands! In the Centre
of one of the larger clearings lay the black beetle-like body of a dead
buffalo, its belly swollen and its legs sticking out stiffly as it lay
on its side.
Four men stood around it in a circle, obviously just about to begin
butchering the carcass. Three of them were Africans, one with a knife
in his hand.
The fourth man was Johan Akkers. There was no mistaking the tall gaunt
frame. He wore an old black Fedora hat on his head, strangely formal
attire for the work in which he was engaged, and his braces crisscrossed
his tan-Coloured shirt. He carried a rifle at the trail in his right
hand, and at the sound of the aircraft engines he swung round and stared
into the sky, frozen with the shock of discovery.
You swine. Oh, you bloody swine, whispered David, and his anger was
strong and bright against the despoilers.
Hold on! he warned Debra, and flew straight at the man, dropping
steeply on to him.
