The group around the dead buffalo scattered, as the aircraft bore down
on them, each man picking his own course and racing away on it, but
David selected the lanky galloping frame with the black hat jammed down
over the ears and sank down behind him. The tips. of the propellers
clipped the dry grass, as he swiftly overtook the running Akkers.
He was set to fly into him, driven by the unreasoning anger of the male
animal protecting his own, and he lined up to cut him down with the
spinning propeller blades.
As David braced himself for the impact Akkers glanced back over his
shoulder, and his face was muddy grey with fright, the skull eyes dark
and deeply set. He saw the murderous blades merely feet from him, and
he threw himself flat into the grass.
The Navajo roared inches over his prone body, and David pulled it round
in a steep turn, with the wing-tip brushing the grass. As he came round
he saw that Akkers was up and running, and that he was only fifty paces
from the edge of the trees.
David levelled out, aimed for the fugitive again but realized that he
could not reach him before he was into the trees. Swiftly he sped
across the clearing, but the lumbering figure drew slowly closer to the
timber line and as he reached the sanctuary of a big leadwood trunk,
Akkers whirled and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He aimed at the
approaching aircraft; although the rifle was unsteady in his hands the
range was short.
Down, shouted David, pushing Debra's head below the level of the
windshield, and he pulled open the throttles and climbed steeply away.
Even above the bellow of the engines David heard the heavy bullet clang
into the fuselage of the aircraft.
What's happening, David? Debra pleaded.
He fired at us, but we've got him on the run. He'll head back for his
truck now, and Conrad should be there waiting for him. Akkers kept
under cover of the trees, and circling above him David caught glimpses
of the tall figure trotting purposefully along his escape route.
David, -can you hear me? Conrad's voice boomed suddenly in the tense
cockpit. What is it, Connie? We've got trouble.
I've hit a rock in your Land- Rover and knocked out the sump. She's had
it, pouring oil all over the place.
How the hell did you do that? David demanded.
I was trying a short cut. Conrad's chagrin carried clearly over the
ether.
How far are you from the Luzane stream? About three miles. God, he'll
beat you to it, David swore. He's two miles from the truck and going
like he's got a tax collector after him.
You have not seen old Connie move yet. I'll be there waiting for him,
Berg promised.
Good luck, David called, and the transmission went dead.
Below them Akkers was skirting the base of the hills, his black hat
bobbing along steadily amongst the trees.
David kept his starboard wing pointed at him and the Navajo turned
steadily, holding station above him.
