If he uses rapid fire he'll get me even at three hundred yards
And Bruce jinked his run like a jack-rabbit. The blood roaring in his
ears, fear driving his feet.
Then all around him the air burst asunder, buffeting him so he
staggered; the vicious whip-whip whip of bullets filled his head.
I can't make it Seventy yards to the shelter of the trees.
Seventy yards of open meadowlands and above him the commanding mass of
the kopje.
The next burst is for me - it must come, now!
And he flung himself to one side so violently that he nearly fell.
Again the air was ripping to tatters close beside him.
I can't last! He must get me!
In his path was an ant-heap, a low pile of clay, a pimple on the open
expanse of earth. Bruce dived for it, hitting the ground so hard that
the wind was forced from his lungs out through his open mouth.
The next burst of gunfire kicked lumps of clay from the top of the
ant-heap, showering Bruce's back.
He lay with his face pressed into the earth, wheezing with the agony of
empty lungs, flattening his body behind the tiny heap of clay.
Will it cover me? Is there enough of it?
And the next hail of bullets thumped into the ant-heap, throwing
fountains of earth, but leaving Bruce untouched.
I'm safe. The realization came with a surge that washed away his
fear.
But I'm helpless, answered his hatred. Pinned to the earth for as long
as Hendry wants to keep me here.
The rain fell on his back. Soaking through his jacket, coldly caressing
the nape of his neck and dribbling down over his jaws.
He rolled his head sideways, not daring to lift it an inch, and
the rain beat on to the side of his face.
The rain! Falling faster. Thickening. Hanging from the clouds like the
skirts of a woman's dress.
Curtains of rain. Greying out the edge of the forest, leaving no solid
shapes in the mist of falling liquid motherof-pearl.
Still gasping but with the pain slowly receding, Bruce lifted his head.
The kopje was a vague blue-green shape ahead of him, then it was gone,
swallowed by the eddying columns of rain.
Bruce pushed himself up on to his knees and the pain in his chest made
him dizzy.
Now! he thought. Now, before it thins, and he lumbered clumsily to his
feet.
For a moment he stood clutching his chest, sucking for breath in the
haze of water-filled air, and then he staggered towards the edge of the
forest.
His feet steadied under him, his breathing eased, and he was into the
trees.
They closed round him protectively. He leaned against the rough bark of
one of them and wiped the rain from his face with the palm of his hand.
The strength came back to him and with it his hatred and his excitement.
He unslung the rifle from his shoulder and stood away from the tree with
