The four men spread out along the back end of the broad grassy area west of the lake but close enough to keep one another in view. Corkscrew and Potter were at one end of the stretch, Wonderboy and Hatcher at the other. They were in the open and the sun blazed down on them. Hatcher broke out in a sweat when he got out of the van.
Ahead of Hatcher was the thick wide stand of fifteen-foot-high bamboo. Through the cramped stalks, Hatcher could barely make out the short grass that stood waist-high on the other side of the bamboo stand.
The only sound was the buzzing of flies and insects. Not a bird twittered and the wind was barely more than a sigh, occasionally stirring the grass. Hatcher put on his sunglasses and walked cautiously along the edge of the bamboo, stopping every few feet to listen and look.
He was not far into the field when he heard the noise boys start their serenade. It was far away. Occasionally one of the elephants would add its voice to the chorus.
Hatcher looked to his left at Wonderboy, a small figure moving cautiously parallel to the bamboo thicket. The noise got louder as he approached the bamboo stand. He looked back at Wonderboy. The kid was standing in front of the towering stalks of bamboo, looking up at them in obvious wonderment.
Not paying attention, thought Hatcher, and subconsciously he began to walk toward Wonderboy.
Old Scar was hungry, but he followed his usual course, ambling down through the trees to the elephant grass. He was at the far end of the stand when he caught the scent of the men. They were between him and the lake. He lurked in the tall, reed-like grass. Then the clamor behind him got louder. Through the earth he could feel the heavy-footed elephants getting closer.
If he left the grass he would be in the open, which meant running through the rice fields.
Old Scar’s tail switched angrily, lie hissed, turned and skulked through the grass toward the lake, keeping his belly close to the ground so he wouldn’t give away his position. He found a dead tree and crawled behind it, peering out with his good eye through the naked branches, waiting. This was his territory. He had walked it out and sprayed it. He had nowhere else to go.
Wonderboy stood at the edge of the tall bamboo, marveling at how high and straight they grew. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it thumping in his ears. He remembered Max telling them to be extra careful in the bamboo thickets and the tall grass. The bamboo grew close together, so he could barely see between the stalks. Fearfully he entered the thicket, shouldering his way through it. He started singing to himself. Then he began singing aloud, but very low, scat-singing the chorus from ‘Suite: Judy Blue Eyes’:
The singing calmed his nerves. He decided to go through the bamboo to the edge of the short grass and wait. He could see only a few feet in front of him. Wonderboy had thought he was finished with taking risks, yet here he was, testing himself, stalking an angry, half-blind, man-eating five-hundred-pound cat that could jump out of nowhere at any moment. The sporting aspect of the hunt suddenly seemed stupid to him. It would be so much easier, he thought, to spot the tiger from the elephants and kill it.
Hatcher, too, moved cautiously through the bamboo. The noise boys and elephants were much closer now. It was pure cacophony. If the old cat was in there, he would soon make his move.
Hatcher was thinking about Wonderboy, wondering whether the kid was thinking smart. Scared as he was, he might just stumble in the grass. Grass could be deceiving. The kid could walk right up and step on the cat’s tail before he saw him. Hatcher broke through the bamboo stand to the short buffalo grass. Fifty yards on the other side was the tall grass, moving slightly with the light breeze.
Hatcher walked along the edge of the bamboo thicket toward Wonderboy with the waist-high grass swishing past him and insects swarming in his wake. He walked, stopped and listened, then went on.
He began to tense up. The noise boys and elephants were nearing the far side of the tall grass.
Through the twigs of the dead tree, Old Scar could see one of the elephants looming above the tall reeds and hear the thrashers beating on the pots and yelling although he could not see them. The old tiger was thirsty. He was hungry. He had lost his patience.
One of the big elephants started into the tall grass. Old Scar’s keen ears heard sounds other than the beating of pots and yelling, lie moved away from the tree stump, crawling on his belly, soundlessly moving through the grass toward the lake.
From atop his elephant, Max Early scanned the sea of tall elephant grass, a wide strip three hundred yards deep that stretched almost half a mile from the lake to the cassava fields. Beyond it was the strip of short grass and the tall bamboo. Below him on the ground, Quat was checking the ground, looking for the pugs of the rogue cat. He found the tracks leading into the grass and pointed toward the lake.
‘He says it’s heading toward the lake and that’s dangerous,’ said Early. ‘I was hoping he’d break out of this grass into the open and run for it.’
Early blew a single sharp blast on a chrome whistle. It pierced the air, a sound higher than the clatter the noise boys were making. Everything stopped.
The elephants, spaced about a hundred yards apart, stopped and began pulling up tufts of grass with their trunks and eating them. Nobody moved. There wasn’t a sound. Then Early thought he heard something. He leaned forward, his sharp ears listening.
‘What the hell’s that?’ he said, half aloud.
‘You see something?’ Earp asked.
‘I
They listened. Earp cocked his head to one side.
‘Is that somebody
‘Singing?’
‘I swear to God I hear somebody singing. Sounds like it’s coming from over there in the bamboo.’
