Then he saw the two-legged creature, a strange- looking animal with a face that was half black and half white. It was frightened. Old Scar could smell his fear. The creature was backing into the bamboo that stood between Old Scar and freedom. He was carrying a stick. The tiger’s claws extended, the muscles in his shoulders rippled as he got ready to charge.
He crept out of the grass and into the bamboo.
‘Christ, the cat’s in the bamboo,’ Early said, still watching the movement through the binoculars.
‘Where the
‘He’s in there, too, I can see the stuff moving. The cat’s on to him.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Earp said.
‘What the fuck,’ Early said, refocusing the glasses. ‘Is Hatch in there too?’
‘Who the hells knows?’
Riker and Gallagher were veering toward them, and so was the elephant Melinda and Prophett were riding closing in on the bamboo thicket.
Hatcher started to run toward Wonderboy, who had stopped singing. He plunged through the bamboo, which clattered after him as he charged through it, breaking off stalks, stumbling, keeping his rifle pointed up so he wouldn’t accidentally get .off a shot and hit Wonderboy.
Old Scar, too, was moving faster, creeping through the stalks of bamboo, trying to move without revealing his position. He could see the strange creature ahead of him, backing up, looking around wildly. The creature with the black-and-white face was twenty yards away. Old Scar was accustomed to hunting in the bamboo thickets. He could see the creature, but it could not see Scar.
The strange creature stumbled, lost his balance, turned away from him, thrashing about, trying to stay on his feet.
The big cat charged.
Hatcher saw Wonderboy falter and fall. He heard the bamboo stalks cracking off before he saw the cat. He ran toward Wonderboy, who was floundering around, trying to get in a sitting position.
‘Stay down,’ Hatcher barked in his shattered voice. ‘He’s charging.’
‘Oh God no!’ Wonderboy screamed.
Hatcher was ten feet away from the kid when the tiger broke loose of the bamboo stalks. He threw the 375 H&H up to his shoulder, aimed for the chest of the powerful beast as it charged closer and squeezed off a shot.
The rifle misfired.
Hatcher didn’t lose a beat. He threw the rifle at the rogue and dived on top of Wonderboy, grabbing his gun and rolling on his side. Nearby he heard an elephant trumpet, felt the ground shake as the big creature charged toward them. But he did not let that distract him. He was on his side and the big tiger leaped from ten feet away, its open mouth showing dripping fangs, its one eye gleaming ferociously.
He had time for one shot. He swung the rifle up and fired from the waist straight into the tiger’s face.
Old Scar felt the heat of the explosion, was blinded by the white light, and a millisecond later felt the bullet explode just above his good eye, cracking the skull, burning into his head, searing his brain and snapping his head back.
His forelegs collapsed and he went down, rolling over, snapping off a path of bamboo one after another. They came showering down on top of Hatcher and Wonderboy. The tiger lay five feet away, its enormous mouth still open. A pitiful cry-growl escaped from its throat and it shuddered and began to stiffen.
Beneath him, Hatcher could feel Wonderboy trembling. He got to his knees and looked down at the musician, who seemed to be trying to dig a hole in the ground.
‘It’s over, kid,’ Hatcher whispered. ‘It’s okay.’
‘No, no,’ Wonderboy cried,, all legs and hands in a tight little pile.
Another shower of bamboo stalks fell around Hatcher, and he heard one of the elephants trumpet almost on top of him. He turned, and stared straight into the muzzles of two guns — Early’s and Earp’s. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Almost as if he could perceive in slow motion, Hatcher saw Early’s finger tightening on his trigger.
My God, he’s going to shoot me! Hatcher thought as he spun away and ducked and heard the rifle boom.
Behind him he heard the tiger scream again and, spinning around, saw it, half n its feet, take the shot high in the shoulder. It screamed once more and fell dead.
‘Told you not to go for the head shot,’ Early said.
THAI HORSE
Early’s small house was at the end of a narrow, hard-packed dirt road. The road wound through dark, verdant foliage, which choked its shoulders, casting it in deep shadow. Rainbow-streaked macaws and parrots, startled by the van, had insulted the men with angry squawks and shrieks as they returned from the hunt. The thatch-roofed house had a wide porch around three of its sides. The sweet odor of cassava from nearby fields permeated the air.
