rock.
'Dismount. Hold the horses' heads, but try to stay out of sight. Don't move until I call you,' he ordered Louisa, and then, carrying the musket, he ran back up the slope. Just before he reached the crest he dropped into the grass. He glanced back and saw that she had followed his instructions. She was squatting down so that only her head was visible.
'The horses will not alarm the eland,' he told himself. The eland would take them for other wild game.
With his hat he wiped the sweat out of his eyes, and wriggled down more comfortably behind a small rock. He was sitting, not lying flat. Fired from the prone position the recoil of the heavy musket might break his collar- bone. He used his hat as a cushion and laid the stock of the musket on it, aiming up the slope.
The profound silence of the mountains settled over the valley; the soft hum of insects in the pro tea blossoms and the lonely, plaintive whistle of a red-winged mountain starling sounded abnormally loud.
The minutes passed as slowly as honey dripping, then Jim lifted his head. He had heard another sound that made his heartbeat trip. It was a faint clicking, like dry sticks being tapped together. Jim recognized it instantly. The eland antelope has a peculiar characteristic, unique in the African wild: the mighty sinews in its legs make a strange click with each step it takes.
Bakkat, the little yellow Bushman, had explained to Jim when he was a child how this had come about. One day in that far-off time when the sun had risen on the first day and the world was new with the dew still fresh upon it, Xtog who was the father of all the Khoisan, the Bushmen, caught in his cunning snare Impisi, the hyena. As all the world knows, Impisi was and still is a powerful magician. As Xtog was sharpening his flint knife to cut his throat, Impisi said to him, 'Xtog, if you set me free, I will make a magic for you. Instead of my flesh, which stinks of the carrion I eat, you will have hills of white fat and mountains of the sweet meat of the eland roasting on your fire every night of your life.'
'How can this be, O Hyena?' Xtog had wondered, although he was beginning to drown in his own saliva at the thought of the eland meat. But the eland was a cunning animal and difficult to find.
'I will place a spell on the eland so that wherever he roams over desert and mountain he will make a sound that will guide you to him.'
Thus Xtog had set Impisi free, and from that day onwards the eland has clicked as he walks to warn the hunter of his approach.
Jim grinned as he remembered Bakkat's story. Gently he drew back the heavy hammer of the musket to full cock, and settled the brassbound butt into his shoulder. The clicking sounds grew louder, stopping as the animals that made them paused, then coming on again. Jim watched the skyline just ahead of where he lay and suddenly a massive pair of horns rose against the blue. They were as long and thick as a strongman's arm, spiralled like the horn of the narwhal, polished black so the sun glinted upon them.
The clicking sound ceased and the horns turned slowly from side to side, as if the animal that carried them was listening. Jim heard his breath whistling in his ears, and his nerves tightened like the string of a crossbow. Then the clicking sound began again and the horns rose higher, until two trumpet-shaped ears and a pair of huge eyes appeared beneath them. The eyes were dark and gentle, seeming to swim with tears. Long curling lashes veiled them. They stared directly into Jim's soul, and his breath stopped. The beast was so close that he could see it blink, and he dared not move.
Then the eland looked away, swinging its great head to stare down the slope up which it had come. Then it started forward towards Jim, and the rest of its body came into view. He could not have circled that thick neck with his arms: a heavy dewlap hung beneath it, swinging ponderously with each pace. Its back and shoulders were blue with age, and it stood as tall as Jim himself.
Only a dozen paces from where he sat it stopped and lowered its head to pull the new spring leaves from a cripple wood bush. Over the ridge behind the bull, the rest of the herd came into view. The cows were a soft creamy brown, and although they carried the long spiral horns, their heads were more graceful and feminine. The calves were a ruddy chestnut, the younger ones hornless. One dropped its head and butted its twin playfully, then they bucked and chased each other in a circle. The mother watched with mild disinterest.
The hunter's instinct drew Jim's eyes back to the great bull. It was still chewing the cripple wood It was an effort for Jim to reject this old animal. Despite the mighty trophy it carried, its flesh would be tough and gamy, its fat sparse.
Bakkat's philosophy came back to him: 'Leave the old bull to breed, and the cow to suckle her young.' Slowly Jim turned his head to examine the rest of the herd. At that moment the perfect quarry came up over the ridge.
This was a much younger bull, not more than four years old, his hindquarters so plump they seemed to be bursting from his glossy golden brown hide. He turned aside, attracted by the shiny green leaves of
a gwarrie tree. The branches were laden with ripe purple berries, and the young bull moved round until he was facing Jim. Then he stretched up to nibble at the berries, exposing the creamy curve of his throat.
Jim traversed the barrel of the musket towards him. His movements were as slow as the advance of a chameleon on a fly. The frolicking calves kicked up dust and distracted the usually watchful gaze of the cows. Carefully Jim laid the bead of the foresight on the base of the bull's throat, on the crease of skin that encircled it like a necklace. He knew that even at such close range either of the beast's massive shoulder-blades would flatten and stop the musket ball. He had to find the gap in the animal's brisket through which he could drive the ball deep into the vitals to tear through the heart, lungs and pulsing arteries.
He took up the slack in the trigger and felt the resistance of the sear. Steadily he increased the pressure, staring hard at his aiming point on the throat, resisting any impulse to jerk the trigger that final hairbreadth. The hammer fell with a loud snap, and the flint struck a shower of sparks off the friz zen the powder in the pan ignited in a puff of white smoke, and with a bass roar the butt slammed back into his shoulder. Before he could be unsighted by the heavy recoil and the gush of powder smoke, Jim saw the eland hump its back in a mighty spasm. He knew from this that the ball had sliced through its heart. He sprang to his feet to see over the bank of smoke. The young bull was still frozen in agony, its mouth gaping. Jim could see the bullet wound, a dark, bloodless hole in the smooth hide of the throat.
All around him the rest of the herd burst into flight, scattering away down the rocky hillside in a mad gallop, loose stones and dust flying from under their hoofs. The stricken bull backed away, racked in a gigantic contortion. Its legs shook and quivered, and it sank back on its haunches. It lifted its head to the sky and the bright lung blood sprayed from its gaping jaws. Then it twisted over and fell on its back, all four legs kicking spasmodically in the air. Jim stood and watched the beast's last throes.
His jubilation was gradually replaced by the melancholy of the true hunter, caught up in the beauty and tragedy of the kill. As the eland subsided and was still, he laid aside the musket and drew the knife from its sheath on his belt. Using the horns as a lever he pulled back the beast's head and, with two expert incisions, he laid open the arteries on each side of the throat and watched the bright blood flow out. Then he lifted one of the massive back legs and cut away the scrotum.
Louisa rode up as he straightened with the furry white pouch in his hand. He felt bound to explain: 'It would taint the flesh if we left it.'
She looked away. 'What a magnificent animal. So big.' She seemed subdued by the enormity of what he had done. Then she sat up straighter in the saddle. 'What must I do to help you?'
Tether the horses first,' he told her and she swung down from Trueheart's back and led the horses to the gwarrie tree. She hitched them to the trunk, then came back.
'Hold one of the back legs,' he said. 'If we leave the guts inside, the meat will sour and spoil in a few hours.'
It was heavy work, but she did not flinch from it. When he made the paunching stroke from the crotch to the ribs the bowels and entrails came ballooning out of the opening.
'This is when you get your hands messy,' he warned her, but before he could go on, another voice spoke near at hand, a piping, childlike voice.
'I taught you well, Somoya.'
Jim spun round, the knife held instinctively in the underhand defensive grip, and stared at the little yellow man who sat on a rock watching them.
'Bakkat, you little shaitan,' Jim shouted, more in fright than anger. 'Don't ever do that again. Where in the name of the Kulu Kulu did you come from?'
'Did I startle you, Somoya?' Bakkat looked uncomfortable, and Jim remembered his manners. He had come close to giving offence to his friend.
'No, of course not. I saw you from afar.' You must never tell a Bushman that you had overlooked him: he will take it as an insulting reference to his tiny stature. 'You stand taller than the trees.'
Bakkat's face lit up at the compliment. 'I watched you from the beginning of the hunt. It was a fair stalk and a clean kill, Somoya. But I think you need more than a young girl to help you dress the meat.' He hopped down from the rock. He paused in front of Louisa and crouched down, clapping his hands in greeting.
'What is he saying?' she asked Jim.
'He says that he sees you, and that your hair is like sunlight,' he told her. 'I think you have just been
