the long tubes of pig's gut. Tom straightened up, glanced out across the veld and spotted the distant dust cloud raised by flying hoofs. He swept off his hat and used it to shade his eyes against the cruel white glare. 'Rider!' he called to Sarah. 'Coming fast.'
She looked up but kept the long coils of sausage running between her fingers. 'Who is it?' she demanded. Of course, with a mother's instinct, she knew who it was, but she did not want to jinx it by saying the name until she could see his face.
'It's himself!' Tom cried. 'Or if it is not, I will shave my beard. The little devil must have succeeded in showing Keyser a clean pair of heels.'
For weeks they had waited, worried and tried to cheer each other, insisting that Jim was safe, while hope eroded with the passage of the long days. Now their relief and joy were unbounded.
Tom seized a bridle from the rack on the tailboard of the wagon and ran to one of the horses tethered in the shade. He slipped the bit between its jaws and tightened the cheek-strap. Scorning a saddle he went up on its bare back and galloped out to meet his son.
Jim saw him coming and rose in the stirrups, waving his hat over his head, hooting and bellowing like an escaped maniac. They raced towards each other and then as they came level, dismounted on the run, hurled by the momentum of their mounts into each other's arms. They hugged each other, beat each other on the back and danced in a circle trying to swing each other off their feet. Tom ruffled Jim's long hair and pulled and twisted his ears painfully.
'I should thrash you within an inch of your life, you little skellum,' he scolded. 'You have given your mother and me the worst days of our lives.' He held him at arm's length and glared at him lovingly. 'I don't know why we bothered. We should have let Keyser have you, and good riddance.' His voice choked, and he hugged Jim again. 'Come on, boy! Your mother is waiting for you. I hope she gives you a royal slice of her tongue.'
Jim's reunion with Sarah was less boisterous but if anything even more loving than it had been with his father. 'We were so worried about you,' she said. 'I thank God with all my heart for your deliverance.'
Then her first instinct was to feed him. Through mouthfuls of jam
rolv'Ply an mk tart ne 8ave n's parents a colourful, if expurgated, account of his exploits since he had last seen them. He did not mention Louisa, and they were all aware of the omission.
At last Sarah could contain herself no longer. She stood over him and placed her fists on her hips. That's all very well and good, James Archibald Courtney, but what about the girl?' Jim choked on the tart, then looked shamefaced and at a loss for words.
'Out with it, boy!' Tom said, in support of his wife. 'What about the girl or woman or whatever she may be?'
'You will meet her. She's coming now,' Jim said, in a subdued voice, and pointed to the horses and riders coming towards them across the plain in a cloud of their own dust. Tom and Sarah stood together and watched it drawing closer.
Tom spoke first. 'An't no girl there that I can see,' he said, with finality. 'Zama and Bakkat, yes, but no girl.'
Jim jumped up from the trestle table and came to join them. 'She must be...' His voice trailed off as he realized that his father was right. Louisa was not with them. He ran to meet Zama and Bakkat as they rode into camp. 'Where is Welanga? What have you done with her?'
Zama and Bakkat looked at each other, both waiting for the other to answer. At times such as these Bakkat could be conveniently mute. Zama shrugged and took the responsibility of replying. 'She will not come,' he said.
'Why not?' Jim shouted.
'She is afraid.'
'Afraid?' Jim was puzzled. 'What has she got to be afraid of?'
Zama did not reply but glanced significantly at Tom and Sarah.
'What a time for her to start jibbing!' Jim strode towards where Drumfire was enjoying a nosebag of oats. 'I will go and fetch her.'
'No, Jim!' Sarah called softly, but in a tone that stopped him in his tracks. He stared at his mother. 'Saddle Sugarbush for me,' she told him. 'I will go to her.'
From the saddle she looked down at Jim. 'What's her name?'
'Louisa,' he answered. 'Louisa Leuven. She speaks good English.'
Sarah nodded. 'I may be some time,' she said to her husband. 'Now, don't come looking for me, do you hear?' She had known Tom from girlhood, and loved him past the power of words to describe, but she knew that at times he had the tact of a wounded bull buffalo. She flicked the reins and Sugarbush cantered out of camp.
She saw the girl half a mile ahead, sitting under a camel-thorn tree on one of the fallen dead branches with Trueheart tethered beside her. Louisa scrambled to her feet when she saw Sarah riding towards her. On the vast plain she was a tiny forlorn figure. Sarah rode up to her and reined in Sugarbush. 'You are Louisa? Louisa Leuven?'
'Yes, Mistress Courtney.' Louisa took off her hat and her hair tumbled down. Sarah blinked at its golden profusion. Louisa bobbed a small curtsy and waited respectfully for her to speak again.
'How do you know who I am?' Sarah asked.
'He looks just like you, mistress,' Louisa explained, 'and he told me all about you and his father.' Her voice was low but sweet, and trembled on the verge of tears.
Sarah was taken aback. This was not at all what she had expected. But what had she expected of an escaped convict? Hard-boiled defiance? World-weariness? Corruption and depravity? She looked into those blue eyes and could find no vice in them.
'You're very young, Louisa?'
'Yes, mistress.' Her voice broke. 'I am so sorry. I didn't mean to-get Jim into trouble. I didn't mean to take him away from you.' She was weeping slow, silent tears, which sparkled like jewels in the sunlight. 'We haven't done anything bad together, I promise you.'
Sarah stepped down from Sugarbush's back and went to her. She placed one arm round her shoulders and Louisa clung to her. Sarah knew that what she was doing was dangerous, but her maternal instincts were strong, and the girl was so young. The aura of innocence that surrounded her was almost palpable. Sarah found herself drawn irresistibly to her.
'Come, child.' Gently Sarah led her into the shade, and they sat side by side on the dead branch.
They talked while the sun climbed to its zenith, then began its slow slide down the sky. At first Sarah's questions were probing, and she fought her inclination to let down all her defences and allow this stranger into her inner keep, into the place of trust. From bitter experience she knew that the devil often conceals his true nature behind a beautiful exterior.
Louisa's replies were open, unstinted, almost disconcertingly honest. She never avoided Sarah's searching gaze. She seemed pathetically eager to please, and Sarah felt her reservations crumbling.
At last she took the girl's hand. 'Why do you tell me all this, Louisa?' she asked.
'Because Jim risked his life to save me, and you are Jim's mother. I owe you that at least.' Sarah felt her own tears rising to the surface. She was silent while she brought herself under control.
At last Louisa broke the quiet. 'I know what you are thinking, Mistress Courtney. You are wondering why I was on a convict ship. You wish to know what crime I am guilty of.' Sarah could not trust her voice to deny it. Of course, she wanted to know the answer. Her only son was in love with this girl, and she had to know.
'I will tell you,' Louisa said. 'I have told no one except Jim, but now I will tell you.'
And she did. When she had finished Sarah was weeping with her. 'It is late.' She glanced at the height of the sun, and stood up. 'Come, Louisa, we will go home now.'
Tom Courtney was astonished to see that his wife had been weeping. Her eyes were swollen and red. He could not remember the last time that had happened, for Sarah was not much given to tears. She did not dismount, or make any move to introduce him to the pale girl who rode beside her into the camp.
'We need to be alone for a while, before Louisa is ready to meet you,' she told him firmly, and the girl kept her head down and her eyes averted as they rode past and went to the last wagon in the line. The two women disappeared behind the afterclap, the canvas screen at the back of the wagon, and Sarah called for the servants to bring the copper hip bath and buckets of hot water from the cooking fire. The mysterious chest that she had ordered to be loaded on to the wagon, which they had carried with them from High Weald, contained everything that a girl might need.
The two men were sitting beside the fire on the riempie camp chairs, the backs and seats laced with the crisscrossed rawhide strips that gave the chairs the name. They were drinking coffee, and Tom had laced their mugs with a liberal dram of Hollands gin. They were still discussing everything that had overtaken the family since their last meeting, and were making plans on how to proceed. They both skirted tactfully around the subject of Louisa and how she fitted into these plans. The nearest Tom had come to it was to say, 'That is women's business. We will have to let your mother decide.'
Night had fallen and out on the plain the jackals were wailing. 'What is your mother doing?' Tom complained. 'It's long past my dinner time, and I'm hungry.' As if she
