'He wouldn't make the offer if he didn't,' Ken pointed out as Themba hoisted up the bag and slung it on his shoulder.
Fennel hesitated, then said, 'Well, tell him . . . thanks. It's a bitch of a thing to carry.' He caught hold of the jerrycan and the three men continued on their way: the other two slowing down to keep pace with Fennel.
The next hour was a hellish up-hill grind for Fennel, but he kept plodding on, breathing heavily, furious with himself to see how easily the other two were taking the ordeal.
'How about a drink?' he gasped, coming to a halt.
But the drink gave him no satisfaction as the water was warm and anyway, Fennel loathed drinking water.
Ken looked at his watch.
'In another ten minutes, we'll call Garry. Then we'll have a rest.'
'That guy must have been born lucky,' Fennel growled, picking up the jerrycan. 'He doesn't know how well off he is.' They continued on, and at 13.00 hrs., they left the track and sat down in the shade of the jungle. Ken contacted Garry and reported progress.
'We should be in position by 18.00 hrs.,' he said, and added the going was rough.
Garry made sympathetic noises, said he would be standing by at 15.00 hrs. and switched off.
After half an hour's rest, they continued on for another hour, then Ken said it was time to eat. They left the sun soaked track and sat down in the shade of the trees. Themba opened cans of steak pie and baked beans.
'How much farther?' Fennel asked, his mouth full.
Ken consulted Themba.
'About six kilometres and then we'll be in the jungle.'
'Ask him if he wants me to carry the bag again.'
'He's okay . . . don't bother about it.'
'Ask him! That bag's goddamn heavy!'
Ken spoke to Themba who grinned and shook his head.
'Black people are used to carrying white men's burdens,' Ken said, keeping his face straight.
Fennel eyed him.
'Okay, I'll take that . . . so he's a better man than I am.'
'Skip it or I'll burst into tears.'
Fennel smiled sourly.
'My time's coming. You two may be pretty hot with this jungle and walking crap, but you wait until you see me in action.'
Ken offered his pack of cigarettes and the two men lit up.
Do you think he's giving it to her?' Fennel asked abruptly. When not on his discomforts, his mind kept returning to Gaye.
'Who's giving what to whom?' Ken asked blandly.
Fennel hesitated, then shrugged. 'Forget it!'
An hour later, they again contacted Garry and again reported progress, then they left the mountain track and entered the jungle. Although it was steamy hot, the relief of constant shade helped them to quicken their pace.
Themba led the way with Ken and Fennel following. A narrow track through the dense undergrowth forced them to walk in single file. Overhead, Vervet monkeys swung from tree to tree, watching them. A big sable buck that was standing in the middle of the track as they rounded a high shrub went crashing away into the jungle, startling Fennel.
They had to keep a watch-out for shrubs with long, sharp thorns, and they all concentrated on the ground ahead of them. None of them suspected that they were being watched. High on a branch of a tree sat a giant Zulu, wearing only a leopard skin. In his right hand, he held a two-way radio. He waited until the three men had passed, then spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece of the radio, his message being picked up by Miah, Kahlenberg's secretary, who had been detailed to keep in touch with the twenty watching Zulus positioned to report the movements of strangers on the estate.
