went bellowing up the far ramp, swinging again to race up and deposit their load below the Cliff, but above the highwater mark.
Round they went, and round again, chasing their tails, while the bulldozers held back the sea which was now becoming angry - sending its cohorts to skirmish along the dyke, seeking a weak place to attack.
Johnny glanced at his watch again.
“Three minutes to low water,” he spoke aloud, and grinned. “We’re going to make it!“He lit a cigarette, relaxing a little now.
He dropped into the driving seat and swung the Land-Rover up the beach, parking it beyond the mountain of gravel that the earthloaders were building.
He climbed out and took up a handful of the gravel.
“Lovely!” he whispered. “Oh sweet! Sweed” It was right. All the signs were good. In the single handful he identified a small garnet, and a larger lump of agate.
He scooped another handful.
“Jasper,” he gloated. “And banded ironstone!” All these stones were the team-mates of the diamond, you found them together.
The shape was right also, the stories polished round and shiny as marbles, not flattened like coins which Would mean they had washed in only one direction. Round stones meant a wave action zone - a diamond trap!
“We’ve hit a jewel box - I’ll take Lysol on that”
From thirty-seven miles of beach Johnny had picked a two-hundred-yard stretch, and hit it right on the nose. A choice not by luck, but by careful study of the configuration of the coastline, aerial photographs of the wave patterns and bottom contours of the sea, an analysis of the beach sands, and finally by that indefinable “feel” for ground that a good diamond man has.
Johnny Lance was mightily delighted with himself as he climbed back into the Land-Rover. The earthloaders had scraped the gravel down to bedrock. Their job was finished, and they pulled out of the pit and stood with panting exhausts beside the enormous pile of gravel they had recovered.
“Bottom boys!” roared Johnny, and the patient army of Ovambo tribesmen who had been squatting above the beach came swarming down into the pit. Their job was to sweep and clean the pit bottom, for a high proportion of the diamonds would have worked their way down through the gravel into the crevices and irregularities of the bedrock.
The sea changed its mood, furious at the brutal rape of its beaches it came hissing and tearing at the sand dyke.
The tide was making now, and the bulldozers had to redouble their efforts to keep it out.
In the pit the Ovarribos worked in a frenzy of activity, sparing only an occasional apprehensive glance for the wall of sand that held the Atlantic at bay.
Now Johnny was tensing up again. If he pulled them out early he would be leaving diamonds down there, if he left them in too late he might drown machinery - and men.
He cut it fine, just a fraction too fine. He pulled the bottom boys out with the sea beginning to break over the dyke, and to seep through under it.
Then he began to pull out his bulldozers, ten of them out - one still coming infinitely slowly, waddling across the wide bottom of the empty pit.
The sea broke through, it broke simultaneously in two places and came boiling into the pit in a waist-high wave.
The bulldozer operator saw it, hesitated one second, then his spirit failed him and he jumped down from his machine; abandoning it to the sea he sprinted ahead of the wave, making for the steep nearest side of the pit.
“Bastard!” swore Johnny as he watched the operator scramble to safety. “He could have made it.” But his anger was against himself also. His decision to withdraw had been too long delayed, that was
20,000 pounds worth of machinery he had sacrificed to the sea.
He slammed the Land-Rover into gear, and put her to the pit. She went off the edge like a ski jump, falling fifteen feet before she hit the bottom, but her fall was cushioned by the slope of sand and she sprang forward bravely to meet the rush of sea water.
It broke over the bonnet, slewing the vehicle viciously, but Johnny fought her head round and kept her going towards the stranded bulldozer.
The engine of the Land-Rover had been sealed and water-proofed against just such an emergency, and now she ploughed forward throwing a sheet of water to each side.
But her forward rush faltered as the green water poured over her.
Now suddenly the entire sand dyke collapsed under the white surf and the Atlantic took control. The tall wave of green water that raced across the pit hit the Land-Rover, upending her, throwing Johnny into the jubilant frothing water, while the Land-Rover rolled over on her back, pointing all four wheels to the sky in surrender.
Johnny went under but came up immediately. Half swimming, half wading, battered by the boisterous sea he struggled on towards the yellow island of steel.
The sea struck him down, and he went under again.
Found his feet for a moment, then had them cut from under him once more.
Then suddenly he had reached the bulldozer and was dragging himself up over the tracks to the driver’s seat. He was coughing and vomiting sea water, as he reached the controls.
The bulldozer seat immovable, held down by her own twenty-six tons of dead weight on to the hard bedrock of the pit. Although the sea burst over her, and swirled through her tracks, it could not move her.
Through eyes bluffed and swimming with salt water and his own tears, Johnny briefly checked the gauges on the instrument panels. She had oil pressure and engine revs, and high above his head the exhaust pipe chugged blue smoke.
Johnny coughed again. Vomit and sea water shot up his throat in a scalding jet, but he pushed the throttle wide and threw in both clutch levers.
Ponderously the great machine ground forward, almost contemptuously shouldering the sea aside, her tracks solidly gripping the bedrock.
Johnny looked about him quickly. The sand ramps at each end of the pit were washed away. The sides were sheer now, and behind him the sea was rushing unimpeded into the pit.
A wave broke over his head, and Johnny shook the water from his hair like a spaniel and looked around with mounting desperation for an avenue of escape.
With a shock of surprise he saw the Old Man. He had thought him to be four hundred miles away in Cape Town, but here he was on the edge of the pit. The white hair shone like a beacon.
Instinctively Johnny swung the bulldozer in his direction, crawling through the turbulent waters towards him.
The Old Man was directing two of the other bulldozers, reversing them as close as he dared to the lip of the bank of sand, while from the service truck parked below the cliff a line of Ovambos came staggering down the beach with the heavy tractor tow chain over their shoulders. They shuffled bow-legged under the tremendous weight of the chain, sinking ankle deep into the sand with each step.
The Old Man roared at them, urging them on, but the words were lost in the thunder of diesel engines and the ranting of the wind and the sea. Now he turned back to Johnny.
“Get her in close,” the Old Man yelled through cupped hands.
“I’ll bring the end of the chain down to you!” Johnny waved an acknowledgement, then grabbed at the controls as the force of the next wave pushed even the giant tractor off its line, and Johnny felt the diesel falter for the first time - the water had found its way in through the seals at last.
Then he was under the high bank of yellow sand that towered twenty feet above him and he scrambled forward over the engine bonnet to meet the Old Man.
The Old Man was poised on the lip of the pit with the end of the chain draped in a loop over both shoulders. He was stooped beneath its weight, and when he stepped forward the sand crumpled away beneath him and he came sliding and slipping down the steep incline, buried waist deep, the great chain snaking after him.
Judging the rush of the sea Johnny jumped down to help him.
Together, battered by the sea, they dragged the chain to the bulldozer.
“Fix it on to the blade arm,” grunted the Old Man, and they got a double turn of chain around the thick steel
