THE BOY was more curious than other children. He loved to look for stones in the red earth and polish them with his spittle. He found some beautiful ones too-deep-blue ones and ones which had a copper-red hue, like the sky at dusk. He kept his stones at the foot of his sleeping mat in his hut and learned to count with them. The other boys learned to count by counting cattle, but this boy did not seem to like cattle-which was another thing that made him odd.
Because of his curiosity, which sent him scuttling about the bush on mysterious errands of his own, his parents were used to his being out of their sight for hours on end. No harm could come to him, unless he was unlucky enough to step on a puff adder or a cobra. But this never happened, and suddenly he would turn up again at the cattle enclosure, or behind the goats, clutching some strange thing he had found-a vulture's feather, a dried tshongololo millipede, the bleached skull of a snake.
Now the boy was out again, walking along one of the paths that led this way and that through the dusty bush. He had found something which interested him very much-the freshdung of a snake-and he followed the path so he might see the creature itself. He knew what it was because it had balls of fur in it, and that would only come from a snake. It was rock rabbit fur, he was sure, because of its colour and because he knew that rock rabbits were a delicacy to a big snake. If he found the snake, he might kill it with a rock, and skin it, and that would make a handsome skin for a belt for him and his father.
But it was getting dark, and he would have to give up. He would never see the snake on a night with no moon; he would leave the path and cut back across the bush towards the dirt road that wound its way back, over the dry riverbed, to the village.
He found the road easily and sat for a moment on the verge, digging his toes into soft white sand. He was hungry, and he knew that there would be some meat with their porridge that night because he had seen his grandmother preparing the stew. She always gave him more than his fair share-almost more than his father-and that angered his two sisters.
'We like meat too. We girls like meat.'
But that did not persuade the grandmother.
He stood up and began to walk along the road. It was quite dark now, and the trees and bushes were black, formless shapes, merging into one another. A bird was calling somewhere-a night-hunting bird-and there were night insects screeching. He felt a small stinging pain on his right arm, and slapped at it. A mosquito.
Suddenly, on the foliage of a tree ahead, there was a band of yellow light. The light shone and dipped, and the boy turned round. There was a truck on the road behind him. It could not be a car, because the sand was far too deep and soft for a car.
He stood on the side of the road and waited. The lights werealmost upon him now; a small truck, a pickup, with two bounding headlights going up and down with the bumps in the road. Now it was upon him, and he held up his hand to shade his eyes.
'Good evening, young one.' The traditional greeting, called out from within the cab of the truck.
He smiled and returned the greeting. He could make out two men in the cab-a young man at the wheel and an older man next to him. He knew they were strangers, although he could not see their faces. There was something odd about the way the man spoke Setswana. It was not the way a local would speak it. An odd voice that became higher at the end of a word. 'Are you hunting for wild animals? You want to catch a leopard in this darkness?'
He shook his head. 'No. I am just walking home.' 'Because a leopard could catch you before you caught it!' He laughed. 'You are right, Rra! I would not like to see a leopard tonight.'
'Then we will take you to your place. Is it far?' 'No. It is not far. It is just over there. That way.'
THE DRIVER opened the door and got out, leaving the engine running, to allow the boy to slide in over the bench seat. Then he got back in, closed the door and engaged the gears. The boy drew his feet up-there was some animal on the floor and he had touched a soft wet nose-a dog perhaps, or a goat.
He glanced at the man to his left, the older man. It would be rude to stare and it was difficult to see much in the darkness. But he did notice the thing that was wrong with the man's lip and he saw his eyes too. He turned away. A boy should never stare at an old man like this. But why were these people here? What were they doing?
'There it is. There is my father's place. You see-over there. Those lights.'
'We can see it.'
'I can walk from here if you like. If you stop, I can walk. There is a path.'
'We are not stopping. You have something to do for us. You can help us with something.'
'They are expecting me back. They will be waiting.'
'There is always somebody waiting for somebody. Always.'
He suddenly felt frightened, and he turned to look at the driver. The younger man smiled at him.
'Don't worry. Just sit still. You are going somewhere else tonight.'
'Where are you taking me, Rra? Why are you taking me away?'
The older man reached out and touched the boy on the shoulder.
'You will not be harmed. You can go home some other time. They will know that you are not being harmed. We are kind men, you see. We are kind men. Listen, I'm going to tell you a little story while we travel. That will make you happy and keep you quiet.
'There were some herd boys who looked after the cattle of their rich uncle. He was a rich man that one! He had more cattle than anybody else in that part of Botswana and his cattle were big, big, like this, only bigger.
'Now these boys found that one day a calf had appeared on the edge of the herd. It was a strange calf, with many colours on it, unlike any other calf they had ever seen. And, ow! they were pleased that this calf had come.
'This calf was very unusual in another way. This calf could sing a cattle song that the boys heard whenever they went near it. They could not hear the words which this calf was using, but they were something about cattle matters.
'The boys loved this calf, and because they loved it so much they did not notice that some of the other cattle were straying away. By the time that they did notice, it was only after two of the cattle had gone for good that they saw what had happened. 'Their uncle came out. Here he comes, a tall, tall man with a stick. He shouts at the boys and he hits their calf with his stick, saying that strange calves never brought any luck.
'So the calf died, but before it died it whispered something to the boys and they were able to hear it this time. It was very special, and when the boys told their uncle what the calf had said he fell to his knees and wailed.
'The calf was his brother, you see, who had been eaten by a lion a long time before and had come back. Now this man had killed his brother and he was never happy again. He was sad. Very sad.'
The boy watched the man's face as he told the story. If he had been unaware of what was happening until that moment, now he knew. He knew what was going to happen.
'Hold that boy! Take his arms! He's going to make me go off the road if you don't hold him.'
'I'm trying. He is struggling like a devil.'
'Just hold him. I'll stop the truck.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE SUCCESS of the first case heartened Mma Ramotswe. She had now sent off for, and received, a manual on private detection and was going through it chapter by chapter, taking copious notes. She had made no mistakes in that first case, she thought. She had found out what information there was to be had by a simple process of listing the likely sources and seeking them out. That did not take a great deal of doing. Provided that one was methodical, there was hardly any way in which one could go wrong.
Then she had had a hunch about the crocodile and had followed it up. Again, the manual endorsed this as perfectly acceptable practice. 'Don't disregard a hunch,' it advised. 'Hunches are another form of knowledge.' Mma
