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    Cry Wolf

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      and gathered stiffly in a small group on the lip of the ravine, "There

      is Ethiopia, two hundred yards away. It's two years since last I stood

      upon the soil of my own country," said Gregorius, his big dark eyes

      catching the last of the light.

      He stopped himself and explained. "The river rises in the high country

      near Addis Ababa and comes down one of the gorges into the lowland. A

      short distance downstream from here it ends in a shallow swamp. There

      its waters sink away into the desert sand and disappear.

      Here we are standing on French territory still, ahead of us is

      Ethiopia, there far to the north is Italian Eritrea."

      "How far is it to the Wells of Chaldi?"Gareth interrupted.

      That for him was the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold.

      Gregorius shrugged. "Another forty miles, perhaps."

      "How do we get across this lot?" Jake muttered, staring down into the

      dim depths of the ravine where the shallow pools still glowed dull

      silver.

      "Upstream there is an old camel route to J ibuti," Gregorius told him.

      "We might have to dig out the banks a little, but I think we'll be able

      to cross."

      "I hope you are right," Gareth told him. "It's a long way home, if we

      have to go back." The view of water that she had glimpsed in the

      depths of the ravine haunted Vicky Camberwell during the night. She

      dreamed of foaming mountain streams and spilling waterfalls, of

      moss-covered boulders, swaying green ferns about a deep cold pool, and

      she awoke, restless and tired, with sweat plastering her hair to her

      neck and forehead. There was just the first promise of dawn in the

      sky.

      She thought that she was the only one awake and she crept into the

      vehicle and fetched her towel and toilet bag, but as she jumped down to

      the ground she heard the clink of spanner on steel and she saw Jake

      stooped over the engine compartment of his car.

      She tried to sneak away before he saw her, but he straightened

      suddenly.

      "Where are you going?" he demanded. "As if I didn't know. Listen,

      Vicky, I don't like you wandering around out of camp on your own."

      "Jake Barton, I feel so filthy I can smell myself. Nothing and nobody

      is going to stop me getting down to the river." Jake hesitated. "I'd

      better come down with you."

      "This isn't the Folies Berg&e, my dear," she laughed, and he had

      learned enough not to argue with this lady. He watched her hurry to

      the lip of the ravine and disappear down the steep slope with vague

      misgivings, for which he could find no real substance.

      The earth and loose stone rolled easily underfoot, and Vicky restrained

      her impatience and picked her way carefully towards the water, until

      she reached a narrow game trail that tipped down at a more comfortable

      angle, and she followed it with relief. Her footsteps, falling

      silently on to the soft earth, followed faithfully the string of round

      five- toed pad marks, larger than a saucer, which had been plugged

      deeply by the heavy weight of the animal that had made them. Vicky did

      not look down, however, and if she had, it was doubtful if she would

      have recognized what she was seeing. The faintly reflected light of

      the pools drew her like a beacon.

      When she reached the bottom of the ravine, she found that the river was

      so shrunken that it was no longer flowing.

      The pools were shallow, stagnant and still warm from the previous day's

      sun. The storm waters of the awash had cut down through the softer

      upper layers of earth until they exposed the sheet of hard black

      ironstone that formed the floor of the ravine.

      Vicky stripped off her sweat-damp clothing and stepped down into one of

      the shallow pools, sighing with the pleasurable feel of water on her

      skin. She sat waist-deep and scooped handfuls of water over her face

      and breasts, washing away the dust and salt-sticky sweat of the

      desert.

      Then she waded to the edge of the pool and selected a bottle of shampoo

      from her bag. The water was so soft that she swiftly worked up a thick

      coating of white suds that covered her head and ran down her neck on to

      her bare shoulders.

      She rinsed the soap off and bound the towel around her wet head like a

      turban, before kneeling in the shallow pool and soaping her entire

      body, delighting at the slipperiness of the suds and their fragrance.

      By the time she was finished, the light had strengthened and she knew

      that the others would be up and chafing to resume the march.

      She stepped out on to the flat black rock that surrounded the pool and

      stood for a moment to feel the first gentle movement of the morning

      breeze against her naked skin, and suddenly she had a strong sensation

      that she was being watched. She, turned swiftly, half crouching, her

      hands flying instinctively to cover her bosom and her groin.

      The eyes that watched her were of a savage golden colour, and the

      pupils were glistening black slits. The stare was steady and

      unblinking.

      The huge reddish-gold beast crouched on a level ledge of rock,

      halfway up the far bank of the ravine. It lay with its forepaws drawn

      up under its chin, and there was a sense of deadly stillness about it

      that was chilling, although Vicky did not readily recognize what she

      was seeing.

      Then very slowly the dark ruff of the mane came erect, swelling out

      around the head and exaggerating its already impressive bulk. Then the

      tail twitched and began to slash back and forth with the steady beat of

      a metronome.

      Suddenly Vicky knew what it was. She heard again in her imagination

      the echoes of that terrible sound in the night and she screamed.

      Jake had just completed the adjustments he was making to the ignition

      of his car and closed the engine cowling. He picked up the fluted

      bottle of Scrubbs Cloudy Ammonia to dissolve the grease from his hands.

      At that instant he heard the scream and he began to run without a

      conscious thought.

      The scream was so high and shrill, an expression of mortal terror,

      that Jake's heart raced in sympathy and when the scream came again, if

      anything shriller still, he leaped the bank and went sliding and

      running down the steep slope of the ravine.

      It was only seconds from when he heard the first scream until he came

      skidding and sliding down on to the rocky floor of the ravine beside

      the pool.

      He saw the naked girl crouching at the edge of the pool, both hands

      pressed to her mouth. Her body was pale and slim, with the small tight

      round buttocks of a lad and long graceful legs.

      "Vicky," he shouted. "What is it?" And she turned quickly to him,

      her breasts swinging heavily at the movement, round and white with

      large pink nipples standing out tightly with cold and shock. Even in

      the extremity of the moment, he could not help but glance down at the

      smooth velvety plain of her belly and the fluffy dusky triangle at its

      base. Then she was running towards him on those long coltish legs, and

      her face was deadly white, and the speckled green eyes huge and

      swimming with rampant
    terror.

      "Jake," she cried. "Oh God, Jake," and then he saw movement beyond

      her, halfway up the bank of the water course.

      The wound had stiffened during the night, almost paralysing the lion's

      hindquarters, and the torn entrails were leaking poison and infection

      into the belly cavity. It had slowed the animal so drastically that

      the natural reflexive anger which the sight of a human form had roused

      was not strong enough to precipitate the charge.

      However, the sound of the human voice immediately invoked memories of

      the hunters who had inflicted this terrible aching agony "and the anger

      flared higher.

      Then suddenly there was another of the hated two-legged figures,

      more noise and movement, all of this enough to counter the stiffness

      and paralysing lethargy. The lion rose slightly out of his crouch and

      he growled.

      Jake ran four paces to meet Vicky and she tried to throw her arms about

      his neck for protection, but he avoided the embrace and grasped her

      upper arm with his left hand, his fingers digging so deeply into her

      flesh that the pain steadied her. Using the impetus of her run, he

      swung her on towards the path that climbed the slope.

      "Run," he shouted. "Keep running." And he turned back to face the

      crippled animal as it launched itself from the ledge into the bed of

      the river.

      It was only then that Jake realized that he still carried a full bottle

      of Scrubbs Ammonia in his hand. The lion came bounding swiftly through

      the shallow stagnant pool towards him. Despite the wounds, it followed

      with lithe and sinuous menace. it was so close that he could see each

      stiff white whisker in the curled upper lip and hear the rattle of air

      in its throat. He let it come on, for to turn and run was suicide.

      At the last moment he reared back like a baseball pitcher and hurled

      the bottle. It was an instinctive action, using the only weapon

      however puny that was at hand.

      The bottle flew straight at the lion's head, catching it in the direct

      centre of its broad forehead as it lunged smoothly upwards towards the

      ledge where Jake stood.

      The bottle exploded in a burst of sparkling glass splinters and a

      creamy gush of the pungent liquid. It filled both the lion's eyes,

      blinding it instantly, and the stench of concenits open mouth and

      flaring nostrils killed trated ammonia in its sense of smell and

      shocked its whole system so violently that it missed its footing and

      fell, roaring with the agony of scalded eyeballs and burning throat,

      into the shallow water where it rolled helplessly on its back.

      Jake ran forward, seizing the few seconds of advantage he had gained.

      He stooped to pick up a water-worn ironstone boulder the shape and size

      of a football, and swung it up above his head with both hands.

      As he poised himself on the ledge above the pool, the lion recovered

      its balance and came up at him blindly. Jake swung the boulder down

      from on high and, like a cannon ball, it smashed into the back of the

      animal's neck, where the sodden mane covered the juncture of skull and

      vertebrae, crushing both so that the dreadfully mutilated beast

      collapsed and rolled on to its side, half in the water and half on the

      black rock ledge.

      For long seconds Jake stood over it, panting with exertion and

      reaction, then he leaned forward and touched with his fingertip the

      long pale lashes that fringed the lion's open staring golden eye.

      Already the sheen of the eyeball was clouded by the corrosive liquid.

      At Jake's touch there was no blinking reflex, and he knew that the

      animal was dead.

      He turned to find that Vicky had not obeyed his instruction to run. She

      stood frozen where he had left her, naked and vulnerable, so that he

      felt his heart shift within him and he went to her quickly.

      With a sob she flew into his arms and clung to him with startling

      strength. Jake knew that the embrace was the consequence of terror not

      affection, but as his own heart-beat slowed and the tingle of the

      adrenalin in his blood receded, he thought that he had achieved a solid

      advantage. If you save a girl's life, she just has to take you

      seriously, he reasoned, and grinned to himself still a little

      unsteadily. All his senses were enhanced by the high point of recent

      danger. He could smell the perfumed soap and the stink of ammonia. He

      could feel with excruciating clarity the slim hard length of the girl's

      body pressed to his and the smooth warmth of her skin under his

      hands.

      "Oh Jake!" she whispered brokenly, and with sudden aching certainty he

      knew that in this moment she was his to take, to possess right here on

      the black rock bank of the Awash, beside the warm carcass of the

      lion.

      The knowledge was certain and his hands moved on her body,

      receiving instant confirmation her body was quick and responsive, and

      her face turned up to his. Her lips trembled and he could feel her

      breath upon his mouth.

      "What the hell is going on down there?" Gareth's voice rang across the

      murky depths of the gorge. He stood at the top of the bank high above

      them. He had one of the Lee Enfield bolt-action rifles under his arm

      and seemed on the point of coming down to them.

      Jake turned Vicky, shielding her with his own big body and slipping off

      his moleskin jacket to cover her nakedness.

      The jacket reached halfway down her thighs and folded voluminously

      around under her armpits. She was still shivering like a kitten in a

      snowstorm, and her breathing was broken and thick.

      "Don't worry about it," Jake called up at Gareth. "You weren't in time

      to help, and you aren't needed now." He groped in his hip pocket and

      Produced a large, slightly grubby handkerchief, which Vicky accepted

      with a tearful, quivering smile.

      "Blow your nose," said Jake. "and get your pants on, before the whole

      gang arrives to give you a hand." regorius was so impressed that he

      was speechless for several minutes. In Ethiopia there is no act of

      ivalour so highly esteemed as the single-handed hunting and killing of

      a full-grown adult lion, The warrior who accomplishes this feat wears

      the mane thereafter as a badge of his courage and earns the respect of

      all. The man who shoots his lion is respected, and the man who kil

      with a spear is venerated. - Gregorius had never heard of one killed

      with a single rock and a bottle of ammonia.

      Gregorius skinned out the carcass with his own hands.

      Before he had finished, the black pinioned vultures were sailing in

      wide circles overhead. He left the naked pink carcass lying in the

      river bed, and carried the wet skin up to the bivouac where Jake was

      fretting to continue the trek towards the Wells. He was irreverent in

      his disdain of the trophy, and Greg tried to explain it to him.

      "You will gain great prestige amongst my people, Jake.

      Wherever you go, people will point you out to each other."

      "Fine

      Greg. That's just fine. Now will you kindly haul arse.

      "I will have a war bonnet made for you out of the mane, Greg insisted,

    &nb
    sp; as he strapped the bundle of wet skin to the sponson of Jake's car.

      "With the hair combed out, it will look very grand."

      "It could only be an improvement on his present hair style," Gareth

      observed drily. "I agree it's been a beautiful honeymoon, and Jake is

      a splendid lad but like he said, let's move on, before I am violently

      ill." As they moved towards their respective cars, Gregorius fell in

      beside Jake and quietly showed him the mushroomed copper-jacketed

      bullet he had removed from its niche in the pelvic bone of the

      carcass.

      Jake paused to examine it closely, turning it in the palm of his

      hand.

      "Nine millimeter, or nine point three," he said. "It's a sporting

      calibre not military."

      "I doubt if there is a single rifle in

      Ethiopia that would fire this bullet," said Greg seriously. "It's a

      foreigner's rifle."

      "No need to blow the bugle yet," said Jake, and flicked the bullet back

      to him. "But we'll bear it in mind." Gregorius almost turned away,

      then said shyly, "Jake, even if the lion was already wounded it's still

      the bravest thing I ever heard of. I have often hunted for them, but

      never killed one yet." Jake was touched by the boy's admiration. He

      laughed roughly and slapped his shoulder.

      "I'll leave the next one for you," he promised.

      They followed the windings of the River Awash through the savannah

      grassland, moving in towards the mountains so that with each hour

      travelled the peaks stood higher and clearer into the sky. The ridges

      of rock and the deep-forested gorges came into hazy focus, like a wall

      across the sky.

      Suddenly they intersected the old caravan road, hitting it at a point

      where the steep banks of the Awash flattened a little. The ford of the

      river had been deeply worn over the ages by the passage of laden beasts

      of burden and the men who drove them, so that the many footpaths down

      each bank were deep trenches in the red earth, that jinked to avoid any

      large boulder or ridge of rock.

      The three men worked in the brilliant sunlight and swung shovel and

      mattock in a fine mist of red dust that powdered their hair and bodies.

      They filled in the uneven ground and deeply worn trenches,

      levering the boulders free and letting them roll and bounce down into

      the river bed, and slept that night the deathlike sleep of utter

      exhaustion that ignored the ache of abused muscle and burst blisters.

     


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