A Lion by the Mane Page 14

  Using this physical attribute to his advantage, the witch-doctor made mystic signs and symbolic gestures as he strutted round and round his subject, and the assembled tribesmen quickly worked up a frightening antipathy towards Jan. Despite this, they kept at a safe distance from the supposed evil of the man with the burning hair.

  The whole scene was beginning to mesmerize Margaret. Rhythmic stamping feet, glistening ebony bodies swaying in unison, and monotonous chanting all had a somnolent effect on her until she pulled herself up, sharply recognizing it for what it was – mass hypnosis. Next minute, above the chanting, came a sound like heavy water falling on to stone. The tribesmen cringed in mortal fear as they fell silent at the long eerie wail which left the lips of the bird-figure. Margaret craned her head forward through the window aperture in an attempt to follow his pointing finger, then drew in a startled breath. On the far side of the compound the thatched roof of one of the huts was afire, the flames devouring the dry grass with crackling, spluttering gluttony and shooting a spiral of smoke upwards to the sun.

  It was the magnificent finale of the tribal magician, a masterly display of sorcery by one who had studied his subject and his audience to an uncanny degree. With advance knowledge of Jan’s arrival, the witch-doctor had had time to prepare his strategy. It was not difficult to start a fire in tinder-dry grass under this fierce heat. The application of a small fragment of glass or inflammatory material was all that was needed to produce this spectacular evidence of Jan’s affinity with the element of fire. Margaret could only marvel, but the others present saw it as a manifestation of wickedness which could destroy them. From that minute, there was not a warrior amongst them who did not look upon this white man as his enemy!

  Having achieved his object, the bird-figure departed and the circle gradually broke up, leaving Jan alone. For five minutes Margaret waited for the next development, but when they lengthened into ten and the normal routine of the kraal began again with the women and children leaving their hiding places in the huts, the dreadful truth dawned on her. The wives and young adolescent girls took up their chores with sublime indifference to the stranger in their midst, and naked liquorice children continued another day of indolent happiness with their simple playthings. Only when one bold infant approached too near the white man did his mother show that she was aware of his presence by commanding her offspring to return to her side immediately. Jan was left, a solitary figure isolated in the midst of a busy community, and there they planned to leave him beneath the burning sky as if he were of no more account than one of the skinny bleating goats which were tethered beside their homes.

  The scene stood out in frightening 3-D, and it was more than the girl could bear. She rushed at the doorway, but the guards were too quick for her and barred the entrance.

  ‘You can’t leave him there,’ she shrieked at them. ‘Let me go to him . . . at least let me be with him.’

  They forced her back into the interior, but when a woman is desperate she makes a powerful adversary. ‘Look, look,’ she gasped, fumbling in her bag. ‘Look, you can have these.’ Her trembling fingers offered a small mirror and nail scissors, but when these were met with a dumb stare, flung them down and produced a platinum ball-point pen and a mother-of-pearl compact. ‘Go on . . . take them!’ she commanded wildly. ‘You can have the lot. Just let me out of here. I’ve got to get out, do you hear. OUT!’ Another rush was met with similar resistance, so she changed her tactics and tackled the window aperture. It was impossible to squeeze through so small a square, but through it she could see Jan with that vile rope collar rooting him to the spot, and passion flared anew.

  ‘He’ll die if you leave him there! Don’t you understand, you savages, that man will die!’ She didn’t consider for a minute she was wasting her time addressing these men in English; there was simply a driving need to din the facts into their woolly heads. ‘Take me to that bird-man of yours,’ she pleaded desperately. ‘I’ll pay you.’ Yanking open her purse she emptied the contents into her hand and held it out to them. After a few seconds of indecision, they took the notes with long sinewy fingers, and Margaret breathed her relief. It was short-lived! The tribesmen had no intention of letting her set foot outside that hut, as she discovered when they raised their assegais.

  The last tattered remnants of her self-control deserted her and she turned into a lioness rather than a woman in her frenzied struggle to get to Jan. It met with impossible resistance, and she eventually flung herself against an interior wall with an hysterical sob of surrender.

  ‘Oh no, no, no!’ The palms of her hands banged against the hard-baked mud. ‘Oh no, no!’

  The tears flowed fast and unheeded as she sank to the ground, beside herself with distress, and buried her face against her bent-up knees while her hands, tugging at the shining hair falling each side of her face, sought to produce a pain more acute than that which was eating at her stomach. Never having been driven to such depth of feeling before, it was difficult for the girl to find an outlet, and between rasping sobs the words ‘Oh no, no’ were repeated over and over again as she moved around the floor like one possessed.

  During this time a kaleidoscope of memories floated through her brain with tormenting clarity. Jan, hurt and angry, telling Chris about the Dakota . . . Van Heerdon saying, ‘I can buy Jan any time I like’ . . . her own pure tones: ‘There is nothing more fatal to the male of the species’ . . . The shuddering and thumping of a plane landing in rough country . . . Jan saying, ‘Not another of those cattle injections’ . . . black faces in the dimmed hospital lights . . . Sergeant De Wet leering and scratching his vast belly . . . trying to wake an amorous red-haired man in the middle of the night . . . the lions staring at her with unreadable expressions . . . Jan’s freckled face bearing that same expression after she had gracelessly chided him for rescuing her from the snake. That memory brought on a fresh need for punishment and she clawed at the floor breaking her nails in the process.

  This was the moment of truth! After the first exploratory facets, the time had come for Destiny to make the final bold stroke which would cleave the jewel and hope to produce a perfect solitaire. Now, at last, there was something she wanted so badly she would fight for it against all odds; something which meant more to her than she had ever thought possible. Never had her heart’s desire been so out of reach, so deep in the jungle, so lost in the rapids. This love for Jan had joined the conspiracy against her by arriving too late. No longer was she fooled by the adjectives ‘maternal’ or ‘nursy’, but recognized the surging inside her for what it was. No more did she wish to rap his knuckles or catechize over his smoking habits, nor did she have the urge to tuck him up in bed with a bandage round his head. Her one desire was to run out there and tell him that she understood what he had tried to do, that she believed in him, that here was someone who would stand by him no matter what he took on. The birth-pangs of this love were exquisite though they tore her apart, and her crying gradually diminished as the strength of it coursed through her veins.

  Back at the window with some idea of fortifying him with a flow of telepathic compassion until she could devise a way of getting free, Margaret found him standing still as a rock with his head tilted up to some remote spot in the distance. The back of his shirt was wet through and his arms glistened with sweat, but there was no sign of flagging in his straight back. He was going through this without help, as he did with everything else! Her new perceptiveness shone into the depths of his character, revealing something which had always been there but which everyone seemed to have overlooked. Basically Jan Schroeder was a lonely man – and never more lonely than at this moment!

  She gripped the white wall as the yearning built up once more within her, but before it reached ignition point, a white man emerged from behind the burnt-out hut and strolled across the compound. He was instantly recognizable as Elliot Van Heerdon.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Thank God!’ breathed Margaret as Van Heerdon reached Jan, but the newcom
er made no attempt to release the captive. The girl watched incredulously as the pale, sandy-haired man stood conversing as if he were with a contemporary in a bar, paying no heed to the condition his listener was in. This man must be a real brute; he could not be excused as an uncivilized native under the spell of a superior intelligence. The sadistic trait which could leave another human to suffer while he looked on was deliberate and strong in him. The proof of this was when he started to walk away after repeated head-shakings from Jan – but he had reckoned without Margaret.

  ‘I want a word with you,’ she cried, ‘or do you extend your brutality to women also!’

  From his reaction it was clear he had had no idea of her presence. Spinning on his heel as his eyes searched wildly for the source of this female voice speaking English, he gave every evidence of having received a severe shock, and Margaret took advantage of it.

  ‘See how vulnerable you are,’ she taunted. ‘You may render one adversary helpless, but there is always another watching when you least expect it.’

  Van Heerdon located her then and came across to the window, even paler than before. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded on an outgoing breath. ‘Nobody informed me of this.’

  ‘Your organization cannot be as trustworthy as you thought. Sorry, but you have me on your hands and conscience whether you like it or not. The last time we met, you accused me of making you feel uncomfortable. I hope I have succeeded in doing it again!’

  Van Heerdon came round to the doorway and the guards stood aside to let him enter. He looked at the girl in her dirt-smeared clothes and rubbed his chin nervously. ‘Craig Barker said you were at Myala, but I hadn’t bargained on Jan bringing you with him. You are an unwelcome complication.’

  Suddenly Margaret’s bravado vanished. ‘You can’t leave him out there . . . it’s inhuman! Are you prepared to let a fellow man slowly die of heat and thirst while he is tied up like a lowly animal?’

  A shadow flitted across the pale features. ‘Of course I shan’t let him die. He is far too valuable!’

  ‘Then why . . .?’

  ‘The minute he agrees to my proposition, that rope comes off.’

  ‘Proposition?’

  ‘He has always been so amenable in the past. I can’t understand this sudden vindictiveness.’

  ‘I told you you had not looked beneath his party manner.’

  ‘Quite the amateur psychologist, aren’t you?’ he sneered. ‘I suppose being an animal doctor entitles you to look upon the human race as the most sophisticated of the mammals, and pronounce on its behaviour.’ His plummy English accent sounded alien after three days surrounded by South Africans.

  She realized she would get nowhere by arguing with him, and meanwhile Jan was out there beneath that sun!

  ‘You haven’t explained about the proposition,’ she coaxed, veering on to a different tack. ‘Perhaps I could persuade him to agree.’

  ‘Why you?’ he shot at her.

  ‘We have become lovers . . . that’s why he brought me with him.’ The lie came out pat, and if she felt a small sense of shock at what she had said it didn’t show on her face.

  ‘I . . . see,’ said Van Heerdon thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never known Jan to take a woman’s advice before . . . but you are not the type of woman he usually associates with. Perhaps it’ll work.’

  ‘I’ll see that it does.’

  The pale, almost invisible, eyebrows rose at that and the watery blue irises beneath them expressed mild respect. ‘I can’t say I have your wealth of confidence, but go ahead by all means.’

  ‘Well?’ She waited in a fever of impatience.

  ‘Jan has worked for me in a small way for over a year. It was never a secret that he needed the extra money I paid him to boost up his share of Schroeder Freight with a view to taking control of the company. He is ambitious, but frustrated . . . and the combination of these two qualities is what I want in my employees. They are prepared to set aside their scruples to achieve their aims. However, one cannot have the best of both worlds and the price they have to pay for this opportunity is complete loyalty to me. I recognize their needs and freely reward their services with financial generosity, but when there is a slight breakdown involving some personal risk, I do not expect them to whine about the consequences and demand sworn statements to let them off the hook. I have no time for rats who desert a ship the minute a small leak has sprung.’

  It was intolerable to listen to all this and Margaret had to bite her lip to avoid leaping to Jan’s defence.

  ‘Come to the point,’ she begged.

  ‘In time. The longer he stays out there, the easier your task will be. Now, where was I? When Jan was first introduced to me I could scarcely believe my good fortune. A pilot with the necessary attributes was who I had been looking for for a long time. As a bonus, he had his own small company with its two aircraft. I had thought, once having found the right man, I would have to supply the machine for him, but Schroeder Freight was the ideal cover to disguise any link with me. The only snag seemed to be his brother, Chris, but once I realized how things stood between them the whole set-up was perfect. I approached him cautiously, but he was so eager he leapt at the bait before I had even cast the line. During the early months he carried out, to my complete satisfaction, every assignment I gave him, but when the chance of this arms contract came up I decided to keep him in ignorance of what he was doing until he was in sole control of the air-freight company. It wasn’t that I intended using his services without paying for them – I rewarded him indirectly by selling him that Dakota at a ridiculous price, for instance – but the project was too important to risk his making Chris suspicious by an unguarded slip of the tongue.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ inserted Margaret tautly.

  ‘I planned this whole organization with masterly thoroughness,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I had the customer over here, the supplier in Cape Town, and the means of transporting the merchandise. All I needed was a contact at Myala to pass the stuff over the border.’

  He leant back against the wall and stretched his lips in a smile. ‘You know, it’s amazing how easily people can be bought!’ It seemed to be one of his favourite subjects. ‘Young Craig’s weakness is women, so when he went to the city after weeks at Myala he liked to live it up. It didn’t take him too long to agree to a little poaching in the Reserve by these boys here, for which he received a percentage of the profits . . . and after that, we had him nicely on the hook. It wasn’t ideal – his nerves are not steady enough for this type of contract, which is why he panicked and ran instead of dealing with Jan at Myala. I don’t think I can use him any more. Russell Martin’s death has really unmanned him.’

  ‘But you still want Jan?’

  ‘Naturally. Once he recovers his senses he will see the situation for what it really is – the chance of his lifetime! It is not often I regard any of my people as indispensable, but he is as close to that as I am prepared to go. I see no reason why things cannot go on as before. When Craig radioed from Myala I flew up immediately, but once here it occurred to me that all is not lost. The authorities will connect the flight of the Assistant Warden and two Rangers with the murder of Russell Martin – that is all. Once I leak a little evidence of Craig’s poaching there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind. There will be no reason to suspect any other activity.’

  ‘What about the police sergeant at Alwynsrus?’

  ‘I have already sent someone to deal with him.’

  Margaret closed her lips firmly after that remark. She did not wish Dr Gavascar to be ‘dealt with’, and since she was the only person who knew he knew about the guns, it ensured his safety. If only she had told Chris the whole story over the radio-telephone yesterday afternoon! Van Heerdon was right . . . the gun-running would be completely unsuspected.

  He continued. ‘I can install another contact at Myala once things have calmed down, and Jan can continue flying guns in.’

  ‘He’ll neve
r do that!’ she cried without thinking.

  ‘That’s what he said . . . but you feel you can persuade him,’ returned Van Heerdon, his eyes narrowing. ‘You are sure of success, I trust.’

  She covered up her slip with, ‘Yes, providing you offer him an extra incentive. He is taking a big risk bringing those crates past the authorities.’

  ‘I have already told you I am generous to my employees; my proposition is more than that. In view of the unique importance he commands, I am prepared to speed-up Jan’s take-over of Schroeder Freight. A lump sum should provide the financial expedient, and a little conniving on my part will ensure that Chris becomes discredited, loses some of his best clients, and eventually faces financial ruin. With Jan running the company with a couple of hand-picked assistants, we could really go places. The business could be extended world-wide. The prospects are endless! Jan would achieve an otherwise impossible ambition, and my business would flourish. He will never have such a golden opportunity again . . . yet he told me to go to hell! If his stubbornness is due to greed he is wasting his time, for I don’t go in for haggling. That’s my offer. He can take it or leave it!’

  ‘And if he refuses?’

  ‘He won’t. An hour or two out there will make him settle for my terms. However, your offer to talk some sense into him will cut the proceedings short and be doing me a favour. If we are going to work together, I’d prefer Jan not to start out feeling resentful. It clouds issues unnecessarily!’

  How little Van Heerdon knows Jan, thought Margaret. I could never persuade him to agree to this . . . I wouldn’t try . . . but once he is untied and in this hut we have a chance of escape. He did it once without much trouble, I dare say he can do it again. The most important thing is to get him out of that sun!