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"For Chrissake, be careful with that goddamn piece,"
Fly
Twelve hours later, the canoes reappeared around the same bend, and headed towards the lone monkey-bean tree on the bank. The canoes rode lightly, empty of ivory, and the paddlers were singing one of the old river chants.
Freshly shaved, wearing a clean shirt and his other pair of boots, a case of Fly
A fine blue tendril of camp-fire smoke smeared out across the river, but there were no figures waving a welcome from the bank. Suddenly Sebastian frowned as he realized that the silhouette of the monkey-bean tree had altered. He wrinkled his eyes, peering ahead uncertainly.
Behind him rang the first cry of alarm from his boatmen.
"Allemand!"And the canoe swerved under him.
He glanced back and saw the other canoes wheel away in tight circles aime downstream, the boatmen jabbering in terror as they leaned forward to thrust against the paddles.
His own canoe was in swift pursuit of the others as they darted beyond the bend.
"Hey!" Sebastian shouted at the sweat-shiny backs of his paddlers. "What do you think you're doing?"
They gave him no answer but the muscles beneath their black skins bunched and rippled in their frantic efforts to drive the canoe faster.
"Stop that immediately!" Sebastian yelled at them. "Take me back, dash it all. Take me to the camp."
In desperation Sebastian lifted the rifle and aimed at the nearest man. "I'm not joking," he yelled again. The native glanced over his shoulder into the gaping twin muzzles and his face, already twisted with fear, now convulsed into a mask of terror. They had all developed a healthy reverence for the way Sebastian handled that rifle.
The man stopped paddling, and one by one the others followed his example. Sitting frozen under the hypnotic eyes of Sebastian's rifle.
"Back!" said Sebastian and gestured eloquently upstream.
Reluctantly the man nearest him dipped his paddle and the canoe turned broadside across the current. "Back!" Sebastian repeated and the men dipped again.
Slowly, warily, the single canoe crept upstream towards the monkey-bean tree and the grotesque new fruit that hung from its branches.
The hull slid in onto the firm mud and Sebastian stepped ashore.
"Oud" he ordered the boatmen and gestured again. He wanted them well away from the canoe for he knew that, otherwise, the moment his back was turned they would set off downstream again with renewed enthusiasm. "Oud" and he herded them up the steep bank into Fly
The two bearers who had died of gunshot wounds lay beside the smouldering fire. But the four men in the monkey bean tree had been less fortunate. The ropes had cut deeply into the flesh of their necks and their faces were swollen, mouths wide in the last breath that had never been taken. On the lolling tongues the flies crawled like metallic green bees.
"Cut them down!" Sebastian roused himself from the nausea that was bubbling queasily up from his stomach. The boatmen stood paralysed and Sebastian felt anger now mixed with his revulsion. Roughly he shoved one of the men towards the tree. "Cut them down," he repeated, and thrust the handle of his hunting knife into the man's hand.
Sebastian turned away as the native shi
"Fly
"Fly
"Master!" and Sebastian felt disappointment swoop in his chest.
"Mohammed. Is that you, Mohammed?" and he recognized the wizened little figure with the eternal fez perched on the woolly head as it emerged. Fly
"Mohammed," with relief, and then quickly, Fini? Where is Fini?"
"They shot him, master. The Askari came in the early morning before the sun. Fini was washing. They shot him and he fell into the water."
"Where? Show me where."
Below the camp, a few yards from where the canoe was drawn up, they found the pathetic little bundle of Fly
"We must find him. He might still be alive. Call the others. We'll search the banks downstream."
In an agony of loss, Sebastian picked up Fly