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He was too damned clever for that. He knew I would have put a rocket up
him that would have made him the first man on the moon. 'So that's why
you put up the fence. 'No. Why then? Because for fourteen years
Jabulani has been under the care of an absentee landlord who didn't give
a good damn what happened to it. Old Sam here, he motioned at the game
ranger in the truck - did his best, but still it became a poachers
paradise. As fast as the grazing and water you boast of pulled my game
out of the Park, so they were cut down by every sportsman with an itchy
trigger finger. When Sam tried to do something about it, he got badly
beaten up, and when that didn't stop him somebody put fire into his hut
at night.
They burned two of his kids to death. David felt his very soul quail at
the thought of the flames on flesh, his cheeks itched at the memory. I
didn't know, he said gruffly.
No, you were too busy making money or who tever is your particular form
of pleasure, Berg was angry. -all at last Sam came to me and I gave him
a job. Then I strung this fence. There is nothing left on Jabulani, a
few kudu and a duiker or two, but otherwise it's all gone. You are so
right. it didn't take them long to clean it out. 'I want it back. Why?
Berg scoffed. So you can be a sportsman like your daddy? So you can
fly your pals down from Jo'burg for the weekend to shoot the shit out of
my lions? Berg glanced at Debra, and immediately his red face flushed a
deep port-wine colour. I'm sorry, Mrs. Morgan, I did not mean to say
that. That's perfectly all right, Mr. Berg. I think it was very
expressive. Thank you, ma'am. Then he turned furiously back to David.
Morgan's Private Safari Service, is that what you are after? I would
not allow a shot fired on Jabulani, 'said David.
I bet, except for the pot. That's the usual story.
Except for the pot, and you've got the battle of Waterloo being fought
all over again. No, said David. Not even for the pot.
You'd eat butcher's beef? Berg asked incredulously.
Look here, Mr. Berg. if you pull your fence out, I'll have Jabulani
declared a private nature reserve Berg had been about to say something,
but David's declaration dried the words, and his mouth remained hanging
open. He closed it slowly.
You know what that means? he asked at last. You place yourself under
our jurisdiction, completely. We'd tie you up properly with a lawyer's
paper and all that stuff: no owner's licence, no shooting lions because
they are in a cattle area. Yes. I know. I've studied the act. But
there is something more. I'd undertake to fence the other three
boundaries to your satisfaction, and maintain a force of private game
rangers that you considered adequate, all at my own expense. Conrad
Berg lifted his hat and scratched pensively at the long sparse grey
hairs that covered his pate. Man, he said mournfully, how can I say no
to that?
Then he began to smile, the first smile of the meeting. It looks like
you are really serious about this then. 'My wife and I are going to be
living here permanently.
We don't want to live in a desert. Ja, he nodded, understanding
completely that a man should feel that way. The strong revulsion that
he had onginally felt for the fantastic face before him was fading.
I think the first thing we should work on is these poachers you tell me
about. Let's snatch a couple of those and make a few examples, David
went on.
Berg's big red face split into a happy grin.
I think I'm going to enjoy having you as a neighbour, he said, and again
he thrust his hand through the fence.
David winced as he felt his knuckles cracking in the huge fist.
Won't you come to di
You and your wife? Debra asked with relief. It will be a mighty great
pleasure, ma'mI'll get out the whisky bottle, said David. That's kind
of you, said Conrad Berg seriously, but the missus and I only drink Old
Buck dry gin, with a little water. 'I'll see to it, said David just as
seriously.
Jane Berg was a slim woman of about Conrad's age. She had a dried-out
face, lined and browned by the sun. Her hair was suribleached and
streaked with grey, and, as Debra remarked, she was probably the only
thing in the world that Conrad was afraid of.
I'm talking, Co
huge spouse, or a significant glance at her empty glass sent him with
elephantine haste for a refill. Conrad had a great deal of trouble
finishing any story or statement, for Jane had to correct the details
during the telling, while he waited patiently for an opportunity to
resume.
Debra chose the main course with care so as not to give offence,
beefsteaks from the deep freeze, and Conrad ate four of them with
unreserved pleasure although he spurned the wine that David served.
That stuff is poison. Killed one of my uncles, and stayed with Old Buck
gin, even through the dessert.
Afterwards they sat about the cavernous fireplace with its logs blazing
cheerfully and Conrad explained, with Jane's assistance, the problems
that David would face on Jabulani.
You get a few of the blacks from the tribal areas coming in from the
north Or across the river, Jane added.
Or across the river, but they are no big sweat They set wire snares
mostly, and they don't kill that much. But it's a terribly cruel way,
the poor animals linger on for days with the wire cutting down to the
bone, Jane elaborated.
As I was saying, once we have a few rangers busy that will stop almost
immediately. It's the white poachers with modern rifles and hunting
lamps 'Killing lamps, Jane corrected.
killing lamps, that do the real damage. They finished off all your game
on Jabulani in a couple of seasons. Where do they come from? David
asked, his anger was rising again, the same protective anger of the
shepherd that he had felt as he flew the skies of Israel.
There is a big copper mine fifty miles north of here at Phalabora,
hundreds of bored miners with a taste for venison. They would come down
here and blaze away at every living thing, but now it's not worth the
trip for them. Anyway they were just the amateurs, the weekend
poachers. 'Who are the professionals? Where the dirt road from
Jabulani meets the big national highway, about thirty miles from here -
At a place called Bandolier Hill, Jane supplied the name. - there is a
general dealer's store. it's just one of those trading posts that gets
a little of the passing trade from the main road, but relies on the
natives from the tribal areas. The person who owns and runs it has been
there eight years now, and I have been after him all that time, but he's
the craftiest bastard, I'm sorry, Mrs. Morgan I have ever run into.
'He's the one? David asked.
He's the one, Conrad nodded. Catch him, and half your worries are over.
What's his name? Akkers. Johan Akkers, Jane gave her assistance, the
Old Buck was making her slightly owl-eyed, and she was having a little
difficulty with her enunciation.
How are we going to get him! David mused. There isn't anything left on
Tabulani to tempt him, the few kudu we have got are so wild, it wouldn't
be worth the effort. No, you haven't got anything to tempt him right
now, but about the middle of September More like the first week in
September, Jane said firmly with strings of hair starting to hang down