They were led by an old matriarch. Youngsters scurried to keep up. Dallas counted at least six mature bulls with good ivory, and young males jostled and scrapped between themselves.
‘They’re beautiful,’ Lorna breathed.
‘Unusual,’ Logan muttered. ‘There’s plenty of food and water around. What has made so many families join forces?’
‘Hunters?’
‘I hope not,’ Logan responded. ‘They’ll be damned aggressive if that’s the case.’
‘They’re showing no sign of nervousness,’ Dallas observed. ‘It may be the good grazing.’
‘Perhaps.’ Logan sounded doubtful. ‘There are some big boys among them. If we’re lucky, we’ll be in the money.’
‘No heroics,’ Dallas warned. ‘Take them in the open.’
Logan threw him a hard look. ‘We’ll take them where we damned-well can. Tomorrow.’
The presence of so many elephants worried Dallas. Family units tended to number between ten and twenty. They were happy to greet other herds but usually parted company again. This was not a massed gathering as they’d seen last year. What outside pressure had made these animals stick together?
Will, who decided to go out of the oppressive humidity of the valley and shoot something for their supper, provided the answer. ‘Hunters,’ he said, on his return. ‘Found a couple of carcasses. The tusks are gone. Wheel tracks head off into the hills. Couple of weeks ago, I’d say.’
‘Hngh!’ Logan grunted. ‘No sign of them in the valley. That’s something at least.’
In their wagon later that night, Lorna asked Dallas about the dangers. He didn’t try to hide his concern. ‘It depends where they are and if they’ve been shot at before. Some of the forest along the river is pretty dense. You have to get close. If they’re in the water or out in a clearing it’s easier.’
‘Why not shoot as they come into the valley?’
‘No cover. We’d never get near enough. Besides, after the first shot they’ll panic and run for the gorge. It’s best to give them space to get away.’
‘Do we have to kill them?’
Dallas pulled her into his arms. ‘Were it up to me, no. I feel the same as you. We’re in the minority, I’m afraid. Most hunters have no feelings one way or another for elephants. They represent money, that’s all. Logan’s not like them but he’s not like us either. I don’t know what it is with him. It’s as if he has to prove something. This time it’s different.’
‘How?’
‘Well, normally he gets out there, shoots what he can, becomes moody as if nursing a guilty conscience, then goes back the next day to do it all again. He once said nothing beats it for excitement. Perhaps it is as simple as that, I don’t know. This time I think he feels his reputation is at stake. He’s a proud man. And stubborn. That arm isn’t reliable and he knows it. That’s why I can’t let him go after them on his own. With elephants running everywhere, you need at least two effective rifles. Even with his gun bearer loading for him, Logan might be too slow.’
‘Can’t someone else do it?’
‘Will is scared witless of elephants. And most Zulus are no good with guns.’
She stirred, tightening her arms around him. ‘I can shoot.’
‘I know. You’re a damned good shot. But this is dangerous. You’re not coming with us.’
It was pitch dark in the wagon. Dallas felt her hurt.
‘I’m sorry, darling, you’re too precious to place in danger. What would happen to Cam if we were both –’
‘Don’t.’ Her hand clapped over his mouth. ‘Don’t even think about something like that.’
‘I hate killing elephants,’ Dallas went on, kissing her fingers. ‘Once was enough. They’re almost human in some respects. I swore I’d never shoot another. Now . . .’ His voice tailed off.
‘If anything happens to you, I’ll kill Logan.’
The conviction in her voice made Dallas smile. ‘You and Cam will be safe with the wagons. As soon as you hear the first shot, make sure you both lie low in here. The elephants will come this way making for the gorge. They won’t charge a wagon but if you’re on the ground, you could be in trouble. Promise me you’ll do as I ask.’
‘You’ll be on the ground, though, won’t you?’
‘Behind a tree with a loaded gun in my hand.’
‘I’m scared. There were an awful lot of them.’
‘They may be gone by tomorrow.’
‘God, I hope so.’
The elephants stayed. It was barely light when Mister David quietly woke Dallas. ‘Ndhlovu still here. Those we saw yesterday and more.’
Dallas’s guts knotted as nerve ends tightened. There were too many. It was madness to think that two puny men with guns could take on such numbers.
He dressed and joined Logan at the fire. ‘Still with me?’ the older man asked.
‘Do I have a choice?’
Faded eyes flicked to his then down to the rifle he was checking. ‘You know you do.’
Dallas shook his head. ‘And you know I don’t.’
‘Who needs a damned wet nurse?’ Logan loaded both his single barrel eight-bores with spherical lead projectiles that had been hardened with tin. ‘Stay here with your wife and son.’
‘You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?’
Logan’s smile was tight but he made no comment.
Dallas could see that getting into the right frame of mind was proving harder than it had in the past. ‘We don’t have to do this.’
‘You don’t. I do.’ Logan’s shaggy head turned and his eyes bored into Dallas’s. ‘I need the money. I’m not getting any younger. Don’t you understand? This is my last chance.’
‘That’s rubbish and you know it. You can make a decent living by trading.’
‘It’s not the same.’
Dallas left it. They’d had this conversation before, and despite his words to Lorna last night, he didn’t understand Logan’s reasoning any better this time. The man seemed determined to court danger, test himself against the odds. In some ways, Dallas was no different, questioning, even flaunting, many of the rules people were expected to live by. But this went further. He’d seen his partner take risks but now there was a kind of desperation in him. Perhaps Logan really did believe it was his last chance and for that reason chose to ignore the overwhelming evidence that it might be suicidal.
‘Relax,’ Logan advised Dallas. ‘They’re still too close to the wagons. We’ll let them browse a while longer.’
It was over an hour before they set off after the elephants. Logan’s mood swung from taunting to tense and back again. Dallas’s feelings weren’t much more stable. Committed to going with Logan, he couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he’d never been more scared in his life.
‘Let’s go,’ Logan said finally, handing a loaded eight-bore to his African gun bearer. Mister David was ready with one of Dallas’s lighter double rifles. ‘It will take a while to get into position,’ he told Will and Lorna. ‘When you hear shots, go straight to the wagons and stay there. You’ll be quite safe.’
‘Take care.’ Lorna kissed Dallas hard on the mouth, anxiety in her eyes. ‘You too.’ She pecked at Logan’s cheek.
Dallas noticed that Logan had the silliest grin on his face as they walked away.
The elephants were a good couple of miles away, spread out and browsing in the trees. Dallas could see none but heard them quite clearly. In some places, the dense bush was several hundred yards deep. There was not a breath of wind. Logan’s gun bearer led them silently towards the river. Firing from that direction would force the elephants out onto the plain.
‘We could do with somebody else shooting,’ Logan commented. It was his only concession to the danger they faced.
Dallas focused his mind on the job at hand. This was no time for sympathy or aversion to the havoc they were about to wreak on so many unsuspecting animals. That luxury could come later. Right now, his main objective was to keep everybody a
live. He was helpless to prevent the build-up of tension as they crept stealthily forward. Dallas’s hands remained steady but, in his guts, the flutters felt as if he were trembling. Mister David was one pace behind, holding his second gun. Logan’s man remained out in front. Well back and strung out over a hundred yards or so, came the African skinners armed only with assegais and knives.
Reaching the river at a point where the elephants were probably half a mile away, Logan’s gun bearer froze and nodded. A small herd of zebra had just left the water and were making their way back through the trees to graze on the open plain beyond. The zebra hadn’t spotted them, but with excellent eyesight and a nervous disposition, if they did, and panicked, they could easily spook the elephants. Luckily, the herd disappeared giving no sign that they’d seen anything threatening.
A storm was building, dark clouds rolling in over the distant hills. It brought an unwanted breeze into the valley causing leaves to rustle overhead in restless relief. Logan took up the lead and started forward again. He moved in slow motion, the rifle held across his body, each foot carefully placed to avoid making a sound.
A breaking branch. Dead ahead. Freeze. Ignoring the streaming, salt-laden sweat and forgetting the persistent moisture-seeking flies, they froze and listened. Another branch. To the left. What’s that? Shadow? No. Something moved. A crawling sensation crossed Dallas’s scalp. As his eyes adjusted to the dappled light, he began to look through, rather than at, the bush. Indistinct shapes came vividly into focus. Feeding elephants were all around them, some as close as twenty feet away. They had somehow walked right into the middle of them.
Dallas saw Logan slowly turn. His chin lifted. ‘Back off.’ The gesture was clear. Dallas looked behind. No good. Elephants. Christ! How many can there be? Freeze.
Sweat, suddenly icy cold, ran down Dallas’s chest and back. His throat felt dry, gut constricted, each heartbeat thundered in his chest. Get ready. He eased a thumb towards the hammers of his uncocked rifle. I’m dead. They’re too close. Too many of them.
Dallas could smell them, hear their stomach rumblings. A bull to his left stopped feeding. The animal remained perfectly still. Flap your ears. Eat. Do something.
‘Wind’s shifted,’ Logan warned, his voice absurdly, suicidally, shockingly loud. ‘Look out, they’re on to us.’
For an instant nothing happened as man and beast tried to assimilate their proximity to each other. The ramifications were deadly for both. Then all hell broke loose.
Reacting instinctively, Dallas and Logan turned back-to-back, their eyes everywhere, rifles up and ready, gun bearers beside them. Both men were right-handed and, with no words spoken, each covered an area ahead and to their left.
Shutting his mind to everything save a basic instinct for self-preservation, Dallas sensed a large cow to his right lift her trunk. Her eyes latched onto the intruders. With little or no hesitation, she tucked up her trunk, a foot swung back once, her head shook violently and outstretched ears flapped wildly. Then, with a shrill trumpet, she came. Every sense heightened, Dallas ignored her. The elephant was on Logan’s left. Even while focused on his own field of fire, a corner of Dallas’s mind remained aware of his partner’s actions.
Logan’s heavy rifle thundered. Still she came. He grabbed for his other gun and took aim. Before he could fire, the cow collapsed. Smoothly, with no break in concentration, Logan raised the muzzle and fired again. Another cow dropped, just behind the first. Two shots, two down. Dallas registered Logan reaching for the other rifle with his bad arm, fumble, then drop it. Without conscious thought, he covered them both until his partner was ready to fire again. It seemed as if, instead of trying to flee, some of the elephants were actually seeking them out. Enraged screams filled his head. Deadly shapes bore down. Animal and man were driven by one single thought. Kill or be killed. Neither wanted to die. The nerves of moments ago had been replaced by a cool and certain knowledge that if he didn’t get them, they’d get him. And all the while, for every single second of the mayhem that had erupted, Dallas felt like an observer. He missed nothing. He felt nothing.
One of the skinners had turned and tried to run. He was overtaken, picked up like a piece of tinder and flung higher than the trees. Dallas saw him land, with bone-breaking impact, back on the ground. Two more elephants fell to brain shots before he could look back. The young bull was kneeling on his victim, shrieks of agony louder than the trumpeting all around. Dallas hesitated. A fraction of time was all it took. If he killed the animal, it might fall on the Zulu. If he didn’t, the man was dead anyway. It was more instinct than thought which drove him. He fired. A knee shot. The elephant tried to move forward, stumbled and fell. The skinner was free of the crushing weight but didn’t move. Dallas’s mind clicked over. Out of action. The Zulu was unnaturally flat and covered in blood. Elephant twitching, trying to stand. Finish him later.
Logan yelled something. Dallas glanced behind. The hunter was swearing loudly. His gun had failed to fire. Three elephants were converging on them. Logan’s hand reached back for his other rifle. Dallas fired and brought one animal down. He turned to the next and fired again. Hand back. The second double slapped into his waiting left hand. Snatch. Cock. Aim. Fire. Where’s Logan? Cock. Aim. Fire. Hand back. He and Mister David were like machines. Where’s fucking Logan? Slap. Reloaded gun. Cock. Aim. Fire. Turn. Cock. Aim. Fire. Hand back. Not so many now. Fire. Got you. Dallas had no idea how long the carnage lasted or how many animals he’d killed. What did register was that his partner’s guns had fallen silent.
Sudden, painfully loud silence. They’ve gone. Where’s Logan? In slow motion, rifle ready, Dallas turned, his eyes scanning. Dust hung in the air heavy with the smell of burnt gunpowder. Fear hovered then pounced. Logan had been right behind him. Now there was nothing but dusty space. Dallas was shaking, swearing, crying. ‘Logan?’ he croaked.
Nothing. Deathly still. The kind of silence to dread. The depth of it spelt disaster.
‘Fuck it, Logan. Where are you?’
Mister David’s hand found his arm and squeezed gently. The African nodded, his eyes looking away to the left. Logan! Leaning against a tree. Sitting. How did he get there? Legs straight out, rifle in his lap, head slumped to one side. Something wrong. Too quiet.
Then Dallas noticed the blood. It welled from a gaping wound in Logan’s chest. Realisation dragged at his guts. On legs of jelly, Dallas ran to his fallen partner. Logan was still breathing.
‘Logan. Jesus, man, talk to me.’
One eye opened. A grimace crossed his face and a deep groan escaped. ‘Bastard got me,’ he whispered, his words hardly audible as he struggled to breathe. ‘One too many.’ Logan gagged as bright lung blood frothed from his mouth.
Dallas knelt beside him. The tusk had probably missed Logan’s heart, though the damage it caused would be just as fatal.
‘Stay with me.’ Logan’s voice was nothing more than a whisper as life ebbed from him. ‘Good . . . good way to go.’
Sweat and tears poured down Dallas’s face. There was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do. He reached out a hand and gripped Logan’s shoulder. It felt hard and solid. Dependable. Alive. Sobs threatened and Dallas swallowed them away. Logan raised pain-filled eyes. ‘Cheers, old boy.’ Moments later, a shudder ran through the old hunter and he was gone.
Not possible. Seconds before, Logan had been thinking, feeling, breathing. Now nothing. Even his staring eyes showed nothing. The impartial lack of emotion that is death. Where do you go? Life can’t stop just like that.
Dallas jumped as he heard more firing. A part of his mind registered approval. Mister David was delivering a coup de grâce to those that needed it. No point in a ‘dead’ elephant coming back to life and killing them. Not that it would bother you, old friend. Logan’s sightless eyes couldn’t have cared less. Lucky or not? Dallas didn’t know.
Ten minutes later, when Mister David returned, Dallas was still on his knees, still gripping his friend’s shoulder, someho
w trying to reassure the man that he was there. Tears, a combination of grief and spent fear, had come and gone. Dallas needed to think, take action, but the ability to do either escaped him.
‘Sixteen,’ Mister David announced.
‘What?’ Dallas glanced up, eyes unfocused.
‘Sixteen elephants,’ Mister David repeated patiently, understanding the paralysis that gripped his employer. To the Zulu, Dallas had become a hero. Already, words for a praise poem were forming in the African’s mind. ‘Two other men are dead. The rest are gone, run away.’ Mister David’s lip curled. ‘Women!’ he said contemptuously.
Dallas didn’t blame them. At least they were alive.
Nineteen lives snuffed out. As the number sank in Dallas gave a low groan of despair. All for what? Profit? He rose and looked down at Logan, a man who had died doing what he loved. There was an almost fatalistic justice in that. What about the two Zulus? They lost their lives because of blind faith that the white men’s guns would keep them safe. Dallas assumed that the other man who had died would be Logan’s gun bearer. He stayed till the end. What did hunters say? A good Kaffir is one who doesn’t run. It made sense around the campfire. Reality was something else. And the elephants? Oh yes, they had a choice. Two in fact. Kill or be killed. Escape or be killed. Either way, sixteen now lay dead.
He was breathing more normally. Thinking. Things to be done. Bury the dead. Cut out tusks. Distribute the meat. Get out of this dreadful place.
Distant shots sounded from where the wagons waited. Lorna! Cam! He’d left them there with two Africans and Will, the former unarmed, the latter no doubt scared half to death. Panicked elephants, too frightened to be cautious. Oh Jesus!
Dallas ran, uncaring of the thorns that tore his clothes and flesh, unaware of the stifling midday heat, indifferent to a protesting body that had already absorbed more than any man should. He ran as though pursued by some unspeakable evil. The firing stopped and still he ran, lungs bursting as they burned up oxygen in that sultry, humid hell. ‘Lorna?’ Her name wrung from him, high and wavering in fear and exertion. ‘Lorna?’ He ran the full three miles, in every step a fear so great it nearly choked him.
Shadows in the Grass Page 41
