Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur - Страница 56

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Surely not. She was confused. There is nothing out there before the Okavango river and Portuguese territory, the horses will never make it across the wastes of Bushmanland. Nevertheless she made her next cast across that northern segment and almost immediately cut the outgoing spoor, fresh and cleanly printed in the soft earth.

Three riders each leading a spare horse, not an hour ago.

Lothar must be taking the northern route after all. He is crazy, or he has worked out something. She followed the fresh spoor for a mile, to make certain that he had not doubled or backtracked. The spoor ran straight and unwavering into the shimmering heat mists of the northern wastes, and she shivered as she remembered what it was like out there.

He must be crazy, she whispered. But I know he isn't.

He's going for the Angola border. That's his old base from the ivory-poaching days. If he reaches the river we'll never see him again. He has friends over there, the Portuguese traders who bought his ivory. This time Lothar will have a million pounds of diamonds in his pocket and the wide world to choose from. I have to catch him before he gets across. Her spirits quailed at the enormity of the idea and she felt despondency come at her again. He has prepared this carefully, everything is in his favour. We'll never catch him. She fought off the beast of despair. Yes, we will. We have to. I have to outwit and beat him. I simply have to, just to survive. She whirled and ran back to the abandoned camp.

The severed telegraph wires drooped to earth and she gathered the ends and clipped the bridging wires from the coil to them, drawing them just taut enough to keep them clear of the earth.

She put her tap into the circuit and screwed the terminals to the pack of dry-cell batteries. The batteries had been renewed before she left Windhoek. They should still be full of life. For a dreadful moment her mind went blank and she could not remember a single letter of the Morse code, then it returned with a rush and she hammered quickly on the brass key.

Juno for Vingt. Acknowledge. For long seconds there was only echoing silence in her headphones, then the startling beep of the reply: f Vingt for Juno. Go ahead. She tried to pick the short word and terse abridged phrase as she told Twenty-man-Jones of the robbery and gave her position, then went on: Negotiate stand-off with strikers as recovery of goods mutually essential. Stop. Take truck to northern tip of O'chee Pan and locate Bushman encampment in mongongo forest. Stop. Bush-leader named Kvii. Stop. Tell Kwi "Nam Child kaleya". Repeat "Nam Child kaleya, and she gave thanks that the word kaleya bore phonetic rendition into the Roman alphabet and required neither the complicated tonals nor the clicks of the Bushman language. Kaleya was the distress call, the cry for help that no clan member could ignore. Bring Kwi with you, she went on and continued with her further instructions; and when she signed off Twenty-man-Jones acknowledged and then sent: Are you safe and unharmed. Query. Vingt. Affirmative. Ends. Juno. She mopped the sweat off her face with the yellow silk scarf. She was sitting in the direct rays of the sun. Then she flexed her fingers and bent once more to the keyboard and tapped out the call sign of her operator in the offices of Courtney Mining and Finance Company in Windhoek.

The acknowledgement was prompt. Obviously the operator had been following her transmission to Twenty-man-Jones, but she asked: Have you copied previous? Affirmative, he tapped back.

Relay previous to Administrator Colonel Blaine Malcomess plus following for Malcomess. Quote: Request cooperation in capture of culprits and recovery of stolen goods.

Stop. Do you have report on large number stolen horses or purchase of horses by one Lothar De La Rey within last three months. Respond soonest. Ends. Juno. The distant operator acknowledged and then continued: Pettifogger for Juno. Abe must have been summoned to the telegraph office the minute they received their first transmission.

Greatly concerned for your safety. Stop.

Remain your present position. Stop. And Centaine exclaimed irritably, I sucked that egg long ago, Abe. But she copied the rest of it.

Armed escort left Windhoek 5 am instant. Stop. Should reach you early tomorrow. Stop. Stand by for Malcomess.

Ends. Pettifogger. The wires were long enough to allow her to move the keyboard into the strip of shade below the bank and while she waited she gave all her concentration to the task ahead.

Certain facts were apparent and the first of these was that they were never going to catch Lothar De La Rey in a stern chase. He had too long a lead, and he was going into country over which he had travelled and hunted for half his life. He knew it better than any living white man, better than even she did, but not better than little Kwi.

We have to work out his route and cut him off, and we will have to use horses. Trucks will be useless over that terrain. Lothar knows that, he is banking on that. He will choose a route that trucks can never follow. She closed her eyes and visualized a map of the northern territory, that vast forbidding sweep of desert called Bushmanland.

She only knew of surface water at two points, one the place she always thought of as Elephant Pan, and the other a deep seep below a hillock of shale. They were secret Bushman places, both of which old O'wa, her adopted grandfather, had shown her fifteen years before. She wondered if she could find either water-hole again, but she was certain that Lothar knew them and could ride directly to them. He probably knew of other water-holes that she did not.

The beep of the telegraph disturbed her and she reached for it eagerly.

Malcomess for Juno. Police report theft of 26 horses from military remount depot Okahandja 3rd of last month. Stop.

Only two animals recovered. Stop. State your further requirements. I was right! Lothar has set up staging posts across the desert, she exclaimed, and she closed her eyes and tried to visualize a map of the northern territory, estimating distances and times. At last she opened her eyes again, and bent to the telegraph key.

Convinced fugitives attempting to reach Okavango river direct. Stop. Assemble small mobile force of desert-trained men with spare horses. Stop. Rendezvous Kalkrand Mission Station soonest. Stop. I will join you with Bushman trackers. Twenty-man-Jones reached her before the escort from Windhoek. O'chee Pan was on his direct route, only a few miles from the road. The company truck came rumbling over the plain and Centaine ran down the tracks to meet it, waving both hands above her head and laughing wildly with relief.

She had changed into breeches and riding-boots from her luggage in the Daimler.

Twenty-man-jones jumped down from the cab and came to her in a long-legged lolloping run. He caught her and held her to his chest.

Thank God, he muttered fervently. Thank God you are safe. It was the first time ever that he had embraced her and he was immediately embarrassed. He released her and stepped back scowling to cover it.

Did you get Kwi? she demanded.

In the truck. Centaine ran to the truck. Kwi and Fat Kwi were crouched in the back, clearly both of them terrified by the experience.

They looked like little wild animals in a cage, their dark eyes huge and swimming.

Nam Child! shrieked Kwi, and both of them rushed to her for comfort, twittering and clicking with relief and joy.

She hugged them like frightened children, murmuring assurance and endearments.

I will be with you now. There is nothing to fear. These are good men and I will not leave you. Think what stories you will be able to tell the clan when you return. You will be famous amongst all the San, your names will be spoken through all the Kalahari. And they giggled merrily at the notion, childlike, their fears all forgotten.

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