The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 51

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kill swiftly but at the same time to inflict the least possible damage

to the skin.

To this end he had loaded the Rigby with full metal jacket bullets -

ones that would not expand on impact and open a wide wound channel, nor

rip out a gaping hole in the coat as they exited. These solid bullets

would punch a tiny hole the size of a pencil that the taxidermist at the

museum would be able to repair invisibly.

He felt his nerves screwing up as he realized that the dik-dik was not

going to stop in the open. It made steadily for the thick scrub on the

far side of the clearing. This might be his last chance. He fought the

temptation to take the shot at the moving target, and it required an

effort of will to lift his finger off the trigger again.

The antelope reached the wall of thorn scrub -and, the moment before it

disappeared, stopped abruptly and thrust its tiny head into the depths

of one of the low bushes.

Standing broadside to Nicholas, it began to nibble at the pate green

tufts of new leaves. The head was screened, so he had to abandon his

intention of going for that shot.

However, the shoulder was exposed. He could make out the clear outline

of the blade beneath the glossy red-brown skin. The dik-dik was angled

slightly away from him, in the perfect position for the heart shot,

tucked in low behind the shoulder.

Unhurriedly he settled the reticule of the scope on the precise spot,

and squeezed the trigger.

The shot whip-cracked in the heavy heated air and the tiny antelope

bounded high, coming down to touch the earth already at a full run. Like

a rapier rather than a cutlass, the solid bullet had not struck with

sufficient shock to knock the dik-dik over. Head down, the dik-dik

dashed away in the typical frantic reaction to a bullet through the

heart. It was dead already, running only on the last dregs of oxygen in

its bloodstream.

"Oh, no! Not that way," Nicholas cried as he jumped to his feet. The

tiny creature was racing straight towards the lip of the cliff. Blindly

leaped out into empty space and flipped into a somersault as it fell,

dropping from their sight, down almost two hundred feet into the chasm

of the Dandera river.

"That was a filthy bit of luck." Nicholas jumped over the bush that had

hidden them and ran to the rim of the chasm. Royan followed him and the

two of them stood peering down into the giddy void.

"There it is!" She pointed, and he nodded. "Yes, I can see it."

The carcass lay directly below them, caught on an islet of rock in the

middle of the stream.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'll have to go down and get it." He straightened up and stepped back

from the brink. "Fortunately it's still early.

We have plenty of time to get the job done before dark.

I'll have to go back to camp to fetch the rope and to get some help."

It was afternoon before they returned, panied by Boris, both his

trackers and two of the skinners. They brought with them four coils of

nylon rope.

Nicholas leaned out over the cliff and grunted with relief "Well, the

carcass is still down there. I had visions of it being washed away." He

supervised the trackers as they uncoiled the rope and laid it out down

the length of the clearing.

"We will need two coils of it to get down to the bottom he estimated

and joined them, painstakingly tying and checking the knot himself. Then

he plumbed the drop, lowering the end of the rope down the cliff until

it touch the surface of the water, and then hauling it back  and

measuring it between the spread of his arms.

"Thirty fathoms. One hundred and eighty feet. I won't be able to climb

back that high," he told Boris. "You and your gang will have to haul me

back up."

He anchored the rope end with a bowline to the hole of one of the wiry

thorn trees. Then he again tested it meticulously, getting all four of

the trackers and skinners to heave on it with their combined weight.

"That should do it," he gave his opinion as he stripped to his shirt and

khaki shorts and pulled off his chukka boots. On the tip of the cliff he

leaned out backwards with the rope draped over his shoulder and the tail

brought back between his legs in the classic. absed style.

"Coming in on a wing and a prayerP he said, and jumped out backwards

into the chasm. He controlled his fall by allowing the rope to pay out

over his shoulder, braking with the turn over his thigh, swinging like a

pendulum and kicking himself off the rock wall with both feet. He went

down swiftly until his feet dangled into the rush of water, and the

current pushed him into a spin on the end of the rope. He was a few

yards short of the spur of rock on which the dead dik-dik lay, and he,

was forced to let himself drop into the river. With the end of the rope

held between his teeth he swam the last short distance with a furious

overarm crawl, just beating the current's attempt to sweep him away

downstream.

He dragged himself up on to the island and took a few moments to catch

his breath, before he could admire the beautiful little creature he had

killed. He felt the familiar melancholy and guilt as he stroked the

glossy hide and examined the perfect head with the extraordinary

proboscis. However, there was no time now for regrets, nor for the

searching of his hunter's conscience.

He trussed up the dik-dik, tying all four of its legs together securely,

then he stepped back and looked up. He could see Boris's face peering

down at him.

"Haul it up!" he shouted, and gave three yanks on the rope as the agreed

signal. The trackers were hidden from his view, but the slack in the

rope was taken up and then the dik-dik lifted clear of the island and

rose jerkily up the wall of the chasm. Nicholas watched it anxiously.

There was a moment when the rope seemed to snag when the carcass was

two-thirds of the way to the top, but then it freed itself and snaked on

up the cliff.

Eventually the dik-dik disappeared from his sight, and there was a long

delay until the rope end dropped back over the tip. Boris had been

sensible enough to weight it with a round stone the size of a man's

head, and he was hanging over the top of the cliff, watching its

progress and signalling to his men to control the descent.

When the end of the weighted line touched the surface of the water it

was just out of Nicholas's reach. From the top of the cliff Boris began

to swing the line until the end of it pendulumed close enough for

Nicholas to grab it.

With a bowline knot Nicholas tied a loop in the end of the line and

slipped it under his armpits. Then he looked up at Boris.

"Heave away!" he yelled, and tugged the dangling rope three times. The

slack tightened and then he was lifted off his feet. He began to ascend

in a series of spiralling jerks and heaves. As he rose, the belled wall

of the chasm arched in to meet him, until he could fend off from the

rock with his bare feet and stop himself spiralling at the end of the

rope. He was fifty feet from the top of the cliff when suddenly he

stopped abruptly, dangling helplessly against the rock face.

"What's going on?" he shouted up at Boris.

"Bloody rope has jammed," Boris yelled back. "Can you see where it is

stuck?"

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