Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur. Страница 39

She put the tip of her finger in her mouth. And if you want that too, it will cost you another pound. There were no limits to her daring now.

The moon was only days from full and it washed the desert with molten platinum, while the shadows along the ravine walls were leaden blue smudges. The camp sounds carried faintly along the ravine, somebody was chopping firewood, a bucket clanged and the women's voices at the cooking fires were like bird sounds heard from afar. Closer at hand a pair of prowling jackal cried, the odours from the cooking pots exciting them into their wild, wailing, almost agonized chorus.

Fourie squatted against the wall of the ravine and lit a cigarette, watching the ravine along which the girl must come. The flare of the match illuminated his fleshy unshaven features and he was so intent that he was totally unaware of the predatory eyes that watched him out of the blue moon shadows close by. His whole existence centred on the arrival of the girl and already he was breathing with eager little grunts of anticipation.

She was like a wraith in the moonlight, silvery and ethereal, and he heaved himself to his feet and crushed out the cigarette.

Annalisa! he called, his voice low and quivering with the need of her.

She stopped just out of reach before him, and when he lunged for her she danced away lightly and laughed with a mocking tinkle.

Five pounds, Meneer, she reminded him, and drew nearer as he fumbled the crumpled bank notes out of his back pocket. She took them and held them up to the moon. Then, satisfied, tucked them away in her clothing and stepped boldly up to him.

He seized her around the waist and covered her mouth with his wet lips. She broke away at last, laughing breathlessly, and held his wrist as he reached under her skirt.

Do you want the other pound's worther It's too much, he panted. 'I haven't got that much. Ten shillings, then, she offered, and touched the front of his body with a small cunning hand.

Half a crown, he gasped. That's all I have got. And she stared at him, still touching him, and saw she could get no MOre out of him.

All right, give it to me, she agreed, and hid the coin before she went down on her knees in front of him as though for his blessing. He placed both hands on her curly sun-streaked head and drew her towards him, bowing his head over her and then closing his eyes.

Something hard was thrust into his ribs from behind with such force that the wind was driven from his lungs and a voice grated in his ear.

Tell the little bitch to disappear. The voice was low and dangerous and dreadfully familiar.

The girl leaped to her feet, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She stared for an instant over Fourie's shoulder with wide terrified eyes, then whirled and raced up the ravine towards the camp on long flying legs.

Fourie fumbled clumsily with his clothing and turned to face the man who stood behind him with the Mauser rifle pointed at his belly.

De La Rey! he blurted.

Were you expecting somebody else? No! No! Fourie shook his head wildly. It's just, so soon. Since last they had met Fourie had had time to repent of their bargain. Cowardice had won the long battle over avarice, and because he wanted it so he had convinced himself that Lothar De La Rey's scheme was like so many others that he had dreamed about, merely one of those fantasies with which those for ever doomed to poverty and futile labour consoled themselves.

He had expected, and hoped, never to hear of Lothar De La Rey again. But now he stood before him, tall and deadly with his head shining like a beacon in the moonlight and topaz lights glinting in those leopard eyes.

Soon? Lothar asked. So soon? It's been weeks, my old and dear friend. It all took longer to arrange than I expected. Then Lothar's voice hardened as he asked, Have you taken the diamond shipment into Windhoek yet? No, not yet, Fourie broke off, and silently reviled himself. That would have been his escape. He should have said Yes! I took it in myself last week. But it was done, and miserably he hung his head and concentrated on fastening the last buttons of his breeches. Those few words spoken too hastily might yet cost him a lifetime in prison and he was afraid.

When will the shipment go in? Lothar placed the muzzle of the Mauser under Fourie's chin and lifted his face to the moon. He wanted to watch the man's eyes. He did not trust him.

They have delayed it. I don't know how long. I heard some rumour that they have to send in a big package of stones. Why? Lothar asked softly, and Fourie shrugged.

I just heard it will be a big package. As I warned you, it's because they are going to close the mine. Lothar watched his face carefully. He sensed that the man was wavering. He had to steel him. 'It will be the last shipment, and then you will be out of work. just like those poor bastards you have on your trucks. Fourie nodded glumly. Yes, they have fired them. It will be you next, old friend. And you told me what a good family man you are, how much you love your family. Then no more money to feed your children, no money to clothe them, not even a few pounds to pay the little girls for their clever tricks. Man, you mustn't talk like that., ,YOU do what we agreed and there will be all the little girls you want, any way you want them. Don't talk like that. It's dirty, man. You know the arrangements. You know what to do just as soon as they tell you when the shipment is going in. Fourie nodded but Lothar insisted. Tell me about it.

Repeat it to me. And he listened while Fourie reluctantly recited his instructions, correcting him once on a detail, and at last smiled with satisfaction.

Don't let us down, old friend. I do not like to be disappointed He leaned close to Fourie and stared into his eyes, then quite suddenly turned and slipped away into the moon shadows.

Fourie shuddered and stumbled away up the ravine towards the camp like a drunkard. He was almost there before he remembered that the girl had his money but had not completed her part of the bargain. He wondered if he could talk her into doing so at the next camp, and then morosely decided that his chances were not very good. Yet somehow it didn't seem so urgent now. The ice that Lothar De La Rey had injected into his blood seemed to have settled in his loins.

They rode through the open forest below the cliffs, and their mood was carefree and gay with anticipation of the days that lay ahead.

Shasa rode Prester John, with the 7mm Marmlicher sporting rifle in the leather scabbard under his left knee. It was a beautiful weapon, the butt and foregrip in choice selected walnut and the blue steel engraved and inlaid with silver and pure gold: hunting scenes exquisitely rendered and Shasahs name scripted in precious metal. The rifle had been a fourteenth birthday present from his grandfather.

Centaine rode her grey stallion, a magnificent animal. His hide was marbled with black in a lacy pattern across his shoulders and croup, while his mane and muzzle and eye patches were also shiny jet black, in startling contrast to the snowy hide beneath. She Called him Nuage, Cloud, after a stallion that her father had given her when she was a girl.

Centaine wore an Australian cattleman's wide-brimmed hat and a kudu-skin gilet over her shirt. There was a yellow silk scarf knotted loosely at her throat, and a sparkle in her eyes.

,oh, Shasa, I feel like a schoolgirl playing hookey! We've got two whole days to ourselves. Race you to the spring! he challenged her, but Prester John was no match for Nuage and when they reached the spring Centaine had already dismounted and was holding the stallion's head to prevent him bloating himself with water.

They remounted and rode on deeper into the wilderness of the Kalahari. The further they went from the mine the less had been the intrusion of human presence, and the wild life more abundant and confident.