Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗
I will be even more famous than Fat Kwi, Kwi boasted, for I am older and fleeter and cleverer than he is, and Fat Kwi bridled.
You will both be famous. Hastily Centaine averted the brewing dispute. For we are going to track evil men who have done me great harm. You will follow them and lead me to them, and afterwards I will give you such gifts as you have seen only in your dreams and all men will say that there were never before two hunters and trackers such as Kwi and his brother Fat Kwi. But now we must hurry before the evil ones escape us. She ran back to Twentyrnan-Jones and the little San stayed close at her heels like faithful dogs.
De La Rey left the industrials. I've buried them in the river-bed. She stopped with surprise when she recognized the two other men with Twenty-man-jones. The driver was Gerhard Fourie and his companion was Maclear, one of the other members of the strike committee. Both of them looked sheepish as Maclear spoke for them.
Right pleased we all are to see you safe and well, Mrs Courtney. Wasn't a man at the mine who wasn't worried sick about you. Thank you, Mr Maclean Anything we can do, we'll do. We are in this together, Mrs Courtney. That's right, Mr Maclear. No diamonds, no wages. Will you please help me recover the industrials that the thieves left and then we will head for Kalkrand. Have you got enough fuel to get us there, Mr Fourie? I'll have you there by morning, Mrs Courtney, the driver promised. Kalkrand was the end of the line. The track went no further.
The road that Fourie took to bring them to Kalkrand was a wide circle, avoiding the bad land of central Bushmanland.
it headed north and west and then back to the east, so they would be 150 miles north of the point where Lothar had intercepted Centaine but 70 miles farther west when they reached Kalkrand. Their net gain on Lothar would be barely 80 miles, even less if he had taken a more easterly route towards the Okavango river. Of course it was also possible that Centaine's guess was wrong and that he had escaped in some other direction. She wouldn't let herself even think about that possibility.
There has been other traffic on this road within the last few hours, she told Twenty-man-Jones as she peered ahead through the windscreen. It looks like two other trucks. Do you think it could be the police detachment that Colonel Malcomess is sending? If it is, then the man is a marvel to have got them away so quickly. Of course they would have followed the main road north to Okahandja before turning off in this direction. Centaine wanted so badly for it to be so, but Twenty-man-Jones shook his head dubiously.
More likely a supply convoy for the mission station. My bet is that we will have to hang around the mission station waiting for the police and the horses to arrive., The galvanized roofs of the mission station appeared out of the morning haze ahead of them. It was a desolate spot below a low ridge of red shale probably chosen for the subterranean water supply. A pair of gaunt windmills stood like crowned sentinels over the boreholes that supplied the station.
German Dominican fathers, TWentyman-Jones told Centaine as they bumped over the last mile. They serve the nomadic Ovahimba tribes of this area., Look! Centaine interrupted him eagerly. There are the trucks parked next to the church, and horses watering at the windmill. And there, look! A uniformed trooper. it's them! They are waiting for us. Colonel Malcomess was as good as his promise. Fourie pulled up alongside the two sand-coloured police trucks and Centaine jumped down and shouted at the police trooper as he ran to meet them from the watering troughs below the windmill.
Hello, Constable, who is in charge here
and then she broke off and stared as a tall figure appeared on the verandah of the stone-walled building beside the little church.
He wore khaki gabardine riding breeches and polished brown boots, and he was shrugging on a field officer's tunic over his shirt and suspenders, as he ran lightly down the steps and came towards her.
Colonel Malcomess. I never expected you to be here in person. 'You asked for full cooperation, Mrs Courtney. He offered his hand and static electricity flashed a blue spark between their finger-tips. Centaine laughed and jerked her hand away.
Then, when he still held his hand towards her, she took it
again. His grip was firm and dry and reassuring.
You aren't going into the desert with us, are you? You have your duties as administrator. If I don't go, then you don't either. He smiled. I have received strict instructions from both the prime minister, General Hertzog, and from the leader of the opposition, General Smuts, that I am not to let you out of my personal charge. Apparently, madam, you have a reputation for headstrong action. The two old gentlemen are very perturbed. I have to go, she broke in. 'Nobody else can handle the Bushman trackers. Without them the robbers will get clean away. He inclined his head in agreement. I am sure the intention of the two worthy generals is that neither of us go, but I chose to interpret their orders rather as instruction that both of us should. And suddenly he grinned like a naughty schoolboy about to play truant. You are stuck with me, I'm afraid. She thought of being with him out in the desert, far from his wife. For a moment she forgot Lothar De La Rey and the diamonds, and suddenly she realized that they were still holding hands and that everybody was watching them. She dropped his hand and asked briskly: When can we leave? in reply he turned and bellowed, Up-saddle! Up-saddle! We ride immediately! While the troopers ran to the horses, he turned back to her, businesslike and competent.
And now, Mrs Courtney, will you be good enough to let me know your intentions, and where the hell we are going? She laughed. Do you have a map? This way. He led her into the mission office and quickly introduced her to the two German Dominican fathers who ran the station. Then he leant over his large-scale map spread on the desk.
Show me what you have in mind, he invited, and she stood beside him, not quite touching him.
The robbery took place here. She touched the spot with her fore-finger. I followed the tracks in this direction. He is heading for Portuguese territory. I am absolutely sure of that.
But he has to go three hundred miles to reach it. So what you have done is circled out ahead of him, he nodded, and now you want to ride eastwards into the desert and cut him off. But it's a big piece of country. Needle in a haystack, don't you think? Water, she said. 'He has left his spare horses at water.
I'm sure of that. The horses stolen from the army? Yes, I understand, but there is no water out there. There is, she told him. 'It's not marked on the map but he knows where it is. My bushmen know where it is. We will intercept him at one of the water-holes, or we will cut his spoor there if he has beaten us to it. He straightened up and rolled the map. Do you think that possible? That he has got ahead of us? Centaine asked. You have to remember he is a hard man, and this desert is his home paddock. Never underestimate him, Colonel.
That would be a serious mistake. I have examined the man's record. He stuffed his map into the leather case and then placed on his head a khaki solar helmet of thick cork with a sweeping rim that protected his neck. It covered his ears and increased his already impressive height.
He is a dangerous man. He once had a price of ten thousand pounds on his head. I don't expect this to be easy. A police sergeant appeared in the doorway behind him.
All ready, Colonel. Do you have Mrs Courtney's mount saddled? 'Yes, sir! The sergeant was lean and brown and muscular, with thick drooping moustaches, and Centaine approved the choice. Blaine Malcomess saw her scrutiny.
This is Sergeant Hansmeyer. He and I are old companions from Smuts campaign. How do you do, Mrs Courtney. Heard all about you, ma'am, the sergeant saluted her.
