Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur (книги серия книги читать бесплатно полностью .txt) 📗

He was too damned clever for that.  He knew I would have put a rocket up

him that would have made him the first man on the moon.  'So that's why

you put up the fence.  'No.  Why then? Because for fourteen years

Jabulani has been under the care of an absentee landlord who didn't give

a good damn what happened to it.  Old Sam here, he motioned at the game

ranger in the truck - did his best, but still it became a poachers

paradise.  As fast as the grazing and water you boast of pulled my game

out of the Park, so they were cut down by every sportsman with an itchy

trigger finger.  When Sam tried to do something about it, he got badly

beaten up, and when that didn't stop him somebody put fire into his hut

at night.

They burned two of his kids to death.  David felt his very soul quail at

the thought of the flames on flesh, his cheeks itched at the memory.  I

didn't know, he said gruffly.

No, you were too busy making money or who tever is your particular form

of pleasure, Berg was angry.  -all at last Sam came to me and I gave him

a job.  Then I strung this fence.  There is nothing left on Jabulani, a

few kudu and a duiker or two, but otherwise it's all gone.  You are so

right.  it didn't take them long to clean it out.  'I want it back. Why?

Berg scoffed.  So you can be a sportsman like your daddy?  So you can

fly your pals down from Jo'burg for the weekend to shoot the shit out of

my lions?  Berg glanced at Debra, and immediately his red face flushed a

deep port-wine colour.  I'm sorry, Mrs. Morgan, I did not mean to say

that.  That's perfectly all right, Mr. Berg.  I think it was very

expressive.  Thank you, ma'am.  Then he turned furiously back to David.

Morgan's Private Safari Service, is that what you are after?  I would

not allow a shot fired on Jabulani, 'said David.

I bet, except for the pot.  That's the usual story.

Except for the pot, and you've got the battle of Waterloo being fought

all over again.  No, said David.  Not even for the pot.

You'd eat butcher's beef?  Berg asked incredulously.

Look here, Mr. Berg.  if you pull your fence out, I'll have Jabulani

declared a private nature reserve Berg had been about to say something,

but David's declaration dried the words, and his mouth remained hanging

open.  He closed it slowly.

You know what that means?  he asked at last.  You place yourself under

our jurisdiction, completely.  We'd tie you up properly with a lawyer's

paper and all that stuff: no owner's licence, no shooting lions because

they are in a cattle area.  Yes.  I know.  I've studied the act.  But

there is something more.  I'd undertake to fence the other three

boundaries to your satisfaction, and maintain a force of private game

rangers that you considered adequate, all at my own expense.  Conrad

Berg lifted his hat and scratched pensively at the long sparse grey

hairs that covered his pate.  Man, he said mournfully, how can I say no

to that?

Then he began to smile, the first smile of the meeting.  It looks like

you are really serious about this then.  'My wife and I are going to be

living here permanently.

We don't want to live in a desert.  Ja, he nodded, understanding

completely that a man should feel that way.  The strong revulsion that

he had onginally felt for the fantastic face before him was fading.

I think the first thing we should work on is these poachers you tell me

about.  Let's snatch a couple of those and make a few examples, David

went on.

Berg's big red face split into a happy grin.

I think I'm going to enjoy having you as a neighbour, he said, and again

he thrust his hand through the fence.

David winced as he felt his knuckles cracking in the huge fist.

Won't you come to dinner with us tomorrow night?

You and your wife?  Debra asked with relief.  It will be a mighty great

pleasure, ma'mI'll get out the whisky bottle, said David.  That's kind

of you, said Conrad Berg seriously, but the missus and I only drink Old

Buck dry gin, with a little water.  'I'll see to it, said David just as

seriously.

Jane Berg was a slim woman of about Conrad's age.  She had a dried-out

face, lined and browned by the sun.  Her hair was suribleached and

streaked with grey, and, as Debra remarked, she was probably the only

thing in the world that Conrad was afraid of.

I'm talking, Connie, was enough to halt any flow of eloquence from her

huge spouse, or a significant glance at her empty glass sent him with

elephantine haste for a refill.  Conrad had a great deal of trouble

finishing any story or statement, for Jane had to correct the details

during the telling, while he waited patiently for an opportunity to

resume.

Debra chose the main course with care so as not to give offence,

beefsteaks from the deep freeze, and Conrad ate four of them with

unreserved pleasure although he spurned the wine that David served.

That stuff is poison.  Killed one of my uncles, and stayed with Old Buck

gin, even through the dessert.

Afterwards they sat about the cavernous fireplace with its logs blazing

cheerfully and Conrad explained, with Jane's assistance, the problems

that David would face on Jabulani.

You get a few of the blacks from the tribal areas coming in from the

north Or across the river, Jane added.

Or across the river, but they are no big sweat They set wire snares

mostly, and they don't kill that much. But it's a terribly cruel way,

the poor animals linger on for days with the wire cutting down to the

bone, Jane elaborated.

As I was saying, once we have a few rangers busy that will stop almost

immediately.  It's the white poachers with modern rifles and hunting

lamps 'Killing lamps, Jane corrected.

killing lamps, that do the real damage.  They finished off all your game

on Jabulani in a couple of seasons.  Where do they come from? David

asked, his anger was rising again, the same protective anger of the

shepherd that he had felt as he flew the skies of Israel.

There is a big copper mine fifty miles north of here at Phalabora,

hundreds of bored miners with a taste for venison.  They would come down

here and blaze away at every living thing, but now it's not worth the

trip for them.  Anyway they were just the amateurs, the weekend

poachers.  'Who are the professionals?  Where the dirt road from

Jabulani meets the big national highway, about thirty miles from here -

At a place called Bandolier Hill, Jane supplied the name. - there is a

general dealer's store.  it's just one of those trading posts that gets

a little of the passing trade from the main road, but relies on the

natives from the tribal areas.  The person who owns and runs it has been

there eight years now, and I have been after him all that time, but he's

the craftiest bastard, I'm sorry, Mrs. Morgan I have ever run into.

'He's the one?  David asked.

He's the one, Conrad nodded.  Catch him, and half your worries are over.

What's his name?  Akkers.  Johan Akkers, Jane gave her assistance, the

Old Buck was making her slightly owl-eyed, and she was having a little

difficulty with her enunciation.

How are we going to get him!  David mused.  There isn't anything left on

Tabulani to tempt him, the few kudu we have got are so wild, it wouldn't

be worth the effort.  No, you haven't got anything to tempt him right

now, but about the middle of September More like the first week in

September, Jane said firmly with strings of hair starting to hang down