Echoes From A Distant Land Part 6

'We could try tomorrow if you wish, but I must first make sure you understand the danger involved in what you are planning.'

Ketterman nodded.

Hungerford said that in all his years as a white hunter he had seen many lion attacks, but no two were the same.

'Sometimes they sham a retreat before making a full-blooded charge. Sometimes they lie in ambush. I have heard of a wounded lion that stalked the hunter for hours before coming in for a kill. They are smart animals, Mr Ketterman. And the most powerful killer in Africa. Faced with superior numbers, he will flee. A lion will only attack if he feels threatened or has been wounded. If we are to get the action you want for your moving pictures, I must arrange sufficient inducement for him to flee, but not so much as to make him attack. So, this is what I have been thinking we should do.'

Hungerford explained he would divide his men into three groups. Two groups would be engaged in driving the lions from their hide or resting place towards the camera. Each group would have an armed gun bearer for protection. A smaller group would remain with Hungerford.

'This is our biggest risk. I don't like relying on gun bearers to give cover to the beaters, but I have no choice. I can only be in one place and that will have to be with you, just in case the lion has more on his mind than escape.'

About mid-morning, the camera safari received good news. The trackers had found fresh lion scat not far away, and Hungerford rallied the porters to pick up the pace. It was their first positive sighting after three long days of searching with nothing in the film canisters to show for it.

Sam loped along with the camera case in one hand and the tripod slung over his shoulder, but he could see that Ira was finding the forced march difficult: he stumbled over gra.s.s tufts and sweat tumbled from under the brim of his sun helmet.

Sam knew the reason for haste. They were running out of time. If they weren't able to capture the lion footage in the next day or so, they would have to abandon the hunt and head back to Nairobi. He also knew that their need for haste had meant that Hungerford had kept this search party small.

Hungerford armed Kazimoto and another man and told them to stay with the beaters. Each had a 12-bore shotgun - a decent field piece heavily loaded with a one-ounce round ball. He said that if trouble came their way the ball-loaded guns were the best chance of stopping a charging lion at close range. Ali would act as Hungerford's gun bearer, carrying his favourite - a Rigby 470 Nitro Express - with the heavier Holland and Holland 577 in reserve.

Ali had made no further threats towards Sam, although his sullen glares left him in no doubt that the head man was still harbouring an intense resentment since his authority and standing with Hungerford were undermined by Sam and Ketterman. Ira had suggested that Sam keep to himself until Ali cooled off.

It was a further hour, an hour in which the sun climbed vertically above them, before word came that the lions were close by, resting in shade. Under normal circ.u.mstances Hungerford would have given the men a respite to regain their strength, but he pressed onwards with one of the trackers leading the way.

A little later, the white hunter went ahead to a.s.sess the situation.

Ira flopped to the ground in the miserly shade of a scrawny bush. Sam handed him the water bottle. He took it, barely able to mutter his thanks.

'The light is good,' Sam said by way of encouragement.

Ira squinted into the searing sky. 'It is,' he croaked. 'Let's hope that Mr Hungerford is able to find the promised lions. I don't think I can go much further.'

Hungerford returned and issued orders to his gun bearers and beaters. Then he squatted beside Ira.

'There's a pride lying up in a donga over that hill,' he said. 'We think there are about nine of them. My men are going to circle to the rear of them and, on my signal, will drive the lions out of the creek bed, to where you will have your cameras.' He looked at Ira closely. 'Are you feeling up to this?'

Ira nodded, and struggled to his feet. 'I am,' he said. 'And I have Sam here to help me with the camera reloads.'

'Good; then let's get into position.'

Hungerford and Ali led the way until they reached a small clearing in the patchy scrub.

'We can drive the lions through that gap in the bush and onto the flat ground here. Will that do?'

Ira checked the panning angles and agreed.

Sam set down the heavy tripod and mounted the camera on it while Ira chose his film canisters.

When he'd made a few trial shoots, Ira told Hungerford he was ready.

Hungerford gave a long clear whistle and a moment later, the sound of beating drums and clattering metal came from the other side of the dry creek bed.

Ira started to roll the film and Sam stood behind him with the spare canister.

Suddenly there was a loud report and the beating stopped. In the silence Hungerford swore.

'Christ! What's happened?' he muttered.

They listened. A few excited voices came from the other side of the creek bed.

'I'd better have a look. Ali, take this,' Hungerford said, handing Ali the 577. Turning to Ira, he said, 'That was a 12-bore. One of the lions might have doubled back. Stay here while I see what's happened.'

Hungerford started towards the donga, then turned back to add, 'Mr Ketterman. Whatever you do, stay here with Ali.'

As Hungerford disappeared into the scrub, the distant voices faded. The three men waited in silence. Ira continued to crank the camera as if the action might relieve the tension.

There was a cras.h.i.+ng sound in the thicket filling the creek bed and a lioness bolted into view. She was clearly nervous, casting backward glances into the bush. When she noticed her path was blocked by Ira and his camera crew, she paused for an instant before charging across the clearing, directly at them.

Sam took an involuntary step backwards but Ira remained behind the camera as the lioness swiftly covered the ground between them. She sprang at Ira, taking him and the camera equipment to the ground, but became tangled in the legs of the tripod. When she scrambled to her feet, she seized Ira by the arm.

Sam threw himself at the animal, hitting her in the rib cage with his shoulder and knocking her off balance. She and Sam rolled in the dust. Sam instinctively clung to her body to prevent her swinging around to strike him. The lioness snarled and twisted her strong body against his grasp. Sam could feel her muscles rippling under his grip. She freed a forepaw and raked it across Sam's chest.

He heard Ira screaming, 'Ali! Shoot it! Shoot it!'

When Ira saw the charging lioness in the viewfinder, it took a moment to register that this was not a movie, but reality. He had no sooner taken his eyes from behind the camera when the lioness struck him.

As the animal tore at his arm, he felt no pain. It was a surreal experience. How could a mechanical engineer from the Bronx have a lioness biting on his arm? And then it was gone and he was in the dust while Sam had amazingly taken his place, wrestling the huge beast - an animal twice his size.

Ira frantically searched for something to strike the lioness with and he saw Ali, standing a short distance away, gun at his side.

'Ali!' he screamed at him. 'Shoot it! Shoot it!'

But Ali made no move. He was like a spectator at a boxing match: interested, but not involved.

Ira scrambled to his feet and lunged for Ali's rifle. He pointed it at the lioness, but she squirmed around in her frantic attempt to free herself of Sam's grasp. For a moment he had Sam in the sights instead.

Again the lioness turned and Ira took his chance. He squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened!

He fumbled for the safety catch. He couldn't find it.

Suddenly there was a sharp crack!

Hungerford stood over the lioness; there was a hole the size of his fist where once she'd had an ear.

Sam climbed slowly to his feet, bloodied and shaken. He lifted the tripod high and plunged the three pointed feet into the dead lion's chest.

CHAPTER 7.

With his right arm trussed in a sling, Ira had difficulty opening the water bottle, but eventually managed to pour Sam a tumblerful, and took it to him where he lay on the camp stretcher set up in his tent.

Sam took it and lifted himself awkwardly onto his elbows. 'Ira, please. I cannot drink when I am in bed,' he pleaded. 'May I sit for a while?'

'Very well, but just for a moment,' Ira said, throwing the tent flaps back to let the warm afternoon breeze ruffle the mosquito netting draped across the entrance. Ira dragged two folding canvas chairs to the opening.

Ira's wound was relatively minor - the clean puncture marks of the lioness's fangs were easily treated - but he was worried about Sam. The four deep claw marks carved into his chest were at great risk of becoming infected. According to Hungerford, lions had grooves running down the back of their claws that often retained small pieces of putrefying flesh from previous kills. He said claw wounds often became infected as a result and, although Ira had thoroughly cleaned them with permanganate of potash, it would take three days before they would know if Sam had blood poisoning.

Hungerford suggested they make haste to Nairobi as a precaution.

'What happens if he gets blood poisoning out here?' Ira had asked.

Hungerford shook his head. 'It depends on how strong he is. In the end there's nothing we can do but wait. Or, if you're so inclined, pray.'

Ira regretted asking the question. It had been two days since the attack, and although they were still four days' trek from Nairobi, he was confident all would be well, but was taking no chances. He arranged for Sam to ride with him on one of the wagons and, as soon as the men pitched his tent, he insisted that Sam take to his bed for a rest.

Ira pulled a small panatela from his s.h.i.+rt pocket and snipped the end. He enjoyed the whole cigar ritual. It postponed and therefore heightened the enjoyment. He ran his tongue around the end and applied the flame. The aromatic blue smoke played in the mosquito netting before it was whisked away on the breeze.

Ira puffed contentedly on the cigar; it was his fourth in two days. Although an irregular cigar smoker, Ira found they helped him to relax and to put the trauma of the lion attack behind him.

'Do you know what you did the other day, my boy?'

Sam looked at him, puzzled. 'I am not sure what day you are meaning.'

'I mean, you saved Henry Leland a whole lot of worry, is what you did.'

'Who is Henry Leland?'

'A master mechanic and founder of the Cadillac Automobile Company.' Ira smiled at Sam's confusion. 'If you hadn't so courageously flung yourself on that lioness, I wouldn't be here, and Henry Leland wouldn't be getting my new electric self-starter for his next model.'

He took another draw on his panatela, and blew a stream of smoke onto the glowing tip. He glanced again at Sam. 'Oh, I know, I'm not making much sense to you,' he said. 'Nor me. I've become quite soppy over these last couple of days. An experience like that one with the lioness, well ... when you face death, it makes a man reflect upon his past life. Not that the crankless car saved the world from anything, but it did make me a lot of money, and that's what I've been thinking about. I'm no genius, just an electrical engineer who had the great good fortune of getting an education and applying it to make money. Anyone could do what I've done if they had the start I was lucky enough to get.'

He explained to Sam that he was the son of a miner, a poor man whose only a.s.sistance to his son was an introduction to the foreman at the asbestos mine in Vermont. Ira worked in the mines from the age of twelve. Eight years later, a distant uncle who owned a New York clothing business died and left his father a small inheritance, which he used in part to send Ira, his only child, to college. Ira took years to catch up but eventually graduated and found success in the motor vehicle industry. His invention of the electric self-starter for Cadillac made him a wealthy man. He said that if the USA went to war, as appeared likely, he'd make a fortune.

'So, I've been thinking it's about time I gave something back.'

He looked at Sam, who appeared completely bewildered by his ramblings.

'Yes ... It's about time I gave something back.'

That night, Ira awoke to a strange sound. He listened in the dark. He thought it was perhaps a small tree inhabitant calling its mate - there had been a number of small furry creatures sheltering in the branches before das.h.i.+ng down to steal a morsel from the camp table, or scampering fleetingly into sight among the foliage. But after he became fully awake, he realised it came from Sam's stretcher-bed, and that it was the sound of Sam's teeth chattering.

Ira rushed to him and felt his pulse. It was racing, and his brow was hot and lathered in perspiration.

'Sam,' he whispered, but the young man only gave a low moan by way of reply.

When he stood to call the tent boy to bring water, Sam vomited.

That night began the worst days of Ketterman's life. Sam was mortally ill and Ira suffered dreadfully from feelings of utter helplessness: he could do no more than tend to Sam's comfort. He piled on blankets when he s.h.i.+vered. When he sweated, Ira pulled them off and sponged his feverish body to reduce his temperature. At times Ira didn't know what was needed and sat wringing his hands and weeping in frustration.

Even from the depths of his delirium, Sam reacted to his body's trauma.

'No! No!' he cried on one occasion, as Ira drenched him with cooling water. Then he flung his arms around, sobbing and muttering incomprehensibly.

Although Ira had abandoned his G.o.d, he dropped his face into his hands and begged for divine intervention.

Sam was losing his battle and Ira felt he would lose a love beyond all knowing.

Sam existed in a timeless, bewildering world. He stumbled through the searing heat of the Great Rift Valley with a raging thirst. A tiny figure stood on the escarpment. Somehow, Sam knew it was his grandfather and he called to him, but his throat was swollen and all that came from his mouth was a strangled sob. But the hand of Mogai appeared from a hot mist and dripped honey water into his mouth. He slept then.

When he awoke he was on the chilly peak of Kirinyaga, buried in whiteness. His father was at his side, bathing him with icy water. Sam was chilled to the bone, but dared not offend his father in his act of kindness. With so many children, his father was seldom able to afford him the attention he craved, so he said nothing until the cold became so intense he had to beg him to stop.

'No! No!' he pleaded; and his father faded and was gone. Sam immediately regretted his pitiful weakness and called to him to return, but in vain.

There were moments when Sam would find himself back in Ira's tent. Most of these were mere flickering images, but on one occasion he lingered longer. There was a lamp sputtering indecisively on the table where Ira sat in his chair, an open book in his lap. He was staring at the blank tent wall, a picture of wretchedness. Sam tried to reach out, to touch him, to rea.s.sure him, but his arms were leaden. He slept.

When he awoke some time later, Mothoni stood in the far corner of the tent, her face concealed in shadows. She had not been in his thoughts for a long time, and he wondered why she'd come to him, but when the lantern flared, throwing a light on her face, he realised it was not Mothoni, but a beautiful white woman.

She held two babies. She walked forwards, offering the children to him. Sam couldn't free his arms from the weight of the cotton sheet and, after a brief and pitiful effort, he became exhausted and fell into unconsciousness again.

Upon arriving in Nairobi, Ira wasted no time in getting Sam admitted to the small hospital. It was two more anxious days before the young man's fever broke. Ira was unspeakably relieved; he hid his joy by fussing about Sam like a mother hen.

The Indian doctor told Ira that although Sam said he felt fully recovered, he thought it prudent that he remain in bed for further rest.

'Your servant was lucky to survive, Mr Ketterman,' he said. 'He must have the const.i.tution of a bull. But we shouldn't take any chances.'

That afternoon, when Ira came to visit, he told Sam about the doctor's orders.

'But I am well.'

'I know you want to see your family again, but it's only a day or two more.'

Sam looked unhappy.

'And your time here has given me the chance to make some arrangements,' Ira said.

'Arrangements?'

Ira nodded. He hadn't planned to tell Sam about his enquiries until he'd confirmed all the details, but he felt sufficiently confident of the outcome to use the news to lift Sam's mood.

'Sam, you're a bright young man,' Ira began, 'and you've made it patently clear to me that your most cherished wish would be to continue your education, but ...'

He paused. It was the wrong emphasis.

He started again. 'What I'm trying to say is: I have no family. No heirs. I suppose when I die I could leave my money to the dogs' home, but I don't like dogs.'