The sides of the deep pit trap had been cut so they tapered inward toward the top, making it impossible for the agile cat to jump out once it fell in. There was only one route of access to the kid goat, and that was across the trap, beautifully disguised with thin bamboo and grass and doused with goat urine and dung in the hopes of masking any lingering scent of humans. They had nothing to do but wait back at Chalmers’ house for the inevitable.
Besides, they would know when something went into the pit. Jade had rigged up a night-flash picture to be triggered by the animal once it stepped on the trap. The magnesium flash and subsequent boom would carry the distance and report their success.
Jade sat apart from the others near the back side of Chalmers’ house. She’d arrived at nightfall, slung a hammock from the veranda rafters, and slept for five hours, but now she felt restless. She wished the cat would just fall into the trap and be done with it. Didn’t it know that it was doomed? That it had a price on its head?
Her thoughts went back to the first leopard, and she immediately envisioned his blazing yellow eyes. She shook her head and tried to think of something else; unfortunately what came to mind was Mr. Stokes’ body. While she accepted the idea that the loss of his wife might have driven him to suicide, she didn’t understand why he’d crawl into the coffee dryer to kill himself. Why not do the deed in his own home? Was he afraid no one would find him there?
She shifted position and heard the crinkle of paper in her shirt pocket.
Beverly’s letter.
Another, addressed to Maddy, was in Jade’s day pack. Jade had picked them up that afternoon. Wanting to think happier thoughts, she took her letter out and reread it by the campfire’s glow.
June 7, 1920
Dearest Jade:
I was so happy to receive your letter telling me that you were safely “home” in Nairobi and that your mother was on her way home to America. And how positively wonderful that she got the stud horse she’d wanted in Spain. I was under the impression that the Andalusians never gave up their precious horses. It makes me all the more curious to know how you and your mother managed that. Somehow I think there’s a story there that you’re not telling me. You didn’t shoot anyone, did you?
Impending motherhood does not become me. My feet are swelling along with my midsection. Not that anyone will see me like this except Avery, and the dear man still says I’m glowing. I think the correct spelling should be “glowering.” I’m quite put out by this needless
sequestration. Why do we still pretend that pregnant women of social standing must be hidden? Are we trying to fool the common folk into thinking we come by children
magically?
I won’t bore you with all the silly committees I still take part in (behind the scenes, of course). However, I must let you in on a secret. You know Avery has all the inside news politically. He has heard a very
well-founded
rumor that, when Governor Northey returns to Nairobi shortly, he will announce that the British East African Protectorate will be officially known as the Kenya
Colony. But keep it under your hat, darling. It’s supposed to be a surprise.
Your motorcycle sounds like a great bit of fun to ride, but I’m sorry the petrol shortage hasn’t improved. They’d be better off getting that Natalite plant in full production and make the fuel alcohol they produced during the war. Oh, it makes me positively restless to get back to Africa again, and as soon as little Jade or little David is born (Avery insists we name the baby Gwenevere or Arthur), we shall be on the first boat home.
Please write again and tell me all the news. I miss you all and Africa so dreadfully. I feel positively smothered here, and my sister is driving me to Bedlam.
Your dearest friend and “comrade in axles,”
Beverly Dunbury
Jade chuckled, imagining her friend chafing under society’s restraints. Yes, it would be good to see Bev again, but she worried about them traveling with a new baby. She’d have to trust Avery’s judgment there. She wondered how Maddy would handle this tiny addition to their group. The Thompsons, with classic British reserve, didn’t discuss children much, but Jade had learned that they’d tried unsuccessfully for years to conceive. So far, with no other children close by, they’d handled their disappointments, but Beverly’s baby would make it harder to bear the anguish. Maddy had become more moody ever since Beverly’s announcement.
As Jade folded the letter and slipped it back into her pocket, she saw a flash of white light and heard a muffled
boom
.
My camera!
The men also heard it, and everyone ran to the vehicles, too impatient to wait to see their prize. Jade climbed into the front seat next to Perkins, as anxious to retrieve her camera as to see the leopard.
They sped past the stables and the horses’ paddock, leaving the farm and the cornfields behind them. In the distance was one lone, scrubby acacia, pruned of its larger branches so that the leopard couldn’t find anything strong enough to perch on. Jade’s camera and the flash pan sat up in the remaining limbs, aimed and focused on what had been the top of the pit trap. With any luck, the cat had taken its own picture just before plunging into the hole.
But the sounds that greeted them when they shut off the engines were not the angry snarls of a leopard. Several high-pitched
whoops
followed by a cackling laugh erupted from the pit. A cold chill chased down Jade’s spine and she shivered involuntarily.
Blast. I’ll never get used to that sound.
With it came the image of bandaged, broken bodies, the front lines, and the horror of the shell-shocked wounded, giggling insanely. She took a deep breath and forced herself to think about the present. Best to shinny up the acacia and retrieve the big Graflex before someone knocked it out in the excitement.
“It’s a hyena,” said Cutter. “I thought we were supposed to get a leopard.”
“Looks like someone forgot to tell the leopard,” said Daley. “Do we need a hyena, Bob?”
Perkins peered at his list. “Yep!”
“Bring the cage, boys,” yelled Daley to his crew. “It’s a keeper.”
By the time Cutter and Anderson explained the proceedings to the hired natives and hauled the wooden cage to the edge of the pit, the sun poked over the horizon, spilling liquid gold on the scene. Jade set her camera on the truck seat and retrieved a lariat and a pair of gloves.
The capture crew, expecting an agile leopard, had designed the original extraction scheme with that in mind. The idea was to first rope the animal through the mouth and pull back so it couldn’t bite without biting its own gums. While the cat was preoccupied with its restraint, a bottomless cage would be dropped over him, followed by a half dozen native African men on top to weigh it down. Once they had the animal inside, the rope around the mouth would be relaxed, allowing the leopard to pull free.
It was Jade’s job to wrangle the lariat around the animal’s mouth. She held most of the coiled length in her left hand and held the loop, or
honda
, in her right.
“We won’t need that, Miss del Cameron,” said Perkins. “We can just lower the box right on top of
this
critter.”
Jade shrugged and peeled off her gloves. “Suit yourself, Mr. Perkins. That leaves me clear to photograph the capture.” Jade set aside the lariat, grabbed her more portable Kodak from her day pack, and positioned herself to record the proceedings.
One of the men tossed a chunk of meat into the pit. The hyena, a young male judging by his size, fell on it with a hungry purpose. Jade wondered why he was separated from his pack. Hyenas rarely hunted alone. Perhaps there hadn’t been enough game in the vicinity to support all of the animals and the young males had been driven out. Whatever the reason, he didn’t flinch from his meal even as the box dropped on top of him.
Immediately, four African men jumped onto the box to hold it down while Cutter and Anderson slid into the pit, carrying a large wooden panel. The Americans inserted the panel into grooves, and slid the floor into place as the hyena lifted one foot after the other. Last, they slipped ropes under the box and tied them at the top so the box could be hoisted up.
“Done!” called Anderson.
Several Africans hurried to and from the trucks, bringing wooden beams from which they set up an oversized sawhorse with a block and tackle suspended on the central beam. The remaining men in the pit pulled hard on the rope and the hyena, now nervously whooping, was slowly raised up to the surface. Finally, a ladder was lowered for the men to climb out of the pit.
Jade took her last shot of the men carrying the cage to one of the trucks.
“Sorry we didn’t get the leopard, Mr. Daley,” said Jade, putting her camera in her pack.
“Call me Hank and leave that formal stuff to old Perkins,” he said. “And it’s all right. We needed a hyena anyway, so we haven’t lost any time. We can cover up the pit and try again tonight.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them as if to signify a job well done. “I’m ready for some breakfast, or at least some coffee. Let’s go back to Chalmers’ and see if he’s made a fresh pot.”
When Jade had met Alwyn Chalmers last night, she’d been struck by how homely one man could be. A lean man to begin with, his face looked as though it had been pressed between two boards until the chin poked out sharply at the bottom from the force. At five foot, six inches, he was an inch shorter than Jade, but he made up for it with a tuft of golden brown hair that stuck up like the tassels on his own maize crop. The term “ugly as homemade sin” came to mind.
“Did you get the leopard?” he asked as Jade climbed from the truck and headed toward the veranda. She shook her head and stepped aside.
“A hyena fell in instead,” said Perkins. “But we can try again tonight.”
Chalmers scowled, sucking in his thin cheeks and pulling his long face down even lower. “That cat is a menace!” he said, his voice reedy. “It needs to be taken before it kills White Fire, if it hasn’t already.” His face reddened as his anger grew. “If you can’t get it, then I’ll put out some poison bait and kill it.”
“Is White Fire the pony you’ve run the notice for?” asked Jade. “The one missing for two weeks?”
“Three weeks,” snapped Chalmers. He blushed. “Sorry to be so short, Miss del Cameron, but that was my prize polo pony and best stud. Race week and the big match are coming up in another week and a half. I heard that leopard screaming nearby one night when I was working one of White Fire’s colts, and he took fright. He kicked and his stall door flew open. Before I could stop him, he ran out into the night. I haven’t seen him since. And he probably won’t come back as long as that beast roams this area.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jade. “But it’s possible he’s already dead.”
“In that case, I have a score to settle with that leopard. I was willing to let those American friends of yours try to trap it, but I can’t afford to let it take another of my horses.”
“Mr. Perkins and Mr. Daley are my present employers,” said Jade. “I wish you’d give them another chance.” She put her camera equipment in the truck.
Perkins had quietly backed down the veranda steps in the face of Chalmers’ anger. Now he stepped forward at this newest request to plead his own case. “It can’t hurt to let us try again, Mr. Chalmers. The pit’s already dug.”
Chalmers grunted; then his face blanched as a new horror popped into his mind. “White Fire could fall into it. He’d break his leg.”
“I’ll leave some of the native men in one of the blinds to watch for him,” said Perkins. “Let’s all just have some coffee and talk about this like civilized men.”
Jade suspected Perkins wanted coffee as badly as she did, and all pretense of discussion was for the sake of having a cup. Chalmers mumbled that he did have coffee, and Jade offered to fetch it along with cups. Chalmers pointed out the way through the house to the back pantry while he went to the separate kitchen to get the enameled coffeepot. Jade took two steps into the abominably messy front parlor, sidestepping empty wooden crates and a mound of rags, when her attention was caught by a long Maasai spear and a leather shield hanging on the far wall. She instantly forgot all about the coffee.
The spear, as long as a man was tall, was made in three sections. The end pieces were steel joined by a central shaft of dark wood over a foot long. Two black ostrich feathers were attached to the sharp tip with a string of red and black beads. The shield, made of buffalo hide, was about three feet long and two feet wide, coming to points at each of the long ends. The hide was stretched and stitched over a wooden framework and painted a rust red, white, and black. A series of six white diamonds ran down the length in the center, bordered by a strip of red on one side and black on the other. Concentric black arcs graced the side with the red stripe and matching red arcs adorned the other half.
Below the weapons was a small table with a few framed photographs and a decade of dust. One showed five men posing beside and partly in front of a zebra with a very short-cropped mane. A younger-looking Chalmers held the animal’s head with a halter. The other men weren’t identifiable through the accumulated dirt. Beside this photo was a picture of Chalmers posing with a rifle. Behind these two photos was a third picture of a lovely young woman with pale, delicate features and blond hair. Unlike the other photos, this one had been wiped clean. Before Jade could study the image more closely, Chalmers came into the room looking for her.
“Did you get lost, miss?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry, but Jade could tell that the question was a polite way of asking her what the hell she was doing.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chalmers,” she said. “I saw this spear and shield and couldn’t take my eyes off them. They’re Maasai, aren’t they?” Jade followed him into the back pantry.
“Yes. I picked them up during the war when I joined some of the other chaps around here as mounted volunteer rifles.” He handed two tin cups to Jade and kept four.