Shout at the Devil - Smith Wilbur - Страница 102

Should she wait here, or follow them down the draw?

Her eyes haunted, her mouth hard set with doubts, she sat and twisted the braid of her hair around one finger in a nervously restless gesture.

Then Mohammed came. Suddenly he appeared out of the thicket beside her, and Rosa jumped up with a low cry of relief. The cry died in her throat as she saw his face.

Mohamed said. "He is hurt. The great elephant has broken his bones and he lies in pain. He asks for you." Rosa stared at him,

appalled, not understanding.

An elephant?"

"He followed Plough the Earth, the great elephant,

and killed him. But in dying the elephant struck him, breaking him."

"The fool. Oh, the fool!" Rosa whispered. "Now of all times. With

Sebastian in danger, he must..." And then she caught herself and broke off her futile lament. "Where is he, Mohammed? Take me to him."

Mohammed led along one of the game paths, Rosa ran behind him. There was no time for caution, no thought of it as they hurried to find

Flynn. They came to the stream of the Abati, and swung off the path,

staying on the near bank. They plunged through a field of arrow grass,

skirted around a tiny swamp and ran on into a stand of buffalo thorn.

As they emerged on the far side Mohammed stopped abruptly and looked at the sky.

The vultures turned in a high wheel against the blue, like debris in a lazy whirlwind. The spot above which they circled lay half a mile ahead.

"Daddy!" Rosa choked on the word. In an instant all the hardness accumulated since that night at Lalapanzi disappeared from her face.

"Daddy!" she said again, and then she ran in earnest.

Brushing past Mohammed, throwing her rifle aside so it clattered on the earth, she darted out of the buffalo thorn and into the open.

"Wait, Little Long Hair. Be careful." Mohammed started after her.

In his agitation he stepped carelessly, full on to a fallen twig from the buffalo thorn. There was a worn spot on the sole of his sandal,

and three inches of cruet red tipped thorn drove up through it and buried in his foot.

For a dozen paces he struggled on after Rosa, hopping on one leg,

flapping his arms to maintain his balance and calling, but not too loudly.

"Wait! Be careful, Little Long Hair." But she took not the least heed, and went away from him, leaving him at last to sink down and tend to his wounded foot.

She crossed the open ground before the fever-tree grove with the slack, blundering steps of exhaustion. Running silently, saving her breath for the effort of reaching her father. She ran into the grove,

and a drop of perspiration fell into her eye, blurring her vision so she staggered against one of the trunks. She recovered her balance and ran on into the midst of them.

She recognized Herman Fleischer instantly. She had run almost against his chest, and his huge body towered over her. She screamed with shock and twisted away from the beanlike arms outspread to clutch her.

Two of the native Askari who were working over the crude litter on which lay Flynn O'Flynn, jumped up. As she ran they closed on her from either side, the way a pair of trained greyhounds will course a hare.

They caught her between them, and dragged her struggling and screaming to where Herman Fleischer waited.

"Ah, so!" Fleischer nodded pleasantly in greeting. "You have come in time for the fun." Then he turned to his sergeant. "Have them tie the woman." Rosa's screams penetrated the light mists of insensibility that screened Flynn's brain. He stirred on the litter, muttering incoherently, rolling his head from side to side, then he opened his eyes and focused them with difficulty. He saw her struggling between the Askari and he snapped back into full consciousness.

"Leave her!" he roared. "Call those bloody animals off her.

Leave her, you murderous bloody German bastard."

"Good!" said Herman

Fleischer. "You are awake now." Then he lifted his voice above Flynn's bellows. "Hurry, Sergeant, tie the woman and get the rope up." While they secured Rosa, one of the Askari shinned up the smooth yellow trunk of a fever tree. With his bayonet he hacked the twigs from the thick horizontal branch above their heads. The sergeant threw the end of the rope up to him, and at the second attempt the Askari caught it and passed it over the branch. Then he dropped back to earth.

There was a hangman's knot fixed in the rope, ready for use.

"Set the knot, said Fleischer, and the sergeant went to where

Flynn lay. With poles cut from a small tree they had rigged a combination litter and splints. The poles had been laid down Flynn's flanks from ankle to armpit, with bark strips they had bound them firmly so that Flynn's body was held rigidly as that of an Egyptian mummy, only his head and neck were free.

The sergeant stooped over him, and Flynn fell silent, watching him venomously. As his hands came down with the noose to loop it over

Flynn's head, Flynn moved suddenly. He darted his head for-ward like a striking adder and fastened his teeth in the man's wrist. With a howl the sergeant tried to pull away, but Flynn held on, his head jerking and wrenching as the man struggled.