The Leopard's Prey (6 page)

Jade noticed he didn’t mention how he had acquired them. “Volunteer rifles?”

“A bit of a home guard, miss. Never saw much action, though.”

“Do you know what the feathers on the spear mean?”

“Peace. That’s why they’re on the tip.”

He escorted her outside and handed a mug each to Perkins, Cutter, and Anderson. Jade passed her extra cup to Daley while Chalmers poured a thick black brew into Cutter’s mug. Cutter took a sip and winced. He tried another and coughed.

“Too strong for you, Mr. Cutter?” asked Chalmers.

“No,” Cutter squeaked.

Jade could tell by the pungent aroma that the coffee had bubbled past the point of no return, and she knew it would be bitter. She also knew this was a test of some sort, and she was going to have to represent the Americans. She smiled and hoisted her mug in a toast.

“Here’s mud in your eye,” she said and, after testing the coffee with her lips for temperature, drained the cup in three gulps. “That might keep me awake.” She set the cup on the veranda railing. “Thanks, Mr. Chalmers. Now, are you going to give us another chance at that leopard tonight?”

Chalmers waggled his head as though he was still thinking about it and walked over to confer with Cutter.

“We really need to give that leopard another chance,” Jade said to her bosses.

Daley nodded and fished in his pocket for a cigarette. “Especially as it’s reported to be a female,” he said. “A mated pair sells for three times what a lone male fetches.” He watched as Cutter grabbed a gunny sack and a pole from the truck and ran off to an outbuilding. “Now where do you suppose Frank’s going?”

Jade shrugged. “Outhouse?” But why would he take a sack and pole? To the side, she caught sight of Chalmers chuckling as he walked into the house. “Hey, Wayne, what’s Frank up to?”

Anderson hurried over to her. “Chalmers told him there was a small animal hiding under the woodshed we could have if he wanted it. Something called a zorilla.”

“Zorilla, huh?” said Daley. “Sounds like gorilla. Some kind of monkey, Jade?”

She shoved her empty coffee mug into her boss’ hands. “Hold this,” she said, and raced after Cutter. When she caught up with him, he was squatting next to a burrow, poking the stick into it. “No, Frank!” she yelled.

Cutter turned, pulling out the pole as he stood. “What? I can hear him in there.”

“You’re going to get more than that if you don’t get out of the way.” She grabbed his sleeve and jerked him back just as a small, bushy-tailed creature emerged, its fur bristling.

“Holy cow, it’s a danged skunk!” shouted Cutter.

The black-and-white polecat sprang forward and backward on its stiff, stumpy legs, growling and screaming.

“Back away, slowly,” said Jade as she took her own advice. “If he starts to turn around, beat it fast.” She got to the edge of the shed and ducked behind it.

The zorilla wasn’t mollified by their retreat. He pivoted and let spray, covering a wide arc, part of which caught Cutter’s shoes. He let loose a furious stream of cuss words.

Chalmers was sitting on his porch stoop chuckling to himself until he saw Jade’s stern look. “Very funny,” she said. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Chalmers never had a chance to answer. They were interrupted by the puttering chug of a well-worn engine. Everyone turned to see who was driving up the road, and Jade heard Chalmers mutter under his breath. The newcomer was his northern neighbor, Charles Harding.

Charles Harding was a medium-built man with a protruding stomach, long, skinny legs and next to no backside, making his suspenders indispensable for keeping up his dungarees. His solar topee hat sat atop dingy yellow hair gone to white at the temples. The effect was echoed by his equally dingy linen shirt and slightly jaundiced eyes.

Harding reached into the seat next to him and extracted a large wooden crate with the words ALL-PURE CANNED MEATS painted on the side. His hands and arms bore many scratches, as though he’d been in a blackberry patch. He handed the crate to Daley, who lifted the lid.

“I’d be careful if I were you. They’re small, but full of mean,” said Harding. “Shot their mother last night on my land.”

Jade peered over Daley’s shoulder at two snarling and spitting leopard cubs, about seven weeks old.

CHAPTER 3

Leopards, due to their stealth, are feared and figure in many sayings.
“The leopard has a beautiful coat, but an evil heart”
smacks of our own “Beauty is only skin-deep.” Yet “Even the
fierce leopard will not devour her cubs.”

—The Traveler

BOTH MR. DALEY and Mr. Perkins stared at the box’s scrappy contents as though their minds couldn’t reconcile what they saw with what they heard.

“You shot the mother?” Jade asked. “The one we’ve been trying to capture?”

The question was rhetorical at best. Jade had even anticipated such a result, but it didn’t make the reality any easier to accept. The fact that this second leopard was nursing and providing for kittens went a long way toward explaining why she’d remained in this area and hunted the domestic animals. It also made the outcome more predictable and tragic.

The first leopard had put up enough of a struggle. A mother would have fought desperately against the ropes and the box, to the point of doing serious injury to herself or the handlers. And once they’d captured her, there would have been no way to find her young. Old Africa was at war with the new. At least these cubs had survived this latest skirmish between the farms and cities versus the ancient ways of the plains and hills. The fact that they were young made them more tractable. They would adjust, but either way, another part of wild Africa was lost.

Bob Perkins’ thoughts had probably followed similar lines because his protest seemed little more than token words. “You should have told us she was on your land, Mr. Harding. We might have taken her alive.”

“Not without serious risk,” said Harding. “And I couldn’t afford to lose more livestock to her. I tracked her and shot her near her lair.” He spared a glance for Chalmers and gave one short nod. “Alwyn,” he said.

“Charles,” responded Chalmers.

Jade noticed that the men used each other’s first names, which suggested friendship, but the greetings were curt and the voices cool. Had they had a falling-out?

“It was good of you to save the kittens,” said Jade.

“I expect they’re worth one hundred pounds apiece,” answered Harding. “Assumed you chaps would just as soon have something young rather than that hellcat anyway.” He reached into the back of his truck and pulled out a swollen goatskin bag. “Here, this is full of goat’s milk. I rubbed the bag against the mother so it would smell like her. Ought to take one of the corners like a teat. I wouldn’t have let them starve to death. That’s too cruel even for a leopard.”

“We’ll pay you one hundred and twenty-five pounds for the pair,” said Perkins.

“One fifty and we’ll call it square,” countered Harding.

Perkins looked at Daley, who was still holding the box. Daley nodded. “One fifty it is then, Mr. Harding,” said Perkins. The two men shook hands on it. “I’ve heard you’re a square dealer.”

Jade reached into the box and received a fierce spit and a swipe with a paw.

“They’re mean as hell, miss,” said Harding. “That one on the left especially. Look at her eyes—you can tell. There’s a certain madness in them. I saw it with the mother, too.”

Jade recalled the calculating stare of the captured male and wondered if Harding wasn’t right. Then she decided that was ridiculous. “They’re just scared and hungry,” she said. “Mr. Chalmers, would you happen to have an old piece of flannel or a worn shirt that we could keep?”

Chalmers nodded and went into the house with a backward glance at Harding. He emerged a minute later with a towel and handed it to Jade. She ripped it in half and dropped one part over one of the cubs, the female, and quickly bundled it up so only her head stuck out.

“Now she can’t scratch anyone.” She nodded to the goatskin bag. “Can you poke a hole in one of the corners?” she asked Harding.

He fumbled in both his pockets, then slapped them on the outside, looking perplexed. “Seem to have a hole in my own pocket,” he mumbled.

“Never mind,” said Jade. “Probably make too large a hole anyway.” She toted the cub over to a nearby acacia tree, and broke off a thick thorn. With it, Jade stabbed one corner of the bag and offered it to the cub. She refused at first. Then hunger took over and she sucked greedily at the makeshift udder. When the cub was finished, Jade handed her and the bag to Cutter while she dampened the other rag at the well pump. Then she undid the back end of the towel, exposing the kitten’s rump, and wiped the wet rag over its backside. The cub responded by relieving her bowels and bladder all over the ground.

Cutter held the cub at arm’s length and inspected his shoes. “Warn a guy next time, will you?”

“What are you worried about?” laughed Anderson. “Your shoes already stink like polecat.”

Jade ignored the exchange and answered the unspoken question in her bosses’ eyes. “New animals, at least cats, usually have to be stimulated by their mothers. I’ve seen it with our barn cats.” She took the cub from Cutter, put the little leopard back in the crate, unrolled her, and bundled her brother. This time she handed the growling packet to Anderson. “Now you know how to do it. Everyone should try so the kittens don’t have to rely on just one caretaker.”

Anderson took the wriggling lump with all the temerity one would expect when handling dynamite. “How long do you have to do that … that business with the backside?”

“Oh, for most cats until they’re ten months old,” Jade said, keeping her best poker face during her fib. “I’d suspect another month longer for a leopard.”

“But … but … by then … ,” stammered Anderson as he mentally calculated the size of the leopard’s teeth and claws.

Jade decided that the poor man had suffered enough and grinned. “Actually, they’ll probably be old enough to start doing their business on their own in a week or so. But we need to keep watch in case.”

Anderson let loose an audible sigh of relief and offered the dripping bag of milk to the second cub, a male. After a little coaxing, the little wildcat attacked it with vigor and the bottom of the bundle wriggled as he tried to knead his paws inside the towel. “Cute little cuss,” he said.

“And you make a dandy wet nurse,” said Cutter. “It looks to me as if Miss del Cameron should be the one to take care of the babies, her being a woman and all.”

Daley put the box with the first cub, now asleep, on the floor of the truck cab. “But Miss del Cameron isn’t going back to the States, Frank. So we all need to play Mommy here.”

Cutter shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his head. “Ahh, I didn’t mean anything by it, boss.”

“Think nothing of it, Frank,” Daley said. “We’ll train some of the natives, too. They can start taking over once we get these critters to the compound.”

From a distance to the southwest came a droning purr. Everyone but Jade looked around for the sound, searching the horizon for a truck or automobile. Jade looked up.
Sam and his Jenny.
But the haze of the African sky made it impossible to see him until he came closer. Had he flown this way looking for her? Did the shiver of pleasure she felt come from the thought of seeing him, or his plane?
Both,
she decided. By then, the second leopard cub had finished his meal and had done his duty. Anderson set him next to his sister, dropped the dry towel over them, and hung the wet one over the box edge.

“We need to get back,” said Daley. “I’ll leave a crew here to fill in that pit, Mr. Chalmers.” He directed the five Kikuyu to the task, setting the skunked Cutter as foreman to oversee the operation and return the men later. “Just don’t bring me any danged zorillas.”

They thanked Chalmers for the use of his veranda and the coffee, which no one but Jade had risked, told Harding where to go to collect his money, and drove back toward town. Jade noticed, sadly, the absence of any aerial noises and decided Sam had just been scouting for something to film rather than looking for her. She tried to rationalize the hazards of putting down on an uneven surface, the risk of hitting the brush, a rock, or an unwary warthog.
There isn’t any safe place to land.

She was wrong. The truck skidded to a stop on a straight stretch of the Kyambu Road.

“What the hell?” exclaimed Perkins.

“That would be my ride,” said Jade. She leaped out of the truck and ran to the man standing in front of the propeller of the Curtiss JN-4, or “Jenny,” that blocked the road.

Sam Featherstone was the picture of defiance and daring, his booted feet apart and his arms folded across his chest. A leather aviator’s helmet covered his head and a pair of goggles masked everything above his hawklike nose and pencil-thin mustache. Once he spotted Jade, his mouth spread into a wide, pearly grin and his arms opened to receive her. Jade obliged, and he swept her up into the air.

“Told you I’d take you flying,” he said.

“Sam, how long have you been here?” she asked as he set her down.

He kissed her quickly on the cheek. “Not long. This is my first vehicle blockade. I saw all the trucks at Chalmers’ farm and didn’t see any other camp, so I took a chance you were all heading back to town.”