It's beautiM, thought Anna, and it's mine. I'm not poor any more. She

looked at the gabled roof and the heavy yellow wood shutters on the

windows as the carriage rolled up the drive.

There was a man standing in the shade of the veranda.

Anm and Garrick saw him at the same time. He was tall with shoulders as

wide and square as the crosstree of a gallows, he stepped out of the

shadow and came down the front steps into the sunlight. He was smiling

with white teeth in a brown burnt face; it was the old irresistible

smile.

Sean, whispered Anna.

Sean really noticed him for the first time when they stopped to water

the horses. They had left Chelmsford's Column the previous noon to

scout towards the northeast. It was a tiny patrol, four mounted white

men and a half-a-dozen Nongaai, the loyal Native troops from Natal.

He took the reins from Sean's hands. I will hold your horse while you

drink. His voice had a resonance to it and Sean's interest quickened.

He looked at the man's face and liked it immediately. The whites of the

eyes had no yellow in them and the nose was more Arabic than negroid.

His colour was dark amber and his skin shone with oil.

Sean nodded. There is no word in the Zulu language for thank you, just

as there are no words for I am sorry.

Sean knelt beside the stream and drank. The water tasted sweet for he

was thirsty; when he stood again there were damp patches on his knees

and water dripping from his chin.

He looked at the man who was holding his horse. He wore only a small

kilt of civet-cat tails: no rattles nor cloak, no head-dress. His

shield was black rawhide and he carried two short stabbing spears. How

are you called? Sean asked, noticing the breadth of the man's chest and

the way his belly muscles stood out like the static ripples on a

windswept beach.

Mbejane. Rhinoceros. For your horn? l The -an chuckled with delight,

his masculine vanity tickled. How are you called, Nkosi? Sean

Courtney. Mbejane's lips formed the name silently and then he shook his

head.

ZIt is a difficult name. He never said Sean's name, not once in all the

years that were to follow.

Mount up, called Steff Erasmus. Let's get moving.

They swung up onto the horses, gathered the reins and loosened the

rifles in the scabbards. The Nongaai who had been stretched out resting

on the bank stood up.

Come on, said Steff. He splashed through the stream.

His horse gathered itself and bounded up the far bank and they followed

him. They moved in line abreast across the grassland, sitting loose and

relaxed in their saddles, the horses trippling smoothly.

At Sean's right stirrup ran the big Zulu, his long extended stride

easily pacing Sean's horse. Once in a while Sean dropped his eyes from

the horizon and looked down at Mbejane, it was a strangely comforting

feeling to have him there.

They camped that night in a shallow valley of grass.

There were no cooking fires; they ate biltong for supper, the black

strips of dried salt meat, and washed it down with cold water. We're

wasting our time. There hasn't been a sign of Zulu in two days riding,

grumbled Bester Klein, one of the troopers. I say we should turn back

and rejoin the Column, We're getting farther and farther away from the

centre of things, we're going to miss the fun when it starts. Steff

Erasmus wrapped his bLanket more closely about his shoulders: the

night's first chill was on them. Fun, is it? He spat expertly into the

darkness. Let them have the fun, if we find the cattle. Don't you mind

missing the fighting? Look, you, I've hunted bushmen in the Karroo and

the Kalahari, I've fought Xhosas and Fingoes along the Fish river, I

went into the mountains after Moshesh and his Basutos. Matabele, Zulu,

Bechuana, I've had fun with all of them. Now four or five hundred head

of prime cattle will be payment enough for any fun we miss. Steff lay

back and adjusted his saddle behind his head. Anyway what makes you

think there won't be guards on the herds when we find them. You'll get

your fun, I promise you.

How do you know they've got the cattle up here?