I suppose it's the training they get from their mothers, who are after

all women themselves, but how can you be friends with someone who

suspicions every little move you make, who takes your every action and

weighs it on the balance of he loves me, he loves me not? Duff shook

his head unhappily. How long can a friendship last when it needs an

hourly declaration of love to nourish it? The catechism of matrimony,

"Do you love me, darling?

"Yes, darling of course I do, my sweet. " It's got to sound convincing

every time otherwise tears.

Sean chuckled. All right, it's funny, it's hilarious until you have to

live with it, Duff mourned. Have you ever tried to talk to a woman

about anything other than love? The same things that interest you leave

them cold. It comes as a shock the first time you try talking sense to

them and suddenly you realize that their attention is not with you -

they get a slightly fixed look in their eyes and you know they are

thinking about that new dress or whether to invite Men Van der Hum to

the party, so you stop talking and that's another mistake. That's a

sign; marriage is full of signs that only a wife can read. I hold no

brief for matrimony, Duff, but aren't you being a little unfair, judging

everything by your own unfortunate experience? Select any woman slap a

ring on her third finger and she becomes a wife. First she takes you

into her warm, soft body, which is pleasant, and then she tries to take

you into her warm, soft mind, which is not so pleasant.

She does not share, she possesses, she clings and she smothers. The

relation of man to woman is uninteresting in that it conforms to an

inescapable pattern, nature has made it so for the very good reason that

it requires us to reproduce; but in order to obtain that result every

love, Romeo and Juliet, Bonaparte and Josephine not excepted, must lead

up to the co-performance of a simple biological function. It's such a

small thing, such a short-lived, trivial little experience. Apart from

that xnan and woman think differently, feel differently and are

interested in different things. Would you call that companionship? No,

but is that a true picture? Is that all there is between them? Sean

asked.

You'll find out one day. Nature in her preoccupation with reproduction

has planted in the mind of man a barricade; it has sealed him off from

the advice and experience of his fellowmeni inoculated him against it.

When your time comes you'll go to the gallows with a song on your lips.

You frighten me. It's the sameness of it all that depresses me, the

goddqmn monotony of it. Duff shifted his seat restlessly then settled

back against the boiler. The interesting relationships are those in

which sex the leveller takes no hand brothers, enemies, master and

servant, father and son, man and man. Homosexuals? No, that's merely

sex out of step and you're back to the original trouble. When a man

takes a friend he does it not from an uncontrollable compulsion but in

his own free choice. Every friendship is different, ends differently or

goes on for ever. No chains bind it, no ritual or written contract.

There is no question of forsaking all others, no obligation to talk

about it, mouth it up and gloat on it the whole time. Duff stood up

stiffly. It's one of the good things in life. How late is it? Sean

pulled out his watch and tilted its face to catch the moonlight. After

midnight, it doesn't look as if they're coming. ? They'll come,

there's gold here, another uncontrollable compulsion.

They'll come. The question is when. The lights along the valley faded

out one by one, the deep singsong voices of the Zulus in the prospect

trench stilled and a small cold wind came up and moved the grass along

the ridge of the Candy Deep. Sitting together, sometimes drowsing

sometimes talking quietly, they waited the night away. The sky paled,

then pinked prettily. A dog barked over near Hospital Hill and another

joined it. Sean stood up and stretched, he glanced down the valley

towards Ferrieras Camp and saw them. A black moving blot of horsemen,

overflowing the road, lifting no dust from the dew-damp earth, spreading

out to cross the Natal Spruit then bunching together on the near bank

before coming on. Mr Charleywood, we have company.

Duff jumped up. They might miss us and go onto the Jack and Whistle

first We'll see which road they take when they come to the fork. In the

meantime let's get ready. Mbejane, Sean shouted and the black head

popped out of the trench. Nkosi? Are you awake They are coming. The

blackness parted in a white smile. We are awake. Then get down and

stay down until I give the word.

The five mercenaries were lying belly down in the grass, each with a

newly-opened packet of cartridges at his elbow. Sean hurried back to

Duff and they crouched behind the boiler. The tin can shows up clearly

from here. Do you think you can hit it? With my eyes closed, said

Sean.

The horsemen reached the fork and turned without hesitation towards the

Candy Deep, quickening their paces as they came up the ridge. Sean

rested his rifle across the top of the boiler and picked up the speck of

silver in his sights. What's the legal position, Duff? he asked out of

the corner of his mouth. They've just crossed our boundary, they are

now officially trespassers, Duff pronounced solemnly.

One of the leading horses kicked over the tin can and Sean fired at the

spot on which it had stood. The shot was indecently loud in the quiet

morning and every head in the syndicate lifted with alarm towards the

ridge, then the ground beneath them jumped up in a brown cloud to meet

the sky. When the dust cleared there was a struggling tangle of downed

horses and men. The screams carried clearly up to the crest of the

ridge.

My God, breathed Sean, appalled at the destruction. Shall we let them

have it, boss? called one of the hired men. No, Duff answered him

quickly. They've had enough. The flight started, riderless horses,

mounted men and others on foot were scattering back down the valley.

Sean was relieved to see that they left only half a dozen men and a few

horses lying in the road. Well, that's the easiest fiver you've ever

earned, Duff told one of the mercenaries. I think you can go home now

and have some breakfast. Voit, Duff. Sean pointed. -the survivors of

the explosion had reached the road junction again and there they were

being stopped by two men on horseback. Those two are trying to rally

them Let's change their minds, they're still within rifle range! They

are not on our property any more, disagreed Sean. Do you want to wear a

rope? They watched while those of the syndicate who had had enough

fighting for one day disappeared down the road to the camps and the rest

coagulated into a solid mass at the crossroad. We should have shot them

up properly while we had the chance, grumbled one of the mercenaries

uneasily. Now they'll come back, look at that bastard talking to them

like a Dutch uncle. They left their horses and spread out, then they

started moving cautiously back up the slope. They hesitated just below

the line of boundary pegs then ran forward, tearing up the pegs as they

came. All together, gentlemen, if you please, called Duff politely and

the seven rifles fired. The range was long and the thirty or so

attackers ran doubled up and dodging.

The bullets had little effect at first, but as the distance shortened

men started falling. There was a shallow donga running diagonally down

the slope and as each of the attackers reached it he jumped down into it

and from its safety started a heated reply to the fire of Sean's men.

Bullets sponged off the machinery, leaving bright scars where they

struck.

Mbejane's Zulus were adding their voices to the confusion. Let us go

down to them now, Nkosi. They are close, let us go. Quiet down, you

madmen, you'd not go a hundred paces against those rifles, Sean snarled

impatiently. Sean, cover me, whispered Duff. I'm going to sneak round

the back of the ridge, rush them from the side and lob a few sticks of

dynamite into that donga. . Sean caught his arm, his fingers dug into

it so that Duff winced. You take one step and I'll break a rifle butt

over your head, you're as bad as those Blacks. Now keep shooting and

let me think. Sean peered over the top of the boiler but ducked again as

a bullet rang loudly against it, inches from his ear. He stared at the

new paint in front of his nose, put his shoulder against it; the boiler

rocked slightly. He looked up and Duff was watching him. We'll walk

down together and lob that dynamite, Sean told him. Mbejane and his

bloodthirsty heathens will roll the boiler in front of us. These other

gentlemen will cover us, we'll do this thing in style. Sean called the

Zulus out of the trench and explained to them. They chorused their

approval of the scheme and jostled each other to find a place to push

against the boiler. Sean and Duff filled the front of their shirts with

the dynamite grenades and lit a short length of tarred rope each.

Sean nodded to Mbejane.

Where are the children of Zulu? sang Mbejane, shrilling his voice in

the ancient rhetorical question. Here, answered his warriors braced

ready against the boiler. JWhere are the spears of Zulu? Here. How

bright are the spears of Zulu? Brighter than the Sun.

How hungry are the spears of Zulu? Hungrier than the locust. Then let

us take them to the feeding. Tehho. Explosive assent and the boiler

revolved slowly to the thrust of black shoulders.

Teh-ho. Another reluctant revolution.

Teh-ho. It --moved more readily.

Teh-ho. Gravity caught it. Ponderously it bumped down the slope and

they ran behind it. The fire from the donga doubled its volume,

rattling like hail against the huge metal cylinder. The singing of the

Zulus changed its tone also; the deep-voiced chanting quickened, climbed

excitedly, and became the blood trill. That insane, horrible squealing

made Sean's skin crawl, tickled his spine with the ghost fingers of

memory, but it inflamed him also. His mouth opened and he squealed with

them. He touched the first grenade with the burning rope then flung it