‘Here,’ said Pop. ‘As well as any place. We’ll just find some water.’
We camped under some trees near three big wells where native women came for water and, after drawing lots for location, Karl and I hunted in the dusk around two of the hills across the road above the native village.
‘It’s all kudu country,’ Pop said. ‘You’re liable to jump one anywhere.’
But we saw nothing but some Masai cattle in the timber and came home, in the dark, glad of the walk after a day in the car, to find camp up, Pop and P.O.M. in pyjamas by the fire, and Karl not yet in.
He came in, furious for some reason, no kudu possibly, pale, and gaunt looking and speaking to nobody.
Later, at the fire, he asked me where we had gone and I said we had hunted around our hill until our guide had heard them; then cut up to the top of the hill, down, and across country to camp.
‘What do you mean, heard us?’
‘He said he heard you. So did M’Cola.’
‘I thought we drew lots for where we would hunt.’
‘We did,’ I said. ‘But we didn’t know we had gotten around to your side until we heard you.’
‘Did {you} hear us?’
‘I heard something,’ I said. ‘And when I put my hand up to my ear to listen the guide said something to M’Cola and M’Cola said, “B’wana”. I said, “What B’wana?” and he said, “B’wana Kabor”. That’s you. So we figured we’d come to our limit and went up to the top and came back.’
He said nothing and looked very angry.
‘Don’t get sore about it,’ I said.
‘I’m not sore. I’m tired,’ he said. I could believe it because of all people no one can be gentler, more understanding, more self-sacrificing, than Karl, but the kudu had become an obsession to him and he was not himself, nor anything like himself.
‘He better get one pretty quick,’ P.O.M. said when he had gone into his tent to bathe.
‘Did you cut in on his country?’ Pop asked me.
‘Hell, no,’ I said.
‘He’ll get one where we’re going,’ Pop said. ‘He’ll probably get a fifty-incher. ‘
‘All the better,’ I said. ‘But by God, I want to get one too.’
‘You will, Old Timer,’ Pop said. ‘I haven’t a thought but what you will.’
‘What the hell! We’ve got ten days.’
‘We’ll get sable too, you’ll see. Once our luck starts to run.’
‘How long have you ever had them hunt them in a good country?’
‘Three weeks and leave without seeing one. And I’ve had them get them the first half day. It’s still hunting, the way you hunt a big buck at home.’
‘I love it,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want that guy to beat me. Pop, he’s got the best buff, the best rhino, the best water-buck . . .’
‘You beat him on oryx,’ Pop said.
‘What’s an oryx?’
‘He’ll look damned handsome when you get him home.’
‘I’m just kidding.’
‘You beat him on impalla, on eland. You’ve got a first-rate bushbuck. Your leopard’s as good as his. But he’ll beat you on anything where there’s luck. He’s got damned wonderful luck and he’s a good lad. I think he’s off his feed a little.’
‘You know how fond I am of him. I like him as well as I like anyone. But I want to see him have a good time. It’s no fun to hunt if we get that way about it.’
‘You’ll see. He’ll get a kudu at this next camp and he’ll be on top of the wave.’
‘I’m just a crabby bastard,’ I said.
‘Of course you are,’ said Pop. ‘But why not have a drink?’
‘Right,’ I said.
Karl came out, quiet, friendly, gentle, and understandingly delicate.
‘It will be fine when we get to that new country,’ he said.
‘It will be swell,’ I said.
‘Tell me what it’s like, Mr. Phillips,’ he said to Pop.
‘I don’t know,’ said Pop. ‘But they say it’s very pleasant hunting. They’re supposed to feed right out in the open. That old Dutchman claims there are some remarkable heads.’