way along a narrow traverse.
The first time he had climbed this mountain he had been following the
blood spoor of the wounded ibex, but now he did not have those
splattered droplets to guide him, and twice he missed the path and found
himself in a dead end on the cliff face. He was forced to edge back from
the drop and retrace his footsteps until he found the correct urning.
Each time he did so he was aware that he was losing time, and that Mek
Nimmur might pass before he was able to intercept him.
Once he startled a small troop of wild goats which were lying on a ledge
halfway up the cliff. They went bounding away up the rock face, more
like birds than animals bound by the laws of gravity. They were led by a
huge male with a streaming beard and long spiral horns, which in its
flight showed Boris a direct route to the top of the cliff.
He tore the skin off his fingertips dragging himself up the last steep
pitch, but finally he reached the top and wormed his way over the
skyline, never lifting his head. A i human form silhouetted against the
clear, eggshell-blue sky would be visible from miles around. He moved
along behind the crest until he found a small clump of sanseveria to
give him cover, and used the erect, spiny leaves to break up the outline
of his head as he surveyed the valley a thousand feet below through the
binoculars.
From this height the Nile was a broad, glittering serpent uncoiling into
the first bend of the oxbow, its surface ruffled by rapids and rocky
reefs. The high ground on either bank formed standing waves of up-thrust
basalt, turbulent and chopped into confusion like a storm sea in a
tropical typhoon. The whole danced and shimmered in the heat and the sun
beat down with the blows of an executioner's axe, pounding this universe
of red rock into heat exhausted submission.
Though the air danced and trembled with the mirage in the tenses of his
binoculars, Boris traced out the rough trail beside the rier, and
followed it down the valley to the point where it was hidden by the
bend. It was deserted, with no sign of human presence, and he knew that
his quarry had moved on out of sight. He had no way of telling how far
down the trail they had travelled - he knew only that he must hurry on
if he were to cut them off on the far side of the mountain.
For the first time since he had left the'river, he drank sparingly from
the water bottle. He realized how the heat and the exertion of the climb
had dehydrated him. In these conditions a man without water might be
dead in hours. It was not in the least surprising that there was so
little permanent human habitation down here in the gorge.
When he backed off the skyline he felt rejuvenated, and set out to cross
the saddle of the mountain. It was less than a mile across, and without
warning he came out on the top of the cliffs on the far side. One more
unwary pace and he would have stepped off into space and plunged down a
thousand feet. Once again he moved along the crest until he found a
concealed vantage point from which to spy the terrain below.
The river was the same - a wide and confused expanse of white-ruffled
rapids, running back towards him as it turned through the leg of the
oxbow. The trail followed the near bank, except where it was forced to
detour inland by the rugged bluffs and stone needles which rose out of
the Nile waters.
In the great desolation of the gorge he could pick out no movement other
than the run of wild waters and the ceaseless dance of the heat mirage.
He knew it was not possible that Mek Nimmur had moved fast enough to
have passed completely ahead of him; therefore he must still be coming
around the bend of the oxbow.
He drank again, and rested for almost half an hour.
At the end of that time he felt strong and fully recovered.
He debated with himself whether to descend immediately and stake out an
ambush on the' trail, but in the end decided to keep to the high ground
until he had his quarry in sight.
He checked his rifle carefully, making sure that the telescopic sight
had not been bumped out of alignment during the climb, and then emptied
the magazine and examined the five cartridges. The brass case of one of
them was dented and discoloured, so he discarded it and reloaded with
another from his belt. He chambered a round and setthe safety-catch.
He set the weapon aside while he changed his sweat, dampened socks with
a fresh dry pair from his pack and retied his bootlaces with care. Only
a novice would risk blistered feet in these conditions, for within hours
they would be infected and festering.
He drank once more, and then stood up and stung the 30/06 on his
shoulder. Ready now for anything that the goddess of the chase could
send his way, he moved off along the crest to intercept the war party.
From every vantage point along the rim he glassed the valley below, each
time without spying his quarry, and the afternoon passed "swiftly. He
was just beginning to worry that Mek Nimmur had somehow managed to slip
past him unseen, that he had crossed the river at some secret ford or
taken another path through a hidden valley, when there came a plaintive
and querulous cry on the heat-hushed air.
He looked up. A pair of kites were circling over one particular clump of
Thorn scrub on the river bank.
The yellow'billed kite is one of the most ubiquitous scavengers in
Africa. It exists in close symbiotic association with man, feeding off
his rubbish, picking up his leavings, soaring and circling over his
villages or his temporary campsites, watching for his scraps or waiting
patiently for him to squat in the bushes and then dropping down
immediately he has finished his private business, acting as a universal
sewage disposal agent.
Boris studied this pair of birds through his binoculars as they sailed
idly in the heated air, always circling directly over that same patch of
river in bush. They had a distinctive manner of steering with their long
bifurcated tails, twisting them from side to side as they flirted with
the breeze. Their bright yellow beaks showed clearly as they turned
their heads to look down at something in the scrub.
He smiled coldly to himself. "Da! Nimmur has gone into camp early.
Perhaps the heat and the pace are too fierce for his new woman, or
perhaps he has stopped to play with her a little."
He moved on along the rim until he could look down directly into the
patch of bush. He studied it through the binoculars, but without picking
out any signs of human presence. After almost two hours he was becoming
uncertain of his original assumption. The only thing that retained his
attention was the pair of kites, which had settled in a treetop
overlooking the patch of scrub. He had to trust that they were watching
the men hidden in the scrub.
He glanced at the sun anxiously. It was sliding down towards the horizon
at last and losing its furious heat. Then he looked down into the valley
again.
Directly below the patch of bush was an indentation in the river bank
that formed a backwater, almost a small lagoon, When the river was in
flood it would be inundated, but now there was a small strip of gravel