The Sound of Thunder(6)

‘Two hundred pounds—’ She was coming towards him now, offering the pouch. At each step the cloth of the breeches tightened across her thighs and Sean dragged his eyes guiltily back to her face.

‘Keep your money, lady.’ Her eyes were grey, smoky grey.

‘Two hundred on account, and as much again when we reach Natal.’

‘I’m not interested.’ But he was, those soft lips were starting to quiver.

‘How much then? Name your price.’

‘Look, lady. I’m not heading a procession. There are three of us already – one a child. There is hard riding ahead, plenty of it, and an army of Boers in between. Our chances are slim enough as it is. Another member to the party, and a woman at that, will make them prohibitive. I don’t want your money, all I want is to get my son to safety. Go home and sit this war out – it won’t last long.’

‘I’m going to Natal.’

‘Good. You go then – but not with us.’ Sean could not trust himself longer to resist the appeal of those grey eyes and he turned to Mbejane. ‘Horses,’ he snapped and walked away from her. She stood watching him quietly as they mounted up, making no protest. She seemed very small and alone as Sean looked down at her from the saddle.

‘I’m sorry,’ he growled. ‘Go home now like a good girl,’ and quickly he wheeled away and trotted out into the night.

All night they rode, east through the open moonlit land. Once they passed a darkened homestead and a dog barked, but they sheered away and then turned east again and held the great crucifix of the Southern Cross at their right-hand. When Dirk fell asleep in the saddle and slipped sideways, Sean caught him before he hit the ground, pulled him across into his lap and held him there for the rest of the night.

Before dawn they found a clump of bush on the bank of a stream, hobbled the horses and made camp. Mbejane had the billycan boiling over a small well-screened fire and Sean had rolled Dirk unconscious into his blankets when the girl rode into camp and jumped down from her horse.

‘I nearly lost you twice.’ She laughed and pulled off the cap. ‘Gave me a horrible fright.’ She shook down the shiny braids. ‘Coffee! Oh good, I’m famished.’

Menacingly Sean climbed to his feet and with clenched fists he glared at her, but undismayed she hobbled her horse and turned it loose before acknowledging him again.

‘Don’t stand on ceremony, please be seated.’ And she grinned at him with such devilment in her grey eyes, aping so faithfully his stance with hands on those indecent hips, that Sean suddenly found himself smiling. He tried to stop it for he knew it was an admission of surrender, but his effort was so unsuccessful that she burst into delighted laughter.

‘How’s your cooking?’ he demanded.

‘So, so.’

‘You’d better brush up on it because from now on you’re working your passage.’

Later, when he had sampled it for the first time, he admitted grudgingly:

‘Not bad – in the circumstances,’ and wiped the plate with a crust of bread.

‘You are too kind, sir.’ She thanked him and lugged her blanket-roll into the shade, spread it, pulled off her boots, wriggled her toes and lay back with a sigh.

Sean positioned his own bedroll with care so that, when he opened his eyes, without turning his head he could watch her from under the brim of the hat that covered his face.

He woke at midday and saw that she slept with one cheek in her open hand, the lashes of her eyes meshed together and a few loose strands of dark hair across a face that was damp and flushed in the drowsy heat. He watched her for a long time before silently rising and crossing to his saddle-bags. When he went down to the stream he took with him his flat canvas toilet-bag, the remaining pair of breeches that were neither patched nor too badly stained and a clean silk shirt.

Sitting on a rock beside the water, naked and freshly scrubbed, he regarded his face in the polished steel mirror.

‘A big job.’ He sighed and started snipping at the great bush of beard which had not felt the scissors in three years.

At dusk, self-conscious as a girl in her first party dress, Sean walked back into the camp. They were all awake. Dirk and the girl sat together on her blanket in such earnest conversation that neither of them noticed his arrival. Mbejane was busy at the fire; he rocked back on his heels and examined Sean without change of expression.

‘We’d better eat and get going.’

Dirk and the girl looked up. Her eyes narrowed and then widened thoughtfully.

Dirk gaped at him, and then, ‘Your beard’s all funny—’ he announced, and the girl tried desperately to quell her laughter.