quote:

Originally posted by butchloc:
The night in zimbabwe without the moon is a dark one. The southern cross glows brightly, but the darkness has closed in about you. It has been a long day, and the meal of eland steaks combined with that 3rd sundowner has made you sleepy. The mopane fire is dying and the darkness is closing in around it too. You stretch out in the bed, alone in the tent, and sleep come quickly. Somewhere in your unconsciousness, you him him call, but sleep takes over. The night was short, and you awaken suddenly to the excited jabbering of the camp.

Something has happened, you know not what, but something has happened. You dress quickly to see what it is, and as you exist the tent, the camp boss is pointing at your feet. There is the dirt is a track, a pug mark, it's bigger than your foot. He came in the darkness of the night and he was next to you.

Are you afraid? Maybe you should be, but the excitement has the adrenaline flowing. You're not hunting for him, you can't afford it and there is no quota, but he was there anyway. Maybe teasing you, but maybe stalking, stalking you.

The incident goes by as the day wears on. It was a successful day, you bagged a bushpig today. A really unique pig, and you are thrilled with it, but now its supper time, and the night is soon here. Sitting by the fire, you hear the deep throated call. Is he coming back tonight ? The tent walls are just a piece of canvas. He can see tonight, you can't. It is a bit of a troubled sleep you fall into, waking several times to listen, but it is quiet. There is no sign the next morning.

Breakfast is tasteless as your mind wonders, but then it's time to go hunting. Today there is the big waterbuck you saw yesterday. He ghosted away, but you know he is still in the area. As the morning wears on, nothing is seen, at least nothing worth shooting. Its lunch time and camp is close by enough to have a grand lunch there. A grand lunch it is too, your stomach is full and your eyes are heavy. Then on the nearby road there is a man on a bicycle hailing the camp. It is a man from the small village a few miles away. He is calling for help.

The great one has killed, killed his donkey, killed his cattle. His family, and indeed the entire village are afraid to go out a night. Your PH makes a radio call to the authorities describing what has happened. You can't understand what they are talking about, but the excitement of the conversation is addictive. Fred puts down the microphone and walks toward you. Boss, he says the people are afraid to leave their village and the big guys say we are to help. They have given us a quota. Are you up to it?? The answer comes before you can even gain a thought, and you grab your rifle by the twin barrels and jump into the cruiser. 3 trackers are with you this time. It isn't a case of sport, but rather one of living or dying to the people. The old man on the bicycle rides along and points out the spot, but from a distance. He is afraid to get closer, are you? The half eaten donkey is laying near a bush. The field of long grass surrounds it.

Fred and the trackers are out of the cruiser examining every little detail. Was it him? the one that came in the night. The tracks say so. Backtracking into the bush long hair is found. Long black hair. Your heart is beating a rhythm that could lead a marching band. Is it possible that this is really happening? You don't pinch yourself, but the butt of the rifle drops on your toes. It is real, very real, and the night is coming. A blind is quickly set up and fred leads you into it.
75 yards away is the donkey, or what is left of it. You wait, the heat of the sun makes the blind feel like a steambath. Sweat runs down you face, leaving dust streaks across your cheeks. The sun has turned red and the breeze has died. Night is coming. You know that is his time, he is king.

The sun has disappeared and fred takes one last look. It's time to call in the cruiser. Not tonight, not yet. The events of the day pass through you mind on the ride home. Why did he not come? Everything had been perfect, but he did not come. The dark of the night has closed in around you as you hike back to the tent. Your torch lights the path, the same patch that he had walked only 2 nights ago.

Tonight again? The nagging fear lies in the crevasses of your brain. A worried sleep takes over. The night is long, it is cold, it is dark, and it belongs to him. There is no need for an early ariseal in the morning. You can take time with that extra cup of coffee.

The morning is half over when you board the cruiser once again. It doesn't take long to reach the little village, but something is wrong there. There are no people. Fred beeps the horn and the trackers shout for the people. Finally the old man comes out of his house. There is fear in his eyes as he describes the last night. It seems as a young girl was riding her bike home and he attacked. Luck was with her, she spent the night high in a sausage tree, beyond his reach. Her bike however did not share her luck. Angry at the near miss, he took his rage out on the bike. He is huge they tell you, at least the size of an elephant.

Now your hunt has a new meaning. You must succeed. Back to the blind, back to the heat, back to the sounds. The sun is red once again. You have dozed off, when fred grabs you knee. You can hear a crunch before your eyes are totally open. He is there, the remainder of the donkey his meal. His black and ginger mane is flowing in the breeze as you move every so slowly toward your rifle. You mount the gun, and the barrels move, not much but they moved and he saw it. From the crouch, he is on his feet. The yellow eyes glare through you. He knows, he knows you. Your finger touches the front trigger and the primer ignites the bowl full of powder the brass holds, The 400 gr bullet is on its way. But he turned just as you fired. You heard the sound of the bullet hitting, but he ran. Ran into the shoulder high tan colored grass.

What have you done. Its almost dark and he is in the grass. You can hear him growling. In your minds eye you see the shot, it looked good, but it ran, and he is alive. The light is gone, the night has taken over and you must go into the grass. Now are you afraid? He has gone quiet over a half hour ago. Is he waiting? Stories you have read run through your mind. Fearful stories. Stories of blood and death. Still you have to go in after him. You wish for armour plating replaced the shirt and vest you are wearing.

There is blood in the grass, it coats the stalks of grass. The walk goes ever so slowly, one millimeter at a time, senses at their peak. You are sweating again, but not from the heat this time . It is quiet, almost to quiet. Ahead is a small break in the grass. An open area, not large but at least you can finally see something other than grass. The light of the torch plays across the opening and there is a lump on the edge. The same color as grass, but not grass. His hip is still, his legs move no more The fierce eyes, are open no more. You feel hollow inside. excited, but empty. Fred is beating your back, the trackers are dancing and singing. all of a sudden you are a hero, or are you. heros aren't supposed to be afraid. The memory of that night lingers for months afterward. Every so often while laying in the comfort of your own bed in your own house, you wake, and listen. Maybe it was a ghost. his ghost. are you afraid?

....Mac >>>===(x)===> MacD37, ...and DUGABOY1
DRSS Charter member
"If I die today, I've had a life well spent, for I've been to see the Elephant, and smelled the smoke of Africa!"~ME 1982

Hands of Old Elmer Keith

quote:

Originally posted by MacD37:

Sorry but I'm dyslexic and it is hard for me to read one long sentence. Maybe this will help others like me to read this excelent story!