In just the first few weeks, Leon discovered that not only was Hennie an indefatigable worker but he knew a great deal more about motor maintenance and bushcraft than Leon did, and was happy to share this knowledge with him. His relations with the staff were excellent. He had lived with African tribesmen all his life and understood their ways and customs. He treated them with humour and respect. Even Manyoro and Ishmael liked him. Leon found him good company around the campfire in the evenings and he was a fascinating raconteur. He was over forty, lean and sinewy. His beard was grizzled, and his face and arms were darkly sunburned. He spoke with a strong Afrikaans accent. ‘
With Manyoro and four other men they skinned, gutted and quartered the carcasses, then loaded them into the two trucks and delivered them to within half a mile of the great sprawling main camp of the presidential safari. This was as close as Percy would allow the vehicles to approach. He did not want the President and Selous to be disturbed by the sound of engines. Another team of porters came out from the camp to carry in the carcasses.
When they were alone Leon and Hennie parked the older Vauxhall under a pod mahogany tree and rigged a block and tackle from the main branch. They hoisted the truck’s rear and between them removed the differential, which had been emitting an alarming grinding sound. They began to strip down the offending part and lay out the pieces on a tattered square of tarpaulin. They looked up at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. The rider was a young man in jodhpurs and a wide-brimmed hat. He dismounted and hitched his horse, then sauntered up to where they were working.
‘Hello there. What are you up to?’ he drawled, with an unmistakable American twang.
Before he replied Leon looked him up and down. His riding boots were expensive and his khakis were freshly washed and ironed. His face was pleasant, but not striking. When he removed his hat, his hair was a nondescript mousy colour, but his smile was friendly. It struck Leon that the two of them were almost the same age: the other was no more than twenty-two at most.
‘We’re having a spot of bother with this old bus,’ Leon told him, and the stranger grinned.
‘ “Having a spot of bother with this old bus”,’ he repeated. ‘God, I love that Limey accent. I could listen to it all day.’
‘What accent?’ Leon mimicked him. ‘I ain’t got no accent. Now you, you got a funny accent.’ They burst out laughing.
The stranger held out his hand. ‘My name’s Kermit.’ Leon looked down at his own palm, which was smeared with black grease. ‘That don’t matter,’ Kermit assured him. ‘I love to tinker with autos. I’ve got a Cadillac back home.’
Leon wiped his hand on the seat of his pants and took the other’s. ‘I’m Leon, and this ragamuffin is Hennie.’
‘Mind if I sit awhile?’
‘If you’re a famous mechanic you can lend a hand. How about pulling out that rack and pinion? Grab a spanner.’
They all worked in silent concentration for a few minutes, but both Leon and Hennie were watching the newcomer surreptitiously. At last Hennie gave his
‘What language is that, and what did Hennie say?’
‘It’s Afrikaans, an African version of Dutch, and he said you know what you’re up to.’
‘So do you, pal.’
They worked on for a while, then Leon asked, ‘Are you part of the great Barnum and Bailey circus?’
Kermit laughed delightedly. ‘Yeah, I suppose I am.’
‘What’s your job? Are you from the Smithsonian Institute?’
‘In a manner of speaking, but mostly I just sit around and listen to a bunch of old men talking a load of bulldust about how things were much better in their day,’ Kermit replied.
‘Sounds like great fun.’
‘Did you guys shoot that load of buffalo that was brought into camp this morning?’
‘It’s part of our job to keep the camp in meat.’
‘Now that really sounds like fun. Mind if I tag along next time you go out?’
Leon and Hennie exchanged a glance. Then Leon asked carefully, ‘What calibre of a rifle is it that you have?’
Kermit went to his horse and drew the weapon out of its boot under the saddle flap. He came back and handed it to Leon, who worked the lever action to check that the breech was empty then lifted it to his shoulder. ‘.405 Winchester. I hear it’s a good buffalo rifle but that it kicks like Bob Fitzsimmons punches,’ he said. ‘Can you shoot it worth a damn?’
‘I reckon.’ Kermit took the weapon back. ‘I call it Big Medicine.’
‘All right. Meet us here at four o’clock on the morning of the day after tomorrow.’
‘Why don’t you pick me up in the main camp?’
‘Forbidden,’ Leon said. ‘We lower forms of animal life are not allowed to disturb the great and the mighty.’
