Kermit did not seem to hear him. He sat staring at the rifle in his lap with a stunned look on his sweat-streaked face. ‘God love me!’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never shot that good before.’ He raised his head and gazed down at the three massive bodies. Slowly he stood up and walked to the nearest elephant. He stooped and laid his right hand reverentially on one of the long, gleaming tusks. ‘I can’t believe what happened. Big Medicine just seemed to take over from me. It was as though I was standing outside myself, and watching it all happen from a distance.’ He raised the Winchester to his lips like a communion chalice and kissed the blued metal breech block. ‘Hey there, Big Medicine, Lusima Mama put one hell of a spell on you, didn’t she?’
It was six days before the tusks could be pulled from the decomposing flesh, and by then Manyoro had assembled a gang of porters from the nearby Samburu villages to take them back to the base encampment on the Ewaso Ng’iro river. On the return march they made a detour to pick up the cached rhino head. The long file of porters was carrying an impressive array of big-game trophies as they approached the camp. They were still several miles short of the river when they saw a small group of horsemen riding towards them from the direction of the camp.
‘I bet this is my dad coming to find out what I’ve been doing.’ Kermit was grinning in anticipation. ‘I can’t wait to see his face when he lays eyes on this lot.’
While they reined in to wait for the approaching riders to come up, Leon brought up his binoculars and studied them. ‘Hold on! That isn’t your father.’ He stared a few moments longer. ‘It’s that newspaper fellow and his cameraman. How the hell did they know where to find us?’
‘I reckon they must have an informer in our camp. Apart from that, they have eyes like circling vultures,’ Kermit commented. ‘They don’t miss anything. Anyway, we can’t avoid talking to them.’
Andrew Fagan rode up and lifted his hat. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Roosevelt,’ he called. ‘Are those elephant tusks that your men are carrying? I had no idea they grew so large. Those are gigantic. You’re having a wonderfully successful safari. I offer you my heartiest congratulations. May I have a closer look at your trophies?’
Leon called to the porters to lay down their burdens. Fagan dismounted and went to inspect them, exclaiming with amazement. ‘I’d love to listen to your account of the hunt, Mr Roosevelt,’ he said, ‘if you could spare me the time. And, of course, I’d be extremely grateful if you and Mr Courtney would be good enough to pose for a couple more photographs. My readers would be fascinated to hear of your adventures. As you know, my articles are syndicated to almost every newspaper in the civilized world from Moscow to Manhattan.’ An hour later Fagan and his cameraman had finished. Fagan had half filled his notebook with shorthand scribbles, and his photographer had exposed several dozen flash plates of the hunters and their trophies. Fagan was eager to get back to his typewriter. He intended to send a galloper to the telegraph office in Nairobi with his copy and instructions that it was to be sent urgent rate to his editor in New York. As they all shook hands Kermit unexpectedly asked Fagan, ‘Have you met my father?’
‘No, sir, I have not, though I must add that I am one of his most ardent admirers.’
‘Come to see me tomorrow at the main camp,’ Kermit told him. ‘I’ll introduce you.’
Fagan was flabbergasted by the invitation, and as he rode away he was still calling his thanks.
‘What came over you, chum?’ Leon asked. ‘I thought you hated the fourth estate.’
‘I do, but they’re better as friends than enemies. One day Fagan may be a useful man to know. Now he owes me a big marker.’
Leon and Kermit rode into the main camp on the river in the late afternoon. Nobody was expecting them. With his robust constitution, the President had completely recovered from the effects of his Thanksgiving dinner. He was sitting under a tree outside his tent, reading his leatherbound copy of Dickens’s
