Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (34 page)

“All right,” conceded Julian. “I’ll pay him. I need more porters or it won’t look right.”

With Jade’s encouragement, Jelani settled for the high salary of fifty rupees. When Biscuit wanted to follow Jelani, Jade grasped the cheetah’s collar and held him aside.

“They don’t want you in this scene,” she said.

Harry came back to watch. Biscuit butted Harry’s leg in greeting. “Well, at least someone is glad to see me,” Harry said.

“Has something happened to make you think someone’s mad at you?” Jade asked with as much innocence as she could muster.

Harry sat down next to her. “Do you mean outside of Cynthia slapping my face last night, and both she and Bebe turning their backs on me when I said good morning?” He cleared his throat and shifted his backside on the rock, trying to get more comfortable. “Do you know anything about this?”

“What? That you had a fling with Bebe earlier and with Cynthia more recently? I might have heard something about it.”

“I can explain,” he said, clearing his throat again. “Bebe
sent
for me back in Nairobi the night of the murder. Said she was terrified to be alone after what she’d seen. I’m telling you straight; she
threw
herself at me. Then Cynthia and I . . . well, I was, er, interrogating her like you asked, and she was so lonely after losing Wheeler that one thing led to another and . . .”

Jade didn’t reply. In truth, she was trying not to laugh out loud.
Why is he telling me this?

“You’re probably hurt, too, Jade,” he began.

“Harry, I’m not your confessor. I don’t care to know about all your peccadilloes. But you ought to know that Bebe used you. She thought she might be pregnant with Wheeler’s child. I don’t think she wanted anyone to know that, especially after she found out he was married. From what I’ve read, that scandal would ruin her career.”

Harry’s eyes widened as the conclusion dawned on him. “She was going to blame me? Why, the little vixen!” He reached for one of Jade’s hands. She pulled it away and scowled. “But, Jade,” he said, “you can see that neither of these were my fault. I care about
you
.”

Jade stood up. “Harry, you’re a rounder; you’ll always be a rounder.” She took out her Kodak and walked away, shooting pictures of the vegetation and the vista. At one spot, she peered down into a small ravine and spied the remains of a box. She climbed down and retrieved it, reading the words painted on the broken board.

“Tinned beef.” She’d tell Harry later. Right now she didn’t want to talk to him.

Julian wanted the stream crossing to be shot and reshot from different angles. After the third trip across the same ravine, he decided he’d gotten all he could out of that one spot. The caravan proceeded another half mile and faced yet a third stream. This time the porters protested when Julian wanted to repeat the filming.

“Peter’s hut isn’t far,” said Harry. “Less than a half mile. The men are tired and everyone needs to eat. Then, if you still want to film that last stream, you can come back for it. Empty a few of the boxes and let the men carry those.”

“Fine,” groused Julian. “We’ll dump some of the gear and come back here after we eat.”

Harry urged everyone forward with repeated coaxes and promises. “That’s the ticket. Looking sharp. Not far to the hut and a nice luncheon. Lots of fresh, clean water to drink.”

The trail took a sharp turn north and climbed a rocky patch of heath loaded with the bottle brush-shaped lobelia, whose pointed upper leaves lay matted downward while the bottom ones flared out like a ballerina’s tutu. Tucked amongst the rocks and purple heather stood Peter’s hut, a concoction of wooden slats, a few windows, and a decent roof. One tent was set up to its right and a beautiful little brook tumbled between stones on the left.

Jade took scant notice of the hut. Her eyes were locked on the newly revealed Kibo, the high point of Kilimanjaro, and Ruwa’s throne. Shining white ice and snow draped over its top and sides, coating it like an ermine mantle. She appeared to be the only one with eyes for the glacial peak. Everyone else was staring at the plain little shack and the lone tent set up beside it. Everyone but Julian. Jade saw his gaze feasting on the summit with a palpable hunger.

“It’s smaller than Bismark’s hut,” said Murdock. “How are we all going to fit in there?”

“Ah, well, there are a few bunks slatted into the walls, so we don’t all need the floor. There’s a dugout that the Chagga men sleep in. And Nakuru set up . . .” Harry’s words dropped into silence as a tall, black man strode towards him from the dugout.

“And Nakuru is here,” finished Jade.

 

 

SAM’S PATIENCE HAD all but disappeared. The train’s downhill run towards Mombassa was certainly faster than the reverse, but it still never managed to exceed twenty-five miles an hour. And there was no comfort here. No food was served. The car jolted and the air inside was oppressively hot and stale. It stayed that way, too, since every time he opened the window, red dust swirled inside. Not long after that, a lady would insist that he shut the window before her hair, hat, traveling dress, or complexion was ruined.

Sam complied. Maybe he could sleep and wake up at Voi. But his brain kept nagging at him, teasing him until his head throbbed with all the little details he’d learned.

At least you know Lilith isn’t behind this.
At Sam’s request, Avery had telegrammed the women’s prison where she was incarcerated, and asked for an update on the woman’s activities. The reply had come back late Saturday. She hadn’t had any outside communication for over a month, and that was from a visiting minister.

Sam thought about swallowing some aspirin, chasing them with warm water from his canteen.
Better not. They’re not making your stomach very happy.
So for the second time, he tried to divert himself by surveying his fellow passengers and guessing their reasons for this trip. They appeared to be the usual assortment one expected. The two dignified-looking men, Sam thought, were government appointees on their way to England for a few months “away from the equatorial sun and the altitude.” A pair of middle-aged women, he decided, seemed bound for a fancy-goods shopping trip in Mombassa. A younger man, browned and hardened by the sun, kept fidgeting with a pocket watch that contained a picture inside.

He’s a farmer and he’s going to meet his bride, newly arriving from England.
The last pair, a moonstruck couple, were easy to read.
Newlyweds off on a honeymoon trip. Perhaps Zanzibar.

That was when Sam remembered why he didn’t enjoy playing this game of identifying the passengers. It reminded him of two facts: one, Jade had yet to accept his marriage proposal, and two, he now had his own serious doubts. He felt them now as they attacked his throbbing head and riddled his stomach with sharp pangs. For all that he loved her bravery and heroism, her recklessness drove him mad.

How are you going to live with the constant fear that she’s about to race after a lion, an elephant, or a murderer?
Hell, being leopard bait was bad enough, but she had been in a cage there. This latest stunt chasing the lion off Biscuit’s kill was too much.

It was both. Sooner or later, Jade would find out that Lwiza was an impostor and she wouldn’t leave well enough alone. She’d charge right in and force the woman’s hand. She’d done it in Tsavo, on Mount Marsabit, in Morocco, and, most recently, on an isolated Kenyan farm. She wouldn’t hesitate at ten thousand feet.
You’ll still worry about her even if you leave and go back to the States.
Would he? he wondered.
Out of sight, out of mind?
Well so far, every time she was out of his sight he felt like he was out of his mind.

The train slowed to a stop, the brakes screeching in a pitch that sent shivers up Sam’s spine. He opened the window to stick his head out and call to the engineer, but the rolling and choking dust cloud stopped him. He shut the window as hundreds of zebra raced past in a snorting, swirling, black-and-white blur. Several squealed in pain or terror.

Finally the herd cleared the track and raced off into the distance. Still the train stayed motionless, huffing and breathing steam. The whistle blew twice. Their car jolted forward about a foot, then jerked to a halt. After five minutes and no progress, Sam opened the window and hailed the engineer. “Why are we still stopped?”

“Obstruction on the tracks, sir.”

Sam imagined a fallen zebra, left by the herd and as yet unseen by the pursuing lions. “Do you need a hand clearing it?”

“Wouldn’t advise it, sir. Lions. Five of them.”

“Lions?” murmured all the other passengers. Immediately, their own windows were opened as heads popped out to glimpse the beasts.

“Four females and one male, to be precise,” continued the engineer. “Seems one of the zebra caught a hoof on an exposed sleeper and the pride brought it down where it stood. They’re feeding right now. Best to keep your heads inside.”

“Can’t you run them off?” asked Sam.

“Tried. Blew the whistle, even bumped one of the females. She just snarled and slapped the engine. And if they moved off a bit, we’d still have the carcass to deal with. Wouldn’t want to derail on it, and I wouldn’t advise trying to lift it off the tracks as long as the lions are about. Best to wait a bit. They won’t be too long at it.”

Sam plopped back down in his seat. The delay wouldn’t matter in the end. He’d be spending the night at Voi anyway before the train to Moshi left. What was another hour more or less? But it felt as if nature were conspiring to keep him from his goal.

And what are you going to do when you get to Moshi? Climb the blasted mountain looking for her?
Sam closed his eyes and fell asleep. He dreamed of zebra and lions, but every time the lions had a kill, he saw Jade’s body under their feet.

 

 

HARRY LED NAKURU aside so they could speak in private while the actors battled it out for prime sleeping spots. Jade tagged along without an invitation.

“What are you doing here, Nakuru?” asked Harry.

“The men are up by the ice line with the tents, bwana, as you wished,” said Nakuru. “I came back only to warn you. They are not happy. Another box broke on our walk to this hut. This time potted meat spilled out. The tins scattered like frightened antelope.”

“Were you able to find them all?” Jade asked.

“Not all, memsahib. Many fell into deep ravines. But we have some. It is enough if we do not baby our stomachs.”

“That box was reinforced with leather straps,” said Harry.

“The leather had been broken. I looked at it, bwana. The cuts were clean. They were not the marks of old leather that cracks. The Chagga men that stay, they speak of a curse. Even my own men are listening. I will not stay here. I will go back to keep them at peace.” Nakuru looked around at the porters. “The two men who went back,” he said, “they did not find you?”

“They found us, and promised to come up with us, but they ran away early this morning.”

Nakuru shrugged. “It is well. Two less mice gnawing at the meal.”

“Still, I’d better make sure we have enough food and save the rest of the tinned meat for when we can’t get anything else,” said Harry. “Did you spot any game on your way here?”

“The animals do not like the wasted area where the tents are,” said Nakuru. “But I saw the fresh spoor of the eland not far from here.” He pointed to the northeast. “I also saw the spoor of an elephant. The Chagga men, they say that the elephant goes to the mountaintop to die so that the white man cannot take his tusks.”

Harry chuckled. “The old elephant-graveyard story again. No, Nakuru, I think
tembo
was just passing through to the other side of the mountain. He’ll be in his forest before long.” He shrugged his shoulder, hitching his rifle. “I’ll take two of these Chagga men with me to hunt. You rest, my friend. When I return, we’ll have a feast.”

Nakuru shook his head. “I must go back to the men to keep peace there. We will meet tomorrow.” He nodded his farewell to Harry and then to Jade and marched off across the highland to the more barren saddle.

“He can’t go on, Harry. It’s another six hours at least. Make him stay.”

“Five for him, I’d guess,” said Harry as he watched the figure stride rapidly away. “He’s got that much daylight left. And he’s right. If those men are spooked, they can’t be trusted alone. Any one of them might take it into his head to bolt for home this evening and be caught exposed on the mountain overnight. Temperatures drop to freezing here.”

He called to two Chagga men to join him. “Don’t fret your pretty head, Jade. We’ll be with them tomorrow and all will be well. You’ve got the camp. Try to keep them all here.”

Since Harry took most of their porters, and since everyone else was too fatigued to hike back to the last stream, Jade had no trouble keeping the crew rounded up. It helped that Julian wanted to film everyone arriving at Peter’s hut. The man became a veritable dictator, bullying them first through a short, cold lunch of jerked meat and dried fruits, then ordering the actors through their scenes. It worked. Their exhaustion and anxiousness came through without their having to act at all.

“Tomorrow when we get to the saddle, we’ll film all the Menelik scenes, showing his dying wishes and his entourage carrying him up to the heights to die,” Julian said.

“Tomorrow when we get to the saddle,” countered Jade, “you all need to rest. You need to do that
now
, before anyone takes sick from the altitude. There’s an old Swahili proverb that applies here.
Hakari, hakari haina baraka
. Hurry, hurry is without blessing. We’re hurrying too much as it is. Poor Mr. Homerman is about done-in.”

“That’s a lot of hooey and poppycock,” said Julian. “I’ll grant that the
climbing
wears on a body, but the height? Old wives’ tales.”