The Leopard's Prey (41 page)

“Oh, yes. I’m sure he does. Several of us were in the Volunteer Mounted Rifles.” He looked around as if he expected to see his shrewish wife make a derogatory remark about them.

“Can you tell me the names of everyone in the photo?”

“To be sure.” He brought the picture from his desk to the counter and pointed to the far left. “That’s me, of course. Next to me is Clarence Greene. Then there’s Charles Harding, and Kip Foster, Martin Stokes, and on the right Alwyn Chalmers.”

“Holding the zebra’s bridle,” said Jade.

“Oh, that’s not a zebra. We painted up the ponies to look like that. Shoe blacking, you know. Kept thieving tribes from taking them. A few men just threw a striped cloth over them, but it never looked as effective.”

“How interesting,” said Jade, thinking back to Sam’s side notation in his log. He’d seen a zebra mating with a horse on one of his flights. She looked up from the photo and noticed a rifle advertisement tacked onto the back wall. It depicted a hunter aiming for a snarling leopard, the cat’s terrifying yellow eyes glaring at him. Jade’s head spun. Everything else went black around her, leaving only the eyes, like an evil version of the Cheshire cat.

Yellow eyes. Liver pills.

“May I ask you another question?” Without waiting for Berryhill’s reply, she pressed on. “I saw Mr. Harding buying liver pills the other day. Does he buy a lot of them?”

“Yes, he does. One might suspect that he drinks too much, but I know for a fact that he drinks very little,” Berryhill said. “At least never at our dinners. But he uses so much sheep dip. Too much, I think. I read in the paper that it can cause liver damage. Why do you ask?”

Jade smiled. “Just friendly concern for him, that’s all. Thank you very much. Sorry to have bothered you, and good luck with your paperwork.”

Berryhill frowned. “You’re welcome, and thank you. I shall need the luck. Stokes made quite a mess of the bills. Somehow it even affects some of the new billings. I don’t know how Pauline managed to make heads or tails of it all these years. I hope she returns soon to finish these.”

Jade thought about calling the Dunburys from the store but decided she didn’t need either Berryhill or some hello girl to eavesdrop on the conversation. As much as she didn’t want to waste time, she also didn’t want to leave Bev and Avery in the dark. She turned to leave, but stopped at the door.

“It turns out I do need something, Mr. Berryhill. Some of your best rope for a lariat.”

SAM WAS SORRY to see the flight end. He’d enjoyed watching Jelani’s expressions, at least what he could see of them. They ranged from awe as they flew above great herds of kudu grazing on the plains, to amusement as they buzzed by the falls and startled a drinking lion, and finally pride when they passed over Jelani’s village. When they landed and Sam helped Jelani out, the lad’s eyes were aglow. Sam laughed. He, too, was happy to see Jelani looking more relaxed. It was terrible to think that someone so young should already be burdened with so many concerns. For an hour this morning, Sam hoped he’d lightened those cares and given the boy a vision of his homeland that no other Kikuyu or any other native, for that matter, had ever seen.

Jelani helped Sam pull the plane into the makeshift hangar.
“Asante sana,”
he said, thanking Sam. He held out his right hand.

Sam shook it. “It has been my pleasure. A man who is going to write about his country should see it first.”

Jelani smiled and nodded. “I have seen it now.”

“Anytime you want to see it again,” said Sam, “let me know.”

“I will. And now I must go to find Memsabu Thompson. She will take me to my home.” Jelani turned and, with head high and back straight, walked toward the distant farmhouse.

Sam was about to get his logbook to jot down some notes when he heard Jelani call to him. He turned toward the lad, who pointed to an old truck bouncing and sputtering up to the hangar. Sam waved back that he saw the truck and Jelani continued his trek to the house. Charles Harding got out and walked over to Sam.

“Mr. Featherstone, I was wondering if I might have your help over at my farm this morning. I’m having a great deal of trouble with my steam engine, and I hear you’re a good mechanic and an engineer.”

“JADE, WHERE THE deuce have you been?” demanded Avery as he met her at the door. “We rang up the police, who told us nothing. Then we telephoned the railroad office, asking them to find you. Got some chap saying no one could go into the warehouse until they caught a loose lion. What the blazes happened?”

“No one left you a message last evening?” Jade asked. Avery shook his head. Jade wasn’t surprised. It was no wonder she hadn’t recognized the man who came for her. “Where’s Beverly?”

“I made her lie down. She’s asleep. Are you going to answer my questions?”

“Yes, but you must promise to remain calm and not wake Bev.” Jade dropped her voice to just above a whisper and briefly recounted the previous night’s events, noting Avery’s stifled swears. She finished with that morning’s discovery and her new plan to capture the murderer. “I’m going to the Thompsons’ to get Sam first. Call Inspector Finch and tell him where we’re going.”

“And just where would that be?” called a querulous soprano voice from the back room.

“Bev, I should have known you’d hear. You have the ears of an Airedale.” Jade went into the bedroom and found her friend propped up against some pillows.

“I heard everything,” said Beverly. “Well, most of it. I definitely didn’t catch that last part about where you’re going.”

“To get Sam,” said Jade, omitting the part after that. “Since I was a target, it’s only a matter of time before Sam becomes one again.”

“Good,” Bev said, seemingly mollified by this bit of information. “Bring him back here before anyone takes another stab at him.”

Jade squeezed Bev’s hand and said she’d do her best. “Get some rest, Bev.”

When Jade came back into the front parlor, Avery was just finishing his call to Finch. Jade asked for the phone. “Inspector,” she said, “I don’t think I need to remind you that we must act quickly before word gets back that I survived the attack. Inspector?”

“Don’t worry,” peeped a female voice. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Who the blazes is this?” asked Jade.

“Nancy, the operator. The inspector’s hung up already. But don’t worry. My lips are sealed. And I’ll ring him back up and tell him myself.”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Oh, and Mrs. Thomspson thought you might know something about a rumor that Mr. Chalmers is getting married.”

“Oh my, yes. I heard someone call Mrs. Berryhill yesterday evening and tell her the good news. The bride is that pretty Alice Stokes. Seems she and her baby have been found quite safe.”

Jade thanked the girl and hung up.

“Jade, be careful,” whispered Avery as she headed for the door. “I’d tell you to wait for Finch but—”

“But you know it won’t do any good,” she finished for him as she took down her Winchester. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll have Sam with me.”

“That’s the only reason I’m not going with you,” said Avery.

“That and the fact that your Hup won’t keep up with our cycles.”

JADE EASED AROUND one of the worst ruts, then coaxed the cycle into second, feeling one gear meshing into another. Then she sped toward Thika and the Thompsons’ farm, her excitement rising at the thought of seeing Sam again. Together they’d confront Stokes’ real killer and clear Sam’s name. The anxiety of that upcoming confrontation tempered her exuberance, creating a worried agitation. But with Finch coming, there shouldn’t be too much problem.

Don’t be too sure. The man’s going to be armed and probably won’t go down without a fight.
But that was why she wanted to get there with Sam first, to surprise the scoundrel and hold him safely until the police arrived. Otherwise, he might bolt before anyone could catch him.

Goggles on, Jade had eyes only for the potential road hazards as she sped along. But in front of everything, she saw that vision of Sam lying dead. She pushed her Big Twin to its limit, circumventing a little striped skink basking in the dust. Soon she reached the Thompsons’ farm and roared up the drive to the house.

Jelani, on the veranda, rose to greet her as Jade parked the cycle and removed her head gear. “I went up in the airplane, Simba Jike,” he said. “I have seen my home now as Ngai, the Maker, sees it.” He paused and sighed, closing his eyes to recapture the memory. “I could never imagine that my land was so beautiful. I cannot wait for Memsabu Thompson to finish work with the chickens so I may go home and tell my people.”

“It
is
beautiful, Jelani. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you landed so you could tell me right away. But I’m glad you haven’t left yet. I wanted to ask you an important question.”

Jelani’s soulful black eyes locked on hers. “On the day that you were arrested,” Jade asked, “there was a man who left his bwana’s farm because he said the animals there were bewitched. Do you know who he worked for?”

Jelani nodded. “Yes, Bwana Harding.”

Jade nodded, her suspicions confirmed. It all fell into place: Chalmers’ missing stud pony, the zebra seen by Sam flying overhead as it mated with one of Harding’s horses, Harding shooting the female leopard rather than letting her come onto his land, the sudden return of Chalmers’ pony with a ratty mane. She also recalled the morning Harding brought in the leopard cubs and the skin of milk. He fumbled in his pocket for a missing knife, the knife she suspected she’d found under the dip trough.

More than that, she remembered his liver condition, probably brought on by his previous contact with the ever present arsenate soda he used on his own sheep. It was the
laibon
’s words in her dream that had brought it to mind, his warning to watching for danger in a pair of yellow eyes. He hadn’t meant the leopard as much as Harding.

Jade looked around for Sam. “I suppose Bwana Featherstone is still busy with the plane?”

Jelani shook his head. “No. He has gone.”

“Gone?” Her skin prickled. Had he been lured away as she had? “Where did he go?”

“Bwana Harding drove up in his truck as I walked back to the house. I think Bwana Featherstone went with him.”

The prickling sensation turned to terror for Sam’s safety. “Where’s Bwana Thompson?”

“He has gone to the far fields today.”

Jade started her cycle and prayed she wouldn’t be too late.

CHAPTER 24

To be Maasai is to be a member of a proud race, and the Maasai
respect this and their traditions. As they say in their own proverb,
a person without a culture is like a zebra without stripes.

—The Traveler

SAM HAD FOLLOWED Harding’s truck on his own motorcycle, his mind playing over all the possible complications that could break down a big steam engine. It pleased him that Harding had asked for him. The man had previously seemed gruff. At least he’d forgiven Sam for flying over his farm. Sam was also excited about the prospect of working on the engine. As an engineer, there was little he enjoyed more.

Sam recalled his father needing help fixing a threshing machine when he and his brothers were still too small to contribute much muscle. It had been damaged in a spring tornado and several neighbors pitched in to set it aright. The satisfaction he’d found in watching them hammer out bent parts was one of the reasons Sam had gone on to study engineering.

Harding’s farm sat twenty-two miles northwest of the Thompsons’, and they took it as the crow flies, rather than by the more roundabout roads. Sam knew they’d save many miles, but he wasn’t sure it was worth the wear on Harding’s old truck. On the other hand, his own Indian motorcycle, a war veteran like himself, took the hills and skirted the ditches and termite mounds as easily as it had once wound around trenches and debris in Europe. When they came to the fenced lands of the farm, they went around and cut into the lane to one of the barns.

Sam shut off his cycle, parking near a fence post. He slipped off his goggles and leather helmet, draping them over the handlebars. “Now where is that engine of yours, Mr. Harding?” He turned from his bike and found himself staring straight into the barrel of an army revolver.

JELANI HAD TOLD Jade that he had watched Sam and Harding ride off across the fields rather than along the roads. Jade knew she needed to follow their tracks in case Harding tried something along the way. They had a half an hour’s lead on her at least, which was about to be lengthened when she noted her low fuel tank. There was no time to try to find Neville, especially if he was on the far side of the huge farm. She pulled up by the hangar and quickly pumped gasoline from Sam’s tank into a can and filled up. Then, after a quick check to make sure her Winchester was secure in its saddle case, and the lariat was handy across her shoulders, she picked up their trail and sped off in pursuit.

She moved faster than a truck could, taking less time going over ditches, jumping several rather than bouncing around them. It was a comforting thought. She was shortening their lead. One jump disturbed a sleeping serval cat that responded by arching its back and hissing. Just so long as it wasn’t a rhino or a buffalo, she didn’t care. The matted grasses displayed the tracks, and Jade picked up the trail after each cutoff. As long as there were two sets of tracks, she knew that Sam had still been following Harding.