Mark of the Lion (15 page)

“They do know cattle,” agreed Colridge, “but it’s a damned waste of animal flesh and good pasturage, considering they never eat them. Always wanting more land for the beasts, too.”

A dark brow arched in question. “
Never
eat them?” Jade asked. “Are they like Hindus?”

“No, they drink the milk and curdle it in calabashes, gourds, to eat,” explained Neville. “That and they bleed the bulls and drink the blood. Never take enough to hurt the animal.”

“Most curious,” murmured Jade.

“The Maasai breed cattle, hunt lion, and occasionally raid villages for more cattle,” added Hascombe. “Cattle are their money and a mark of their manhood.”

“Money which they never spend,” sputtered Lord Colridge. “Ridiculous economics.”

“Well, not really,” countered Jade. Everyone looked at her with open mouths. Very few people contradicted Lord Colridge. “It seems to me a system of economics exactly like that practiced by many rich capitalists who never touch the principal but live entirely on the interest. And isn’t that what they’re doing when they only take the milk and a small amount of blood? They’re living on the interest.”

Harry Hascombe laughed heartily and slapped his palm on the table, which sent the coffee mugs and plates recoiling from the impact. “Most delightful, Miss del Cameron.”

Lord Colridge puffed and snorted like an old bull, but to Jade’s discerning eye, it seemed to be more for show. Once she even caught him stifling a smile with a cough. Ah well, he did have a reputation to maintain.

Breakfast completed, they bade His Lordship farewell. Then the two groups broke apart and traveled their separate ways, which left the porters to take down the camp and carry everything back to Colridge’s farm. Jade wanted to clean her gun before leaving, but Harry suggested she wait until they reached his ranch. He’d brought a double-barreled Holland with him that morning and assured them that he, “and Thompson of course,” could protect them very well for the short ride.

Mr. Hascombe pointed out his herds of cattle in the distance and explained how they had grown so much that there was barely enough grazing land left for them. “I recently made an offer to Roger Forster, my neighbor, to join up our ranches, but he’s not interested,” said Harry.

“Why should he be?” Jade inquired.

“Roger’s had a run of bad luck. First, the failed ostrich farm; then his cattle had to be destroyed due to anthrax. As a rancher’s daughter, you know what that means.”

Jade reflected on the fear that the soil bacteria would land as spores on plants and be eaten by the cattle. Then an entire herd might have to be destroyed to prevent the risk of it spreading. But the disease was considered rare. “Is anthrax a common problem here?” she asked.

“It wasn’t until the war,” replied Harry. “The bloody Germans actually tried to spread it in some areas.”

“I say, I didn’t know Forster’s cattle had anthrax,” Neville interjected.

“Not sure they actually did,” stated Harry. “But someone in the colony made the claim to the authorities and that was enough. He’s trying again, but he’s got two overdrafts at the banks already. Thought my offer might help him out, but Rog is a proud man.” Harry shrugged. “Well, negotiations were friendly enough. Who knows, we may make some sort of partnership yet.”

Hascombe’s single-storied house stood up on a rise and oversaw various vegetable gardens and metal outbuildings. Like Colridge’s house, it sported a large veranda that ran the length of the home. Unlike Colridge’s, no flower beds graced the borders, and the roof was an untidy-looking assemblage of tin cut from empty paraffin
debes
, the universal building material in the colony. Jade considered the overall effect to be that of a bachelor who didn’t care to be inconvenienced either by a poorly made home or by the maintenance of any beautifying factors.

As if she read Jade’s mind, Madeline pulled alongside of her and whispered, “It needs a woman’s touch.”

Jade furrowed her brows and glared at Madeline, who glanced away almost immediately and spied a spotted pelt tacked onto a mud hut. “Oh, look, Jade,” she exclaimed and pointed. “I believe that is your hyena over there.”

“Correct, Mrs. Thompson,” said Harry. “Care to take a look at it?” They dismounted and handed the reins over to a stable boy in white robes, then proceeded on foot to the outbuilding.

“Should be a very fine addition to your personal trophies, Miss del Cameron,” said Harry. “And after last evening, I’ve no doubt that they are many.”

Jade shrugged. “Not so many. At home we hunt for meat; elk and deer mostly. Sometimes we shoot black bear or mountain cats that harass the livestock.” She touched the stiff hide and traced the symmetrical zigzags shaved into the fur. “Of course, we keep the hides for coats, leather, or rugs, but I rarely mount the heads unless I need a new hat rack.”

“I’ll send this to the Norfolk Hotel when it’s ready,” Harry said. “They’ll hold it for you.”

Jade stood entranced by the pattern in the hide. “This is incredible,” she finally said. “To think someone would train an animal like this.”

“Then you believe it was a trained animal?” Harry asked.

“Consider the facts,” Jade replied. “Someone certainly had his hands on this animal. Otherwise, those patterns and that bead wouldn’t be there.”

“So perhaps a native captured a hyena, did that, then released the animal back into the wild,” Neville suggested.

“Why? To what purpose?” argued Jade.

“Well, to strike fear,” Neville said.

“But what are the chances anyone would ever see it unless it attacked someone?” Jade countered. “And despite your hyena problem, it seems unlikely that this one would just happen to show up at the village.”

“Then you do think it’s witchcraft?” asked Neville.

Jade shook her head. “Not necessarily. Why should the explanation be supernatural? If the animal is intelligent, it’s trainable. Perhaps someone taught it to hunt goats or even humans.”

“I’ve never thought of the hyena as intelligent,” volunteered Madeline, “but since it is usually a pack predator, I suppose it must be. Otherwise how could they cooperate?”

“Exactly,” said Jade. “Wolves are another social predator, and they’re very smart. I’d imagine the lion is as well.”

“Well, some might be,” said Harry, “but old Percy is rather dim-witted.” He led them to a set of bamboo pens behind the outbuildings. “Come, let me introduce you to
my
little menagerie.”

Grunts, screeches, chirps, and an assortment of other sounds grew louder as they approached the pens. The musky aroma of a large cat mingled with the sweeter scent of big herbivores and the mildly putrid smell of pig. A magnificent male lion greeted them first. He shook a thick black mane, yawned, and exposed a cavernous mouth of wicked-looking teeth.

“Percy here was a cub four years ago. We killed his mother much as you had to kill your mountain cat, Miss del Cameron. I hadn’t the heart to shoot this little bloke, so I raised him for a pet.”

“Surely you don’t actually let him out, Mr. Hascombe,” exclaimed Madeline.

Harry laughed. “No, ma’am. Oh, I used to take him out for a walk when he was a tyke, but I quit a year ago. He is a lion, after all, and even in play he’s a bit rambunctious.” The huge beast approached the bars at Harry’s voice and rubbed his massive head against the cage like any house cat. Harry obliged by reaching through and scratching him behind the ears. “Like I said before, Percy is a bit dim upstairs. I never could teach him not to eat my hats and boots. But come meet some of my other companions.” He led the way down a row of similar compartments that housed zebra colts, a Grant’s gazelle doe, and a grunting warthog.

Jade stared in wide-eyed wonder at the assortment. “Lord Colridge keeps some zebra in hopes of breaking them to the harness, but this … this is a genuine zoo.”

Harry grinned broadly. “We colonists like to consider ourselves eccentric and this is one of the best ways of proving it.” He looked at Madeline for confirmation. “I daresay you have a pet or two, Mrs. Thompson.”

“I do have a little duiker,” she admitted. “That’s one of the smallest antelope, Jade. He only comes up to my knee. I would like a mongoose someday, too.”

“I’ll see what I can do for you. Roger may have some. He keeps some animals himself.”

The comical pig ambled around its pen, tail spiked straight up like a flagpole. Jade was about to photograph it when a pretty birdlike chirp behind her arrested her attention. She turned to encounter a tall, fierce-looking Maasai warrior holding a leash. Attached to the other end and sniffing her boots was a beautiful, full-grown cheetah.

The cheetah chirped again, folding its upper lip as if to whistle, and entwined itself around the Maasai’s bare legs. With his long spear, red blanket robe, and regal carriage, the keeper was every bit as handsome as the animal. His ochredyed plaited hair hung fore and aft, and a lion claw hung from each slit earlobe. The man didn’t smile but spoke to Harry in some African language other than Swahili. Harry answered and, judging by nods in Jade’s direction and at the hyena hide, explained his visitors to the warrior. The tall, slender Maasai only nodded curtly, but Jade thought she detected a note of curiosity when he looked at her. At least his glance lingered longer on her face.

“My man, Ruta, here has special charge of Biscuit, a position of great honor.”

“Biscuit?” exclaimed Madeline. “You named this beautiful cheetah Biscuit?”

“He had a propensity for eating every one off the plate at teatime when he was a cub. Still does.”

Jade held out her hand, palm down as she would to a new dog. The slender cat first sniffed it, then licked it. Jade scratched it behind its rounded ears, and Biscuit sidled up to her for more.

“You’ve made a friend, Miss del Cameron. Biscuit is perfectly tame, but he gives his affections reluctantly. Ruta has always held them.”

Jade glanced up to see Harry looking at her intently. “Animals are a great judge of character, Mr. Hascombe,” she explained. “They know a true animal lover when they meet one.”

“Indeed,” he replied and turned back to Ruta to speak with him.

“Ruta will allow you to walk Biscuit anytime you wish, Miss del Cameron.” He handed the leash to Jade, who accepted it readily. “Simply return the cheetah to him when you’re done.”

“How will I find him?”

“Only look behind you. He won’t leave your side as long as you have Biscuit.”

She admired the beautiful cat. “Well, perhaps just as long as we are touring the grounds, I might keep him with me.”

“Splendid. Now allow me to show you the house gardens.” He indicated the path with his hand. Jade hesitated.

“What’s in those other pens farther down?” she asked.

“Only some baboons, but Biscuit dislikes them immensely. I’m afraid they aren’t making very good pets. They’ve taken to throwing rocks and charging at the natives. However, if you wish to return Biscuit to Ruta, we could see them.”

Jade felt the cheetah rub its head against her thigh and sighed. “Take us to the gardens,” she said and followed the others. Biscuit walked stiff-legged beside her. His nonretractable claws made ticky sounds on the flagstone walkway as his shoulders rose and fell in rhythmic stride.

Ruta walked behind her as Harry said he would. She decided to speak with him about the cat and turned to greet the warrior and then asked him if Biscuit hunted. Ruta only shook his head slowly. Jade tried again, keeping her Swahili simple in case she was inadvertently confusing him with improper sentence structure. “Biscuit hunts?” she asked.

“Ruta doesn’t speak Swahili,” said Harry. “The Maasai language is based on what is called the Nilo-Saharan languages. Swahili, on the other hand, is a Bantu language with a strong Arabic influence.” He lowered his voice as if speaking a confidence. “Frankly, he understands it perfectly well, but he considers it beneath his dignity to admit it. They’re a warrior tribe, you understand, and come to manhood by killing a lion with a spear.”

“I’m surprised they demean themselves to work for hire, then,” said Jade.

Harry shrugged. “Their warrior village is nearby, they take pride in raising cattle well, and to be honest, when they no longer care to work for me or anyone else, they leave at a moment’s notice. One really has to admire that sort of independence.”

Jade wanted to ask the Massai about his tribe. What were these warrior villages like and did they all have
laibons
were questions that came to mind. Mr. Hascombe, though, seemed more inclined to show off a vegetable garden tended by some Kikuyu natives. The Thompsons discussed plant stocks with their host, so Jade turned her attention to Biscuit and his soft, woolly-textured spotted fur. Eventually the tour moved indoors, and Biscuit made himself as much at home inside as out. The cat sprawled across a leather sofa, and Jade perched on the arm next to him.

“As you can see, my house is small, me not being a family man.” Harry again stared at Jade, who met his eyes. “But,” he added, “I have very comfortable grass and thatch guest huts, assuring you of complete safety and privacy. Perhaps you’d care to rest or bathe before we dine?”

Madeline wanted to rest, and Neville was content to sit outside with a government publication on grafting fruit trees, which he had found lying about. Jade wanted to talk to Harry in private about Gil Worthy, but he announced that he had some important business to attend to. She decided to use the time to clean her rifle. Only Biscuit and Ruta stayed behind with her.

She pulled a wooden chair from out of her bamboo and thatch hut and sat down outside with her Winchester and a rag. Biscuit lay at her feet like a large dog, panting openmouthed in the afternoon heat. Ruta stood on one leg like a stork and leaned on his long spear. Jade pointed first at him then at a second chair inside, but Ruta shook his head. Jade shrugged and turned her attention to her rifle.