“Good morning, Bwana,” he said and removed his uniform cap.

“Have some breakfast?”

“No time, Bwana.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The balloon’s gone up, Bwana. We’re for it now. Fourteen of them, Bwana. Fourteen of the most desperate type.”

“Armed?”

“To the teeth, Bwana.”

“These the lot that escaped from Machakos?”

“Yes. How did you hear about that?”

“Game Scout brought the word in this morning.”

“Governor,” he said, this was a fatherly term that he employed and had no relation to the title of one who governs a colony. “We must coordinate our effort again.”

“I am at your service.”

“How would you go about it, governor? The combined operation?”

“It’s your shauri. I’m only acting Game here.”

“Be a good chap, governor. Help a bloke out. You and Bwana Game helped me out before. In these times we must all play the game together. Play it up to the hilt.”

“Quite,” I said. “But I’m not a policeman.”

“You’re acting bloody Game though. We cooperate. What would you do, governor? I’ll cooperate to the hilt.”

“I’ll make a screen,” I said.

“Could I have a glass of beer?” he asked.

“Pour a bottle and I’ll split it with you.”

“My throat’s dry from the dust.”

“Next time don’t get it all over our fucking laundry,” I said.

“Sorry, governor. Couldn’t be sorrier. But I was preoccupied with our problem and I thought it had rained.”

“Day before yesterday. Dry now.”

“Go ahead, governor. So you’ll put out a screen.”

“Yes,” I said. “There’s a Kamba Shamba here.”

“I had no idea of that. Does the D.C. know?”

“Yes,” I said. “There are, in all, four Shambas where beer is made.”

“That’s illegal.”

“Yes, but you’ll find they frequently do it in Africa. I propose to put a man in each of these Shambas. If any of these characters show up he’ll let me know and I’ll close in on the Shamba and we’ll take them.”

“Dead or alive,” he said.

“You’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely, governor. These are desperate types.”

“We ought to check on it.”

“No need, governor. Word of honor. But how will you get word from the Shamba to you here?”

“In anticipation of this type of thing we’ve organized a form of Women’s Auxiliary Corps. They’re frightfully efficient.”

“Good show. I’m glad you laid that on. Is it widely extended?”

“Quite. Frightfully keen girl at the head of it. True underground type.”

“Could I meet her sometime?”

“Be a bit tricky with you in uniform. I’ll think about it though.”

“Underground,” he said. “I always thought it just my dish. The underground.”

“Could be,” I said. “We can get some old parachutes down and practice after this show is over.”

“Can you gen it out just a little more, governor. We have the screen now. The screen sounds like the thing. But there’s more.”

“I keep the balance of my force here in hand but absolutely mobile to move on any sensitive parts of the screen. You go back to the Boma now and put yourself in a state of defense. Then I suggest that you lay on a roadblock in daylight on the turn of the road at about mile ten from here. Take it off on your speedometer. I suggest you move this roadblock at night down to where the road comes out of the swamp. Do you remember where we went after the baboons?”

“Never forget it, Bwana.”

“There, if you have any trouble I will be in touch with you. Be awfully careful about shooting people up at night. There’s a lot of traffic comes through there.”

“There’s supposed to be none.”

“There is though. If I were you I would post three signs outside the three dukas that the curfew is to be enforced absolutely on the roads. It could save you some trouble.”

“Can you give me any people, Bwana?”

“Not unless the situation deteriorates. Remember I’m screening for you. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll send a chit by you that you can telephone through Ngong and I’ll get the plane down. I need her for something else anyway.”

“Right, Bwana. Would there be any chance I could fly with you?”

“I think not,” I said. “You’re needed on the ground.”

I wrote the chit asking for the plane anytime after lunch tomorrow to bring mail and papers from Nairobi and put in two hours flying here.

“You’d better get along up to the Boma,” I said. “And please, kid, never come into camp in that cowboy style. It puts the dust on the food, in the men’s tents and on the laundry.”

“Couldn’t be sorrier, governor. It’ll never happen again. And thanks for helping me staff things out.”

“Maybe I’ll see you in town this afternoon.”

“Good show.”

He drained his beer, saluted and went out and commenced to shout for his driver.

Mary came into the tent looking morning fresh and shining. “Wasn’t that the boy from the police? What kind of trouble is it?”

I told her about the gang breaking out of the jail in Machakos and the rest of it. She was properly unimpressed.

As we ate breakfast she asked, “Don’t you think it is awfully expensive to get the plane down now?”

“I have to have that mail from Nairobi and any cables. We need to check on the buff to get those pictures. They’re definitely not in the swamp now. We ought to know what’s going on toward the Chulus and I can make good use of her on this nonsense.”

“I can’t go back with her to Nairobi now to get the things for Christmas because I haven’t got the lion.”

“I’ve a hunch we are going to get the lion if we take it easy and rest him and rest you. Arap Meina said he was coming down this way.”

“I don’t need any rest,” she said. “That’s not fair to say.”

“OK. I want to let him get confident and make a mistake.”

“I wish he would.”

About four o’clock I called for Ngui and when he came told him to get Charo and the rifles and a shotgun and tell Mthuka to bring up the hunting car. Mary was writing letters and I told her I had asked for the car and then Charo and Ngui came and pulled the guns in their full length cases out from under the cots and Ngui assembled the big .577. They were finding shells and counting them and checking on solids for the Springfield and the Mannlicher. It was the first of the fine movements of the hunt.

“What are we going to hunt?”

“We have to get the meat. We’ll try an experiment Pop and I were talking about for practice for the lion. I want you to kill a wildebeest at twenty yards. You and Charo stalk him.”

“I don’t know if we can ever get that close.”

“You’ll get up. Don’t wear your sweater. Take it and put it on if it gets cool coming home. And roll up your sleeves now if you’re going to roll them up. Please, honey.”

Miss Mary had a habit, just before she was going to shoot, of rolling up the right sleeve of her bush jacket. Maybe it was only turning back the cuff. But it would frighten an animal at a hundred yards and over.

“You know I don’t do that anymore.”

“Good. The reason I mentioned the sweater is because it might make the rifle stock too long for you.”