One Shot Kill

PART I

SMANGALISO

1

A pale yellow promise of sunrise silhouetted the eastern horizon, as the heavily laden wagon trundled gradually away from Sonop. Twenty-six young, powerful oxen were doing the pulling. Many of them had been purchased especially for the trek, others having been donated by friends. Chains jingled softly. Leather and timber creaked as the wheels turned resolutely. Behind them a rooster crowed, not for the first time that morning. From the trees birds whistled, warbled and chirped the dawn chorus. The chill of daybreak was ubiquitous, but not a cloud intruded on the rapidly brightening sky. One of the lead oxen bayed once; another replied and then like the remainder, plodded on contently. The Minnaar family and a gathering of closest friends stood for a long time, watching the protracted departure of the trekkers. Sniffles and tears flowed, even from the eyes of servants Jan and Grace, bearing testimony to the popularity of the departing couple. The group remained standing until the wagon was out of sight before dispersing.

The sun was almost at its zenith in the clear blue sky by the time Tom halted the wagon outside the Quinn residence. Darren Quinn himself came out to greet them.

‘Ah... Mister and Misses McCauley. Congratulations to you both on your recent nuptials. Would that I could have shared the day with you, but alas, I had business to attend to, from which I could not escape.’

‘No bother Mister Quinn, although you were sorely missed.’ It was a white lie. ‘But despite your absence, we managed to get through the whole thing relatively unscathed.’

‘Sorely missed hey? I do believe you, of course.’ Darren Quinn chuckled. ‘Now won’t you step down and come inside? I have those items you asked me to obtain for you... and somebody I’d like you to meet.’

‘Aye-aye Mister Quinn, lead the way. We’ll be right with you.’ Tom climbed down and turned to assist Adriana to do likewise.

Inside the house, they were soon relaxed, each of them with a cup of tea before them and a plate of sweet biscuits on the table. Quinn had obtained for them a copy of the map on his office wall. He pointed out the known hazards along the particular route they’d decided to attempt.

‘This is going to take you much longer than our previous excursion you know,’ he said. ‘And, although I believe this map to be fairly accurate, you’ll need to be prepared for the unexpected along the way.’

‘Like what?’ Tom asked.

‘If I knew that, Tom,’ Quinn smiled, ‘it wouldn’t be unexpected, would it? What I mean is, there are sections along your chosen path that have yet to be surveyed, which explains why this map is incomplete. Now... here is the compass I promised you, and the Martini-Henry breech-loader you asked me to purchase for you.’ He handed over the rifle, which was much the same as the one Tom had, plus a thousand rounds of ammunition, and two hunting knives.

Tom handed over the agreed sum of money, and feeling quite certain they had everything they were likely to need, he shook Quinn’s hand and thanked him.

‘Tom, before you go…’ Quinn said as their hands clasped. ‘As I said, there is a fellow I would like you to meet.’

He pointed through the French window, and Tom noticed for the first time a man sitting on the immaculately tailored lawn, just out of direct sunlight.

Seeing the two men emerging from the French doors, the man stood up to meet them. With his feet in thin-soled sandals, he appeared to be close on seven feet tall, with his head and face clean-shaven. His smooth complexion was the colour of ebony and as he smiled, his teeth were the whitest Tom had ever seen. The man surely was no older than Tom, and very well proportioned, as one would expect of an athlete, or a warrior.

‘Mister Tom McCauley, may I present… Smangaliso.’

Tom offered his hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

‘M’numzane.’ Smangaliso needed to bow slightly to accept the Irishman’s hand. The handshake was firm, suggesting strength of character to match his physical appearance.

‘Smangaliso is a son of the Zulu Prince Mbulazi, and grandson of King Mpande… recently deceased, I believe.’

The names meant nothing to Tom, but he nodded, allowing Quinn to continue.

‘It’s rather a complicated story,’ he sighed, ‘which I hope you’ll get to hear in due course. For the time being, let me just say that Smangaliso’s immediate family are currently living in exile in Bechuanaland, which is some way north of where you’re going. He is on his way to join his people and will be travelling the same route you’re determined to take. You could perhaps benefit from each other’s company for much of the way. What do you think?’

‘I’ll have to discuss it with my wife.’ It felt strange saying that. ‘Does he speak any English?’

‘I have learnt to speak English, M’numzane, but not much of Afrikaans.’ Smangaliso answered for himself.

‘Well, that’s a positive,’ Tom told him. ‘Will you wait for a few moments?’

Smangaliso nodded. Tom went inside, with Darren Quinn short on his heels. Adriana had been standing just by the doors and had heard most of what had been said. Once they were back at the office desk, Tom asked in lowered tones: ‘Who is this man? I mean, what is he to you? Why would you want him to travel with us? Where would he sleep? What would he eat? Why...?’

‘Now hold your fire, Tom. Please don’t be distressed. I appreciate your misgivings, but I can also assure you, that young man is nothing more than what I’ve told you. A Presbyterian missionary and his wife had taken a shine to him a few years ago, and took him to Cape Town to be educated. When the clergyman’s wife took ill, they decided to return to Scotland. It was their intention to take Smangaliso with them, but his heart lies here in Africa and with his own people, to whom he now wishes to return.

‘I’m sure you realise that he has no need of your company… and I don’t mean any disrespect. He could most likely find his way home a lot quicker on his own. I just thought it would be to your advantage to have someone like him around. He can scout, track and hunt for you. You will notice that he’ll never force his company upon you.

‘Only in an emergency situation will he dare to speak to you without first having been spoken to. That is their way, their custom. You will find much to admire in the manners and traditions of the African people. As regards sleeping arrangements, you needn’t worry. There will be times that you’ll neither see nor hear him, but never fear... he’ll not be far away.’

Tom looked at his wife, who returned his glance with a shrug.

‘Aye, alright…’ he said. ‘If what you say is true, we’ll take him along with us. Or should I say we could perhaps travel together. I was just thinking of...’

‘I understand, but you have no need to worry. And I will personally feel much better knowing that he is with you. By the way, if you struggle with his name, just call him Sam – he won’t mind.’

The sun hung low in the west and the district of Clanwilliam was now five hours behind them. Adriana and Tom hadn’t spoken for some time. There was no need, as each was comfortable with the other’s presence and their own thoughts. An occasional glance with a smile passed between them and that sufficed for the time being.

Smangaliso had removed his sandals to walk barefoot, more often than not, alongside the lead bullocks. From time to time, he’d sprint quite a long way forward to check the terrain up ahead. Other times, he’d climb to a high place and cast his gaze in all directions. A wry grin crossed Tom’s lips. If his previous expedition was anything to go by, there was no reason to expect any trouble on this one. Ah well, he told himself, no harm in being thorough, I suppose.

‘You could use one of the horses,’ Tom told him at one point, ‘to scout ahead, I mean.’

‘Thank you, M’numzane,’ white teeth flashed, ‘but ihhashi – the horse, he is too big. I have not learned to ride him.’

Tom shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’

Smangaliso bowed and backed away.

As the sun sank closer to the horizon and shadows lengthened, other subtle differences became prevalent. The countryside was getting wilder, with a noticeable lack of established trails. They’d travelled an estimated twenty-three miles before arriving at a wide riverbed. Several streams of water still trickled – more than sufficient for the oxen and horses to quench their thirsts. The riverbanks also offered abundant grazing for the animals. From experience, Tom and Adriana were mindful that such abundance of fresh succulent grass was going to be in short supply along the trail … but so far, things were looking good. This, all three of them agreed, was an ideal time and place to settle down for the night. Adriana poured dried beans from a bag into a pan as Tom prepared for making a fire.

Quinn’s map had shown them that once over this mountain range, they were again going to have to negotiate the Great Karoo. What it couldn’t tell them was how long it was going to take to get over these mountains, or how difficult it was going to be. Neither could the chart warn them of anything that was likely to happen on this section of their journey.

Smangaliso out-spanned the oxen and hobbled the horses. He then gathered firewood for Tom and Adriana. Having located an ideal spot for himself, he also collected the makings for his own fire. Somewhat elevated, his situation was a fair distance away from the wagon and hidden from below. He lit his fire, which, after giving off a few tendrils, soon became invisible. Tom had nevertheless noticed those wisps of smoke and frowned.

‘Wait for me here, Adriana,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have a word with our dark friend over there.’

‘Your fire isn’t burning. Shall I?’ She looked up.

‘Aye, go on then Luv – I’ll be back in a minute.’

It took him all of two minutes to reach Smangaliso’s location, and as he drew nearer, he quickly understood the logic by which the campsite had been selected. It was good. Even the fireplace was well chosen. Those glowing embers were imperceptible beyond ten feet away. Marginally recessed and sheltered by a slight overhead protrusion, it was a perfect place for one person to relax for the night. Tom couldn’t help but appreciate what he saw, as well as the warrior’s noticeable consideration towards Adriana and himself. From here, Smangaliso was not only out of sight of the parked wagon, he also had full view of the grazing animals.

Tom thought he might just as well turn around and return to Adriana, but already Smangaliso had transferred his weight from his backside onto his knees. Clearly, he was deliberately trying to avoid towering over Tom, which the Irishman was later to learn was a mark of respect. Neither would the kneeling man speak or acknowledge his visitor until the latter had spoken.

‘Sanga... Samang...’ Tom hesitated. ‘Sam!’ he said at last.

‘I see you M’numzane.’ His greeting was courteous, despite the white man messing up his name.

‘I thought I might have a word.’ Tom tried to hide his embarrassment, feeling he’d made a mistake to come up here.

‘Yebo, yes M’numzane?’

‘Well...’ The Irishman searched for words. ‘I mean, there is nothing wrong or anything. It’s just that, you see, I’ve travelled this country before, and I was thinking about our set-up here.’

‘I hear your words, M’numzane, but I don’t understand them.’

‘Okay Smanga...’ Tom struggled to get his tongue around the Zulu’s name.

‘Sman-ga-li-so, M’numzane.’

‘Sman-ga-li-so, I’m sorry... but I think I’ve got it now.’ He spoke the name again. ‘Smanga-liso. Perhaps it could help me to remember your name if I knew what it meant. Is there an English meaning?’ Tom realised he was digressing, but he found it slightly less embarrassing than his original reason for coming up here.

‘Oh yes M’numzane.’ The black man didn’t seem to mind a bit. He smiled, his teeth contrasting starkly his equally lustrous complexion. ‘Around the time of my birth, my father’s village was attacked by Cetshwayo’s impis. My father, Mbulazi, was the brother of Cetshwayo, but they were at war with each other, even while their own father – my grandfather, Mpande – sat on the royal throne. My father did not know me, because before I was born, my uncle Cetshwayo, killed him, and destroyed his impis. My mother, Nomsa, was one of Mbulazi’s younger wives, and she had fled with her children … and her sisters. They all journeyed back to her mother’s people in Bechuanaland. My mother gave birth to me along the road. For many reasons, I was not expected to live. So because I survived, she gave me the name Smangaliso. I think it means surprise or miracle in English.’ The warrior was still smiling. There was obviously a lot more to that story than he’d told, but he’d answered Tom’s question.

‘Thank you Smangaliso,’ said Tom. ‘That really is… fascinating. I’d like to know more about your people, your history and maybe learn your language. Actually, I could learn much from you. How about it? Will you teach me these things? I think we’ll have time on our journey.’

‘Yebo M’numzane, I will learn from you also, about your land across the great sea. I am also curious about your people.’ His smile relaxed. ‘But for now, did M’numzane say he want a word?’

‘Aye, so I did; what I meant to say...’ he was also still trying not to sound foolish or offensive, ‘is that when we reach the Karoo, the firewood is going to be hard to come by. I was going to suggest that in future maybe we should share one fire in the evenings.’

Smangaliso smiled again.

‘M’numzane, first we have many mountains to cross.’ He saw the look of surprise on the white man’s face, as though he wanted to ask: what has that got to do with anything, but he let Smangaliso continue. ‘Then, in the Karusa Karoo, there are many dried roots and hardwood bushes for making fire – when you know where to find them.’

There was no answer to that, so Tom raised his hand in resignation.

‘Very well then,’ he said, ‘see you in the morning.’

They wished each other a peaceful night and Tom returned to the wagon.

2

Only minutes before sunrise, Tom joined Smangaliso in organising the oxen into the pairs they’d had spanned the day before. The objective, as always, was to acquire optimum distribution of size, strength and temperament, along the full length of the central yoke chain. While they worked, Tom couldn’t help noticing that Smangaliso, though still barefoot, was wearing traditional Zulu garb.

‘Is that more comfortable?’ Tom indicated with his eyes at the leopard skin apron.

Smangaliso smiled, nodded and continued with what he was doing. As soon as they’d completed the spanning, Tom climbed into the seat next to Adriana. They were about to start moving when Smangaliso came jogging up to them. Where he’d kept them hidden until now, Tom couldn’t begin to guess, but the warrior now wore a headband sporting an ostrich feather. On his waistband hung a sheathed leather-handled dagger and a stick with a knob, like a club, while on his forearm was a small cowhide shield, and in the same hand, an assegai. His posture was however, far from threatening as he approached the wagon.

‘M’numzane.’ He came to a standstill.

‘Yes Smangaliso?’

‘Before dawn, I was looking at the northward trail.’ He pointed. ‘It is the easy one. We will make good time.’

‘I hear you,’ said Tom, ‘but I’ve looked at the map and we really need to get over those mountains.’ He spun his arm around to point eastward.

‘Yebo M’numzane.’ The Zulu gazed for a few moments in that direction, then nodded. ‘If we travel upstream, we should find a path.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Tom smiled. ‘Let’s go then.’

He was about to get down again when Smangaliso raised a hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary, and sprinted down the line to the lead oxen.

They set off at a slow but steady pace, until the afternoon, when the ground before them began to slope upwards. Twenty-six powerful oxen took up the strain and pulled their heavy burden uphill. Further along, there were rocks and boulders, deep-set runnels and elevated ridges, all of which made for tough going. An occasional protest emanated from three or four of the younger bullocks, but none of them slackened. Tom was more than impressed by the power and commitment of his animals, for it was late afternoon by the time they’d cleared the first minor mountain pass between two crags. There was no trail to follow, and the next phase of the trek meant the oxen having to haul the heavily laden wagon up a gradient of some forty degrees or more.

There was no other way. It was frightening and seemingly impossible, but they did it, and eased down the other side with the aid of the wagon’s hand brakes operated by both men. At the bottom of the slope, they approached a gap that was ominously narrow at the base. Tom went forward to measure it and decided they’d have to take it slow if they were going to make it. As it turned out, at yoke height, it was fine and the oxen sauntered through without difficulty. The wagon’s front wheels made it with more or less a quarter of an inch to spare on either side. The rear axle however, nobody had noticed before, was an inch longer than the front. Thus, the heavy load caused the lateral force against the bottom of the rim to crack three spokes of the left rear wheel. The sound of it was agony and the sight, disheartening. They were fortunate to have brought along a spare wheel, but dismayed that they needed to make use of it so soon.

Adriana climbed back over the rocks to loosen the horses from the tailgate. Tom crawled under the wagon and, having located the screw-out jack, set it on a flat stone under the sagging corner. He unscrewed the vertical lifting bolt by hand until it reached the axle. He then tried to insert the turning handle, but the metal bar was too long for use in such a confined space.

‘This isn’t going to work,’ Tom said, as much to himself as to Adriana and Smangaliso, who looked on sympathetically.

Both of them could see Tom’s frustration as he crawled out. It was momentary though, for his frown quickly changed into a wry smile.

‘Smangaliso,’ he said. ‘I hope you ate your porridge this morning.’

‘M’numzane?’ The black man looked puzzled.

‘Sorry friend,’ said Tom. ‘Just my little joke. You and I are going to have to lift this corner with raw muscle power, if we can.’

Smangaliso’s bewildered expression deepened. His head tilted to one side as he looked at Tom, not believing he was serious. He was. Adriana could see that too and even she looked dubious. Tom on the other hand, knew very well that he and Smangaliso weren’t going to lift anything. He already knew they were first going