steps and listened tensely. “God, he’s close—I’m going out after him with a gun !”
“Ross, no !” Clare caught sharply at a post of the veranda. “You can’t go out there—it’s dangerous—”
“Now don’t get panicky, honey.” His face in the moonlight had a determined look, his eyes were flashing silver. “We can’t have a leo prowling close to the house, or the village. With the moon u p, I should be able to track him down.”
“Alone?” Her heart was hammering. She wanted to clutch him by the arms, beg him n ot to go. She was scared, not of the big cat, but of Ross being alone out there with the beast.
“Of course I shan’t go alone.” He laughed at her as he pushed past her into the bungalow and made for the locked cabinet in which he kept his guns. He seemed to be shimmering with electricity. The hunting instinct was aroused in him, and Clare knew there was nothing she could say or do that would stop him from going after the leopard.
“I’ll take some boys’ from the village,” he said, taking out a box of cartridges and loading a rifle. “Not to worry, Clare. The cat’s a big one from the sound of him, but I’ve been after the brutes quite a few times before. They’re dangerous, on the prowl near women and kids. The last time I was here a piccan from the village got snatched by a cat ... we don’t want that to happen again.”
“No,” she whispered. He strode into his room, and she was still standing where he had left her when he came out wearing khaki drill and heavy laced boots. “There’ll be plenty of mud to plough through, but the moon has cleared the clouds from the sky and we shouldn’t have too much' trouble picking up the cat’s tracks. Clare, stop looking so worried and female.” He gave a heartless laugh. “I’ll probably be back by sun-up.”
He strode from the bungalow as though they didn’t matter a fig to each other, gripping his gun with one hand and thrusting cartridges into his pocket with the other one.
Clare heard again the cry of the big cat after Ross had splashed his way across the compound and taken the muddy track to the village, where he would round up boys for a hunting party. Ice seemed to trickle down her spine. For the first time she was really alone i n the jungle, for when Ross had gone off to take a look at the rubber plantation, he had left orders for Johnny and Mark to sleep out on the veranda. But tonight Clare would be all alone. Her only company would be her fears for Ross.
She went to her room and changed out of her party dress into a housecoat. She had no intention of going to bed. It would be impossible to lie under her netting listening to every little sound in the jungle all around. She returned to the living-room, lit two of the lamps and doused the candles that still flickered in their holders on the table. She brought a tray from the kitchen and cleared the table in a dull, automatic way. Her birthday party was over, and whatever hopes she had entertained had been swept to nothing when that big cat had cried through the night and called to something in Ross which she had been powerless to combat.
The night passed slowly.
About midnight Clare heard a sound on the veranda that brought her heart into her throat. She could now handle a gun and, uncurling out of a chair, she snatched up the pearl-handled revolver which Ross had given her and went over to the veranda door. She listened, tense with nerves, visualising a sleek, gliding body out there.
“Missus, that you?” came a voice.
She snatched open the door and there was Johnny the houseboy, curled up near the steps on a grass mat. She saw the flash of his teeth in the darkness. “Boss man say come,” he said Cheerfully. “I come—others go after cat.”
When the pink feathers of dawn began to appear in the sky, Clare unwound achingly out of the chair in which she had spent the night, and went to the kitchen and made a pot of strong coffee. She drank two cups
“Ross, no !” Clare caught sharply at a post of the veranda. “You can’t go out there—it’s dangerous—”
“Now don’t get panicky, honey.” His face in the moonlight had a determined look, his eyes were flashing silver. “We can’t have a leo prowling close to the house, or the village. With the moon u p, I should be able to track him down.”
“Alone?” Her heart was hammering. She wanted to clutch him by the arms, beg him n ot to go. She was scared, not of the big cat, but of Ross being alone out there with the beast.
“Of course I shan’t go alone.” He laughed at her as he pushed past her into the bungalow and made for the locked cabinet in which he kept his guns. He seemed to be shimmering with electricity. The hunting instinct was aroused in him, and Clare knew there was nothing she could say or do that would stop him from going after the leopard.
“I’ll take some boys’ from the village,” he said, taking out a box of cartridges and loading a rifle. “Not to worry, Clare. The cat’s a big one from the sound of him, but I’ve been after the brutes quite a few times before. They’re dangerous, on the prowl near women and kids. The last time I was here a piccan from the village got snatched by a cat ... we don’t want that to happen again.”
“No,” she whispered. He strode into his room, and she was still standing where he had left her when he came out wearing khaki drill and heavy laced boots. “There’ll be plenty of mud to plough through, but the moon has cleared the clouds from the sky and we shouldn’t have too much' trouble picking up the cat’s tracks. Clare, stop looking so worried and female.” He gave a heartless laugh. “I’ll probably be back by sun-up.”
He strode from the bungalow as though they didn’t matter a fig to each other, gripping his gun with one hand and thrusting cartridges into his pocket with the other one.
Clare heard again the cry of the big cat after Ross had splashed his way across the compound and taken the muddy track to the village, where he would round up boys for a hunting party. Ice seemed to trickle down her spine. For the first time she was really alone i n the jungle, for when Ross had gone off to take a look at the rubber plantation, he had left orders for Johnny and Mark to sleep out on the veranda. But tonight Clare would be all alone. Her only company would be her fears for Ross.
She went to her room and changed out of her party dress into a housecoat. She had no intention of going to bed. It would be impossible to lie under her netting listening to every little sound in the jungle all around. She returned to the living-room, lit two of the lamps and doused the candles that still flickered in their holders on the table. She brought a tray from the kitchen and cleared the table in a dull, automatic way. Her birthday party was over, and whatever hopes she had entertained had been swept to nothing when that big cat had cried through the night and called to something in Ross which she had been powerless to combat.
The night passed slowly.
About midnight Clare heard a sound on the veranda that brought her heart into her throat. She could now handle a gun and, uncurling out of a chair, she snatched up the pearl-handled revolver which Ross had given her and went over to the veranda door. She listened, tense with nerves, visualising a sleek, gliding body out there.
“Missus, that you?” came a voice.
She snatched open the door and there was Johnny the houseboy, curled up near the steps on a grass mat. She saw the flash of his teeth in the darkness. “Boss man say come,” he said Cheerfully. “I come—others go after cat.”
When the pink feathers of dawn began to appear in the sky, Clare unwound achingly out of the chair in which she had spent the night, and went to the kitchen and made a pot of strong coffee. She drank two cups
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