darkness beside him came a sudden wild shout of laughter. It rose and fell in time with the drums and gongs which continued to fill the hut with their relentless clamor. After a moment, Joseph Sherman, his fifteen-year-old heart pumping with a sudden new elation, began laughing uproariously too.
10
“Okay, gentlemen, today we hunt buffalo!” Senator Nathaniel Sherman stood in the middle of the camp clearing, his booted feet astride, clutching a hand-crafted Purdey .450 double-barreled rifle in one fist. He had jammed a solar topee squarely on his head and a broad confident grin creased his face. “This beauty here or its .375 twin will be firing hard-nosed bullets at any Annamese buffalo who comes within sniffing range of the Sherman family.” He slapped his rifle butt against his leather boot and nodded to Chuck Sherman, who held a similar rifle easily in the crook of his arm. “And in the rare event that I should miss, young Mister Deadeye here will be raring to let fly with a deadly Holland and Holland cannon of the same caliber. Right, Chuck?”
His elder son grinned easily back at him. “Sure thing, Dad.”
“In the unlikely event of us both firing wide — and that’s about a million-to-one chance, I’d say — young Joseph here with his Winchester peashooter will be a big favorite to pick off the stragglers. Right, young Joey?”
Joseph looked up with a start and nodded vigorously although he hadn’t heard a word his father had said. He was standing on the edge of the group that included Flavia Sherman, Jacques and Paul Devraux and half-a-dozen Moi trackers, but his mind was only half on the hunt to come. Since waking that morning his thoughts had returned constantly to the encounter with the unknown Moi girl, and every time he recalled what had happened he felt a surge of exhilaration course through him. The fetid stench of the darkened hut, the mind-dizzying rice alcohol, even Paul’s mocking laughter had all fused into a delicious composite memory now. He had really done it! How many young fellows of fifteen in Charles County, Virginia, could say that? Whenever he thought of that first blind delicious sensation, as he had a hundred times that morning, he had to close his eyes. It had hardly seemed possible before: but now he knew for sure. He’d done it. And he could do it again!
is, if he’s got over his ‘ternum’ sickness.”
The ripple of laughter that greeted his father’s jocular reference to the previous night’s adventure broke into his train of thought. He looked up guiltily to find his mother, his brother and Paul smiling broadly at him. There had been plenty of leg-pulling already about his return to the camp the previous evening slightly the worse for wear from the ternum. Paul had laughingly explained that they had taken one small pull only at the bamboo rod, purely out of courtesy to the Moi chief, but it had gone straight to Joseph’s head. He had distracted attention from the incident by crediting Joseph with the killing of the fawn and therefore the capture of the expedition’s first prize, since the senator had decided they should collect a group of muntjac. Joseph himself had attracted more laughter by excusing himself before dinner and going directly to His cot; there he had fallen immediately into a deep, peaceful sleep that lasted until the dawn cries of the jungle birds roused him, and when he rose he had felt clear-headed and exultant.
Jacques Devraux had ridden out to the road before it was light with a spare horse to meet the car that brought Flavia Sherman from Saigon. They had arrived back at camp before breakfast and when he greeted his mother, Joseph had wondered with a sudden stab of alarm if she could tell. He had blushed at the thought and turned quickly away, but as time passed he found that he desperately wanted to share his secret with her; until then he’d always confided in her unhesitatingly and it seemed strange that something should
10
“Okay, gentlemen, today we hunt buffalo!” Senator Nathaniel Sherman stood in the middle of the camp clearing, his booted feet astride, clutching a hand-crafted Purdey .450 double-barreled rifle in one fist. He had jammed a solar topee squarely on his head and a broad confident grin creased his face. “This beauty here or its .375 twin will be firing hard-nosed bullets at any Annamese buffalo who comes within sniffing range of the Sherman family.” He slapped his rifle butt against his leather boot and nodded to Chuck Sherman, who held a similar rifle easily in the crook of his arm. “And in the rare event that I should miss, young Mister Deadeye here will be raring to let fly with a deadly Holland and Holland cannon of the same caliber. Right, Chuck?”
His elder son grinned easily back at him. “Sure thing, Dad.”
“In the unlikely event of us both firing wide — and that’s about a million-to-one chance, I’d say — young Joseph here with his Winchester peashooter will be a big favorite to pick off the stragglers. Right, young Joey?”
Joseph looked up with a start and nodded vigorously although he hadn’t heard a word his father had said. He was standing on the edge of the group that included Flavia Sherman, Jacques and Paul Devraux and half-a-dozen Moi trackers, but his mind was only half on the hunt to come. Since waking that morning his thoughts had returned constantly to the encounter with the unknown Moi girl, and every time he recalled what had happened he felt a surge of exhilaration course through him. The fetid stench of the darkened hut, the mind-dizzying rice alcohol, even Paul’s mocking laughter had all fused into a delicious composite memory now. He had really done it! How many young fellows of fifteen in Charles County, Virginia, could say that? Whenever he thought of that first blind delicious sensation, as he had a hundred times that morning, he had to close his eyes. It had hardly seemed possible before: but now he knew for sure. He’d done it. And he could do it again!
is, if he’s got over his ‘ternum’ sickness.”
The ripple of laughter that greeted his father’s jocular reference to the previous night’s adventure broke into his train of thought. He looked up guiltily to find his mother, his brother and Paul smiling broadly at him. There had been plenty of leg-pulling already about his return to the camp the previous evening slightly the worse for wear from the ternum. Paul had laughingly explained that they had taken one small pull only at the bamboo rod, purely out of courtesy to the Moi chief, but it had gone straight to Joseph’s head. He had distracted attention from the incident by crediting Joseph with the killing of the fawn and therefore the capture of the expedition’s first prize, since the senator had decided they should collect a group of muntjac. Joseph himself had attracted more laughter by excusing himself before dinner and going directly to His cot; there he had fallen immediately into a deep, peaceful sleep that lasted until the dawn cries of the jungle birds roused him, and when he rose he had felt clear-headed and exultant.
Jacques Devraux had ridden out to the road before it was light with a spare horse to meet the car that brought Flavia Sherman from Saigon. They had arrived back at camp before breakfast and when he greeted his mother, Joseph had wondered with a sudden stab of alarm if she could tell. He had blushed at the thought and turned quickly away, but as time passed he found that he desperately wanted to share his secret with her; until then he’d always confided in her unhesitatingly and it seemed strange that something should
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