With that, Christopher prepped his own rifle and donned his pack. He also pulled out a tall walking stick with a tassel of steel bells at the top.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Hold on,” Anya said. “Where is my gun?”

“I am sorry, missus. I did not think . . . I have very few female clients, you see. Plus your wrist. Please forgive me.”

“It’s okay, Christopher. Once one of you two drops from exhaustion, I’ll have my rifle.” Anya smiled sweetly. “Which way are we headed?”

“South to the trailhead, missus, then northeast into the hills.”

Anya turned on her heel and headed off. “Try to keep up, boys.”

She led them across a patch of scrubland to where the thin trail headed northeast. From that point, she wisely let Christopher take the lead. Almost immediately, the grade steepened, winding its way higher into the hills.

Tucker kept up the rear.

He tapped Kane’s side. “CLOSE ROAM.”

As was his habit, Kane trotted to either side, sometimes drifting ahead, sometimes dropping back, but he never strayed more than fifty feet in either direction. The shepherd’s ears looked especially erect, his eyes exceptionally bright. Here were smells he’d never before experienced. Tucker imagined it was something of a sensory kaleidoscope for Kane.

After a kilometer or so, they passed into a narrow ravine and found themselves in shadows. A riotous profusion of desert flowers in dusty shades of pink and purple bloomed from the rock faces around them, casting out a sweet perfume, not unlike honeysuckle. The deep thrum of insects greeted them as they moved through, amplified by the tight space.

Kane stood before the wall of blooms, watching petals and leaves vibrate, his head cocked with curiosity.

“Cape honeybees,” Christopher announced. “Fear not. If we do not bother them, they will not bother us.”

“There must be thousands,” Anya murmured.

“Many, many thousands, missus.”

A quarter of a mile later, they exited the ravine and found themselves on a plain of red soil and scattered scrub brush. To their left, rolling granite hills towered hundreds of feet into the air.

Abruptly, Christopher let out a barking yelp, then another one thirty seconds later, then one more. In between yelps, he shook his walking stick, tinkling the bells attached to the handle.

“What’s he doing?” Anya whispered back to Tucker.

“Letting everyone know we’re here. Most wildlife doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

Cocking his head, Christopher stopped. He held up a closed fist and pointed to his ear: Listen.

After a few moments of silence came a deep huffing grunt. It echoed over the hills and faded.

Without a sound, Kane padded to the head of the column, halting several feet in front of Christopher. The shepherd angled his body to the right and sat down, his eyes fixed in the distance.

The huffing came again, then stopped.

“Male lions,” Christopher said and pointed off to the left. “A few miles away. They should stay there until nightfall.”

Kane continued to stare—but in the opposite direction from where Christopher had been pointing. Tucker dropped to a knee next to his partner.

“Maybe those male lions will,” Tucker murmured. “But look beyond that line of scrub trees over there.”

“What? I do not see . . .” Christopher’s words trailed, ending with a whispered, “Oh, my.”

A hundred yards away, a trio of lionesses, each well over three hundred pounds, slipped from the brush and began slowly stalking toward their group. As if by some unseen cue, the trio parted to change their angle of attack. The largest of the group took the center position.

“This is unusual,” Christopher muttered. “They usually do not behave this way.”

“Tell them that. They’re trying to flank us.”

Anya said, “What should I do?”

“Stay still,” Christopher said. “Tucker, if they get around us—”

“I know.”

Even as Tucker said the words, Kane stood up. The shepherd arched his back, his fur hackling up in a ridge along his spine, bushing out his tail. He dropped his head low to the ground and bared his fangs. A deep, prolonged snarl rolled from his chest. He began padding toward the lead lioness.

Christopher said, “Tucker, stop him.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” he said, putting his faith in Kane. “Follow me. Gun ready. Anya, stay behind us.”

“This is ill-advised,” Christopher whispered.

Tucker rose to his feet and followed Kane, pacing carefully but steadily.

The center lioness suddenly stopped, a three-hundred-pound mountain of muscle, claw, and teeth. She crouched low, her tail slashing back and forth behind her. The other two also stopped, settling to Tucker’s two and ten o’clock positions.

“What’s happening?” Anya whispered.

“Kane’s letting them know we’re not an easy meal.”

“This is remarkable,” Christopher rasped. “Did you teach him this?”

“This isn’t teachable,” Tucker replied. “This is instinct.”

The lead lionesses began huffing.

Kane let out a snapping growl and took three fast paces forward. Saliva frothed from his jaws.

Tucker murmured, “HOLD.”

“Let’s give our visitors a little nudge,” Christopher said. “A single shot each, above their heads.”

Tucker nodded. “You call it.”

“Understand, if they do not bolt, they will charge.”

“I’m ready.”

Anya said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Swallow it,” he warned.

Christopher turned to face the lioness to the left flank; Tucker did the same to the right. Kane stayed put, his gaze fixed to the beast in the center.

“Fire!”

Tucker lifted his rifle, propped the butt against his shoulder, and blasted over the lioness’s head. She jumped, then dropped low and slunk away, back through the line of scrub bushes. Christopher’s did the same as he fired.

The big lioness never budged, holding her ground as the others retreated. She stared at Kane for a few more seconds, let out another huffing grunt, then turned and walked after the other two. With a final backward glance, she disappeared from view.

Christopher wasted no time in leading them off. After putting a few hundred yards between them and the lionesses, they stopped for a water break under a rock ledge. Kane sat comfortably in the shade as though nothing unusual had happened.

No one spoke for a few minutes, then Anya said, “I’ve never been so terrified in my life. The look in those eyes . . . we were simply meat to them.”

“Essentially, yes,” Christopher said.

“I am not even sure I understand what happened.”

“Lions are to be feared, but they are not stupid. Given a choice between ambushing easy prey or engaging in a fight, they will always choose the former. It is a simple matter of practicality. An injured lion is a weak lion. Tucker’s dog was simply reminding them of that point. Plus it is just past the main rutting period, so plenty of young animals are around. They have abundant food. If prey had been scarce, our encounter back there would have ended badly.”

4:45 P.M.

Rehydrated and with nerves calmed, the group headed out again.

After another twenty minutes, Christopher stopped and pointed into the hills. “The ruins of Klipkoppie fort are over that ridge. Now we climb a bit.”

“How far?” asked Anya.

“Half a kilometer. As we go, stomp your feet occasionally so we do not surprise any snakes.”

Christopher led them up a shallow gully awash with boulders, scrub brush, and the occasional tree. The trees had wide trunks that narrowed to a cluster of leafless branches that ended in single star-shaped buds.

“Looks like broccoli,” Anya said.

“Kokerboom,” Christopher called over his shoulder. “Also called Quiver trees. The San people use the hollow branches as arrows.”

As the gully grew narrower, it eventually required hopping from boulder to boulder to continue the steep ascent. A few spots required Tucker to haul Kane up or assist Anya. Finally, clawing their way up the last few yards, they reached a half-crescent-shaped plateau overlooking Springbok.