"Will you go with the captain, Shermaine?" asked Madame Boussier.

"As the captain wishes." She was still smiling.

"That is settled then," said Bruce gruffly. "I will meet you at the

hotel in ten minutes, after I have made arrangements here." He

turned back to Boussier. "You may proceed with the embarkation,

monsieur." Bruce left them and went back to the train.

"Hendry," he shouted, "you and de Surrier will stay on board. We are not

leaving until the morning but these people are going to. load their

stuff now. In the meantime rig the searchlights to sweep both sides of

the track and make sure the Brens are properly sited." Hendry grunted an

acknowledgement without looking at Bruce.

"Mike, take ten men with you and go to the hotel. I want you there in

case of trouble during the night."

"Okay, Bruce."

"Ruffy."

"Take a gang and help the driver refuel."

"Okay, boss.

Hey, boss!"

"Yes." Bruce turned to him.

"When you go to the hotel, have a look-see maybe they got some beer up

there. We're just about fresh out."

"I'll keep it in mind."

"Thanks, boss." Ruffy looked relieved. "I'd hate like hell to die of

thirst in this hole." The townsfolk were streaming back towards the

hotel.

The girl Shermaine walked with the Boussiers, and Bruce heard

Hendry's voice above him.

"Jesus, look what that pretty has got in her pants. What ever it is, one

thing is sure: it's round and it's in two pieces, and those pieces move

like they don't belong to each other."

"You haven't any work to do Hendry?" Bruce asked harshly.

"What's wrong, Curry?" Hendry jeered down at him. "You got plans

yourself? Is that it, Bucko?" "She's married," said Bruce, and

immediately was surprised that he had said it.

"Sure," laughed Hendry. "All the best ones are married; that don't mean

a thing, not a bloody thing."

"Get on with your work," snapped Bruce, and then to Haig, "Are you

ready? Come with me then."

When they reached the hotel Boussier was waiting for them on the open

verandah. He led Bruce aside and spoke quietly.

"Monsieur, I don't wish to be an alarmist but I have received some most

disturbing news. There are brigands armed with modern weapons raiding

down from the north.

The last reports state that they had sacked Senwati Mission about

three hundred kilometres north of here."

"Yes," Bruce nodded, "I know about them. We heard on the radio."

"Then you will have realized that they can be expected to arrive here

very soon."

"I don't see them arriving before tomorrow afternoon; by then we should

be well on our way to Msapa Junction."

"I hope you are right, Monsieur. The atrocities committed by this

General Moses at Senwati are beyond the conception of any normal mind.

He appears to bear an almost pathological hatred for all people of

European descent." Boussier hesitated before going on. "There were a

dozen white nuns at Senwati.

I have heard that they-"

"Yes," Bruce interrupted him quickly; he did not want to listen to it.

"I can imagine. Try and prevent these stories circulating amongst your

people. I don't want to have them panic."

"Of course," Boussier nodded.

"Do you know what force this General Moses commands?" "It is not more

than a hundred men but, as I have said, they are all armed with modern

weapons. I have even heard that they have with them a cannon of some

description, though I think this unlikely. They are travelling in a

convoy of stolen vehicles and at Senwati they captured a gasoline tanker

belonging to the commercial oil c omparues.

"I see," mused Bruce. "But it doesn't alter my decision to remain here

overnight. However, we must leave at first light tomorrow."

"As you wish, Captain."

"Now, monsieur," Bruce changed the subject, "I

require some form of transport. Is that car in running order?" He

pointed at a pale green Ford Ranchero station wagon parked beside the

verandah wall.

"It is. It belongs to my company." Boussier took a key ring from his

pocket and handed it to Bruce. "Here are the keys.

The tank is full of gasoline." "Good," said Bruce. "Now if we can find

Madame Cartier. " She was waiting in the hotel lounge and she stood up

as Bruce and Boussier came in.

"Are you ready, madame?"

"I await your pleasure," she answered, and Bruce looked at her sharply.

just a trace of a twinkle in her dark blue eyes suggested that she was

aware of the double meaning. They walked out to the Ford and Bruce

opened the door for her.

"You are gracious, monsieur." She thanked him and slid It into the seat.

Bruce went round to the driver's side and climbed in beside her.

"It's nearly dark," he said.

"Turn right on to the Msapa junction road, there is one post there."

Bruce drove out along the dirt road through the town until they came to

the last house before the causeway.

"Here," said the girl and Bruce stopped the car. There were two men

there, both armed with sporting rifles. Bruce spoke to them. They had

seen no sign of Baluba, but they were both very nervous. Bruce made a

decision.

"I want you to go back to the hotel. The Baluba will have seen the train

arrive; they won't attack in force, we'll be safe tonight.

But they may try and cut a few throats if we leave you out here." The

two half-breeds gathered together their belongings and set off towards

the centre of town, obviously with lighter hearts.

"Where are the others?" Bruce asked the girl.

"The next post is at the pumping station down by the river, there are

three men there." Bruce followed her directions. Once or twice as

he drove he glanced surreptitiously at her. She sat in her corner of the

seat with her legs drawn up sideways under her. She sat very still,

Bruce noticed. I like a woman who doesn't fidget; it's soothing. Then

she smiled; this one isn't soothing. She is as disturbing as hell!

She turned suddenly and caught him looking again, but this time she

smiled.

"You are English, aren't you, Captain?"

"No, I am a Rhodesian," Bruce answered.

"It's the same," said the girl. "You speak French so very badly that you

had to be English." Bruce laughed. "Perhaps your English is better than

my French," he challenged her.

"it couldn't be much worse," she answered him in his own language.

"You are different when you laugh, not so grim, not so heroic. Take the

next road to your right." Bruce turned the Ford down towards the

harbour.

"You are very frank," he said. "Also your English is excellent."

"Do you smoke?" she asked, and when he nodded she lit two cigarettes and

passed one to him.

"You are also very young to smoke, and very young to be married."

She stopped smiling and swung her legs off the seat.

"Here is the pumping station," she said.

"I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said that."