Blue Horizon

by Wilbur Smith

  He was watching the bull, trying by the force of his will to lull it to the sound of metal on metal. The elephant was chewing with evident satisfaction, stuffing the ripe berries into its mouth; the inside of its lips was stained purple.

  Click! To Jim the sound was deafening in the great silence of the wilderness. The elephant stopped chewing and froze in monumental stillness. It had heard that alien sound, and Jim knew that it was poised on the edge of flight.

  Jim stared hard at the dark slit of the earhole, and slowly lifted the butt to his shoulder. The iron sights did not impinge upon his vision: he seemed to look through them. All his being was concentrated on that spot half a finger’s length in front of the ear. He knew the pull and feel of the trigger intimately, but so intense was his concentration that the thunder of the shot surprised him.

  The butt of the weapon pounded into his shoulder, driving him back two paces before he regained his balance. The long bluish plume of powder smoke gushed out from the muzzle and seemed to stroke the wrinkled grey skin of the bull’s temple. Jim was unsighted by the recoil and by the cloud of smoke, so he did not see the strike of the ball, but he heard it crack against the skull like an axe blade against the trunk of an ironwood tree.

  The bull threw back its great head and dropped with almost miraculous suddenness, hitting the earth with such force that he raised a cloud of dust. The ground under Jim’s feet seemed to jump with the impact. Jim regained his balance and gaped with astonishment at what he had achieved. Then his heart soared and he whooped with triumph. “He’s down! With a single shot I have slain him.” He started forward to gloat over his kill, but there came the pounding of hoofs from behind.

  When he glanced round Bakkat was galloping up on Frost, waving the second gun and leading Drumfire. “Change guns, Somoya!” he shouted. “Behold! There are dhlovu all about us. We may kill ten more if we ride hard.”

  “I must see the bull I have killed,” Jim protested. “I must cut off his tail.” This was the trophy his father had always taken from a downed beast, even in the heat of the chase.

  “If he is dead he will stay dead.” Bakkat reined in, snatched the empty gun from his hand and thrust the loaded one towards him. “The others will be gone before you have a chance to cut off the tail. Once they are gone you will never see them again.” Still Jim hesitated, looking longingly to where the fallen bull lay concealed behind the gwarrie tree. “Come, Somoya! See the dust they raise as they run. Soon it will be too late.”

  Jim looked down the slope and saw that his shot had startled the herds, and in the basin below them the elephant were scattering and fleeing in every direction. His father had told him of the peculiar instinctive horror that the elephant entertains towards man: even if they have never before encountered his cruel, warlike behaviour they will run a hundred leagues from their first contact with him. Still he hesitated, and Bakkat told him urgently, “Somoya, the moment passes.” He pointed at two more great bulls charging past, less than a pistol shot from where they stood. Their ears were folded back against their shoulders and they were at full run. “They will be gone before you can draw three more breaths. Follow! Follow with all speed!”

  The bulls were already disappearing into the forest, but Jim knew he could catch up within a mile of hard riding. He hesitated no longer. With the loaded rifle in hand he leaped into Drumfire’s saddle and booted him in the ribs. “Ha! Ha! Drumfire! After them, my darling.” He turned the stallion’s head down the slope and they tore off in pursuit. Drumfire caught the contagious excitement of his rider, and his eyes rolled wildly as he drove his head into each stride like a sledgehammer. They swung in behind the running bulls, closing swiftly. Jim slitted his eyes against the dust storm they were throwing up with the huge pads of their feet, and the thorn branches that whipped back into his face. He picked out the larger of the two great bulls. Even from his station dead astern he could see the wide curves of its tusks showing on each side of its heaving flanks.

  “I will sup with the devil if he’s not bigger than the first one I downed,” he exulted, and steered Drumfire out to one side, trying to come level with the bull, seeking to open his flank for a shot at the shoulder. He held the rifle across the pommel of his saddle and eased the hammer back into the half-cock position.

  Then, from behind him, he heard the wild trumpeting of an enraged elephant, followed, almost immediately, by Louisa’s scream.

  The two dreadful sounds were almost drowned by distance and the thunder of Drumfire’s hoofs. But there was a timbre to Louisa’s cry that raked every nerve in his body and cut him to the heart. It was the wild ringing screech of abject terror. He swivelled in the saddle and looked back and saw her mortal predicament.

  Obedient to Jim’s instructions, Louisa had hung back, keeping Trueheart behind Frost as they crossed the ridge at a walk. She saw Jim two hundred paces ahead. His back was turned towards her, and he was moving forward deliberately, half crouched over the weapon he carried level with his waist.

  For a moment she failed to see the bull. With its grey colour it seemed to blend like smoke into the bush around him. Then she gasped as her eyes picked out its form. It seemed mountainous, and Jim was so close to the beast that she was terrified for his safety. She stopped Trueheart and watched, with dreadful fascination, as Jim crept closer still. She saw the bull change its position, move behind the gwarrie tree, and for a moment she thought it had eluded Jim’s stalk. Then she saw Jim rise from his crouch and lift the long barrel of his rifle. When he aimed, the muzzle seemed to touch the bull’s head, and then came the thunderous clap of the discharge, like the mainsail of the Meeuw filling with wind as she tacked into the storm.

  The blue powder smoke boiled and churned in the breeze, and the bull went down as though struck by an avalanche. Then all was shouting and commotion as Bakkat spurred forward from beside her, and raced to where Jim stood, dragging Drumfire on the lead rein after him. Jim went up on Drumfire and, leaving the downed bull lying where it had fallen, he and Bakkat raced down the slope, chasing two more huge elephants that she had not noticed until that moment.

  Louisa let them go. Without conscious volition, she found that Trueheart had responded to a slight pressure of her knees and was walking forward towards the gwarrie tree behind which the bull had fallen. She did not try to stop the mare and as they approached her curiosity increased. She raised herself in the stirrups to see over the tree, trying to catch a glimpse of the mighty creature she had seen fall there.

  She was almost up to the tree when she saw a small flirt of movement, too insignificant to have been made by such a large beast. She rode closer, and this time she realized that what she had seen was a flick of the elephant’s stubby tail. The clump of bristles at the end was worn and ragged as an old paintbrush.

  She was about to dismount and lead Trueheart forward for a better view of the carcass and the curved, magnificent yellow tusks that intrigued her. Then, to her horrified disbelief, the bull stood up. It came to its feet in one swift motion, alert and agile as though waking from a light sleep. It stood for a moment, as though listening. A rivulet of bright scarlet blood poured from the wound in its temple, and down its grey, wrinkled cheek. Trueheart snorted with fright and shied away. In the act of dismounting, Louisa had only one foot in the stirrup and she was nearly thrown, but with an effort she regained her seat.

  The bull had heard Trueheart snort, and turned towards them. Its huge ears flared out: it saw them as his tormentors. The horse and human scent filled its head, an alien odour it had never smelt before, but which reeked of danger.

  The bull shook its head, the huge ears snapping and clattering with the strength of the movement, and it squealed its fury and affront. Blood splattered from the bullet wound, and the droplets pelted into Louisa’s face, warm as monsoon rain, and she screamed with all her breath and all the strength of her lungs. “Jim! Save me!”

  The bull rolled its trunk up against its chest, and half cocked its ears back with the ends cu
rled, the attitude of ultimate aggression. Then it charged straight at them. Trueheart wheeled away, laid her ears flat and burst into full gallop. She seemed to take flight, to skim lightly over the rough surface, but the bull stayed close at her tail, squealing again and again with fury, a pink feather of blood blowing back from its head wound.

  With a burst of speed Trueheart opened the gap, pulling ahead, but suddenly there was a hedge of thorn bush in front of her and she was forced to check, and change direction to swerve round the obstacle. The bull did not hesitate, but burst through the thorn thicket as though it did not exist, regaining all the ground it had lost. It was now closer still.

  With horror Louisa saw that there was rocky ground ahead and denser thickets of thorn bush blocking their path. The bull was driving them into a trap, in which even Trueheart’s speed would be of little avail. Louisa remembered the small French rifle under her right leg. In her terror she had forgotten its existence, but now she knew it was all she had to stop the bull snatching her from the saddle. She glanced back and saw that the long ophidian trunk was already reaching out for her.

  She drew the rifle from its leather sheath, swivelled round and cocked the weapon in the same movement. Again she screamed involuntarily as she saw the grasping trunk waving in her face, and threw up the rifle. The enormous head filled all her vision and she did not aim but fired blindly into the bull’s face.

  The light ball could never have penetrated the thick hide and the bony casket of the skull, but the bull was vulnerable in one place. By the wildest chance the ball found that mark. It entered the eye-socket at a raking angle, and burst the eyeball, blinding the bull instantly on the same side of its head as the wound Jim had inflicted.

  The elephant reeled and staggered, losing ground on Trueheart, but it recovered almost immediately and started forward again. All of Louisa’s attention was fastened on the task of reloading the rifle, but she had never done this on horseback at full gallop, and the gunpowder spewed from the flask and blew away in the wind. She glanced back and saw that the bull still had them in the focus of its right eye and was reaching for her again. She knew that this time it would have her.

  So complete was her fascination with her fate that she did not see the thicket looming ahead. Trueheart swerved to avoid running full into it, and Louisa was thrown off balance teetering in the saddle. She dropped the rifle as she clutched at the pommel. The weapon clattered on the rocky ground.

  Hanging half out of the saddle she was dragged down the length of the thicket. The hooked thorns were tipped with crimson and needle sharp. They bit into her clothing and into her flesh like myriad cats’ claws. Their combined grip was irresistible and Louisa was jerked cleanly from Trueheart’s back. The mare galloped on with an empty saddle, leaving Louisa dangling and struggling in the tenacious grip of the thorns.

  The elephant had lost sight of her on his blind side, but it smelt her: the odour of the fresh blood from the tiny wounds inflicted by the thorns was strong. It let Trueheart run on unmolested and turned back. It began to search for Louisa with outstretched trunk, pushing its way into the thicket, its thick grey hide impervious to the hooked thorns, guided by the sound of Louisa’s struggles and her scent. It closed in on her swiftly. She realized her danger and froze into stillness.

  She lay quietly in the grip of the thorns and watched with resignation as the questing tip of the trunk groped towards her. It touched her boot, then locked round her ankle. With unimaginable strength she was torn out of the thicket, the clinging thorns breaking off in the folds of her clothing or in her skin.

  She hung upside down, dangling by one leg from the trunk of the elephant. Its grip on her ankle tightened and she feared that at any moment the bone would crush to splinters. From all Jim had told her, she knew what would happen next. The bull would lift her high in the air and then, with all its monstrous power, would dash her head first against the rocky ground. It would beat her against the earth again and again, until almost every bone in her body was shattered and then it would kneel on her and crush her to pulp, driving the points of its tusks through and through.

  Jim turned at the sound of her first scream and the shrill trumpeting of the huge bull. He broke off the chase after the two other elephants, and reined Drumfire hard down on his haunches. Then he stared back in horror and disbelief. “I killed it!” he gasped. “I left it dead.” But at the same time he remembered his father’s warning. “The brain is so small, and is not placed where you would expect it to be. If you miss it by even the breadth of your little finger, the animal will drop as though stone-dead, but it is stunned only. When it comes round, it will be unimpaired and many times more dangerous than before. I have seen good men killed that way. Never chance that shot, Jim, my boy, or you will live to regret it.”

  “Bakkat!” Jim yelled. “Stay close with the second gun!” He gave Drumfire the spurs, and sent him back at full gallop. Louisa and the bull were running directly away from him, and he overhauled them only gradually. He was seized by a feeling of debilitating impotence: he could see that Louisa would be killed before he could reach her, and it was his fault: he had left the enraged animal in a position where it could attack her.

  “I’m coming!” he yelled. “Hold hard!” He tried to give her courage but in the thunder of hoofs and the ringing trumpeting of the bull she showed no sign of having heard him. He watched her turn in the saddle and fire the little lady’s rifle, but though the bull staggered slightly to the shot it did not leave her.

  Then he watched in despair as Louisa ran into the bushes and was plucked from the saddle. The elephant turned back to hunt for her, as she was held powerless in the grip of the thorns. However, this check enabled Jim to push in so close that Drumfire balked and shied at the gamy stench of the elephant, and at its threatening presence. Using his spurs without mercy, Jim drove him in closer still, watching for an opportunity to send in a telling shot. He knew that his ball must break bone or hit the vitals to distract the bull. However, all was confused movement, noise and flying dust. The elephant was wading through the thorn bush, and the waving branches protected his vulnerable parts and frustrated Jim’s aim. Drumfire was skittering under him, throwing his head and trying to back away from the terrible menace of the elephant.

  He saw Louisa tangled in the thorns. She showed no sign of life. He thought that her neck might have snapped in the fall or that her skull was crushed in. The idea of losing her was too agonizing to be borne, and he forced Drumfire forward with all his strength and will. Suddenly the bull found Louisa’s limp body and hauled her out of the thicket. Jim dared not fire at its head for fear of hitting Louisa. He was forced to wait until the beast backed and turned broadside to him, at last exposing its flank. Jim leaned far out of the saddle, reaching up until the muzzle of the heavy gun almost touched the rough and baggy skin, and he fired.

  The ball struck the point of the bull’s shoulder, on the heavy joint of humerus and scapula, shattering the bone. The elephant reeled back from the shot, and threw out its trunk to balance itself on three legs. It released its grip on Louisa’s leg, and she fell back into the thicket where the branches cushioned her from the hard earth.

  The elephant turned towards Jim, ears flaring, shrilling with pain and rage, then reached out with its trunk to pull him from the saddle. But it was pinned by its broken front leg, and Jim turned Drumfire away, swinging out of reach, and rode back to meet Bakkat who was coming up with the second gun. With expertise born of long practice they exchanged guns. “Reload! As quick as you like!” Jim shouted, and with the second weapon in his hand he spurred back to confront the bull, which was dragging itself to meet him, hobbling on three legs, the crippled front leg twisted and useless.

  Jim could see now that Louisa’s shot had blinded one eye, for blood and eye jelly poured down its cheek. He changed direction, coming in from the bull’s blind side, so close that the tip of one tusk grazed his shoulder, and as he went by he fired into its chest without checking Drumfir
e’s gallop. The bull staggered. This time the heavy four-ounce ball had gone in deeply, cutting through the vital organs, the tangled arteries and veins deep in the chest cavity. It was a fatal wound but it would take time for the beast to fall.

  He reckoned that Louisa was out of harm’s way, as long as she stayed where she was, deeply hidden in the thicket. In the utmost haste Jim rode back to where Bakkat had dropped down from Frost’s back, the better and swifter to reload the other gun. It took courage to dismount in the face of a wounded elephant.

  Courage is one thing he lacks not! Jim thought, as he watched for him to finish the complicated business of reloading the heavy gun. Drumfire danced in nervous circles, and Jim glanced back to watch the bull. Then he shouted with alarm as he saw Louisa crawling out of the thorn bush on hands and knees, almost under the bull’s trampling feet. Exposed as she now was, she was once again in terrible danger. He dropped the empty gun and, not waiting for Bakkat to finish reloading, galloped back. Again he swerved in from the bull’s blind side so that he could risk a much closer pass.

  Obviously half stunned, Louisa came to her feet, favouring her injured leg where the bull’s trunk had seized her. She saw Jim riding towards her, hopped towards him and lifted her arms. She was a dreadful sight, her clothing torn by thorns and stained with blood. She was covered with scratches and dust, her long hair tumbling down over her face.

  Drumfire brushed so closely along the bull’s blind side that the blood that flowed down from the wound in its shoulder stained Jim’s breeches at the knee, but when the elephant swung its trunk to swat him like a fly, Jim flattened himself along Drumfire’s neck and ducked under the blow. They galloped up to Louisa and, without pausing, Jim leaned far out of the saddle, gripping only with his knees, flung one arm round Louisa and swung her up behind him. As soon as she was astride she locked both her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his sweaty shirt between his shoulder-blades. She was sobbing with pain and fright, unable to utter a word. He carried her to the crest of the hill, swung himself to the ground, and reached up to lift her down from Drumfire’s back.