The White Hunter

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Jeb’s explaining some of his work to her.”

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Oh no. Please sit down, John.”

  Winslow took his seat and leaned back. He had removed his hat. Now he ran his hands through his hair. “What are you doing?”

  “You’d laugh if I told you.”

  “That’s all right. You shouldn’t mind a laugh every now and then. As I recall, some of the Wesleys got more than laughed at when they started their ministry. They got hit with rocks.”

  “Yes, but they were serving the Lord. This isn’t anything like that.” She hesitated, then laughed quietly. “I’m keeping a journal.”

  John Winslow grinned. “All young ladies should keep journals. Why don’t you let me take it back to camp and read it? I’m sure I’ll find it fascinating.”

  “No—no!” Annie said quickly. “I couldn’t do that!”

  “Aha! Deep dark secrets, eh?”

  “Nothing like that. Just very private.”

  The two sat there talking and finally Annie stood up. She put her journal inside a special wooden box that Drago had made for her. “Is it too dark to walk?”

  “Pretty much. Leopards sometimes come in to see what they can pick up. Even inside the kraals. They make no noise at all when they’re hunting. But we can walk a little.”

  As they strolled along the perimeter of the camp, silver moonlight flooded the kraal. Annie was feeling rather strange. John Winslow had always had a peculiar influence over her, and now as he walked alongside her, she was stirred. He turned to look at her.

  “You look very nice, Annie,” he said unexpectedly. “I think Africa agrees with you.”

  Annie was flustered and did not know what to say. “Just the moonlight,” she said.

  “Yes. Romantic, isn’t it?”

  Annie did not answer for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t know much about romance.”

  John Winslow was surprised at her remark. He stopped, and reaching out, he turned her toward him. “You need some romance in your life. You can’t work all the time. Of course, there’s nobody here to romance, is there? Except me. Just a beat-up, old white hunter.”

  “You’re not beat-up and you’re not old.”

  “I’m a white hunter, though. I’ll never get married, I don’t suppose. No woman would put up with the kind of life I lead.”

  Annie did not know how to answer that and she stood quietly. Finally she said, “I’d better go in.”

  “All right, Annie. I’ll walk you back to your tent.”

  After John had left she sat writing in her journal, but she could not write much. It amounted to only a few sentences. “Do I really care for John? Ever since I was a girl, I thought I did. I’ve never had thoughts of any other man in a romantic light, and now he’s here. And we were in the moonlight together. I feel so strange and so confused. I think, God, you’ll have to sort it all out for me.”

  With a sigh she closed the journal, put it back in the box, and then went to bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A Bitter Ending

  July had come to the great Rift Valley, but for Jeanine and Annie there was nothing to remind them of the summers they had known. Africa has only two seasons that last roughly six months each: the rainy season called alari and the dry season called alamei. In November the rainy season starts with short rains that continue until May. From then until October the weather is dry. The cold months in Masailand are July and August.

  It was on a Sunday morning that Annie awoke realizing she was cold. The hut Jeanine had hired the natives to build was an improvement over the tent in some respects. It had a wood floor, and since it was raised off the ground on poles, there was little danger of snakes or other unwelcome guests creeping in during the night. The large windows covered with screen let in the breezes during the hot season but also let in the cold air during the cooler times.

  Lying in her bunk, dreading getting out into the cold, Annie suddenly was amused. “I came to Africa knowing I’d suffer hardship, and now I’m afraid of a little cold weather. Lord, help me to get over this crazy desire for the things I left behind.”

  The patterns of the Masai had become part of her own internal clock. As soon as a blanket of green grass replaced a dry one, she would watch a new cycle of life begin. The tribe would move their herds to the open country. They worked harder to care for their cattle, for the herd was their life, as she was often reminded by the Masai themselves.

  Lying flat on her back soaking up the warmth from the stiff gray blanket, a picture came before her eyes. It was a portrait, almost, of the land where the Masai lived. She saw the thorny acacia trees that rose up out of the grassy savannah. She thought of the broad lakes and the meandering rivers she had seen in her short travels, which contrasted so dramatically with the flat, seasonal, and parched lowlands that rose toward the softly rolling hills. And then she thought of Kilimanjaro, Kenya, Maru, great, tremendous, and distant mountains that stood like watchtowers over the plains. They put a ring almost like castle walls around the land where she now lived.

  The air was always fragrant, it seemed, with leleshwa leaves, and she took pleasure in the Serengeti that teemed with herds of grazing zebras, antelope, and wildebeests. At times she heard the scrubby forest echo with the crash of elephants on the move.

  She heard a soft voice calling her name and was startled. She had not heard footsteps, but she rose up on one elbow and answered. “Is that you, Drago?”

  “Yes, Mother Annie.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Annie slipped out of the cot, thinking with amusement at the name they had given her. There was something touching about the Masai habit of calling every woman “Mother,” but it made Annie feel odd. Quickly she slipped into her warmest clothes. She still refused to wear the jodhpurs that Jeanine took such pride in, but she put on heavy stockings, a thick petticoat, a woolen vest, and brown half boots with laces running up to the ankles. She slipped into a warm, light blue dress, then quickly pulled her hair back and knotted it. Grabbing her helmet, she moved toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Jeanine’s sleepy voice spoke up.

  “I’m going out on a honey gathering trip with Drago. You go ahead and sleep.” Annie left knowing that Jeanine would sleep at least another two hours. Stepping outside, she found Drago waiting for her. He stood on one leg, the other leg bent so that the heel rested on the knee. It was the stork position the Masai men used when they were waiting or simply watching their herds. He wore a simple dark red toga, and blue beaded earrings of a circular pattern dangled from his ears.

  “I’m ready, Drago.”

  “We go.” Drago led the way from the village. It was still dark, and overhead a splash of stars seemed to be frozen in an ebony sky. Annie did not speak to Drago, and they covered ground at a tremendous rate. Leaving the village, they took a circuitous route around the herds of cattle that were watched by alert guardsmen who spoke to them as the sky in the east began to turn a golden gray color. By the time they had traveled for over an hour, the sun was part of a blazing crimson disk clearing the mountains in the east.

  Finally Drago stopped and said, “We are here.” He spoke very slowly and chose simple words, for he was proud of Annie’s advances in his language. He stood waiting for her and smiled suddenly. He was a handsome man, tall and well formed, with the lower two middle teeth missing, as was true of all the Masai. The baby teeth were removed and later the permanent ones. Annie had asked about this and discovered that at least one of the reasons was that if anyone got tetanus they could be fed through a straw until it passed away.

  “What do we do now, Drago?”

  Drago said, “Now we get the honey.” He seemed to enjoy lecturing to Annie about the habits of his people. “We must have honey, Mother Annie. It is used to make the beer that is drunk by the elders and the guests at all ceremonies.”

  Annie listened as he spoke slowly and then said, “All right. What can I
do to help?”

  Drago seemed to be finding some sort of amusement in the situation. “Usually,” he said, “I would bring a boy to help me. But since you insisted today, you will be the boy.” The thought of her trying to get honey tickled him and he laughed aloud. “You are a boy, Mother Annie!”

  “All right. What does the boy do?”

  “Come with me.”

  He led her to a steep cliff and pointed downward. “There are our bees. It is a difficult spot to get at.”

  He had brought a bag over his shoulder, and now putting it on the ground, he removed a long hide rope. Without explanation he tied it around Annie, knotting it just under her arms.

  “You will go down and put the honey in this bag.”

  Annie was startled. “But won’t they sting me?”

  “Not if you are quick. It is cold and they are asleep. If you are not quick,” he warned, “they will certainly sting you.”

  Annie swallowed hard. She had not bargained on this. But she had learned that the Masai valued courage in man or woman more than almost any other virtue. To back down now would be to lose face, so she said, “All right. You tell me what to do.” She listened as Drago explained that it simply involved reaching in, scooping out the honey, and getting away as quickly as possible. “I will pull you up as soon as you cry out. Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Annie found herself being lowered over the edge of the cliff. It was not a sheer drop-off, so she found places for her feet to rest on. When she passed by the hole in the wall, she saw that the nest was right on the edge. She did not see any bees, but, nevertheless, she was rather frightened. She heard Drago say, “Just scoop the honey into the bag. Get what you can and then crawl out.”

  She had found a place to stand on a six-inch ledge, and drawing a deep breath and praying a quick prayer, she opened the leather bag and reached in. Quickly she scooped handfuls of raw honey mixed in with comb, expecting any minute for the bees to swarm out. She had scooped out some eight or ten handfuls when a low humming began and a bee suddenly flew right past her eyes.

  “Now, Drago!” she cried out, and instantly she was swayed up into the air. Drago was tremendously strong, and he pulled her up hand over hand, seemingly as if she were stuffed with feathers. When she reached the top, he grabbed her and set her down and took the bag from her. Looking inside he chuckled. “You are a good boy, Mother Annie. We have posho honey. Come, we go home now.”

  The two made their way home, and when they reached the village, Drago taught her how to separate the comb from the honey. Then he mixed it with water and some roots that he had ground small. He poured it then into a large, round calabash, a specially made hide container. This would be placed near the fire. With constant tending the mass would ferment within two weeks. And on the third week, as Drago explained, it would be filtered and divided into as many gourds as would be needed for the number of guests.

  “You will have your own gourd when we have our ceremony.”

  Annie wanted to say that she did not drink strong drink, but somehow she did not say it. I can at least make a show of joining in, she thought. Liquor is not the problem for the Masai as it is for other peoples of the world, apparently. She had not heard of a drunken man or woman since coming to live with the Masai. It was one of those decisions she found necessary to make constantly. When she was on the Titanic, she had not touched even one sip of wine, even though Jeanine and others had urged it upon her. There it had been a test. Here with the Masai she was in a different world. The mild beer they made was part of their ceremony. If she were invited to join, that would be an honor, and she would have to pray much about how to handle this particular situation.

  ****

  “Well, you just getting up?”

  Jeanine looked up to see John Winslow standing in the door of the hut. There was no front door, merely an opening they covered with a net to keep the mosquitoes out.

  I’m glad I was dressed, she thought, but she only said, “Hello, John.”

  “Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “No. I was just thinking of getting some.”

  She went to the door and stepped outside. “Do you have another drunken German on safari with you?”

  “Not this time. I’m doing some work for a geographic society.”

  “Really? What kind of work?”

  “Join me for breakfast and I’ll tell you about it.”

  He had pitched his tent just outside the kraal, and one of his assistants, a short, muscular native named Bolo, had prepared a delicious breakfast of eggs and fried eland steak.

  “Where’s Annie?” John asked as they sat back drinking coffee.

  Jeanine was enjoying her breakfast tremendously. She sipped on the coffee and stretched luxuriously. “Oh, she went out early looking for honey with Drago.”

  John Winslow laughed. “I hope she doesn’t come back like I did the first time I went looking for honey. Couldn’t see out of my eyes for three days.”

  “Really?” Jeanine was worried. “I hope she doesn’t get into anything like that.”

  “Drago’s a good man. He wouldn’t risk her. He might tease her a little bit, though.”

  “Tease her? You think he’d do that?”

  “Why, sure. The Masai have a tremendous sense of humor. It’s a little bit sophisticated. They’ve got a dry wit, but odd things amuse them, and to them we’re pretty odd. Do you know what they call us?”

  “What do you mean call us?”

  Sipping his coffee, John said, “They call us L’ojuju.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means ‘the hairy one.’ I guess they’ve seen a lot of beards. The Masai don’t have heavy beards.”

  The two sat there enjoying the sunrise, and John said, “I’m going to take a look at some elephants. I’ll be bringing a client through next week, and some of the herds have moved in close. Have you ever seen elephants up close?”

  “No. I’ve seen a few at a distance.”

  “Would you like to come along?”

  “Yes. I’d like it very much. Are you going to shoot one?”

  “No. Not this time.”

  It took only a short time for Jeanine to get ready. The earth was warming up now, but she still brought a heavy coat along. She left the village striding along with John, the two of them moving across the plains until after a two-hour hike they came to where the landscape changed.

  “You see how most of the tall trees are knocked down? Only scrub things here?” he asked, gesturing with his hand.

  “Yes. Why is that, John?”

  “Elephants do it.” He was carrying a .470 Rigby elephant rifle, and his eyes constantly moved from point to point. “Elephants probably destroy more vegetation than anything on the continent.”

  “Really? How is that?”

  “Well, when they go crashing through, they destroy everything in their path. They seem to love to butt against big trees and rub against them. So the herds are destroying many of the taller trees. Of course, when they knock the trees down and the trees die, sometimes there are fires that burn for months, and those fires waste the dry grass. So here in the Serengeti, fire and elephants together have converted hundreds of miles of acacia woods to grassland.”

  “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “Well, the range of the plains’ game has increased, but it’s robbed other species of their habitat.” He continued to give her a short lecture on elephants as they moved along into thicker woods. “You know, Jeanine, an elephant can eat as much as six hundred pounds of grass and boughs in a single day, and as I say, it’s a destructive feeder. Tears up trees and uproots shrubs.”

  “What will happen?”

  “Why, nothing much, I suppose. Elephants have been destroying woodlands for thousands of years. Maybe it’s just a part of the natural cycle of this part of the world. My dad would say that it’s the way God made it.”

  “Do you think so? That God does things like this?�
�� Jeanine glanced at John Winslow’s face. “Do you believe God is that interested in everything we do?”

  “It’s the only answer I have. I had it from the time I could remember.” He said nothing for a while, then added, “I wish you could meet my parents, Jeanine. They’re the best Christians I’ve ever known.”

  “That must have been a wonderful childhood.”

  John laughed. “I didn’t think so. I was a little bit of a rebel. Annie could tell you something about that.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever come to have your parents’ faith?”

  Suddenly John turned and faced her. His face was utterly serious, and he did not answer for a moment. The question had touched something deep within him, and he studied her countenance for what seemed like a long extended moment. “I hope so, Jeanine. There’s got to be more to life than the few years we’ve got here. I can’t deny the Bible is true. It’s the only anchor I know of. I went through a time when I thought I would be an atheist, but all during those times, all I could think of was my parents and their faith. I thought of Barney Winslow and other Christians I had met who had been faithful almost unto death. Did you know Barney got clawed by a lion out here and killed it with his bare hands?” He shook his head in marvel. “He must have been tremendously strong. He got astride the lion and choked him. Some tribes here still call him Lion Killer.”

  “He’s a wonderful man,” Jeanine admitted.

  Turning, John said little more. He was deep in thought, and Jeanine knew his mind was on the question she had asked him about God and his faith. She had an impulse to try to pressure him to make a profession of faith. It was her nature to be aggressive. She wanted whatever was at hand to be done at once. Drago had called her the “now woman” because everything she wanted had to be done now for Jeanine. Still, some bit of wisdom came to her, and she thought, Not now. You’ve got to learn to wait. You’ve made a start. Now God’s working in his heart and will do whatever is needed to bring him to faith.

  They had not gone too far before John turned and said with a glint of humor in his eyes, “Aren’t you going to try and convert me, Jeanine?”