The White Hunter

by Gilbert, Morris

  The chief and his son came up at that moment and the chief asked how John Winslow was doing. When Barney had told him, the chief asked, “He is your blood?”

  “Yes. He’s of my tribe and my clan. We have the same name.”

  “If you are as good a man as he, you are a good man indeed.”

  “I do not think I could have done what he did.”

  Chief Mangu stared at him. “We have heard the tale of the time when you killed a lion with your bare hands.”

  Barney shifted uncomfortably. He felt not in the least heroic and said finally, “That was a long time ago. I hardly even remember it.”

  “How could a man kill a lion without even a knife? I would hear the story.” He drew his boy closer. “My son needs to hear it also. You understand we are in debt to the white hunter.”

  “What he did was much braver than what I did.” Barney went on to minimize his own deed that had taken place many years ago and was now faint in his memory. He knew he was still revered in this part of the world among the tribes there, but he always discouraged it, for he did not want to take the glory from God.

  “God helped me once when I needed it, just as He helped you through the white hunter.”

  “Mother Annie says that God is the Father who gave His son for all men.”

  Eagerly Barney nodded. “That is the truth. There is one God, and He is the God of love.”

  “Is He a God of strength as well?”

  “Yes He is. The cattle on a thousand hills are His. He owns everything. He made everything, and when the time came to help me and you, He died that we might know what life really was.”

  For some time he stood there talking to the chief, then after leaving, he thought, Thank God the chief is listening. I saw the interest in his eyes. I think it’s a real breakthrough. If John Winslow never does anything else, he’s done something this time.

  ****

  At first it was just simply a blackness that was warm at times and cold at other times. At times he did not know the difference between the freezing cold and the burning heat that came and went. He felt hands on him, and sometimes the burning would be assuaged by coolness he felt on his face and body. From time to time a light would break through, and he would see a face, almost always the same one. He would try to talk, but his lips were cracked and parched.

  He lay there with no sense of the passing of time. Confusion came and went like a wave as he would awaken, and then he would be plunged back into the darkness. Finally, however, he opened his eyes and found that he was not suffering from the bone-cracking fever. He licked his lips and found them dry and cracked, and slowly he turned his head. A woman sat in a chair slumped over, and at first he could not recognize her. As his mind cleared, he thought, It must be Annie. But then she lifted her face, and he whispered, “Jeanine.”

  Jeanine came awake in one swift moment. She had spent the long vigil beside John’s bed, and now she had no strength left of her own. But when she heard her name whispered she came awake at once.

  “John,” she whispered tenderly. She rose and came over and put her hand on his forehead and her other hand on his chest. “Your fever is gone,” she whispered.

  “How . . . how long have I been here?”

  “A long time.”

  His mind was fuzzy and vague, but her features were sharp and clear. He studied her for a moment, then finally said, “You look tired. How long have you been here?”

  Jeanine did not answer. The tears that filled her eyes now came running down her cheeks, and there was a thickness in her throat. “You’re going to be all right, John,” she whispered. “You’re going to be all right.”

  He lifted his arm, although it felt like it had a fifty-pound weight on it. He touched her cheek and felt the tears that coursed down them. “I remember. You’ve always been here every time I woke up.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you come, Jeanine?”

  She did not answer, for her chest was heaving and she could not stop the tears. She leaned forward and lay across him, holding his head with her hands. His body was still warm, and she knew that all his strength had been drained by the fever. His hand came up and stroked her hair, and she choked, “John, I thought you were going to die.”

  John Winslow held the weeping woman. His mind was becoming clearer now, and he realized that he had almost died. “Thank you, God, for bringing me out of it,” he whispered. And then when Jeanine straightened up, he reached up and touched the tears on her face. “I never thought I’d see that. I’ve never seen you cry.”

  “John, how do you feel?”

  “Terrible.”

  She smiled then. “You’ll feel better soon.”

  “That’s good,” he said. He licked his lips and added, “I’d hate to think I’d feel this bad the rest of my life.” He lifted his arm again and tried to flex it. “It hurts something fierce,” he said.

  “It’s going to be all right. A little stiff maybe, but you have it. God has done a work in you.”

  “Could I have some water?”

  Quickly Jeanine turned and filled a glass.

  “Help me sit up.”

  He sat up in bed and blinked his eyes. “The room is going around,” he complained.

  She spilled some of the water down on his bare chest, and he asked for more. He drank three glasses and finally Jeanine said, “No more for now.”

  “I feel like I could drink the ocean dry.” He sat there watching her as she put the glass back. When she came to stand beside the bed, he said, “Sit down, Jeanine.”

  She sat down and he reached out and she took his free hand. “Tell me how you got here.” He lay there listening as she related the news. When she had finished, he asked, “Why did you come, Jeanine?”

  “I thought a lot about it, John,” she said. “One man gave up his life for me . . . and now you saved my life, too. And I couldn’t stand the thought of it happening again. I’m not worth either one of you, John.”

  John Winslow lay there for a long time without speaking. He held her hand and she felt the warm pressure of it. He saw the weariness of her face, but there was something in her eyes that spoke of more than grief and sorrow. “I can’t believe that you cared enough to come and nurse me.”

  Jeanine Quintana could say only, “I did care, John. I do care.”

  John lay there thinking about his past, and after a long time, he said, “I’ve been thinking about the time when I gave my heart to the Lord. I was only a boy, but I meant it then, Jeanine.”

  “I’m sure you did. Annie did the same thing. Oh, how I wish I had found Jesus when I was just a girl.”

  “I didn’t follow the Lord for all these many years, and it’s hard to believe He still loves me and cares for me. But I have to believe it because the Bible says so.”

  “He does love you. Why, He even loves me.”

  “I need God in my life,” John said. “Only you and Annie can help me. I want to come back to God and serve Him the rest of my life.”

  Jeanine began to weep. “I can’t stop crying,” she said. “I’m just a weepy woman, but I know God loves you, John.” She almost added, “And I love you, too,” but she knew she must not say that. He was weak and helpless, and when he was well, there would be other things for him. Now, however, she began to pray that God would make His presence known in John’s life.

  As John lay there listening to Jeanine’s voice, he began to pray with her, and soon he felt the peace of God come into his heart. Looking up, he whispered, “This is it, Jeanine. I’ve come home again. I haven’t known the presence of God since I was a boy, but I know it now.”

  Jeanine felt a joy rush into her spirit. “Thank God, John. I thank God that you’ve come home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  What Will God Do Now?

  The small stream that began high in the mountains enlarged itself several times. By the time it reached within a mile of the village it had become, even during the dry season, a substantial cu
rrent. Naturally, in a land jealous of water, animals came and went constantly. The herds of zebras would foul it from time to time, but it soon cleansed itself.

  At one point in a bend, a rather large pond had been formed, and it was here that a large crowd had gathered for the baptism of John Winslow.

  Jeanine’s heart was filled with joy as she stood beside the pool. She had spoken earlier in the day to Chief Mangu as well as Manto. The words did not come easy for Jeanine to apologize for her offensive words and behavior toward these village leaders. From the encounter came a deeper understanding among the three of them.

  The line of black, glistening bodies that surrounded the pool looked like an ornament. The Masai had been informed by their chief that the ceremony would be attended by all of the elders and as many others that would choose to come. Now it seemed a sea of black spread outward over the grass. Their colorful beads added a splash of color to the scene, and many of them had painted their faces with red ochre. The warriors had brought their buffalo shields that were highly decorated. They formed what seemed to be a wall surrounding the pool.

  Not ten feet away from where Jeanine stood, a green monitor lizard four feet long scrambled out of the pool into the confines of the stream and disappeared. Speckled butterflies flickered through the shade, and far overhead a dog baboon had his breakfast, a bunch of red berries he had picked on the ground level. At one end of the pool a white-browed water-bottle bird with his neck feathers raised and his whole body shivering made a strange cry that startled Jeanine for a moment.

  John stood beside his kinsman, Barney, but his eyes found those of Jeanine Quintana. The two seemed to be alone for that one moment, and when Jeanine smiled, John’s smile quickly grew on his own lips.

  “Are you ready, John?”

  “I’m ready, Barney.”

  The two men waded out. Both were dressed in white pants and white shirts. They had both removed their shoes, and as they waded out waist deep Barney felt a thrill. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than this, John,” he said. As he turned John to face at right angles, he said, “Look at that. The whole Masai tribe has come to your baptism. I wish we could get pictures of it.”

  “Don’t worry. Annie’s taking care of that.”

  Barney turned his head and saw Annie fiddling with a camera she had set up to photograph the whole thing.

  The water was cool and John let his eyes run over the beautiful black faces, interrupted only at intervals by the few white people that had come from the mission at Mombasa.

  “I wish my parents were here to see this, Barney.”

  “They’ll be very proud of you. They already are.” Lifting his voice, he said, “My dear friends. We have come here to celebrate the new birth of our brother, John Winslow. He is come to be obedient to his God. This is not what makes him a good man. The Father of love has made him that in his heart. What we are doing is celebrating the change that has come into his life as he follows Jesus Christ. . . .”

  Barney preached a miniature sermon ten minutes long, but no one grew tired or weary or bored. Chief Mangu and his family stood foremost in the circle, and his eyes never left those of the two men clothed in white. He felt his son pressing close against him and whispered, “See, a brave man and a good man. That is what a Masai should be.”

  And then Barney Winslow said, “And now in obedience to the commands of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, and upon your profession of faith in Him, I baptize you, my brother, in the name of the Father, in the name of the Son, and in the name of the Holy Spirit.”

  Barney put his hand behind John’s back and lowered him into the water. When he came up with the waters of the stream running down his face, he turned a brilliant smile on Jeanine and said, “Amen, and God be blessed forever.”

  “Glory be to God and the Lamb forever,” Jeanine echoed. She hurried forward with a towel, and as she handed it to John, she said, “It was lovely, John. It made me want to be baptized all over again.”

  And then the crowd came, all wishing John well. All wanted to shake his hand, and finally he stood in front of Chief Mangu, who did not offer his hand. Instead he bowed deeply and said, “When you have time I will hear more of Jesus.”

  “I will be honored to tell you of my Savior, Chief. Will tomorrow be suitable?”

  And then finally the Masai turned back to their village, and Jeanine stood beside John.

  John said quietly, “Well, you did a good job of nursing me, Jeanine.” He held up his arm, and the scars that would be there for the rest of his life appeared livid. He flexed it and said, “I’ve got the feeling I won’t be a white hunter anymore.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I think I’ll just stay in Africa and see what God’s going to do with the Masai.”

  “I think God’s put you in that place. You saw how the chief greeted you. I think you can win him to Jesus.”

  “You’re the missionary. Not me.”

  Jeanine dropped her head. “I quit when the going got hard. I’m ashamed of myself, John.”

  Quickly he reached out with his right hand and took hers. “We all do things that we shouldn’t. You can’t leave, Jeanine. God wants you here. You, and Annie, and Barney, and all the missionaries, and even a beat-up, old white hunter, or ex-white hunter.”

  “I’ll stay if you want me to, John.”

  “That’s my girl. Come now. Let’s walk along this stream, and I can tell you what I’ve been thinking about. It’s about ways to make a living. You see, the Geographical Society . . .”

  ****

  Barney looked up to see Annie and Jeb enter his office. Their faces were beaming, and when he opened his mouth to greet them, he was interrupted by Jeb.

  “I want to marry your relative, Reverend Winslow.”

  Barney’s jaw dropped open. He closed it with a click and began to smile. “Why are you asking me?”

  “Well, you’re basically our pastor. I’ve already talked to Mr. and Mrs. Burns and gotten their permission to marry their niece.” Jeb’s eyes were glowing, and he turned and hugged Annie. “I love this woman and she’s agreed to marry me. Will you do the honors, assuming you give your permission?”

  Barney Winslow laughed. He came over and hugged Annie and then shook Jeb’s hand vigorously. “Of course you have my permission. It’s a match made in heaven.”

  “Well, it took God a long time to put it together. I did everything I could to prevent it,” Annie said. “But I’ve been overwhelmed.” She put her arm around Jeb and was shocked at the feeling that ran through her. Once she had opened her heart to his love, her own heart had overflowed. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and her joy showed in her eyes.

  “You two will work together, and we’ll see the kingdom of God grow.”

  “Well, I’m no missionary, but I’m in Africa for the long haul,” Jeb said. “You can be my song leader. You have the most beautiful voice in Africa. You do the singing and I’ll do the preaching.”

  There was much light talk, but Barney finally said in a more sober tone, “I’m happy for both of you, and your families will be, too. We need people like you in Africa, both of you.”

  Jeb was completely happy, but suddenly he frowned. “What do you think about Jeanine, Barney? Will she stay?”

  A slight smile touched Barney Winslow’s lips. “I think she will.”

  “Do you know something we don’t?” Annie asked suspiciously.

  “Well, I’m no prophet. Neither am I the son of the prophet,” Barney Winslow said. “But somehow I feel that God is up to something.”

  ****

  “What in the world is that?”

  “That?” John said, looking in the direction of Jeanine’s gesture. “That’s a pangolin.” The animal that he pointed at looked something like an armadillo. It had overlapping armor on its back and on its legs and tail. “Ugly rascal, isn’t he? He looks like the armadillos they have down in Texas.”

  “I suppose he might look ni
ce enough to a female pangolin.”

  John reached out and took her hand. They were walking along a well-worn trail overshadowed by towering trees. Overhead a troop of monkeys went chattering through the canopy of trees, shouting and screaming at one another, and then their voices faded in the distance. John stopped and said, “You know what the Masai warriors do with pangolins?”

  “No. Eat them?”

  “Probably, but they do something else.” He took her other hand and they stood facing each other. “They make ornaments out of their plates.”

  “Why do they do that?”

  “The Masai think that pangolin plates make a man lucky in love. So if a warrior wears one, he gains the favor of his sweetheart.”

  “Do the women think the same?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve seen many a maiden loaded down with pangolin plates.”

  Suddenly there was a lightness in Jeanine Quintana’s spirit. She had felt ridiculously joyful since John’s recovery, and the two had grown steadily closer together. At his baptism it had been all she could do to restrain herself from crying out with joy, and now she wished she had. A sly look came into her eyes and she squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you go take a plate off that fellow and tie it around your neck.”

  John laughed and said, “Do you think it would help my case, Jeanine?”

  Jeanine grew more serious. “I don’t think you need any help. I’m always saying the wrong thing, but I’ll have to tell you this. I love you, John.”

  John felt her hands tighten on his and saw something like fear in her eyes. He knew then that she was afraid of his reaction, and he said, “I’m glad of that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re the only woman I could ever be happy with.” Jeanine dropped her head and did not answer for a long time. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “You . . . wouldn’t want a woman with my past.”

  “I’ve got a past, too, Jeanine. But the past is washed away. We start where we are from this day. I would have asked you to marry me before, but—”

  Quickly Jeanine looked up, her lips parted. “Why? Why haven’t you? What’s wrong?”