by Des Hunt
‘Just Karori. There’s a supermarket there.’
‘Is that near the wildlife sanctuary?’
‘If you’re talking about Zealandia, then the supermarket’s closer. Why?’
‘Jess was talking about riding there tomorrow.’
‘Great!’ said Crawford. ‘Then you can pick up some supplies on the way back.’
After breakfast, Zac wandered outside. He had several hours to fill before Jess got back from town. He couldn’t go looking for Tasha because Jess had the Roldee. But he could go around to Karori Bay to see if the pick-up was still stuck.
He’d just climbed on his bike when his eyes caught a bright light coming from the other side of the Waiariki Stream. It looked as if the sun was reflecting off glass or metal. This was worth investigating.
Leaving his bike behind, he headed down to the shore where it was easier to cross the stream.
There, on the other side of the water, he found tyre marks curving out of the water and onto a track running alongside the stream. Zac followed, confident that the wheels were too close together to be the Neanderthals’ pick-up.
The track climbed up a rise to where a sign told drivers they were now on private property and needed permission to go any further. Either the sign had been ignored or many people had permission, for a well-defined track continued up and on to a flat area. In the middle was a large waterhole surrounded by deep-rutted wheel marks. It was obviously a popular place for four-wheel-drive enthusiasts. Tracks led into and out of the water at all angles, some of them backing metres up a slope so that the drivers could get a decent run at the mud. Among all the dry wheel marks was a wet pair exiting from the valley side of the pool.
Without these tracks, Zac would never have found the vehicle — someone had gone to a lot of trouble to create a parking place that would not be found. He soon understood why. On the back were two open dog cages. This vehicle belonged to pig hunters.
Zac’s first thought was for Tasha. What if the dogs found her, instead of a pig? Would the hunters shoot?
‘Yes,’ he said out loud. ‘They sure would.’ What better trophy could you get than the skin of a big cat?
On the western side of the stream was a terrace similar to that around the homestead. Zac climbed until he got a view up the valley. It was long and wide. His fears eased a little. There was enough space for pig dogs and cheetah never to meet. But the huge space also meant that finding Tasha was going to be difficult. Without the Roldee it would be impossible.
From there he climbed down to the stream below where the vehicle was parked. The dogs had clearly been excited. Paw prints were everywhere in the muddy banks beside the stream: deep depressions with well-defined claw holes. There were also two pairs of boot prints leading into the water. The prints caused Zac to think of the marks Tasha would leave. Maybe they would be the best way of finding her.
He stayed on his side of the water, walking slowly upstream searching for more marks. There was nothing until he got to a broad, sandy area where there was a big circle of fresh tracks. One of the dogs had come through the stream and done a loop before returning to its mate. There was nothing else.
Further on, large logs had been placed across the stream to block the off-roaders from going higher up the valley. The rough bridge was a good place for Zac to cross the water, so he decided to search the other side.
It was as he went to get up onto the logs that he spotted the prints. An animal with paws had climbed there before him. But these were not a dog’s paw prints. They had the same basic shape — four toes surrounding a large pad — but there were no claw marks. This animal could retract its claws.
Zac pulled the camera out of his pocket and began photographing. He took some with his foot alongside for comparison, thinking he could work out the size when he got back to his computer. If trackers could identify an animal from its prints, then maybe he could as well.
He was halfway across the log bridge when the peace of the valley was broken by a shot. The sound bounced around the hills, taking ages to die. Then came another. Neither was close by, and yet Zac flattened himself on the log with his legs dangling either side. Gunshots were even scarier than guns.
When he thought the shooting was over, Zac sat up and scanned the valley. Nothing had changed. If he wanted to see what they had shot, he’d have to wait by the vehicle. He stood and turned back. He’d seen a good place where he could hide and wait. And keeping his footprints to this side of the stream seemed like a good idea. Best not leave clues for the hunters to see. There was no knowing what they might do if they thought their illegal hunting had been uncovered.
A dog was barking. Loud and very close.
For a time Zac had no idea where he was or why. Then it came to him: he was hiding in a bush waiting for the hunters to return. He must have dozed off, and now they were back.
‘Sue!’ shouted a voice. ‘Get back down here.’ Fortunately, the human sounded further away than the dog.
There were a couple more half-hearted barks before the animal obeyed.
Then another voice: ‘Why’d you call her off, mate? Might have found another leopard.’ This was followed by a loud laugh.
This got Zac’s full attention. He parted the branches to see down to the stream. The hunters were still on the other side. Each with a rifle and a dead pig on his back.
The one who had called the dog answered, ‘You can take the piss if you like, but I know what I saw.’ He was the taller of the two; the other was short and powerful.
‘C’mon, mate. How would a leopard get out here?’
‘I’m telling you, I saw a leopard. Don’t you believe the photo?’
‘The only thing in that photo is a pig. A big old spotted sow, probably.’
They splashed into the stream.
‘That’s because it wasn’t the best view I got. By the time I got the phone out of my pocket it was almost gone. I saw the head. It was a big, spotted cat.’
‘But it’s white,’ complained the short guy. ‘Leopards are yellow.’
The tall one said nothing. Zac could see that his jaw had clamped shut. He was not happy with his mate.
‘Look, Bryan,’ said the short guy. ‘Forget about it. Please!’ They were now climbing a rise towards the hidden vehicle. ‘Mate, don’t put anything on the internet. Remember last time? Don’t make that happen again.’
Bryan remained silent.
‘Tell me you won’t,’ insisted the short one.
‘Don’t you think people need to be told if there’s a freakin’ leopard running loose?’
‘But there isn’t, is there?’
Bryan stopped. ‘What would it take for you to believe me, Sean? Tell me that.’
Sean turned to face him. ‘Mate, I’ll believe you when I see a leopard on your back, just like I now see a pig. Otherwise don’t mention the thing again.’ He resumed walking.
‘Right!’ said Bryan, glaring after his friend. ‘That’s what you’ll get. Tomorrow I’m going to come back and I’m going to shoot that sucker. Then you and everyone else will have to believe me!’
Sean kept on walking. A moment later Bryan followed and soon both were in the bushes and out of sight.
The only thing Zac heard after that was the two men yelling at their dogs to get into their boxes. Then the engine started and the vehicle moved off.
Zac stayed in his hiding place until well after the sound of the motor had gone. It wasn’t that he was worried about being seen, it was just that he didn’t want to move. Moving meant accepting that what he’d just heard was real and not some nightmare he’d dreamt in his sleep.
Chapter Ten
Yesss!’ hissed Zac. ‘So that’s who you are, Tasha.’
He’d finally found her. But only on a computer screen.
The monitor displayed a long-legged, black-spotted cat. It was neither a cheetah nor a leopard. The paw prints were wrong for both of them. He’d discovered that a cheetah’s print would show claws, as it can�
�t retract them, while a leopard’s print was far too big. No, this had to be her. Zac was sure.
He grabbed the mouse and scrolled down to the information below the image.
Name: Serval, Makanu (Swahili), African wild cat, Leptailurus serval
Size: Length — 1 m excluding tail
Tail — 35 cm
Height — 60 cm at shoulder
Weight — up to 18 kg
Movement: Running — 80 km/h
Jumping — 2.7 m high from standing, higher when running
3.5 m long from standing, longer when running
Colour forms: Yellow — predominant colour found all over central Africa
Black — sometimes found in cooler, mountain areas
White — never recorded in the wild, extremely rare in captivity
Sounds: A wide range of noises: high-pitched mews and chirping; snarls, hisses and growls when upset or unsure; purring when happy
Threats: Fur trade
Pet trade
A big cat, but not as scarily huge as a lion, tiger or leopard. Zac found this reassuring. While he hadn’t been frightened during his brief encounter with her, pig-hunter Bryan’s comments about a leopard had worried him. Leopards could kill big animals such as antelope and some even became man-eaters. Servals had a much smaller head, which restricted their diet to birds and small mammals.
All this was good news as far as the farm animals were concerned: sheep were too big, and the homestead didn’t have any chooks. Possums would have to watch out, though. Zac smiled to himself. Maybe Jim Shirley would welcome having a serval on the property if it helped keep the possum population down.
The next task was to find out if there was any link between Mikhail Popanov and servals.
There were lots, including photos of him in Africa alongside the wild cats. Apparently, he made huge donations to groups protecting big cats.
‘So that’s what she is,’ said a voice from the doorway.
Zac spun around. It was Jess. He hadn’t heard her arrive.
‘You could’ve knocked,’ he said, recovering from the shock.
‘I did,’ said Jess. ‘You were too busy staring at the computer.’
‘Have you just arrived?’
‘Yes. Mum brought me. She brought lunch too. She’s out there talking to your dad.’ Jess lowered her voice. ‘Now answer my question. Is that Tasha?’
‘Not that one, but that’s what she is. A serval. A white one. They’re very rare.’
Jess’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you go looking for her this morning?’ Her voice went hard. ‘I thought we’d agreed to do this together.’
‘Calm down. I didn’t go looking for her. I used science instead.’ He pointed to the bed. ‘Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.’
Lunch was a range of breads, pastries and cakes bought from a bakery. They were a welcome change from sandwiches made with stale bread.
Jenny McGonagall wasn’t quite what Zac had expected. He had an image of what a fencer’s wife should look like and it wasn’t this glamorous woman.
She must’ve noticed something in his reaction, for her first words were, ‘I don’t always dress like this, Zac, but I had a meeting. That’s why Jess’s got the glad rags on too. She’s my assistant.’
For the first time Zac noticed that Jess was wearing a dress.
‘Mum’s a marriage celebrant,’ explained Jess, ‘and I help with the candles and things.’
‘Did you have a wedding this morning?’ asked Zac.
Jess shook her head. ‘Just a practice; the wedding’s on Sunday.’
Zac studied her clothes. They weren’t suitable for the Waiariki Valley.
Jenny chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, Zac. She’s got a change of clothes in the car.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Crawford.
‘I don’t know—’ began Zac.
‘Up the Waiariki Stream,’ said Jess.
If Zac’s leg could have reached under the table, he would have kicked her.
Crawford stopped chewing. ‘Are you? Great! I’ll come too. I want to see what’s left from the gold-mining days.’
‘Have you read Terawhiti and the Goldfields?’ asked Jenny.
‘Yes, I have a copy. But I want to see the places for myself.’
‘I haven’t been up there for years,’ said Jenny. ‘Is it okay if I come too? I’ve got a change of clothes.’
Of course it was okay with Crawford: he could tell her all about The Book. They then launched into a discussion on Terawhiti’s past. Neither noticed the black looks being exchanged between their offspring.
A rough track, wide enough for a four-wheel drive, took them the first couple of kilometres up the valley. All the while, Crawford and Jess’s mum were talking about gold mining. The Waiariki Stream was where the first nuggets were found in 1852. For the following ten or so years people had worked the stream and terraces looking for more. They found some, but never enough to make them rich.
Even though Zac was worrying about Tasha, he found the conversation interesting, especially when Jenny pointed out ditches that had carried the water used to sluice gold from the gravel.
The track ended at a grassed area where the valley divided in two. Cattle were grazing peacefully on the flat. That was until they saw the humans and ran into the bush, where they turned to stare while Jenny and Crawford discussed which way to go.
They decided to go left, up Breakneck Creek, where they were more likely to find mineshafts. The creek took most of the water draining off Outlook Hill, which could be seen at the head of the valley.
The going was tougher now, with the creek bed the only track. In places, sizeable nikau palms, ponga ferns and other natives had replaced the gorse growing up the sides. Slippery rocks and foot-grabbing cracks gave a hint of how the creek might have got its name. Keeping their feet dry was impossible.
Zac took the rear so he could secretly search the sandy spots for paw prints. There were imprints from pig trotters and from boots other than their own, but nothing to suggest a cat had passed before them. A couple of times he saw Jess fiddle with her backpack, as if to take out the Roldee. If only they could play the music, then they might have a chance; otherwise they had no show. Not that Zac wanted Tasha to appear while the adults were around — that would spoil it. The first meeting had to be just him, Jess and Tasha.
The creek narrowed as they climbed higher. At one place the water had cut through faults in the rocks, forming a gorge not much wider than their bodies. The first signs of rock mining were found not far above. A collection of large rusting metal bits was scattered throughout the creek. Crawford said they were parts of a machine used to crush quartz to extract the gold.
‘The Phoenix Mine must be up there somewhere,’ he said, pointing uphill.
‘I can probably find it,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve been here a couple of times before.’
‘Do we have to go?’ asked Jess, in her best whining voice.
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ said Jenny. ‘We’ll have to come back this way.’
Crawford looked at Zac. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ll stay and keep Jess company.’
‘Okay, but don’t go too far away.’
They promised not to.
‘That was easy,’ chuckled Jess, when the adults had gone.
‘But what if Tasha is hiding out in the mine?’ asked Zac.
Jess’s smile faded. ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Do they live in caves?’
‘I don’t know, but some big cats do.’
‘There are other smaller mines around here. She could be in one of those.’ Jess took out the Roldee. She glanced up the side of the hill to where the adults had gone. ‘Do you think they’re far enough away?’
Zac shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter if they hear. We’re just playing with it.’
‘I wish it had better music,’ said Jess, turning on the machine. ‘I’ve had enough of this noise.’
‘Maybe if she comes, we ca
n train her to like something different,’ said Zac.
‘If she comes,’ replied Jess.
They settled to wait. It was as good a place as any: while there were plenty of plants growing around the stream, none were as unpleasant as the gorse that covered the hillsides.
Minutes passed. The tune reached the end and returned to the start. By the time it was into its fourth loop, Zac’s mind had wandered to other things, and he didn’t see the stealthy movement high on the opposite side of the stream. Not until something caused him to look up. There was no sound, nor anything else that he could detect — he just knew she was there.
Her eyes were on his, green and bright, with black slits of pupils. The head was smaller than he’d anticipated, or maybe it was the enormous ears that made it seem so. The only movement was her tail, swaying back and forth. That, too, seemed smaller than it should be for the size of her body, almost as if some of it had been chopped off.
Zac stretched his hand out and touched Jess’s arm. He pointed to Tasha.
Jess’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh my god!’ she gasped. ‘She is so beautiful.’
Zac nodded. She certainly was. So white that the word spotless came to mind, but that wasn’t exactly true: her coat had spots, and stripes too. But they were grey, rather than black, almost as if bleached by the sun. The spots on her face and nose appeared as freckles.
He felt an urge to touch her, but was scared to move closer in case she went away.
‘Tasha,’ he called softly. ‘Tasha.’
The tail stopped swaying.
He stretched an open hand towards her, as if offering food.
Tasha watched it for a long moment before taking the first, tentative steps across the stream.
‘It’s all right, Tasha. I won’t hurt you.’
A few more steps and she was close enough to touch if he leaned forward. And yet something told him that she had to be the one that made the first contact. If he did this wrong, he might lose her.
After a pause to be sure, Tasha took the last steps needed for her pink nose to touch his hand. She sniffed for a while before dipping her head and rubbing a cheek against his fingers.
Zac let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He turned his hand and began stroking her head and neck. His hand touched something solid, a collar partially hidden by fur; confirmation that she was somebody’s pet.