In the district. Sean was about to enlarge on the theme, but suddenly

he was aware of discomfort, the drop of dip was burning his cheek. He

wiped it off with his finger and held it to his nose; the smell of it

stung his nostrils. For a second he stared at it stupidly and the spot

on his cheek burned like fire.

He looked up quickly. The cattle in the draining kraal were milling

restlessly and as he looked one of them staggered sideways and bumped

against the railing.

Zama! shouted Sean, and the Zulu looked up. Stop them. For God's sake

don't let any more through. There was another ox poised on the edge.

Sean snatched off his hat and jumped up onto the wall, he beat the ox in

the face with his hat trying to drive it back, but it sprang out into

the tank. Sean caught hold of the railing and stepped into the space it

had left on the edge of the tank. Stop them, he shouted. Get the bars

In, don't let any more through. He spread his arms across the entrance,

holding onto the railing on each side, kicking at the faces of the

cattle in front of him. Hurry, djunn you, get the bars in, he shouted.

The oxen pressed towards him, a wall of homed heads. Pushed forward by

those behind and held back by Sean they started to panic; one of them

tried to jump over the railing.

As it swung its head its horn raked Sean's chest, up across the ribs,

ripping his shirt.

Behind him Sean felt the wooden bars being dropped into place, blocking

the entrance to the tank, and then Zamma's hands on his arm pulling him

up out of the confusion of horns and hooves. Two of the herdboys helped

him over the railing and Sean shrugged their hands off as soon as he was

on the ground.

Come on, he ordered and ran to his horse. Nkosi, you are bleeding.

Blood had splotched the front of Sean's shirt but he felt no pain. The

cattle that had been through the dip were now in terrible distress. They

charged about the kraal, bellowing pitifully; one of them fell and when

it got to its feet again its legs were shaking so that it could barely

stand.

The river, shouted Sean, get them down to the river.

Try and wash it off. Zama, open the gate. The Baboon Stroom. was a

mile away. One of the oxen died before they could get them out of the

kraal, another ten before they reached the river. They died in

convulsions, with their bodies shuddering and their eyes turned back

into their heads.

Sean drove those that remained down the bank into the river. The water

was clear and as each beast went into it, the dip washed off in a dark

brown cloud. Stand here, Don't let them come out. Sean swam his horse

to the far bank and turned back the oxen that were trying to climb it.

Nkosi, one is drowning, called N'duti and Sean looked across the river.

A young ox was in convulsions in the shallows: its head was under water

and its feet thrashed the surface.

Sean slid off his horse and waded out to it. The water was up to his

armpits. He tried to hold its head out and drag it to the bank. Help

me, N'duti, he shouted, and the Zulu came into the river. it was a

hopeless task: each time the ox lunged it pulled them both under with