It. By the time they got the ox to the bank it was dead.

Sean sat in the mud beside the body of the ox: he was exhausted and his

lungs ached with the water he had breathed. Bring them out, Zama, he

gasped. The survivors were standing in the shallows or swimming in

aimless circles. How many? asked Sean. How many are dead?

Two more while you were in the water. Altogether thirteen, Nkosi.

Where's my horse? It ran, and I let it go. It will be back at the

house Sean nodded. Bring them up to the sick paddock. We must watch

them for a few days. Sean stood up and started walking back towards the

dip tank. Garrick was gone, and the main herd was still in the kraal.

Sean opened the gate and turned them loose.

He felt better by then, and as his strength returned with it came his

anger and his hatred. He started along the track towards the homestead.

His boots squelched as he walked and he hated Garrick more strongly with

each step. Garrick had mixed the dip. Garrick had killed his cattle

and Sean hated him, As Sean came up the slope below the house he saw

Garrick standing in the yard. Garrick saw him also; he disappeared into

the kitchen and Sean started to run. He went in through the kitchen

door and nearly knocked down one of the servants, Garrick, shouted Sean.

Damn it, where are you? He searched the house; once quickly and then

again thoroughly. Garrick was gone, but the window of their bedroom was

open and there was a dusty boot print on the sill. Garrick had gone

over it. You bloody coward, howled Sean and scrambled out after him. He

stood a second, with his head swinging from side to side and his fists

opening and closing. I'll find out, he howled- again. I'll find you

wherever you're hiding. He started across the yard towards the stables

and halfway there he saw the door of the dairy was closed. When he

tried it he found it was locked from inside. Sean backed away from it

and then charged it with his shoulder, the lock burst and the door flew

open. Sean skidded across the room and came up against the far wall.

Garrick was trying to climb out of the window, but it was small and high

up. Sean caught him by the seat of his pants and pulled him down.

Whatcha do to the dip, hey? Whatcha do to it! He shouted in Garrick's

face.

I didn't mean to. I didn't know it'd kill them. Tell me what you did.

Sean had hold of the front of his shirt and was dragging him towards the

door.

I didn't do anything. Honest I didn't know, i'm going to hammer you

anyway, so you might as well tell me. Please, Sean, I didn't know. Sean

jammed Garrick against the doorway and held him there with his left

hand, his right hand he drew back with the fist bunched. No, Sean.

Please, no. And suddenly the anger was gone from Sean, his hands sank

back to his sides.

All right, just tell me what you did, he said coldly.

His anger was gone but not his hatred. I was tired and it was getting

late and my leg was hurting, whispered Garrick, and there were still

four more tanks to do, and I knew you'd check that all the drums were

empty, and it was so late . . . and . . .

And? And so I emptied all the dip into the one tank . . . but I

didn't know it would kill them, truly I didn't Sean turned away from him

and started walking slowly back towards the house. Garrick stumbled

after him.

I'm sorry, Sean, honest I'm sorry. I didn't know that. . .

Sean walked ahead of him into the kitchen and slammed the door in his

face. He went through into Waite's study. From the bookshelf he lifted

down the heavy leather-covered stock register and carried it to the

desk.

He opened the book, picked up a pen and dipped it. For a moment he

stared at the page and then in the deathscolumn he wrote the number 13

and after it the wordsdip poisoning. He pressed down so hard with the

pen that the nib cut the paper.

It took Sean and the herdboys all the rest of that day and the next to

bale out the tank, refill it with clean water and mix in fresh dip. He

saw Garrick only at meals and they didn't speak.

The next day was Sunday. Garrick went into town early, for the church

service started at eight o'clock. When he had gone Sean began his

preparations. He shaved leaning close to the mirror and handling the

cut-throat gingerly, shaping his side burns and clearing the hair from

the rest of his face until his skin was smooth and freshlooking. Then

he went through to the master-bedroom and helped himself to a generous

portion of his father's brilliantine, taking care to screw the lid back

on the bottle and replace it exactly as he had found it. He rubbed the

brilliantine into his hair and sniffed its perfume appreciatively. He

combed his hair over his forehead, parted it down the centre and

polished it into a gloss with Waite's silver-backed brushes. Then a

clean white shirt, breeches worn only once before, boots as shiny as his

hair, and Sean was ready.

The clock on the mantelpiece in the lounge assured him that he was well

ahead of time. To be exact, he was two hours early. Eight o'clock now:

church didn't end until nine and it would be another hour before Anna

could escape from under the eyes of her family and reach the rendezvous

above the falls. He settled down to wait. He read the latest copy of

the Natal Farmer. He had read it three times before for it was a month

old, and now even the excellent article on Stomach parasites in Cattle

and Sheep, had lost much of its punch. Sean's attention wandered, he

thought about the day ahead and felt the familiar movement within his

breeches. This necessitated a rearrangement for the breeches were tight

fitting.

Then fantasy palled; Sean was a doer not a thinker, and he went through

to the kitchen to solicit a cup of coffee from Joseph. When he had

finished it, there was still half an hour to go.

The hell with it, said Sean and shouted for his horse.

He climbed the escarpment, letting his horse move diagonally up the

slope and at the top he dismounted and let it blow. Today he could see

the course of the Tugela river out across the plain, it was a belt of

dark green. He could count the roofs of the houses in Lady-burg and the

church spire, Popper clad, shone in the sunlight like a beacon fire.

He mounted again and rode along the edge of the plateau until he reached

the Baboon Stroom above the falls.

He followed it back and forded it at a shallow place, lifting his feet

up on the saddle in front of him to keep his boots dry. He off-saddled

next to the pools and knee-haltered his horse, then he followed the path

until it dropped over the edge of the plateau into the thick forest that

surrounded the falls. It was cool and damp in the forest with moss

growing on the trees, for the roof of leaves and creepers shut out the

sun. There was a bottle-bird in the undergrowth. Glug, glug glug, it

said, like water poured from a bottle, and its call was almost drowned