In order to live a man must occasionally kill said Waite, but when he

kills too young; he loses something . . . a respect for life: he

makes it cheap. It is the same with a woman, a man should never have

his first woman until he understands about it. Otherwise that too

becomes cheap. I had my first when I was fifteen, said Tim HopeBrown. I

can't say it made them any cheaper; in fact I've known them to be bloody

expensive.

Waite's big boom led the laughter. I know your old man pays you a pound

a week but what about us, Sean? protested Dennis, we aren't all

millionaires. All right, then, Sean agreed, five shillings in the pool.

Winner takes the lot. Five bob is reasonable, Karl opened, but let's

get the rules clear so there's no argument afterwards Kills only,

woundings don't count, said Sean. And they have to be witnessed,

insisted Frikkie Van Essen. He was older than the others; his eyes were

already a little bloodshot for he had made a start on the evening's

drinking.

all right, dead Zulus only and a witness to each kill.

The highest score takes the pool. Sean looked around the circle of

faces for their assent. Garry was hinging back on the fringe. Garry

will be banker. Come on, Garry, hold out your hat. They paid the money

into Garrick's hat and he counted it. Two pounds, from eight of us.

That's correctHell, the winner will be able to buy his own farm.

They laughed. I've got a couple of bottles of smoke hidden in my saddle

bags, Frikkie said. Let's go and try them. The hands of the clock on

the church tower showed quarter before ten. There were silver-edged

clouds around the moon, and the night had cooled. Rich meaty smelling

steam from the cooking pits drifted across the dancers, fiddles sawed

and the concertina bawled the beat, dancers danced and the watchers

clapped in time and called encouragement to them. Someone whooped like

a Highlander in the feverish pattern of movement, in the fever of fun.

Dam the dribble of minutes with laughter, hold the hour, lay siege

against the dawn! Where are you going, Sean? I'll be back just now.

But where are you going? Do you want me to tell you, Anna, do you

really want to know? Oh, I see. Don't be long. I'll wait for you by

the band. Dance with Karl. No, I'll wait for you, Sean. Please don't

be long. We've got such a little time left. Sean slipped through the

circle of wagons, he kept in the tree shadow along the sidewalk, round

the side of Pye's store and down the lane, running now, jumped the ditch

and through the barbed wire fence. It was dark in the plantation and

quiet as she had said; dead leaves rustled and a twig popped under his

feet. Something ran in the darkness, scurry of small feet. Sean's

stomach flopped over: nerves, only a rabbit. He came to the hedge and

searched for the hole, missed it and turned back, found it and through

Into the orchard. He stood with his back against the wall of vegetation

and waited. The trees were moon grey and black below. He could see the

roof of the house beyond them. He knew she'd come of course. He had

told her to.

The church clock chimed the hour and then later the single stroke of the

quarter hour. Angry now, damn her!

He went up through the orchard, cautiously staying in shadow. There was

a light in one of the side windows, he could see it spilling out into a

yellow square on the lawn.

He circled the house softly.

She was at the window with the lamp behind her. Her face was dark but

lamplight lit the edges of her hair into a coppery halo. There was

something of yearning in her attitude, leaning forward over the sill. He

could see the outline of her shoulders through the white cloth of her

gown.

Sean whistled, pitching it low to reach her only, and she started at the

sound. A second longer she stared out from light into the dark and then

she shook her head, slowly and regretfully from side to side. She

closed the curtains and through them Sean saw her shadow move The Lamp

went out.

away.

Sean went back through the orchard and the plantation.

He was trembling with anger. From the lane he heard the music in the

square and he quickened his pace. He turned the corner and saw the

lights and movement. Silly little fool, he said out loud, anger still

there but something else as well. Affection? Respect?

Where have you been? I've waited nearly an hour Possessive Anna.

logThere and back to see how far it is. Funny! Sean Courtney, where

have you been? Do you want to dance? No. All right, don't then.

Karl and some of the others were standing by the cooking pits. Sean

started for them. Sean, Sean, I'm sorry. Penitent Anna. I'd love to

dance, please They danced, jostled by other dancers, but neither of them

spoke until the band stopped to wipe their brows and wet dry throats.

I've got something for you, Sean. What is it? Come, I'll show you. She

led him from the light among the wagons and stopped by a pile of saddles

and blankets. She knelt and opened one of the blankets and stood up

again with the coat in her hands. I made it for you. I hope you like

it Sean took it from her. It was sheepskin, tanned and polished,

stitched with love, the inside wool bleached snowy white. It's

beautiful, Sean said. He recognized the Tabour that had gone into it.

it made him feel guilty: gifts always made him feel guilty.

Thank you verery much. Try it on, Sean. Warm, snug at the waist, room

to move in the shoulders; it enhanced his considerable bulk. Anna stood

close to him, the collar. You look nice in it, she said. Smug pleasure

of the giver.

He kissed her and the mood changed. She held him tight around the neck.

Oh, Sean, I wish you weren't going. Let's say goodbye properly. Where?

MY wagon. )What about your parents? They've gone back to the farm.

Pa's coming in tomorrow morning.

Garry and I are sleeping here No, Sean, there are too many people. We

can't. 1You don't want to Sean whispered. It's a pity because it might

be the last time ever. What do you mean? She was suddenly still and

small in his arms. I'm going away tomorrow. You know what might

happen? No. Don't talk like that. Don't even think itIt's true. No,

Sean, don't. Please don't.

Sean smiled in the darkness. So easy, so very easy.

Let's go to my wagon- He took her hand.

Breakfast in the dark, cooking fires around the square, voices quiet,

men standing with their wives, holding the small children in farewell.

The horses saddled, rifles in the scabbards and blanket rolls behind,

four wagons drawn up in the centre of the square with the mules in the

traces.

To should be here any minute. It's nearly five o'clock, said Garry.

They're all waiting for him, agreed Sean. He shrugged at the weight of

the bandolier strapped over his shoulder. Mr Niewehuizen has made me

one of the wagon drivers.