SV Part 6

The next morning, a typical African morning, where the sun shines brightly, the birds sing gaily and there’s a lot of that sort of thing going on all over the place, Sahib Sackable reached for his bottle of eye-opener and found it gone.

“Blast” he bellowed to no one in particular, followed by, “Bongo, where the devil are you?” which was more specific, but an equal waste of time, because you see, at that very moment Bongo was miles away sampling Sackable’s gin with the rest of the Earl’s porters.

After a series of further expletives, each one louder than the last, the Earl burst from his tent with both malice and mayhem a forethought, only to find there was nothing and no one upon which to deposit either one. He was alone in the bush, adrift on this swell veldt.

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Back at the base camp Miles and Cynthia had somewhat recovered from the night’s ordeal and although feeling a trifle fatigued from lack of sleep, they were both also feeling the glow of life that comes from having survived a near death sort of thing. When one has gone through that with another person, there is an emotional bond that grows between the two. Sort of like soldiers in war, but in this case rather more physical. You could say there was love in the air, but with the rain gone the “blasted bugs”, the “bloody bugs” and the “buggered bugs” were all rising from the grass and love was struggling to find air space of its own.

When Cynthia had awakened from her swoon the night before, the first thing she saw was Miles standing in the center of the tent holding Noblong’s gun at the ready. He looked so heroic she had nearly swooned again. Instead she crossed her hands on her formerly heaving bosom and gave forth with a heartfelt, “Oh Miles.”

Miles himself had noticed the gun while flipping Cynthia onto her backside - she had gotten quite heavy - and thought it might be even more useful than a human shield. He had just picked it up and was looking at the tent entrance when Cynthia came to and sighed “Oh Miles” in such a way that he knew she had not witnessed his less than heroic behavior. He sensed that they could not pick up where they had left off at the lion’s appearance, but felt he still might have a shot at a good clutch and a tight embrace. Though Cynthia was willing, this proved an awkward task as Miles would not put down the gun.

Now, over bowls of Congo Puffs, a rice based cereal with flakes shaped like tiny poachers, the almost lovebirds eyed each other furtively for fear a held glance might embark them on a path to things that shouldn’t be done while the sun was shining. It was at this nearly tender moment that the swift Noblong reappeared and announced that while tracking the lion, harrumph harrumph, he had picked up the spoor of a rhino.

“Let me see it” cried Miles.

“One doesn’t see a spoor sir, one follows it” you bumbling British nitwit, replied Noblong with the non quoted bit being an unspoken part of his thought.

“Oh I see,” said Miles not having a clue, and in fact visualizing something along the lines of a bread crumb trail. “Well then, my good man, do lead on.”

And off they all happily went, across the swell veldt.