A Swell Veldt Part 11

When Bongo arrived at the Earl’s deserted campsite he feared at first that Sackable might have been carried off by one of the veldt’s various predators. A quick reading of the signs though, well not so much the signs but rather the actual tracks, told him that his employer was safe and had set off on a path to, he thought in error, no place in particular. A more thorough study of the tracks had indicated that the Earl had done so in some haste, but not before spinning about and then performing what appeared to be dance steps. Bongo placed his own feet in Sackable’s footprints mimicking their movements and quickly realized he was doing the Watusi, a dance his own tribe had invented to amuse white people with movie cameras. In private they waltzed.

Slinging his rifle onto his shoulder, Bongo set out after the Earl anew. He could tell from the general direction his tracks pointed to that his former boss was headed for difficulties. Perhaps even trouble if that’s another way of saying a horribly painful death. Ahead lay lion country, rhino country, leopard country, hyenas, wild dogs and a mean species of impatient buzzards. Ahead lay The Great Water Hole, where all the veldt’s toughest creatures came to bathe, drink, and annoy each other. The bumbling, but still bellowing Earl was making a beeline, which, if you’ve ever watched bees, is not the straightest of lines, towards this, the veldt’s most dangerous place. If he didn’t stop to take on pollen, he’d be there in no time a’tall.