Read Online Jackal's Dance by Beverley Harper - Free Book Online

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but it’s expensive and all I get are deadbeats and drunks.’ He thumped the steering wheel dramatically. ‘I may have to sell the place, though God knows, I don’t want to. It’s called Emoyeni. Know what that means?’
    Dan shook his head.
    â€˜It’s Zulu. Means “Place of the Wind”.’
    Norman sensed more than saw the movement as Dan shifted in his seat. Then the boy’s quietwords, ‘If you don’t think I’m too young, sir, I’d be more than happy to give it a go.’
    Dan managed Norman Snelling’s farm for eleven years. He’d been there for six months when a missing person advertisement appeared in the
Cape Times.
Norman saw it. He recognised the photograph. Instinct told him that he should get to the bottom of whatever troubled his young farm manager. Norman made discreet inquiries and soon learned of the unsolved murder. He had press cuttings posted to East London, taking them, along with the advertisement, out to the farm and laying them down in front of Dan.
    â€˜If you ever want to talk about it, son, you know where to come.’
    Dan stared at the newsprint.
    â€˜I don’t know you well, son, but I know this much. You didn’t do it. I’ll say no more than that.’
    A sob rose in Dan’s throat.
    â€˜Don’t bottle it up, lad. Let it out.’ Norman watched silently as Dan battled to control his emotions. A couple of sniffs, that was it. Norman patted his shoulder. ‘At least write to your parents. They’ll be worried sick.’
    The bowed head nodded.
    â€˜Good lad.’
    Norman never mentioned the matter again sensing, if he did, Dan would leave. Nor did he ask if Dan had written home. Unbeknown to Dan, Norman had contacted his parents to let them know their son was safe. Dan had obviously done the same. Over the years snippets came out ofconversation which suggested he was in touch with someone – ‘My sister is getting married’, or ‘I have a brother at Stellenbosch University’.
    After eleven years, when Norman and his wife could eventually move to Emoyeni, Dan was offered a profit-sharing partnership. By then he had become too well set in his solitary ways. His words were simple. ‘Thanks but no thanks. Time to be moving on, Norm. Think I’ll head up to South West for a bit.’
    At thirty he found work as a veterinarian’s assistant, based at Fort Namutoni in Etosha. Over the years he had a variety of jobs but always remained a loner. When Logans Island Lodge was proposed, Dan was one of the park’s most experienced game rangers. He knew so much about the bush he could have written a textbook. Etosha had been home for twenty-six years, Logans Island for three, and, as far as Dan was concerned, he had found the place where he would be happy to die. He’d never married. Relationships meant risk. Even his fellow rangers knew only as much about him as he chose to tell them.
    Dan’s wife was the bush, its animals his children. The resident staff were neighbours and tourists, a cross that had to be borne. If he’d thought about it, Dan would have concluded that he needed nothing else.
    As he walked towards the dining room and breakfast, the only question on Dan Penman’s mind was whether or not Doris Delaney had left yet.
    Being late November, the rains had started. Good falls meant pools forming in what were normally dry areas, the animal population quick to desert its seasonal reliance on permanent water. While this brought relief for them, game sightings became less of a foregone conclusion than during the dry winter months. The weather had turned humid with daily temperatures pushing thirty-five plus. Tourist traffic dropped off dramatically during the summer and only two of the four rest camps remained open. Logans Island Lodge also closed and was already in shut-down mode. Guests arriving today would be the last until March. When they