Read Online The Last Leopard by Lauren St. John - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren St. John
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drawn by their great-great-great-grandfathers, descendants of Lobengulu’s indunas , Zimbabwean officials; Japanese tourists, Russian geology experts, Australian archaeologists. Nobody has found any trace of it.”
His gaze shifted to the path taken by his cousin. “Many good men have been driven crazy by this quest.”
“Then what makes your cousin and his shamwaris so confident they can find it?” asked Martine, surveying the mountainous landscape. Hunting for a needle in a haystack would be nothing compared to searching for the treasure troves of Ndebele royals in this Land of a Thousand Hills.
Ngwenya’s reply chilled her to the bone. “They believe that the leopard they call Khan will lead them to it.”
“What do you mean?” Martine said.
The horse wrangler was clearly uncomfortable talking about it. He kept checking uneasily over his shoulder as if he thought his cousin was about to pop up from behind a rock and smite him to the ground for saying the words out loud. At last he said, “Can you keep a secret?”
Martine nodded furiously, and Ben gave his word.
Ngwenya looked around once more before continuing in a low voice, “They have spoken with our local witch doctor, and he has told them that the last resting place of the king of leopards is the hiding place of the king’s treasure.”
Martine swallowed. “The last resting place. You mean . . . ?”
Ngwenya’s mouth twisted. “Exactly. I mean that before the treasure can be found, the leopard first has to be dead.”
8
F or most of the next week, they rode twice a day, going out on Sirocco, Jack, and Cassidy in the morning and Tempest, Mambo, and a Thoroughbred called Red Mist in the evening. Ben’s riding improved and he slowly developed the right muscles, which stopped him from being quite so saddle sore, so he was able to sit down again at meals.
They always went out with Ngwenya, who, they found, had the dry humor that characterized many Zimbabweans. He would tease them about the local tree that was said to chase naughty children in the night, and was very funny on the subject of past guests at Black Eagle Lodge.
“If a bird watcher comes, that’s when you know you are in for a bad day,” he said, his Ndebele accent turning bird into bed . “These people, they only want to see small beds, big beds, and medium beds. Even if you see a lion chasing something, they don’t mind. Even if one elephant is killing another, they don’t mind. They only want to see beds. You need a lot of patience because they will look in their book: ‘Oh, it’s the Blue-Mantled Crested Flycatcher!’”
Ngwenya was as good a guide as Sadie had boasted. One afternoon he showed them grain bins used by the Bushmen, and biting ants so fierce they were known as the Enemy of Lions. “Where you find these, you won’t find any lions. Even snakes, you won’t find them here.”
The shadows were lengthening by then, so they turned the horses in the direction of the retreat and threaded their way through the balancing rocks and bush-filled gullies. The air was filled with the exotic scents of plants and animals and the wood smoke of unseen villagers in faraway huts preparing their evening meals.
Twice Martine thought she saw a streak of gold in amongst the foliage on the knobbly hills, and she found herself wondering if the leopard was watching them. She had been incredibly distressed by the story of Ngwenya’s cousin and had found it hard to understand why the witch doctor would tell men who obviously had ulterior motives that it was only when the leopard was dead that they’d find their treasure.
“Doesn’t the witch doctor have an obligation to protect the leopard if he is a member of your clan?” she asked Ngwenya.
But the horse wrangler had explained that, although he and the witch doctor were both from the Ndebele tribe, the witch doctor was from a different clan.
“Even so, it seems wrong that he would tell them something that might tempt them
His gaze shifted to the path taken by his cousin. “Many good men have been driven crazy by this quest.”
“Then what makes your cousin and his shamwaris so confident they can find it?” asked Martine, surveying the mountainous landscape. Hunting for a needle in a haystack would be nothing compared to searching for the treasure troves of Ndebele royals in this Land of a Thousand Hills.
Ngwenya’s reply chilled her to the bone. “They believe that the leopard they call Khan will lead them to it.”
“What do you mean?” Martine said.
The horse wrangler was clearly uncomfortable talking about it. He kept checking uneasily over his shoulder as if he thought his cousin was about to pop up from behind a rock and smite him to the ground for saying the words out loud. At last he said, “Can you keep a secret?”
Martine nodded furiously, and Ben gave his word.
Ngwenya looked around once more before continuing in a low voice, “They have spoken with our local witch doctor, and he has told them that the last resting place of the king of leopards is the hiding place of the king’s treasure.”
Martine swallowed. “The last resting place. You mean . . . ?”
Ngwenya’s mouth twisted. “Exactly. I mean that before the treasure can be found, the leopard first has to be dead.”
8
F or most of the next week, they rode twice a day, going out on Sirocco, Jack, and Cassidy in the morning and Tempest, Mambo, and a Thoroughbred called Red Mist in the evening. Ben’s riding improved and he slowly developed the right muscles, which stopped him from being quite so saddle sore, so he was able to sit down again at meals.
They always went out with Ngwenya, who, they found, had the dry humor that characterized many Zimbabweans. He would tease them about the local tree that was said to chase naughty children in the night, and was very funny on the subject of past guests at Black Eagle Lodge.
“If a bird watcher comes, that’s when you know you are in for a bad day,” he said, his Ndebele accent turning bird into bed . “These people, they only want to see small beds, big beds, and medium beds. Even if you see a lion chasing something, they don’t mind. Even if one elephant is killing another, they don’t mind. They only want to see beds. You need a lot of patience because they will look in their book: ‘Oh, it’s the Blue-Mantled Crested Flycatcher!’”
Ngwenya was as good a guide as Sadie had boasted. One afternoon he showed them grain bins used by the Bushmen, and biting ants so fierce they were known as the Enemy of Lions. “Where you find these, you won’t find any lions. Even snakes, you won’t find them here.”
The shadows were lengthening by then, so they turned the horses in the direction of the retreat and threaded their way through the balancing rocks and bush-filled gullies. The air was filled with the exotic scents of plants and animals and the wood smoke of unseen villagers in faraway huts preparing their evening meals.
Twice Martine thought she saw a streak of gold in amongst the foliage on the knobbly hills, and she found herself wondering if the leopard was watching them. She had been incredibly distressed by the story of Ngwenya’s cousin and had found it hard to understand why the witch doctor would tell men who obviously had ulterior motives that it was only when the leopard was dead that they’d find their treasure.
“Doesn’t the witch doctor have an obligation to protect the leopard if he is a member of your clan?” she asked Ngwenya.
But the horse wrangler had explained that, although he and the witch doctor were both from the Ndebele tribe, the witch doctor was from a different clan.
“Even so, it seems wrong that he would tell them something that might tempt them
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