Vulture is a Patient Bird

Averting his eyes from the drop on his right, Fennel joined Themba, anchor in hand, his tool bag slung over his shoulder. It took him a little over half an hour before he was satisfied. While he worked, Ken sat behind the wheel and smoked. He had steady nerves and was quite cool. He knew there was a risk, but he was also confident that he could get through.

Finally Fennel stood up.

"It's okay."

He had fixed the drag firmly in a root of a massive tree, growing nearby and using a club hammer, he hammered the drag well home.

He walked back to the Land Rover.

"That won't come out. The cable won't burst. Depends now if the winch gets torn out of its casing."

"Cheer up," Ken said, grinning. "Well, let's try. Will you stay behind me, Lew? If the back begins to slide either correct it or yell to me if you can't. I want Themba ahead to watch the offside wheels."

"I'll tell you something," Fennel said, breathing heavily. "You've got more bloody guts than I have."

The two men looked at each other, then Ken turned, set the engine going, released the handbrake and moved the lever operating the winch forward. The drum began to revolve. He quickly cut the speed of the drum and the Land Rover began to inch forward.

Fennel walked behind, both his hands on the tailboard of the truck, his eyes on Themba who was squatting down, his eyes glued to the front wheels, beckoning Ken on.

The truck covered ten metres before Themba raised his hand sharply to stop.

Ken flicked the winch lever to neutral.

"What's the matter now?" Fennel growled from behind. Themba had gone to the drag and was looking at it.

"Does that black ape think I would let it pull loose?" Fennel snarled. "That's in, and it'll stay in!"

"Don't get so worked up," Ken said, taking out a soiled handkerchief and wiping his face.

Satisfied, Themba went back to the middle of the track. "Four more metres and you're on the narrow bit," he called. Ken set the drum revolving again.

The Land Rover began to crawl forward again. Then the unpredictable happened, three metres before the narrows. The road, sodden by the rain, crumbled under the weight of the truck. Fennel felt the back sliding towards the drop and he threw his weight desperately against the tailboard, trying to steer the truck back, yelling to Ken to jump. He felt himself being dragged to the edge, and shuddering, he let go and rolled on his back towards the grass slope. He was on his feet in an instant, but the Land Rover had gone.

He looked wildly up the road. Themba, on the edge of the drop, was staring down, his big eyes rolling. Cursing, Fennel saw the taut cable was vibrating, and steeling himself, he went to the edge, feeling sick and dizzy, and looked over.

Four metres below, dangling by the cable was the Land Rover.

Ken was standing on the back of the seat, his hands gripping the wind shield. Far, far below spread out like an aerial map, was the valley.

Even as he looked, Fennel saw the drum was slowly parting from the casing.

"Get to the drum!" he bawled. "Ken . . . it's coming away! Get the drum!"

Ken balanced himself, stepped over the wind shield and flattened himself up right on the perpendicular bonnet. He caught hold of one of the steel stanchions supporting the drum, heaved forward, his hands around the cable of the drum. Even as he got a grip, the drum parted from the truck and the truck went hurtling down into the void.

Ken swung on the end of the cable. Themba had the cable in his hands and was trying to haul him in. Shaking from head to foot, Fennel joined him. Ken swung hard against the side of the mountain and his feet got a purchase. As the two men hauled, he began to walk up the slightly sloping side and moments later, he rolled on to the track.

He sat up and forced a grin.

"Now, we will damn well have to walk," he said.

As the Land Rover drove into the bush, Gaye sighed with relief.

"Well, thank goodness, he's out of the way," she said. "He was really beginning to get on my nerves."

"Mine too." Garry lit a cigarette. "Do you want some more coffee?"

She shook her head.

"When it gets lighter, I'll have a swim. The pool looks marvellous." She wandered over to the fire and knelt before it.

Garry watched her, thinking how lovely she looked, the flames of the fire lighting up her face. Then he went into the tent, found his cordless electric razor and shaved in the light of the flash-lamp. As he shaved, he thought of the hours ahead of them before they took off. He was sharply aware that they were alone together. Firmly, he put the thought out of his mind. Picking up the towel, he left the tent. The light was brighter now. In another hour the sun would be up, but he felt in need of cold water and was too impatient to wait.

"I'll take my swim first," he called to her. "Are you all right alone here?"

"Yes, unless a lion turns up. It'll be cold."

"That's how I like it."