A Pride of Lions Read Online Free PDF

line. There was a train waiting in the station that began to slowly pull out as we approached it. A number of women, mostly wearing highly coloured handkerchiefs round their heads, made a rush for the slowly moving train and jumped on board, pulling their laden shopping baskets after them. Hugo let in the clutch and we rattled across the lines and on to the dusty track beyond. There were one or two notices telling us that we were now back in Tsavo East and that this was not an official entrance and so the public were not permitted to make use of it. An askari came out on to the road and waved the Landcruiser on, saluting smartly in response to Hugo’s friendly wave.
    “It really isn’t long now,” said Hugo. “I always feel better when I get to the last lap.”
    Surprisingly, I was not as tired now as I had been before. The sun had slipped a little from being directly overhead and the animals were beginning to come out from the shade of the long grass. Again and again we startled some of the tiny dikdik and we could see them darting onto the bushes ahead of us. The hartebeestes, tall and elegant, turned their heads to watch us go by, decided that we were not dangerous and went on with their search for food.
    We came to a river and, over on the other side, I could see the temporary camp where we were staying while the Chui Safari Lodge was being built. The long dry season had reduced the river to a depth of little more than a foot, but the red colour of its water indicated that it had already been raining further upstream. I wondered how we were going to get across. I need not have concerned myself. Hugo drove along the bank for about a quarter of mile and then launched the Landcruiser into the water.
    I rather enjoyed slithering across the reeds, mounting a halfsubmerged shelf of rock and off again, sending the crocodiles, who were larger than I liked, rushing off into the deeper water and away from our churning wheels. We doubled back on ourselves, picking out a way across by following the marks of previous vehicles where they showed up in the muddy shallows and on the edges of the rocks. Ten minutes later, Hugo disengaged the four-wheel drive and we roared along the narrow track towards the camp, where I was to live for the next few months.
    A row of tents had been pitched looking across the river, presumably to be used as bedrooms. In the centre of the camp were some rather more substantial buildings, with mud and wattle walls, where they had any at all, and thick thatched roofs to keep them dry. The first of these turned out to be a place where everyone could gather to play games and have a drink and, on our arrival, a number of people came running out from there to greet us.
    I staggered out of the Landcruiser, unbelievably stiff after the long drive from the coast, and became immediately aware of a pair of cool female eyes appraising me. Who on earth was she? I wondered.
    “Hullo there!” she said.
    “Hullo,” I answered. I sounded as surprised as I felt.
    “Clare deJong? I’m Janice Kemp. I’m strictly a visitor, trespassing on Hugo’s kindness. Actually, I’m with a team looking into the survival of animals—sort of scientific.” She smiled, well pleased with herself.
    “Oh,” I said.
    She was a very pretty girl, with the sort of long flaxen hair that I would have loved to have had myself, and clear blue eyes that she accentuated by using a blue eye-shadow on her eyelids.
    “I’m not particularly scientific,” she went on, laughing. “But I take very good photographs and I don’t mind roughing it in the wilds of Africa.” She gave me a closer look. “Looking at you, roughing it is the right word!” she added in a pretty drawl.
    “It’s a bit cooler here,” I said flatly. “It was one of the stickiest days I ever remember at Malindi.”
    “Oh yes?” she said with a supreme lack of interest. “Well, don’t let me get in the way of meeting your future boss. He doesn’t speak a word of