Shout at the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

trouser legs and stripped the polish from his boots. His wrists and the soft skin behind his ears were puffy and speckled with spots of angry red where the mosquitoes had drunk deep, but he had lost a little weight in the heat and the ceaseless walking, so now he was lean and hard-looking.
    They stood together under a monkey-bean tree on the bank of the Rufiji, while at the water’s edge the bearers were loading the last tusks into the canoes. There was a purple-greenish smell hanging over them in the steamy heat, a smell which Sebastian hardly noticed now – for the last eight days had seen a great killing of elephant and the stink of green ivory was as familiar to him as the smell of the sea to a mariner.
    â€˜By the time you get back tomorrow morning the boys will have brought in the last of the ivory. We’ll have a full dhow-load and you can set off for Zanzibar.’
    â€˜What about you? Are you staying on here?’
    â€˜Not bloody likely. I’ll light out for my base camp in Mozambique.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t it be easier for you to come along on the dhow? It’s nearly two hundred miles to walk.’ Sebastian was solicitous; in these last days he had conceived a burning admiration for Flynn.
    â€˜Well, you see, it’s like this …’ Flynn hesitated. This was no time to trouble Sebastian with talk of German
gunboats waiting off the mouth of the Rufiji. ‘I have to get back to my camp, because …’ Suddenly inspiration came to Flynn O’Flynn ‘Because my poor little daughter is there all alone.’
    â€˜You’ve got a daughter?’ Sebastian was taken by surprise.
    â€˜You damn right I have.’ Flynn experienced a sudden rush of paternal affection and duty. ‘And the poor little thing is there all alone.’
    â€˜Well, when will I see you again?’ The thought of parting from Flynn, of being left to try and find his own way to Australia saddened Sebastian.
    â€˜Well,’ Flynn was tactful. ‘I hadn’t really given that much thought.’ This was a lie. Flynn had thought about it ceaselessly for the last eight days. He was eagerly anticipating waving farewell to Sebastian Oldsmith for all time.
    â€˜Couldn’t we …’ Sebastian blushed a little under his sun-reddened cheeks. ‘Couldn’t we sort of team up together? I could work for you, sort of as an apprentice?’
    The idea made Flynn wince. He almost panicked at the thought of Sebastian permanently trailing along behind him and discharging his rifle at random intervals. ‘Well now, Bassie boy,’ he clasped a thick arm around Sebastian’s shoulders, ‘first you sail that old dhow back to Zanzibar and old Kebby El Keb will pay you out your share. Then you write to me, hey? How about that? You write me, and we’ll work something out.’
    Sebastian grinned happily. ‘I’d like that, Flynn. I’d truly like that.’
    â€˜All right, then, off you go. And don’t forget the gin.’
    With Sebastian standing in the bows of the lead canoe, the double-barrelled rifle clutched in his hands, and the terai hat pulled down firmly over his ears, the little flotilla of heavily laden canoes pulled out from the bank and caught
the current. Paddles dipped and gleamed in the evening sunlight as they arrowed away towards the first bend downstream.
    Still standing unsteadily in the frail craft, Sebastian looked back and waved his rifle at Flynn on the bank.
    â€˜For Chrissake, be careful with that goddamn piece,’ Flynn bellowed too late. The rifle fired, and the recoil toppled Sebastian sprawling onto the pile of ivory behind him. The canoe rocked dangerously while the paddlers struggled to keep it from capsizing, and then disappeared around the bend.
    Twelve hours later, the canoes reappeared around the same bend, and headed towards the lone monkey-bean tree on the bank. The canoes rode lightly, empty of ivory, and