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  He nodded. "If you listen hard, you'll hear my boys working just round the bend." Without a pause he went on, "The logs are left raw for two reasons. They provide ruts for lorry wheels and they're safer in the rains." He straightened, waited for her to strap on the shoe, and offered a hand. "What are you doing so far from home?"

  "Only going for a run in the box-car."

  "Do you carry a gun?"

  "No"—apprehensively. "Justin says I must learn to shoot."

  "Don't you want to?" His smile mocked a little. "Not much, I haven't that sort of nerve."

  "Still, it's best to know how, in case you're ever in a spot. I've a light gun you can try now, if you like. My house is just through the trees."

  WITH a sensation of uneasy bliss, Karen felt his hand on her elbow, helping her across to the other bank. The he stalked at her side among

  the thorn-trees, to the clearing where his house stood on the edge of a short stretch of new road which apparently was to link up with the stone bridge when it was constructed. The house was a stout little dwelling, grass-thatched, without obvious corners, and set up on strong, cement piles.

  "More than a temporary house, surely?" Karen ventured. "It looks built to last a lifetime."

  "When I've finished here—in eight to ten months—it will serve as a rest-house. Water's laid on through a pipe-line, and I take a portable dynamo for lighting wherever I go." He leapt up the steps half a pace ahead of her and thrust wide the door. "As you can see, the furnishing might be less primitive, but anywhere is home so long as 'Old Bill's' with me"—indicating an easy chair of outsize dimensions and sickly hue.

  "Hanim!" he called. "Drinks. A lady." In an aside to Karen he added, "Hanim's half Arab and very dignified. When he comes in he'll weigh you up and mix you a drink. He's an infallible judge. I predict he'll divine your preference for non-alcoholic lime."

  Sure enough, the tall, slim servant in a spotless kanzu—the usual long white garment worn by houseboys—prepared two tumblers of lime and soda, but in his master's he added a peg of whisky. "Would the bwana's little sister like biscuit?" he enquired softly.

  Mark looked amused. Karen declined, and Hanim withdrew. Mark said, "I wonder what the sly blighter meant by that? He must know that if I had a little sister she couldn't possibly look like you. I shouldn't be surprised if he was gently conveying to me his opinion that you're a nice girl—too nice to be treated as other than a sister!"

  When her glass was empty, he loaded two guns and took her outside and round to the back of the house. To a tree he tacked a square of white cardboard. "Twenty paces to start with," he said. "Your paces, not mine. Now take aim, holding your gun like this. Take your time and fire when you're ready."

  The shot went wide, but the explosion was less paralysing than Karen had expected.

  "Try again"—calmly from Mark.

  A few minutes later, when he had reloaded and she had again taken position, he stood behind her and bent to sight the target over her shoulder. His arm came round to feel her wrist. "Slacken off and uncurl your index finger. You're too rigid."

  She bit her lip. He hadn't the faintest notion what his nearness was doing to her nerves, and she desperately wished some fluke would magnetise one of her shots to the target. She fired, twice.

  "All right," he said abruptly, relieving her of the rifle. "You've lost what little grip you started with. You'll do better in time, but I'm afraid you're not the stuff that crack-shots are made of." After a short silence, during which she kept her head bent, he tacked on, "Don't brood, Kitten. You can probably toss a pancake better than some of us. Is it tactless of me to mention horse riding on top of that?"

  She had to smile at the humour in his tone. "I've tried Justin's gelding a few times. Mr. Winchester is going to sell me a little native pony."

  "The native breed are thick-legged and sure-footed—safe for a beginner. If you cotton to riding, I'll look round for a filly for you next time I'M in Nairobi." He looked up at the gilded tree-tops. "It's getting late. Think you'll manage to drive back alone?"

  "Of course, if only I can turn the car."

  She had forgotten Tuppence The terrier, bedraggled of fur and spirit, crouched behind the steering-wheel, whimpering. Karen scooped him up. "Poor little Tupp, all alone in the jungle. Perhaps you'll know better than to scamper off alone next time."

  Mark reversed the car and got out. "Nice of you to call," he smiled. "Come again some time."

  Her hand on the wheel, Karen hesitated. "You didn't answer Elizabeth's note this morning."

  "I hate turning down a neighbour offhand, so I decided to do it by halves."

  "You know what she wanted to see you about?"

  "I guessed. Young Strasmore was at the Hardings' yesterday when I dropped in on them, and he dragged me into a discussion on schooling." "You don't agree with his plan?"

  "As a Government official, he ought to know better," Mark replied with a trace of acidity. "He was put in this district to modernise the existing educational facilities, not to sit in judgment upon them. His job is to report the need for schools and to leave it to his chiefs to do the rest. Everything will come in good time."

  "Meanwhile, the children must run wild."

  "There are boarding-schools in Nairobi."

  "Would you send a seven-year-old child to a boarding-school?"

  "They can't learn independence too early. I'm not called upon to make the decision, thank the stars." A teasing note was audible in his voice. "It's rather a pity there aren't more sweet girl-cousins to come out and drill the youngsters. The only snag to it is that in time you'd all marry struggling young settlers and swell the number of ignorant imps." He gave the car an impersonal pat as he finished noncommittally, "You do intend to marry and settle here, don't you?"

  Unconsciously, Karen's fingers tightened over the wheel. "I haven't thought about it yet."

  "You will," he told her, a cynical twist to his mouth. "Marriage is an incurable disease in Kenya."

  Her lips parted, but before she could speak he said: "You'd like to know how I've kept clear of it? I never stay in one place long enough for complications to set in. I'm a selfish beggar, anyway. If I were to sink my individuality for long enough to reach the point of marrying someone, it's ten chances to one that we'd both regret it—unless she were something unique in the way of women." Hands well down in his pockets, he stood back. "On your way, now. The sun's dipping, and I don't fancy a lost kitten on my conscience."

  Karen carried away with her his gesture of farewell, a cool nod and an aloof smile that he might have accorded to any casual visitor. For the second time since coming to Kenya she wished she were beautiful—or at least sophisticated.

  CHAPTER II

  AT the meeting the following Saturday, it was unanimously decided that Roy should submit a petition from the parents to his office, asking, at

  the most, for an equipped school and a teacher, but leaving the gate open for lesser benefits if the greater were not forthcoming. The reply was prompt and discouraging. In due course, it stated, Guaba's requirements would be met. It must be appreciated, however, that the needs of other more populous districts were primarily urgent.

  "Dash it," Roy grumbled, "they seem to have misunderstood the offer to build at the parents' expense!"

  "What they say is true enough. Education is a terrific problem in districts like ours; and I think that, on the whole, it's being tackled very well," said Elizabeth reasonably. "But what's to stop our going ahead with the building and employing some sort of instructor between us, if we can get one?"

  "Yes, if we can get one," he echoed, a trifle gloomily. Then he looked at Karen, who sat across the room embroidering a luncheon-mat. "Is it more than you'd care to take on, Karen?"

  She was surprised and a little curious when Elizabeth answered for her, "Karen's good with Keith, but she's not a qualified teacher. We really want someone who's not the marrying sort."

  Roy laughed. "That lets out Karen. She's definitely
hearth and home. We might advertise in Nairobi and keep on advertising till we land something."

  "Our first task is to build. Do we have to get permission to use that corner site we all agreed on?"

  "Legally, I suppose we should, but I feel certain no objection will be raised if we go ahead. I do wish we'd managed to enlist Mark Howard," he

  complained. "Building is in his blood, and he'd be no end of a help in designing the school and ordering materials."

  As neither Elizabeth nor Karen could offer consolation on this point, the subject was changed.

  The rains were a month overdue. Whenever folk met together the all-absorbing topic was the drought. The nights were cold Each morning dawned like a new revelation—cool, with a tang of bog myrtle. The distant hills were scarved with mist that disintegrated in the sunshine. Only at midday was it believable that Guaba lay less than a hundred miles from the Equator.

  Roy Strasmore suggested a trip into the mountains before the weather broke. "We might even get a little way up Mount Kenya and camp for a night."

  "I'd prefer my bed," said Elizabeth, "and so would Justin, I'm sure. Can't you two be satisfied with a day out?"

  "It's not the same. Camping on Mount Kenya can be fun. In fact, we might spend a long weekend there—two nights."

  "I've done it all once," was Elizabeth's verdict. "Go and ask John and Evelyn Winchester to join you. They're game for almost anything."

  Eventually it was arranged. Little Mollie Winchester, just four, would come to the coffee farm for three days, and Keith was placated with the promise of a long ride on Sunday.

  On Friday evening, Karen went down to help load the bush car. As it was dark, she walked, and carried a hurricane-lamp; over her other arm was slung a rainproof and a rug. Moths winged in the glow of the lantern and fireflies jewelled the lower branches of the trees, waving eerily in the night breeze. She saw the beams of an approaching car before its noise was audible. It might be Roy, coming to pick her up, although she had asked him not to, or one of the Hardings on the way to consult Justin; they, too, grew coffee. But when the car slowed to meet her, the odd leap of her heart told her at once that it was Mark. He thrust open the door. His voice was sharp, almost angry. "What the deuce are you doing out here in the dark?"

  "Strolling down to the Winchesters'. We're starting tomorrow morning for a trip up Mount Kenya."

  "Who planned it?"

  "Roy, and John Winchester. We're leaving at dawn."

  "Don't they realise that rain is on the way?"

  "Rain?" Her face lifted to the studded heavens, and she added softly,

  "The air is warmer and there isn't a cloud anywhere. This is just as I imagined a real African night sky. I've been here two months and I'm still struck with sudden awe whenever I remember that this is East Africa, and that I live here."

  Mark, head and shoulders above her, let a full minute elapse before answering, on a brief, exasperated sigh, "Look here, this expedition will have

  to be postponed. The rain may hold off for the weekend, but I doubt it. You've yet to experience our roads in a torrent, but Strasmore and Winchester should know better. Get in the car and I'll drive you there."

  The car was warm. Carefully Karen lodged the lantern between her feet, the coat and rug hugged against her.

  "Are you really keen on mountains?" Mark asked when they were moving. "Or are you stirred by the usual visitor's passion to do and see everything within the shortest possible time?"

  "I'm not a tourist," she reminded him, "and Guaba has been the limit of my experience since coming to the farm. I thought it very kind of Roy to give me the chance of going along."

  "Exceedingly generous," he agreed dryly. "Not a selfish spark in the fellow's make-up. How is the school going?"

  "Slowly, worse luck. I don't see why we can't have a log building; it would meet our needs quite well."

  "I don't know," he shrugged. "Might as well build to last while you're about it. Think how sweet it will be in about ten years' time to refuse a Government offer to put up the regulation school! Besides, cement walls are cool, and from what I've seen of the children in these parts, they'll need plenty of inducement to sit still for half an hour, let alone rack their brains while the sun's shining."

  She smiled, and her arms closed more tightly about the inanimate bundle on her lap. "We've got boys clearing the land, but the trees are old and stubborn, and they seem to be rooted in rock."

  "If you like, one of my contraptions can uproot and cart away the timber," he suggested carelessly. "I'll send the logs with mine, and you can use the proceeds towards expenses."

  "That would be awfully good of you," she said quickly, "especially as you were against the project."

  "Theoretically, I'm still against it. Settlers have no business to run the country in their own way. Much of this haphazard expansion will tend to distort the pattern of the country's ultimate development, and then you settlers will start jibbing over that!"

  "Why are you so down on settlers?"

  "I'm not down on them, as a whole. It's the modern brand that gets me. They consider that a year in an agricultural college entitles them to call the country their own. As for handling natives, how can they, without a knowledge of the lingo? Few of them bother to pick up even a smattering, yet they expect untutored boys to understand exactly what's wanted of them."

  "Were your parents born in Kenya, Mark?"

  "Both were English," he said. "My father did exploring and anthropology in the days when there were still things to find out. When he married, he set up home near Nairobi, which was a one-horse place then, and went on safari fairly often. In a tussle with a lion he lost an arm, which cut out big-game hunting. Inaction irked him, so he started various ventures—mining

  and forestry—and as a sideline he ran a school. I knew no European people till I was fifteen, when we moved right into Nairobi. My parents died a few years ago, within a month of each other, but I still keep the house in Nairobi."

  Karen's mind filled in the blanks of the bald description, though not satisfactorily. Still, the fact that he had told her anything at all about his youth was flattering. The smallest indication of Mark's trust was worth all the confidences of young men like Roy Strasmore.

  MARK pulled into the drive. John, Evelyn and Roy lounged in deck chairs on the veranda. "Is that you, Karen?" called Evelyn. "Come on

  up and have a drink. We're debating conflicting meteorological reports. What's Justin's opinion?" Short-sightedly, she leaned forward. "It's too big for Justin. Who's your swain? Oh, it's you, Mark. Can you two squeeze onto the lounger? What will you have?"

  Mark waved Karen to the long wicker chair and lowered himself onto the veranda rail. "Whisky and soda, please," he said. "I hear you've decided to have a go at mountaineering. You know there's rain about?"

  "John says so, too," put in Roy. "One can hardly believe it on a night like this. Anyway, it's not likely to be much. Before the long rains start, there's always a warning shower or two, and we can soon turn back if the roads get squelchy."

  "A chancy business, with women along," observed Mark.

  "Evelyn's as good as a man on safari," her husband contributed. "Karen's new to it. Perhaps she'd like to step down, this time?"

  "I certainly wouldn't," Karen said warmly. "A soaking won't kill me."

  "Stranger things have happened." Mark's tone had hardened. "If you're here for life it won't hurt you to wait a couple of months before scaling Kenya."

  Surprised at her own obstinacy, Karen said, "If Evelyn's going, so am I!

  "That's the girl," said Evelyn. "Why not come with us, Mark, and give us the benefit of your knowledge and experience? We'd like to reach the snow line, if it's possible."

  Apparently, he thought this remark too fatuous for comment. Accepting his drink, he shifted so that his back rested against the veranda post. Karen saw his outline chiselled upon a wine-dark background. How sweet it was, to be able to look and look, and no one the wiser
.

  "We'll leave as planned, anyway," said John. "Ten to one it won't rain at all, but if it does, we'll scamper home like rats."

  They talked of other things, and it was at least half an hour later that Mark, having uncrossed his legs and drained his second drink, said he thought he'd get along. "If you've finished with this young woman," lazily indicating Karen, "I'll drop her at the Patersons' on my way." A small pause. "It happens that I'm going into Nairobi tomorrow. We'll set out together, if you like."

  "A grand idea," said Evelyn. "Will you pick up Karen and bring her down? Come before seven and we'll all have breakfast together."

  NEXT morning, Karen got up in the opalescent dawn. Keith, in crumpled pyjamas, his mouth pursed with dissatisfaction, lolled in her bedroom doorway, watching the final touches to her toilet. "I bet you'll be frightened if there's a thunderstorm on Mount Kenya," he said.

  "I expect I shall," she admitted equably.

  "It wouldn't frighten me."

  "Of course not. You're a man. Next time we go there'll be no risk of storms, and you shall come, too."

  "I don't want to go," he snapped out. "I'd rather ride with Daddy to see Mark."

  For the moment Karen deemed it wiser to remain silent. She got into her jacket, slipped an extra hanky into the bulging bag and gripped it under her arm. Keith followed her to the door of his mother's bedroom. Karen knocked.

  Justin was still snoozing happily in his bed under the window, but Elizabeth luxuriated over an early cup of tea. "I hope the weather holds," she said. "You're taking a complete change of clothes, in case of accidents, aren't you?"

  "They're in the suitcase that Roy collected yesterday."

  "Have a good time, then. The air on the mountain is somewhat rarified. If Roy proposes up there, tell him to come down to Guaba and say it again, before you accept."

  "If he does," said Karen lightly, "I shall insist on his dispensing with the first fiancée before taking on a second."

  "Oh, that," Elizabeth waved her fingers dismissively. "Since you've been here he's remembered the expensive Glenys about once a week, if that. There's the car. Cheerio, pet. Keep your feet dry."