style="font-size:15px;"> ‘And it’s warm down there now. Sally. You’re going to have a lovely time this summer. It’s all going to be worth it.’
He hugged her big fat neck.
And when the winter came, and the rivers got freezing? He felt his throat thicken. Because when winter came, it would not matter. When winter came, old Sally would not be around anymore.
‘All right, Sally … Sleep, old lady.’
He stood up, stiffly, and looked through the dappled light at the big cats. Mama was waiting for him, next to his knapsack. The circus cats were together on the opposite bank, staring at him, still waiting to be fed.
‘I’m sorry.’ There was nothing he could do about their food tonight; he had to put it out of his mind.
But the elephants were all right, and the gorillas and the chimpanzees. The elephants were feeding now, huge gray shapes shuffling wearily, their trunks reaching up, curling round a bunch of leaves, then down to their cavernous mouths, then chomp, chomp, chomp. Old Jamba had assumed natural dominance over the young zoo bulls. When she moved on, they moved.
He sat down again, next to Mama. He just wanted to collapse onto his back, but he had not yet finished rounding up his worries.
Dear old Mama. He scratched the back of her head, and she arched her neck and back. Sometimes she gave an angry moan at the circus cats. ‘Come on, Mama, they’re all right.’ He nodded at Sultan, the circus tiger. ‘How do you like the look of him?’ he whispered. But Mama wasn’t having anything to do with Sultan.
Davey’s heart went out to Sultan. The lions did not want to have anything to do with him either, although they worked with him. They barely tolerated him. He had to be caged apart because the lions would bully him and wouldn’t let him get anything to eat. Even in the ring they snarled at him. Old Sultan wanted to be part of the lions; they were the only family he had ever known. He even thought he was a lion. In the ring he had a hard time from Frank Hunt, too, because he was not the brightest tiger. Sultan performed with bloody-minded reluctance and only because he was terrified of the whip and the electric prodder and because he knew that was the only way he was going to be fed.
He sat all by himself, with a nervous, long-suffering aloofness, watching Davey, waiting for his supper. He blinked and averted his head as Davey crouched in front of him, and took his big furry cheeks in both hands.
‘Never mind, Sultan. Tigers are smarter than lions really. And you’ve got another tiger to live with now.’
Sultan just sat there pessimistically, eyes averted, having his cheeks scratched, feeling sorry for himself. Davey stood up, wearily.
The lions were all watching him. Nervous of the darkening forest, waiting to be fed, waiting to be told what to do. Big Tommy sat in the middle, staring, as if ready to come padding straight at him to kill. But Davey knew that killing was the last thing on Tommy’s mind. Tommy wouldn’t know how to kill a chicken if it were thown at him squawking, except by playing with it. It was going to be difficult teaching them to hunt. Except maybe Kitty.
As if reading his mind, Big Charlie said, ‘Don’t worry. Kitty will catch on quick. And show the others.’
Davey nodded. Kitty’s eyes never left Davey, her thick tail poised.
‘But she’s the one I’m worried about,’ Big Charlie rumbled, watching her. ‘Got the devil in her heart.’ He added, ‘She’s the only one I won’t turn my back on.’
Davey shook his head and smiled. He did not believe for a moment Kitty would turn man-hunter. But he never turned his back on her either, in her cage. She would come creeping up on him. Not to attack, but to pounce and play, four hundred pounds of jaws and claws. One pat with those paws could tear off a man’s face. He was careful with her; Charlie didn’t mess with her; Frank Hunt was downright frightened of her. And Princess, the other lioness, hated her.
Tommy liked Kitty, but Princess picked on her. It happened now. Kitty started toward Davey, and, as she passed, Princess hissed, ears flat, fangs bared and a big paw ready to swipe. Kitty stopped, eyes half closed, ears back, head averted. Her paw was ready too, but she did not rise to the challenge, nor even hiss back. She just waited for Princess to subside. Charlie and Davey smiled. Kitty was not afraid of Princess; she was indifferent. Princess was the matron of the pride; Kitty accepted the fact and did not care.
‘Okay, you two,’ Davey said.
Princess turned and stalked away angrily, and Kitty padded menacingly over to Davey. He held out his hand, and she arched her back and wiped her big flank along his leg, tail up. He put his hand under her whiskery chin and scratched. ‘You’re not afraid, are you, Kitty? I’m relying on you.’
He straightened up and sighed.
‘You okay, Charlie?’
‘Sure.’ He lay on his back. ‘Stop worrying now, Davey. It’s happened.’
Davey shook his head. ‘A few more hours, and we would have made it in the trucks.’
‘It’s happened. Ain’t nothing we can do about that. But we’ll still make it. Now, get some rest.’
Davey smiled at the big Indian.
‘Come on.’
He gave a low whistle and started to lead the animals back up the steep mountain to the Appalachian Trail at the crest. Then he started to jog, his face tense, his arms hanging slack, but it was twice as fast as walking, and he could keep it up for hours.
The sun was setting. A minute later, as he came around a bend of laurel, he saw the man.
His heart lurched and he started to spin around to shout a warning, but he cut it off.
The hiker had his back to him, one hand on his hip, looking impatient. The next instant Davey saw a girl emerging from the bushes, head down, pulling her jeans over her thighs and muttering. Davey turned desperately, to lead the animals off the trail, and the same moment the man turned.
He could not believe his eyes. His jaw dropped, and he went ashen, speechless. He was a keen backpacker; he carried Ed Garvey’s famous book on the Appalachian Trail like a Bible; he had hiked other wilderness trails; but nothing had prepared him for what he saw: a wild-looking man with a huge elephant behind him. He started to scream, but it just gargled in his dry throat. At that moment his wife looked up, and she screamed for him.
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened to its fullest and the cords stood out on her neck and she clenched her fists to her bosom and her jeans dropped and she screamed. A wild female wail of paralyzed horror that galvanized her husband into action. He grabbed at her arm to plunge off the trail, and at the same moment she turned and fled in the opposite direction.
The man flung himself off the narrow trail into the steep undergrowth, stumbling, out of control, gasping for his wife—and she fled down the trail wild-eyed, her jeans below her buttocks, bellowing her terror to the sky, and Davey yelled, ‘It’s okay—get off the trail!’ But she could not hear him, and she could not run with her jeans bunched at her knees, and she stumbled and lurched, desperately trying to yank them up, looking wildly over her shoulder and the more she could not run the more terrified she got—then Davey plunged off the trail on the opposite side. With a piercing whistle to his animals, he ran down the steep mountain,
