Текст книги "Eagle in the Sky"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
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and she, her mother, and Ella Kadesh all broke down simultaneously at

the departure barrier of Lad Airport and hung around each other's necks,

weeping bitterly.

The Brig and David stood by, stiff and awkward, trying to look as though

they were not associated with the weeping trio, until the first warning

broadcast gave them an excuse for a brief handshake and David took

Debra's arm and drew her gently away.

They climbed the boarding ladder into the waiting Boeing without looking

back.  The giant aircraft took off and turned away southwards, and as

always the sensation of flight soothed David; all the cares and tensions

of these last few days left on the earth behind and below, he felt a new

lightness of the spirit, excitement for what lay ahead.

He reached across and squeezed Debra's arm.

Hello there, Morgan, he said, and she turned towards him and smiled

happily, blindly.

It was necessary to spend some time in Cape Town before they could

escape to the sanctuary of Jabulani in the north.

David took a suite at the Mount Nelson Hotel, and from there he was able

to settle the numerous issues that had piled up in his absence.

The accountants who managed his trust funds demanded ten days of his

time and they spent it in the sitting-room of the suite, poring over

trust documents and accounts.

In two years his income had grossly exceeded his spending, and the

unused portion of his income had to be re-invested.  In addition the

third trust fund would soon pass to him and there were formalities to be

completed.

Debra was hugely impressed by the extent of David's wealth.

You must be almost a millionaire, she said in a truly awed voice, for

that was as rich as Debra could imagine.

I'm not just a pretty face, David agreed, and she was relieved that'he

could talk so lightly about his appearance.

Mitzi and her new husband came to visit them in their suite.  However,

the evening was not a success.

Although Mitzi tried to act as though nothing had changed, and though

she still called him warrior, yet it was apparent that she and her

feelings had altered.

She was heavily pregnant and more shapeless than David would have

thought possible.  It was half-way through the evening before David

realized the true reason for all the reserve.  At first he thought that

his disfigurement was worrying them, but after Mitzi had given a

barr-hour eulogy of the strides that Cecil was making at Morgan Group

and the immense trust that Paul Morgan had placed in him, Cecil had

asked innocently, Are you thinking of joining us at the Group?

I'm sure we could find something useful for you to do – ha, ha!  David

could assure them quietly.

No, thank you.  You won't have to worry about me, Cecil, old boy.  You

take over from Uncle Paul with my blessing Good Lord, I didn't mean

that, Cecil was shocked, but Mitzi was less devious.

He really will be very good, warrior, and you never were interested,

were you.

After that evening they did not see the couple again, and Paul Morgan

was in Europe, so David fulfilled his family obligations without much

pain or suffering and he could concentrate on the preparations for the

move to Jabulani.

Barney Venter spent a week with them in choosing a suitable aircraft to

handle the bush airstrip and yet give David the type of performance he

enjoyed.  At last they decided on a twin-engined Piper Navajo, a

six-seater with two big 3oo-hid.  p.  Lycoming engines and a tricycle

undercart, and Barney walked around it with his hands on his hips.

Well, she's no Mirage.  He kicked the landing-wheel and then checked

himself and glanced quickly at David's face.

I've had enough of Mirages, David told him.  They bite!

On the last day David drove out with Debra to a farm near Paarl.  The

owner's wife was a dog breeder and when they went down to the kennels

one of her labrador pups walked directly to Debra and placed a cold nose

on her leg as he inhaled her scent.  Debra squatted and groped for his

head and after fondling for a few moments she in her turn leaned forward

and sniffed the pup's fur.

He smells like old leather, she said.  What colour is he?  Black, said

David.  Black as a Zulu.  That's what we'll call him, said Debra.  Zulu.

You want to choose this one?  David asked.

No, 'Debra laughed.  He chose us.  When they flew northwards the next

morning the pup was indignant at being placed in the back seat and with

a flying scrambling leap he came over Debra's shoulder and took up

position in her lap, which seemed to suit them both very well.

It looks like I have competition, David muttered ruefully.

From the brown plateau of the high veld, the land dropped away steeply

down the escarpment to the bush veld of southern Africa.

David picked up his landmark on the little village of Bush Buck Ridge

and the long slim snake of the Sabi River as it twisted through the open

forests of the plain.

He altered course slightly northwards and within ten minutes he saw the

low line of blue hills which rose abruptly out of the flat land.

There it is, ahead of us, David told Debra and his tone was infectious.

She hugged the dog closer to her and leaned towards David.

"What does it look like?

The hills were forested with big timber, and turreted with grey rock. At

their base the bush was thick and dark.  The pools glinted softly

through the dark foliage.

He described them to her.

My father named them "The String of Pearls", and that's what they look

like.  They rise out of the run-off of rain water from the sloping

ground beyond the hills.

They disappear just as suddenly again into the sandy earth of the plain,

David explained as he circled the hills, slowly losing height.  They are

what give Jabulani its special character, for they provide water for all

the wild life of the plain.  Birds and animals are drawn from hundreds

of miles to the Pearls.  He levelled out and throttled back, letting the

aircraft sink lower.  There is the homestead, white walls and thatch to

keep it cool in the hot weather, deep shaded verandas and high rooms you

will love it.

The airstrip seemed clear and safe, although the wind sock hung in dirty

tatters from its pole, David circled it carefully before lining up for

the landing, and they taxied towards the small brick hangar set amongst

the trees.

David kicked on the wheel brakes and cut the engines.  This is it, he

said.

Jabulani was one of a block of estates that bounded the Kruger National

Park, the most spectacular nature reserve on earth.  These estates were

not productive, in that they were unsuitable for the growth of crops and

few of them were used for grazing of domestic animals; their immense

value lay in the unspoiled bush veld and the wild life, in the peace and

space upon which wealthy men placed such a premium that they would pay

large fortunes for a piece of this Lebensraum.

When David's grandfather had purchased Jabulani he had paid a few

shillings an acre, for in those days the wilderness was still intact.

it had been used as a family hunting estate down the years, and as Paul

Morgan had never shown interest in the veld, it had passed to David's

father and so to David.

Now the eighteen thousand acres of African bush and plain, held as

freehold land, was a possession beyond price.

Yet the Morgan family had made little use of it these last fifteen

years.  David's father had been an enthusiastic huntsman, and with him

most of David's school holidays had been spent here.  However, after his

father's death, the visits to Jabulani had become shorter and further

apart.

It was seven years since the last visit, when he had brought up a party

of brother officers from Cobra Squadron.

Then it had been immaculately run by Sam, the black overseer, butler and

game ranger.

Under Sam's management there had always been fresh crisp linen on the

beds, highly polished floors, the exterior walls of the buildings had

been snowly white and the thatch neat and well-tended.  The deep-freeze

had been well stocked with steak and the liquor cupboard filled, with

every bottle accounted for.

Sam ran a tight camp, with half a dozen willing and cheerful helpers.

Where is Sam?  was the first question David asked of the two servants

who hurried down from the homestead to meet the aircraft.

Sam gone.  Where to?  And the answer was the eloquent shrug of Africa.

Their uniforms were dirty and needed mending, and their manners

disinterested.  Where is the Land-Rover?  'She is dead.  7hey walked up

to the homestead and there David had another series of unpleasant

surprises.

The buildings were dilapidated, looking forlorn and neglected under

their rotting black thatch.  The walls were dingy, grey-brown with the

plaster falling away in patches.

The interiors were filthy with dust, and sprinkled with the droppings of

the birds and reptiles that had made their homes in the thatch.

The mosquito gauze, that was intended to keep the wide verandas

insect-free, was rusted through and breaking away in tatters.

The vegetable gardens were overgrown, the fences about them falling to

pieces.  The grounds of the home stead itself were thick with rank weed,

and not only the Land-Rover had died.  No single piece of machinery on

the estate, water pump, toilet cistern, electricity generator, motor

vehicle, was in working order.

It's a mess, a frightful mess, David told Debra as they sat on the front

step and drank mugs of sweet tea.  Fortunately David had thought to

bring emergency supplies with them.

, oh, Davey.  I am so sorry, because I like it here.  It's peaceful, so

quiet.  I can just feel my nerves untying themselves.  Don't be sorry.

I'm not.  These old huts were built by Gramps back in the twenties, and

they weren't very well built even then.  David's voice was full of a new

purpose, a determination that she had not heard for so long.  It's a

fine excuse to tear the whole lot down, and build again.  A place of our

own?  she asked.

Yes, said David delightedly.  That's it.  That's just it!  They flew

into Nelspruit, the nearest large town, the following day.  In the week

of bustle and planning that followed they forgot their greater problems.

With an architect they planned the new homestead with care, taking into

consideration all their special requirements , a large airy study for

Debra, workshop and office for David, a kitchen laid out to make it safe

and easy for a blind cook, rooms without dangerous split levels and with

regular easily learned shapes, and finally a nursery section.  When

David described this addition Debra asked cautiously, You making some

plans that I should  know about?

You'll know about it, all right, he assured her.

The guest house was to be separate and self-contained and well away from

the main homestead, and the small hutment for the servants was a quarter

of a mile beyond that, screened by trees and the shoulder of the rocky

kopje that rose behind the homestead.

David bribed a building contractor from Nelspruit to postpone all his

other work, load his workmen on four heavy trucks and bring them out to

Jabulani.

They began on the main house, and while they worked, David was busy

resurfacing the airstrip, repairing the water pumps and such other

machinery as still had life left in it.  However, the Land-Rover and the

electricity generator had to be replaced.

Within two months the new homestead was habitable, and they could move.

Debra set up her tape recorders beneath tbt: )ig windows overlooking the

shaded front garden, where the afternoon breeze could cool the room and

waft in the perfume of the frangipani and poinsettia blooms.

While David was completely absorbed in making Jabulani into a

comfortable home, Debra made her own arrangements.

Swiftly she explored and mapped in her mind all her immediate

surroundings.  Within weeks she could move about the new house with all

the confidence of a person with normal sight and she had trained the

servants to replace each item of furniture in its exact position.

Always Zulu, the labrador pup, moved like a glossy black shadow beside

her.  Early on he had decided that Debra needed his constant care, and

had made her his life's work.

Quickly he learned that it was useless staring at her or wagging his

tail, to attract her attention he must whine or pant.  In other respects

she was also slightly feeble-minded, the only way to prevent her doing

stupid things like falling down the front steps or tripping over a

bucket left in the passage by a careless servant was to bump her with

his shoulder, or with his nose.

She had fallen readily into a pattern of work that kept her in her

workroom until noon each day, with Zulu curled at her feet.

David set up a large bird bath under the trees outside her window, so

the tapes she made had as a background the chatter and warble of half a

dozen varieties of wild birds.  She had discovered a typist in Nelspruit

who could speak Hebrew, and David took the tapes in to her whenever he

flew to town for supplies and to collect the mail, and he brought each

batch of typing back with him for checking.

They worked together on this task, David reading each batch of writing

or correspondence aloud to her and making the alterations she asked for.

He made it a habit of reading almost everything, from newspapers to

novels, aloud.

Who needs braille with you around, Debra remarked, but it was more than

just the written word she needed to hear from him.  It was each facet

and dimension of her new surroundings.  She had never seen any of the

myriad of birds that flocked to drink and bathe below her window, though

she soon recognized each individual call and would pick out a stranger

immediately.

David, there's a new one, what it is?  What does he look like?  And he

must describe not only its plumage, but its mannerisms and its habits.

At other times he must describe to her exactly how the new buildings

fitted into their surroundings, the antics of Zulu the labrador, and

supply accurate descriptions of the servants, the view from the window

of her workroom, and a hundred other aspects of her new life.

In time the building was completed and the strangers left Jabulani, but

it was not until the crates from Israel containing their furniture and

other Possessions from Malik Street arrived that Jabulani started truly

to become their home.

The olive-wood table was placed under the window in the workroom.

I haven't been able to work properly, there was something missing – and

Debra ran her fingers caressingly across the inlaid ivory and ebony top

– until now Her books were in shelves on the wall beside the table, and

the leather suite in the new lounge looked very well with the

animal-skin rugs and woven wool carpets.

David hung the Ella Kadesh painting above the fireplace, Debra

determining the precise position for him by sense of touch.

Are you sure it shouldn't be a sixteenth of an inch higher?  David asked

seriously.

Let's have no more lip from you, Morgan, I have to know exactly where it

is.  Then the great brass bedstead was set up in the bedroom, and

covered with the ivory-coloured bedspread.

Debra bounced up and down on it happily.

Now, there is only one thing more that is missing she declared.

"What's that?  he asked with mock anxiety.  Is it something important?

Come here.  She crooked a finger in his general direction.  And I'll

show you just how important it is.

During the months of preparation they had not left The immediate

neighbourhood of the homestead, but now quite suddenly the rush and

bustle was over.

We have eighteen thousand acres and plenty of fourfooted neighbours,

let's go check it all out, David suggested.

They packed a cold lunch and the three of them climbed into the new

Land-Rover with Zulu relegated to the back seat.  The road led naturally

down to the String of Pearls for this was the focal point of all life

upon the estate.

They left the Land-Rover amongst the fever trees and went down to the

ruins of the thatched summer house on the bank of the main pool.

The water aroused all Zulu's instincts and he plunged into it, paddling

out into the centre with obvious enjoyment.  The water was clear as air,

but shaded to black in the depths.

David scratched in the muddy bank and turned out a thick pink earthworm.

He threw it into the shallows and a dark shape half as long as his arm

rushed silently out of the depths and swirled the surface.

Wow!  David laughed.  There are still a few fat ones around.  We will

have to bring down the rods.  I used to spend days down here when I was

a kid.  The forest was filled with memories and as they wandered along

the edge of the reed banks he reminisced about his childhood, until

gradually he fell into silence, and she asked: Is something wrong,

David?  'She had grown that sensitive to his moods.

There are no animals.  His tone was puzzled.  Birds, yes.  But we

haven't seen a single animal, not even a duiker, since we left the

homestead.  He stopped at a place that was clear of reeds, where the

bank shelved gently.  This used to be a favourite drinking place.  It

was busy day and night, the herds virtually lining up for a chance to

drink.  He left Debra and went down to the edge, stooping to examine the

ground carefully.  No spoor even, just a few Kudu and a small troop of

baboon.

There has not been a herd here for months, or possibly years.  When he

came back to her she asked gently, You are upset?  Jabulani without

its animals is nothing, 'he muttered.  Come on, let's go and see the

rest of it.  There is something very odd here.

The leisurely outing became a desperate hunt, as David scoured the

thickets and the open glades, followed the dried water courses and

stopped the Land Rover to examine the sand beds for signs of life.

Not even an impala, he was worried and anxious.  There used to be

thousands of them.  I remember herds of them, silky brown and graceful

as ballet dancers, under nearly every tree.  He turned the Land-Rover

northwards, following an overgrown track through the trees.

There is grazing here that hasn't been touched.  It's lush as a

cultivated garden.  A little before noon they reached the dusty,

corrugated public road that ran along the north boundary of Jabulani.

The fence that followed the edge of the road was ruinous, with sagging

and broken wire and many of the uprights snapped off at ground level.

Hell, it's a mess, David told her, as he turned through a gap in the

wire on to the road, and followed the boundary for two miles until they

reached the turnoff to the Jabulani homestead.

Even the signboard hanging above the stone pillars of the gateway, which

David's father had fashioned in bronze and of which he had been so

proud, was now dilapidated and-hung askew.

Well, there's plenty of work to keep us going, said David with a certain

relish.

Half a mile beyond the gates the road turned sharply, hedged on each

side by tall grass, and standing full in the sandy track was a

magnificent kudu bull, ghostly grey and striped with pale chalky lines

across the deep powerful body.  His head was held high, armed with the

long corkscrew black horns, and his huge ears were spread in an intent

listening attitude.

For only part of a second he posed like that, then, although the

Land-Rover was still two hundred yards off, he exploded into a smoky

blur of frantic flight.  His great horns laid along his back as he fled

through the open bush in a series of long, lithe bounds, disappearing so

swiftly it seemed he had been only a fantasy, and David described it to

Debra.

He took off the very instant he spotted us.  I remember when they were

so tame around here that we had to chase them out Of  the vegetable garden

with a stic.  .  Again he swung off the main track and on to another

overgrown path, on which the new growth of saplings was already thick

and tall.  He drove straight over them in the tough little vehicle.

What on earth are you doing?  Debra shouted above the crash and swish of

branches.

In this country when you run out of road, you just make your own.

Four miles farther on, they emerged abruptly on to the fire-break track

that marked the eastern boundary of Jabulani, the dividing line between

them and the National Park which was larger than the entire land area of

the state of Israel, five million acres of virgin wilderness, three

hundred and eighty-five kilometres long and eighty wide, home of more

than a million wild animals, the most important reservoir of wild life

left in Africa.

David stopped the Land-Rover, cut the engine and jumped down.  After a

moment of shocked and angry silence he began to swear.

What's made you so happy?  'Debra demanded.

Look at that, just look at that!  David ranted.

I wish I could.  Sorry, Debs.  It's a fence.  A game fence!  It stood

eight feet high and the uprights were hardwood poles thick as a man's

thigh, while the mesh of the fence was heavy gauge wire.  They have

fenced us off.  The National Park's people have cut us off.  No wonder

there are no animals.  As they drove back to the homestead David

explained to her how there had always been an open boundary with the

Kruger National Park.  It had suited everybody well enough, for

Jabulani's sweet grazing and the perennial water of the pools helped to

carry the herds through times of drought and scarcity.

It's becoming very important to you, this business of the wild animals.

Debra had listened silently, fondling the labrador's head, as David

spoke.

Yes, suddenly it's important.  When they were here, I guess I just took

them for granted, but now they are gone it's suddenly important.

They drove on for a mile or two without speaking and then David said

with determination, I'm going to tell them to pull that fence down. They

can't cut us off like that.  I'm going to get hold of the head warden,

now, right away.  David remembered Conrad Berg from his childhood when

he had been the warden in charge of the southern portion of the park,

but not yet the chief.  There was a body of legend about the man that

had been built up over the years, and two of these stories showed

clearly the type of man he was.

Caught out in a lonely area of the reserve after dark with a broken-down

truck, he was walking home when he was attacked by a full-grown male

lion.  In the struggle he had been terribly mauled, half the flesh torn

from his back and the bone of his shoulder and arm bitten through.  Yet

he had managed to kill the animal with a small sheath knife, stabbing it

repeatedly in the throat until he hit the jugular.  He had then stood up

and walked five miles through the night with the hyena pack following

him expectantly, waiting for him to drop.

On another occasion one of the estate owners bounding the park had

poached one of Berg's lions, shooting it down half a mile inside the

boundary.  The poacher was a man high in government, wielding massive

influence, and he had laughed at Conrad Berg.

What are you going to do about it, my friend?  Don't you like your job?

Doggedly, ignoring the pressure from above, Berg had collected his

evidence and issued a summons.  The pressure had become less subtle as

the court date approached, but he had never wavered.  The important

personage finally stood in the dock, and was convicted.

He was sentenced to a thousand pounds fine or six months at hard labour.

Afterwards he had shaken Berg's hand and said to him, Thank you for a

lesson in courage, and perhaps this was one of the reasons Berg was now

chief warden.

He stood beside his game fence where he had arranged over the telephone

to meet David.  He was a big man, broad and tall and beefy, with thick

heavily muscled arms still scarred from the lion attack, and a red

sunburned face.

He wore the suntans and slouch hat of the Park's service, with the green

cloth badges on his epaulets.

Behind him was parked his brown Chevy truck with the Park Board's emblem

on the door, and two of his black game rangers seated in the back.  One

of them was holding a heavy rifle.

Berg stood with his clenched fists on his hips, his hat pushed back and

a forbidding expression on his face.  He so epitomized the truculent

male animal guarding his territory that David muttered to Debra, Here

comes trouble.  He parked close beside the fence and he and Debra

climbed down and went to the wire.

Mr. Berg.  I am David Morgan.  I remember you from when my father owned

Jabulani.  I'd like you to meet my wife.  Berg's expression wavered.

Naturally he had heard all the rumours about the new owner of Jabulani;

it was a lonely isolated area and it was his job to know about these

things.  Yet he was unprepared for this dreadfully mutilated young man,

and his blind but beautiful wife.

With an awkward gallantry Berg doffed his hat, then realized she would

not see the gesture.  He murmured a greeting and when David thrust his

hand through the fence he shook it cautiously.

Debra and David were working as a team and they turned their combined

charm upon Berg, who was a simple and direct min.  Slowly his defences

softened as they chatted.  He admired Zulu, he also kept labradors and

it served as a talking-point while Debra unpacked a Thermos of coffee

and David filled mugs for all of them.

Isn't that Sam?  David pointed to the game ranger in the truck who held

Berg's rifle.  ja.  Berg was guarded.  He used to work on Tabulani.  He

came to me of his own accord, Berg explained, turning aside any implied

rebuke.

He wouldn't remember me, of course, not the way I look now.  But he was

a fine ranger, and the place certainly went to the bad without him to

look after it, David admitted before he went into a frontal assault. The

other thing which has ruined us is this fence of yours.  David kicked

one of the uprights.

You don't say?  I Berg swished the grounds of his coffee around the mug

and flicked it out.

Why did you do it?  For good reason.  , MY father had a gentleman's

agreement with the Board, the boundary was open at all times.  We have

got water and grazing that you need.  With all respects to the late Mr.

Morgan, Conrad Berg spoke heavily, I was never in favour of the open

boundary.  Why not?  Your daddy was a sportsman.  He spat the word out,

as though it were a mouthful of rotten meat.  When my lions got to know

him and learned to stay this side of the line, then he used to bring

down a couple of donkeys and parade them along the boundary, to tempt

them out.  David opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it slowly.

He felt the seamed scars of his face mottling and staining with a flush

of shame.  It was true, he remembered the donkeys and the soft wet lion

skins being pegged out to dry behind the homestead.

He never poached, David defended him.  He had an owner's licence and

they were all shot on our land.  'No, he never poached, Berg admitted.

He was too damned clever for that.  He knew I would have put a rocket up

him that would have made him the first man on the moon.  'So that's why

you put up the fence.  'No.  Why then? Because for fourteen years

Jabulani has been under the care of an absentee landlord who didn't give

a good damn what happened to it.  Old Sam here, he motioned at the game

ranger in the truck – did his best, but still it became a poachers

paradise.  As fast as the grazing and water you boast of pulled my game

out of the Park, so they were cut down by every sportsman with an itchy

trigger finger.  When Sam tried to do something about it, he got badly

beaten up, and when that didn't stop him somebody put fire into his hut

at night.

They burned two of his kids to death.  David felt his very soul quail at

the thought of the flames on flesh, his cheeks itched at the memory.  I

didn't know, he said gruffly.

No, you were too busy making money or who tever is your particular form

of pleasure, Berg was angry.  -all at last Sam came to me and I gave him

a job.  Then I strung this fence.  There is nothing left on Jabulani, a

few kudu and a duiker or two, but otherwise it's all gone.  You are so

right.  it didn't take them long to clean it out.  'I want it back. Why?

Berg scoffed.  So you can be a sportsman like your daddy?  So you can

fly your pals down from Jo'burg for the weekend to shoot the shit out of

my lions?  Berg glanced at Debra, and immediately his red face flushed a

deep port-wine colour.  I'm sorry, Mrs. Morgan, I did not mean to say

that.  That's perfectly all right, Mr. Berg.  I think it was very

expressive.  Thank you, ma'am.  Then he turned furiously back to David.

Morgan's Private Safari Service, is that what you are after?  I would

not allow a shot fired on Jabulani, 'said David.

I bet, except for the pot.  That's the usual story.

Except for the pot, and you've got the battle of Waterloo being fought

all over again.  No, said David.  Not even for the pot.

You'd eat butcher's beef?  Berg asked incredulously.

Look here, Mr. Berg.  if you pull your fence out, I'll have Jabulani

declared a private nature reserve Berg had been about to say something,

but David's declaration dried the words, and his mouth remained hanging

open.  He closed it slowly.

You know what that means?  he asked at last.  You place yourself under

our jurisdiction, completely.  We'd tie you up properly with a lawyer's

paper and all that stuff: no owner's licence, no shooting lions because

they are in a cattle area.  Yes.  I know.  I've studied the act.  But

there is something more.  I'd undertake to fence the other three

boundaries to your satisfaction, and maintain a force of private game

rangers that you considered adequate, all at my own expense.  Conrad

Berg lifted his hat and scratched pensively at the long sparse grey

hairs that covered his pate.  Man, he said mournfully, how can I say no

to that?

Then he began to smile, the first smile of the meeting.  It looks like

you are really serious about this then.  'My wife and I are going to be

living here permanently.

We don't want to live in a desert.  Ja, he nodded, understanding

completely that a man should feel that way.  The strong revulsion that

he had onginally felt for the fantastic face before him was fading.

I think the first thing we should work on is these poachers you tell me