![]() ![]() Poachers like to have their escape route open. As any game ranger in Africa knows, professional poachers will shoot to kill. We eased through a cluster of acacia trees, our nerves on edge, trigger fingers tense, watching and listening. ![]() ![]() I slowed as we approached the western fence, killed the headlights, and pulled over behind a large anthill. I had found our employees to be extremely loyal. They also claimed our problems were coming from inside the reserve, but I didn’t think that could be true. They firmly stated that their people were not involved. I had spoken with the izinduna, the headmen, of the surrounding Zulu groups. I couldn’t work out who they were or where they were coming from. Poachers had been our biggest problem ever since my then-fiancée, Françoise, and I had bought Thula Thula. But only static greeted David’s attempts to contact him. Ndonga was the head of my Ovambo guards and a good man to have on your side in a gunfight. Max, my Staffordshire bull terrier, scrambled onto the seat between us.Īs I turned the ignition key and floored the accelerator, David grabbed the two-way radio. I grabbed a shotgun and leapt into the driver’s seat. ![]() Flocks of squawking birds flew off.ĭavid, my game ranger, was already sprinting for the Land Rover. Crack! I heard a rifle go off in the distance. ![]()
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