George Dundas III was a big man; six foot four and two hundred and forty pounds. He was not good looking nor was he a nice man. He had inherited wealth and had then driven himself to create even greater wealth. Most of the time he had done this on the backs of people far nicer than himself. He lived in a large house on the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina. The house, more distinguished by its size than architectural merit, stood amongst thirteen acres of park like grounds. There was a large horse barn with stalls for ten horses. George did not ride nor did he even like horses. The horses were for effect.
George was unmarried and had no children or other family. His staff of five consisted of, a housekeeper, a maid, two gardeners and Walter Downs who was George’s personal assistant. Walter, or The Wally, as George called him, was the opposite to George. He was five foot five and weighed in at one hundred and twenty pounds. Wally was a quiet and timid soul, who hated George and his job, but doubted his ability to get another job that paid as well as his current one. He suffered the insults that George threw at him all day and every day with a smile that hid a snarl.
George liked to think that his size and propensity for killing innocent wild animals made him a real man. His ‘man cave’ was decorated with the heads and horns of animals that did not know how to dodge a bullet. There was even a polar bear head. Hunting of this species was illegal in North America, but George got the head from a ranger in Alaska whose job it was to re-locate troublesome polar bears. There was one trophy George wanted more than any other and that was the head of a large black maned lion.
Spring had arrived and the tall oaks round his house were fully leafed. George felt restless.
“Walter, get yourself here to my office now”, he screamed.
Walter presented himself in front of George within seconds.
“I want to go to Africa and shoot a big black maned lion. You’ve got a week to set it up. Get out!”
Walter said nothing, backed his way out of the office and went to his own office. For two days Walter worked on his computer and the phone. On the morning of the third day, he knocked before he entered George’s office and entered. He placed a file on the large oak desk.
“We are booked to fly to London on the fifth of June and to Nairobi on the sixth. We then drive about three hundred miles west to the Maasai Mara to a hunting concession held by Carr and Upton, a well-known safari company. All flights are business class and there is a luxury camp with a professional hunter for ten days. Hope this is OK.?” said the little man.
George just nodded and said, “Give me an extra day in Nairobi to get some safari clothes. Got to look the part.”
“Yes, sir”, said Walter.
One large and one small figure walked from the plane at Jomo Kenyatta Airport. It was hot and humid. George insulted both the immigration and the customs staff. Walter dispensed a few thousand Kenya shillings and George and Walter were soon on the way to the New Stanley Hotel in the centre of Nairobi. Two days later Gordon Carr arrived in an ageing Bentley and picked up his new American charges, George resplendent in camouflage safari suit and Walter in jeans and t-shirt. At Wilson Airport on the outskirts of Nairobi the two Americans were introduced to a woman of about thirty dressed all in khaki. “This is Jane, your pilot and professional hunter”, said Carr.
George looked Jane up and down before saying, “No bloody way. I want a proper hunter not a bloody woman!”
Gordon Carr looked the American straight in the eye and said, “You rude man. You get Jane or nobody and no return of the money you have laid out so far. Take it or leave it!”
George was shocked. He did not ever get treated like this. He muttered under his breath and started to walk to the Cherokee six-seater that was being loaded with their baggage.
The flight to the camp airstrip on the Maasai Mara took a little over two hours and Jane landed the plane gently on the dirt runway. An animal viewing vehicle took the party to the camp which consisted of a group of tents on the bank of an almost dry river. George insisted that he have a large tent to himself, and Walter was delegated to a small one. George was going to complain about the heat but the look on Jane’s face put him off.
That afternoon, Jane drove George and Walter on a circular tour of the immediate surroundings of the camp. They saw no lions. That night dinner was a well-prepared barbeque of impala steaks and sausages. Dessert was a fine fruit salad and ice-cream. George ate all that was presented to him, but then spent fifteen minutes relating how barbeques were far better done in North Carolina. Jane did not respond, and Walter cringed in embarrassment.
Jane chased the two Americans out of bed shortly after five in the morning, explaining that was the best time to see lions. She knew from his temporary hunting license that George was only interested in shooting a male lion and nothing else.
A quick cup of coffee and the party of three were off in the cool morning air. They hadn’t gone far from the camp when they came across a pride of lions. There were three lionesses, four cubs and a huge male with a black mane. Jane stopped the vehicle. George was quivering with excitement.
“That’s the one I want. Pass me the rifle!”
“Mr. Dundas, it was explained to you that your license entitles you to shoot one solitary male lion. That one is not solitary!” said Jane barely raising her voice.
“I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars to turn a blind eye”, said George.
“Mr. Dundas, I am going to drive back to camp, get in the plane, fly to Nairobi and give Mr. Carr the choice of sending another hunter who will put up with you or just leave you to rot here. You are a disgusting man!” shouted Jane.
“You are finished. I will get Carr to fire you!” screamed George.
“I don’t think so, you pig. Mr. Carr is my father, and I am the co-owner of the safari company!” Jane replied.
Back at camp Jane got in the Cherokee and took off for Nairobi. George who had been sulking in his tent ran out and grabbed Walter.
“While she’s gone and we are on our own, we’ll go back to that pride, and I will get my lion.” Walter knew it was a waste of time arguing.
Walter drove the game viewing vehicle while George held a loaded rifle on his lap. It did not take long to find the pride. They were walking along parallel to the track. Walter stationed the vehicle opposite the male lion and kept pace with it. George raised the rifle to take aim, when suddenly Walter swerved the vehicle round an antbear hole in the track. George fell out of the vehicle and lay stunned for a moment. The male lion sprinted to George and with one quick movement sank its jaws into George’s throat. No sound other than a gurgle came from George. Walter went to reverse the vehicle but stalled it. By the time he managed to re-start it, the male lion had dragged George into the bush.
When Jane and her father got to the camp and returned to where the pride had been, all that remained of George was some bloodstained clothing remnants.
Back in Charlotte Walter was a happy man. He had just taken all the trophies from the ‘man cave’ to the rubbish dump. He stood on stoep and looked over his new kingdom. Stupid George had been too busy swearing at him that day two month’s ago when he had signed a paper, a will, without looking at it. Bless that lion and the antbear, thought Walter.
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Image: IanZA Pixabay remixed