The Kenyan Expedition by Steve Stevenson

Author:Steve Stevenson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2015-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

ve a few days’ head start,” Agatha said, thinking aloud. “But transporting a live giraffe over uncharted roads would be slow and tricky.”

Haida made a quick mental calculation. “If we don’t hit any more snags, we can probably travel at twice their speed,” she declared. “The problem is knowing which direction they went, now that the storm’s washed away all the tire tracks.”

“What is a ‘lodge’?” Dash asked, staring at the rain-soaked map.

“It’s a tourist hotel with tents and viewing platforms for travelers on safari adventures,” replied Agatha. Then her eyes lit up like lanterns. “Dash, you’re a genius!” she exclaimed.

“Me?” Dash sounded astonished.

“We can ask for information at the lodge,” Agatha continued, speaking quickly. “Maybe the poachers stopped for supplies, or someone on the staff noticed their truck passing through. Is it far?”

“I can’t really tell,” Dash said, lost. “Haida?”

Haida squinted at the map. Then, without a word, she pushed the Land Rover as fast as the darkness and mud would allow.

When they finally reached the hard-packed dirt driveway, they all breathed a sigh of relief. They drove straight to a lodge called Big Sea in honor of the boundless grass sea of the Masai Mara.

There were tourist bungalows and touring jeeps with pop-up roofs parked outside the main lodge. While Haida, Chandler, and Dash waited inside the Land Rover, Agatha ran to question the tourist center employees. As she suspected, the lodge’s head chef had seen a jeep and tall truck passing through. They stopped for gas, food, and water, then set off into the savanna. “And no tip for the waiter,” he said with a frown.

“Can you describe what they looked like?” Agatha asked innocently. “We’ve lost track of our friends and can’t reach them by phone. We need to know if these are the same people,” she lied, adding, “t hough our friends always leave a good tip.”

The chef gave her a detailed description. The group’s leader was a white-haired Englishman with a handlebar mustache that drooped past his chin; he was wearing a hunting cap. He had three assistants, dressed in the khaki pants commonly worn on tobacco plantations.

It was enough.

Agatha rejoined her companions and asked Dash to show her the photos he’d downloaded onto his EyeNet. There was only one white-haired man with a handlebar mustache.

“We’ve got you, John McDuff!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Who in the world is that?” muttered her cousin.

“Our mysterious poacher!” said Agatha, smiling.

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