Man Hunt in Kenya by Henderson Ian;Goodhart Sir Philip;

Author:Henderson, Ian;Goodhart, Sir Philip;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hauraki Publishing
Published: 2016-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12—A SERIES OF MISHAPS

Njira ndiraga mugendi “Huruka.”

The road never says to the traveller: “Take a rest.”

THE DAYS AHEAD were frustrating in the extreme. We searched in vain all over the Kimathi area. We looked on every hill and on every ridge, in every valley and in every ravine, but the answer was always the same.

We had already posted Kinanda’s letter in the mururua tree, but Kimathi had not come to collect it. Far north in the Wuthering Heights region more teams searched for Nyoka in the hope that he might know where Kimathi had gone, but again we had no luck.

To add to our miseries, two of our collaborators were killed by a wild buffalo. Our team was moving through the forest when there was a sudden, violent commotion immediately in front of them. Some days before a large buffalo bull had been caught in a Mau Mau snare made of six strands of barbed wire rolled together, tied firmly at one end to a heavy stump, and looped at the other to fit over the animal’s massive head and horns as it came along its path. The bull had dragged the stump many miles through the forest until it was exhausted. The barbs had made deep cuts in its neck, much flesh had been torn away, and its forequarters were covered in blood.

A buffalo is a dangerous beast at the best of times, but this bull had been maddened by pain. It had not noticed the approach of the team until they were almost upon it. Then it erupted with a volcanic lunge of fury. Its horns tore savagely at the earth. Branches and bushes were flung high in the air.

Our men fled to the nearest tree, but the trap wires had snapped, and as they ran the buffalo swept down on them. In a matter of seconds the first victim had been trampled down and gored. A moment later the bull thrust its horns into the chest of a second man and shook the life from his body. Then the bull was off, crashing into the forest, Its victims were a mangled, bleeding mess. Nothing could be done for them. They were both dead.

When the news of this tragedy reached me late that afternoon, I set off at once, with the remainder of the team, to shoot the beast. A buffalo in this condition could be a serious menace to our men. The heaviest rifle we possessed was a service .303, which was by no means an ideal weapon for the job, but we had nothing else. First we went back to the spot where the buffalo had last been seen. There we examined the broken strands of wire on the tree stump and the mutilated bodies of our two terrorists. It looked as if every bone in their bodies had been broken. The spine of one had been smashed in several places, for though he was lying face down on the ground, his buttocks and legs were folded back over his head and shoulders.

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