They were hidden behind a dense patch of scrub acacia. The moon was beginning to rise above the Nguruman escarpment. The tableau slowly turned from black to grey as their eyes gradually adjusted to the new source of light. Talib, the seasoned tracker, traced his fingers on a dusty patch of ground beside his left foot. He breathed one word into James' ear.
"Spoor-.
James began to feel the familiar tingle of anticipation. His heart began to beat faster and the hair on the back of his neck rose like the hackles of a jackal does when he smells his wounded prey. A hardened hunter himself, James slowly opened the breech of his gun. He didn't need to look at what he was doing. He was able to reload it upside down, behind his back and was still quicker on the draw than Talib.
He had stolen this particular shotgun from a wealthy German philanthropist who had had the gun mounted on his chimney breast wall. Jim noticed it on a visit to Heinrich's house two years ago in March of 1905. Heinrich Richtsmann, then Jim's employer, sold him out to the authorities and James narrowly evaded capture. Alas poor Heinrich met with an untimely end when James eventually exacted his revenge.
"Sahib, we are very close- muttered Talib, who was also readying his weapon.
"How close?- asked Jim warily, well aware that Talib and himself rarely worked on the same timescale.
Talib drew an arc in the sky with his finger to mark the distance that the moon would travel in that time. James reckoned that it equalled about three hours walking.
"Very close- Jim retorted sarcastically. All he could see was Talib's broad white grin as his teeth shone against his black face. Jim was silently impressed. By his calculations, Talib had once again brought them to within shouting distance of their quarry. After motioning for James to follow, Talib melted quietly into the Kenyan bush.
The two poachers continued on for a couple of hours through fairly thick scrubland.