"That was a gunshot!" exclaimed Francis.

"From the other side of this hill," added Alice. "Let's go have a look. But be careful."

Slowly and carefully, they moved back to the flat expanse of rock they had just left, Laura briefly pausing to pat Eugene, who was growling deep in his throat, his ears flattened and his flanks trembling slightly.

"We'll have to move further around the hill," said Francis. "It came from the other side. Keep low, and let's stay in the shrubs over there."

The side of the hill towards which they were moving was fortunately covered in a dense vegetation of shrubs and small trees, growing between high boulders. This gave them enough cover to remain unobserved, but they still moved slowly and very cautiously.

After some ten minutes, they were on the eastern side of the hill, looking out across the bushveld basking in the late afternoon sun.

"I don't see anything," said Laura.

"Just sit here and watch for a while. Look for movement. That shot wasn't fired very far from here." Francis was peering intently at the scenery in front of them. Alice had the binoculars at the ready.

Suddenly she pointed to an opening in the bush below them, no more than five hundred metres distant. "There!" she whispered, simultaneously bringing the binoculars to her eyes.

Even without binoculars, there was no mistaking it: a tall man, carrying something over his shoulder, was walking quite openly between the trees and shrubbery.

"What is he carrying?" asked Laura. Francis took the binoculars offered by Alice, and looked.

"He's carrying some sort of smallish antelope. I suppose he just shot it." He took another look. "Also a heavy rifle," he added with a note of trepidation in his voice.

The man was moving obliquely away from them, towards a spot to their left, where tall trees were growing in a dense stand.

"I bet he's making for that stand of trees over there," said Alice, pointing towards the spot. "This is it! I think we just stumbled upon the poachers. We should go tell Uncle Vernon immediately."

"We first need to know where exactly he is moving towards. And I want to go take a closer look, and make sure this is really a poacher." Francis was nervous, but determined.

"But dad said..."

"I know what Dad said, Laura. But we have to be sure. Besides, I have no intention of confronting these people. We absolutely have to remain hidden, and not go any closer than essential."

He thought for a while, then said: "I wonder if one of us should not go back home anyway? Laura, perhaps you and Eugene should go and get help, while Alice and I go check it out?"

"No way I'm going to walk all the way back alone."

"You can take Eugene with you."

"And then who will go with you when you come back? The sun will soon set, and who knows what prowls around here after dark."

"Well, that settles it then," said Alice. "Either we all go check this out together, or we all go back home together. I'm with Francis on this, Laura. We need to make sure where that man is going. I suppose Frank could easily follow the tracks, but he'll only be able to get to it tomorrow morning, and by that time they may be gone. If we can find out where they are camping, the police can grab them during the night. It won't be dangerous if we see to it that we remain hidden."

Careful not to make a sound, they started making their way down the side of the hill. It was hard going, for they had to clamber over jagged boulders, and, in order not to be seen, they had to stay under the cover of thorny shrubs. Every few seconds, they froze and looked down at the man, who was still walking away from them.

As they got lower down the side of the hill, a new problem emerged: they could no longer see their quarry. They now had to proceed based on their memory of where they were supposed to be going, combined with a generous dollop of pure guess work.

They sweated in the afternoon heat, and all three were scratched by sharp rocky edges, thorns and dry branches. After an interminable half hour of trying to cover as much ground as possible while simultaneously trying to remain quiet, they finally reached the bottom of the hill. The area was fairly densely covered in trees and shrubs, making it difficult to work out where they had to go next.

"I'm a bit lost here," said Francis. "But I think it is more or less this way." He led the way in the direction where he had pointed.

"The problem is, that man could be anywhere by now. We'll have to hope he did indeed go to that clump of trees where we thought he was going. What worries me is that he could also be behind any of these bushes." Alice was beginning to have second thoughts on the expedition. All three of them looked around nervously. The same subtropical thickets that had looked so lush and promising to them that morning, had acquired a sense of menace.

"I suggest we talk as little as possible, and keep our voices low when we do," whispered Francis, then moved on in the direction that he hoped was the right one.

Fortunately, the ground was fairly clear of grass, dry leaves, sticks and other debris which would have made it almost impossible to move quietly. The area around them remained wooded, making progress slow and risky. What if the man realized he was being followed, and was lying in wait, rifle at the ready, just behind the next tree?

They kept their heads as low as possible, and kept furtively glancing at Eugene, hoping that dog's senses, so much keener than their own, would warn them in time.

The sun was beginning to dip down towards the western horizon. They did not have much daylight left.

"Whatever we are going to do, we are going to have to do it fast," whispered Laura. "I really don't want to get caught here in the dark."

"I know," replied Francis. "But I'm afraid we can't exactly run through here like a herd of buffaloes either. We have to remain hidden."

"I suggest we turn round if we have not found anything in fifteen minutes or so," said Alice. "Laura is right. After dark we won't be able to see a thing anyway, and Uncle Vernon will be frantic. He might even send us back home."

"Okay, agreed. Let's go on for fifteen more minutes and see if we can find anything." Francis was disappointed, but he realized the wisdom of his sister's idea.

They walked on in silence for ten more minutes, when Francis suddenly stopped.

"Look here," he whispered, pointing at the sandy soil in front of him. A series of clear boot prints were visible in between clumps of grass.

"These look quite fresh to me. I'm willing to bet they were made by that man. Now we just have to follow them, but for heaven's sake, from here on we really have to be quiet."

Very cautiously, they started to follow the tracks. Here and there they lost them in rocky areas or clumps of thick grass, but by this time Eugene seemed to have worked out that they were following the tracks, and he led them unerringly to bare ground where the tracks became visible again. The hair on the dog's back were standing on end, but he remained quiet.

The next time they could see a clear print, Francis suddenly paused. He knelt down, and peered intently at the print for a few seconds, then looked up at the other two.

"This is the same print we saw this morning after we crossed the river," he announced confidently.

"How can you tell?" Laura was genuinely curious rather than doubtful.

"Look there at the front of the print. See that cut mark? These boots are quite new by the looks of it, but there is that one little flaw. I noticed it on that other print as well."

"But surely lots of boots acquire such marks after use?" asked Alice. She stepped into a bare patch of sand. "Look there: my own right boot has such a mark."

"True," answered Francis. "Of course one will really need to look at the two prints side by side, or if we had a photo of this morning's print we could have compared them. I might be mistaken, but I don't think so. I sort of made a mental note of it this morning."

"Well, you may or may not be right," said Laura. "I for one believe you, but I think we should be moving on if we want to see where these tracks are leading before dark."

They all got up and cautiously moved further. They now had three problems to contend with simultaneously. They had to keep on following the tracks, keep a lookout for where they were going so that they wouldn't accidentally reveal themselves to their quarry, and keep an eye on the time. The sun was sinking towards the western horizon alarmingly fast now.

The bush was becoming denser, which meant they were perhaps close to the dense stand of trees they had spotted from the hill. But this also meant they had to move ever more slowly so as not to make a noise.

After a few minutes, they reached a large boulder next to a dense stand of shrubbery. Francis motioned for the others to stop.

"Well, it has been fifteen minutes, guys," he whispered. "This is where we have to turn round."

He sighed, sat down for a moment with his back to the boulder, and took out his water flask. He was just about to drink from it when he paused. He held up his hand and gestured for everyone to be quiet.

They listened intently for a few moments, and then they could all hear it: the sound of someone talking very close by.

Slowly, Francis put away his water bottle, then moved inch by inch to look around the side of the boulder behind which they had been sitting. The two girls followed suit. Their eyes widened.

There, barely twenty metres in front of them, they could see what they had been looking for. In a clearing in the trees, there was a small encampment. A few rocks indicated an improvised fireplace in which they could see a heap of ashes and half burnt wood. Beside it stood what looked like a small tent, and on the other side of the fire, they could see a heap of dried animal hides neatly piled.

Just on the other side of the fireplace, sat the man they had been following. He was skinning the duiker they had seen him carrying. From the tent emerged two more men, talking in low but clearly audible voices. They joined the first and started to help him to skin the antelope.

"It's them!" Francis whispered. "The poachers. We have them!"

They took another look. One of the men had gotten up and was kneeling by the fireplace, stacking firewood.

"Presumably they only light fires at night, so that the smoke will be invisible," said Alice. "Among all these trees, no-one would see the glare of the fire."

"And look at all those hides," added Laura. "They must have been at it for quite a while, right here under everyone's noses. So what do we do now?"

"Simple," said Francis. "We now very slowly go back the way we came, then get back to Uncle Vernon's house as fast as we can, and go tell him about this. Before midnight, these creeps will be behind bars."

At that moment, he slightly shifted his weight. Under his left knee, a small, dry branch cracked. To their tense senses, it sounded as loud as a gunshot in the late afternoon quiet. They looked at each other and froze, because the talking at the camp site had suddenly stopped.

They heard one of the men urgently whisper something to the others, and then they could hear the metallic sound of an automatic rifle being cocked. Footsteps started in their direction.

Francis pressed himself to the boulder, furious at himself for having given away their position. He was at a loss. They were unarmed, and if they got up and ran, they would be clearly visible. They would all be shot before they got very far.

In desperation, he grabbed a large handful of the soft, fine sand on which they were kneeling.

The footsteps approached.

Everything seemed to happen as if in slow motion replay in some sports event on television.

From where he was crouching behind the boulder, Francis saw the barrel of the rifle emerge first, then a leather boot and a leg clad in what looked like quite new khaki. Then the man's face appeared around the rock, and his eyes widened in surprise.
At that moment, Francis threw the handful of sand into the man's face.

"Run!" he shouted.

They shot away like Olympic sprinters, back in the direction from where they had come.

Behind them, they could hear the man screaming curses and threats, and then a whole series of gunshots thundered across the trees. This added considerably to their speed.

Francis could hear Eugene barking somewhere, and briefly hoped the dog was unhurt. To his right, he could hear Alice's deep but easy breathing, and felt better. They were both athletes in their school's team, and he knew they could keep up this pace for many minutes, and would probably easily outrun their pursuers. If only they could keep clear of the flying bullets.

On they ran, not waiting to see whether they were still being followed. Through thorny shrubs that tore at their clothes and faces they went, and over tall clumps of grass, and past sharp-edged rocks.

At last, after what felt like an hour, they slowed down, and then halted behind a tree, breathing hard and looking over their shoulders. There was non-one to be seen.

They first laughed in relief.

Then they noticed that Laura was not with them.