Gilbert waited until the figure was abreast of him, then leaped.
They went down together in the mud. Gilbert's strong young muscles soon bested his opponent. He sat astride the unseen enemy's middle, his fists raised. "Surrender," he said.
"I surrender." Gilbert recognized Wenzi's voice. Wenzi was one of the beaters, an aloofly quiet boy who had kept to himself all during the safari, and who, Gilbert remembered, wore far too much clothing for the warm, sticky weather.
Gilbert got up, holding Wenzi's elbow. Wenzi said, "I heard what the master and you said. I came."
"But why?" Gilbert demanded. "Don't tell me you think I'll beat Mulveen?"
"No," said Wenzi glumly. "Mulveen will win. But I was afraid."
"Of what?"
"Before the hunt this morning," Wenzi said, "I went down to the stream to wash. I went alone."
"You always go alone," Gilbert said. "Sweating in your trousers and shirt no matter how hot it is."
"I have to," said Wenzi.