Basani had been in an increasingly dark mood since her husband, Oupa, died. The futility that had surrounded her now lived within her. Her job was protecting animals, and she was beginning to feel like a caretaker at an abattoir.

“We save as many as we can,” Cobus offered. “That’s all we can do.”

“The only way these animals will ever be safe is if people stop buying them,” she muttered as the rangers plodded forward.

Lawrence had never left southern Africa, and he had never met an African with the slightest interest in possessing, let alone ingesting, rhino horn. “How can a horn be worth so much blood?” he asked.

Cobus had done some research on the horn trade. “By the time rhino horn hits the streets in Asia,” he informed them, “it’s worth more than gold.”

Basani was infuriated at the absurdity of all the death. “Do these people know the horn is just a giant fingernail?”

“It’s not just fingernail,” Cobus informed her. “To some, it’s a status symbol with mythic powers.”

“We should poison their horn,” Lawrence seethed. “Maybe they would stop killing rhinos if the rhinos killed them.”

Cobus considered the elegant simplicity of Lawrence’s proposal. Basani, on the other hand, was less keen on the idea of waging an offensive campaign to harm the end users. “All life is sacred. All life is worth protecting.”

“Someday, I want to meet these people,” she added as she withdrew a photo of her dead husband from her pocket. “I will show them this photo of my Oupa, and I will ask them why they killed him.”

Lawrence suddenly raised his fist, eyeing something on the ground. “Fresh spoor.”

Basani knelt, inspecting a boot print in the mud. A millimeter of water had gathered in the depression.

“It is still filling with water. Maybe five minutes old.”

Lawrence knelt beside her, studying the creases forged by the boot’s tread as they slowly drowned in the rising water. “New boots.”

Basani gave Lawrence a conspiratorial look, knowing what he was thinking. “Your size.”

“I’d rather like some new boots,” Lawrence said as he rose.

Cobus inspected the boot print and felt the adrenaline taking hold. “They were heading south.”

Basani looked at the pattern of the water filling the print and shook her head at Cobus’s assessment. “The toe struck the ground first. They were walking backward to throw us off. They are headed north.”

“Are you sure?” Cobus asked.

“You read books; I read tracks,” she told the white man.

As they inspected the boot print, they heard a distant thump. A flock of birds took flight north of their position.

Cobus recognized the sound instantly. He shouldered his rifle and raised his fist to get his team’s attention. Once he had their eyes, he gave the thumbs down: enemy. Then he pointed toward the birds.

Lawrence reached for his radio. “Should I call it in?” he whispered.

Cobus shook his head. “They might be monitoring our channels.”