1938: Africa was changing, and not for the better.  My fellow sons and daughters of the Empire played in Kenya’s 'happy valley'.  Made rich by the coffee plantations and cattle farms, they were unthinking and uncaring about, not only Africa, but also the world at large.

If I could see the storm clouds gathering in Europe, why couldn’t they? Who am I?  I am John Sanders; I am a big game hunter.  I love, and try in my own way, to protect Africa; the land that has given me a new life. Perhaps this caused Silvia to blame me for what happened, because I went against my perceived occupation, and chose not to kill.

I was in Nairobi, staying at the Imperial Hotel, enjoying a quiet drink at the bar when Martins, from the District Commissioner’s office, approached me. At his side was a gentleman of mature years, and one of the most stunning women I have ever seen.

"Ah, there you are, Sanders," Martins asked.

"Yes, here I am," I replied.

"Yes, well, I was telling Professor Jones, that you, if you were available, would be ideal for his little expedition."

I sipped my whisky and found my eyes roving to the beautiful woman on Jones’ arm, "and what sort of jaunt would that be?"

"My father is after a sabre-tooth tiger," the young woman said.

"I see; a fossil hunter?  I’ve taken a few of you out before.  My fee is the same, makes no difference to me what you hunt."  In reality it did, I tried in my way to protect the wildlife.  I steered my clients in the direction of the rouge elephant, the lion turned man-eater, due to old age or injury.  My clients wanted a head for the wall, or a pair of tusks to impress their friends, I gave them that, but at as little cost to Africa as I could.

"You are mistaken, sir," Professor Jones said, "I am after the real thing.  I know it still exists among the foothills of Kilimanjaro."

I spluttered, spraying whiskey over the bar.  "By God, man!  What?  You have been sold a penny tale and no mistake."

"You think my father a liar, sir?"  Miss Jones’ voice was full of contempt.

"Misguided, that is all.  There is no such beast now, and if there were I would not hunt it, for it would be as rare as diamonds."

"I find that hard to believe."  Miss Jones snapped.

"Silvia, please.  Mr. Sanders, I have been told you are the best white hunter in Kenya.  If you would just consent to guide us I will pay you twice your normal amount."

"Very well," I answered, but something inside me said I would regret it.

***

We went up country, picking up my camp boys and making for the foothills. For three weeks, I, with my best trackers, followed Professor Jones directions, looking for the spore of a long dead animal.

Miss Jones spent her time putting down on canvas the landscape I loved so much.  One sunset I stood a little way off, watching her try and capture the sky’s colours in oils, to this day I can’t remember which I was observing more, the sky or the lady.

***

At the start of the fourth week, Miss Jones had gone off with one of the camp boys, to set up her painting.  I was busy cleaning the guns.  It was then I heard a scream.  I swore, picked up my gun, and ran, nearly colliding with the camp boy as he fled. 

There under the shade of a tree silhouetted against the mountain was . . . I could not believe it, a Sabre-tooth with its kill.

Silvia was fumbling with the camp boy’s gun.  I crept up, never taking my eyes off the cat, grabbed her arm, and pulled her gently backwards.

"Kill it; we need it, to prove my father right."  Silvia hissed.

I brought my gun up, then let it drop; just behind the cat were the fuzzy shapes of three cubs.

"No, let her be.  They might be the last; I have no desire to go down in history as the man that killed the last of their kind."

"Coward!"  Silvia cried; the animal snarled, picked up her prey, and backed off.  I did the same, dragging Silvia with me.

When we got back to the camp Silvia told her father what we had seen.  He shouted at me to get my trackers and earn my pay.  I quit there and then, leaving the camp boys to make their own decision.

***

Ten days later the mauled remains of Professor Jones was brought into Nairobi.  Of the sabre-tooth no sight was ever seen again, by anyone, except me.  Once a year I track up country and watch sabre-tooth tigers playing with their cubs, as the sun sets behind Kilimanjaro.