Pride of the Veld

instead.
    “Ya, it’s me Danie.”
    “Is everything all right with Geo, Danie,” the other man burst in. “Let me speak to him now.”
    “George, he’s unavailable―”
    “Swart!” he growled, cutting off Danie’s explanation. “Get me my grandson or you won’t have an ass to sit on for the rest of your very, very short life!” Geo rolled his eyes and shrugged. Oupa was always out of control when it came to him.
    Sighing, Danie moved  the phone closer to  Geo. “Hi, Oupa,” Geo began. The sigh coming from the receiver was audible.
    “Geo, tell Swart I’m still going to kick his ass. He takes ten years off my life every time he calls. He never leads with the important information. I’m always expecting to hear you’ve been swallowed by one of the river crocs.”
    “Not likely. I avoid the river― too muddy. Besides, everyone knows you’ll outlive us all. It’s only fair for Danie to try and even things up by taking a few years off your life.” He waited for his grandfather’s snort before continuing. “I’m fine, Oupa, but my hands are full at this minute; let Danie catch you up, and don’t give him a hard time please?”
    The snort came again followed by the inevitable “You’re my only grandson, Geo. I worry when you’re out there alone. I can’t imagine what Danie does to keep himself occupied while you work.” Danie grinned at that, sending the heat into Geo’s cheeks and groin. Not the time .
    “We’re fine, Oupa. But we have news. Talk to Danie while I finish these stitches, I’m still trying to stop this bleeding…” Geo trailed off realizing his slip.
    Danie yanked the phone back. “George, we’re both okay. We do have an injured wildlife photographer here. Geo’s patching him up and we’re breaking camp in the morning, so expect us back at the reserve in four days. We’re going to hustle.”
    Geo crooked a finger at Danie, motioning the phone closer. “Oupa, I have a deep laceration to the bicep, about eight inches long. It’s pretty dirty, but I have supplies to clean it. I don’t have antibiotics, so please call Doctor Sigurdsson and have him on hand when we get back, along with transport in case we need to fly him out. I’m going to stitch and wrap it, and we’ll hope for the best.
    “We don’t have all the details, but we’re pretty sure this is one of those tourist scams. He was set up by a third party; assumed it was through the reserve. His name is Andrea Conte― you should be able to Google him right now.”
    Geo felt Andrea tense under his hand as he spoke, before giving a small shrug and relaxing back against Danie. There was a pause in the conversation, so Geo took his flashlight, shining it on the wound as he poked around one last time, making sure it was clean. They could hear the old man rummaging around rustling papers and muttering under his breath.
    “Ah, I have a photo here. There is an Italian photographer, twenty-five or so; brown hair, hazel or green eyes… hard to tell from this shot. He’s sitting down in a café so I can’t tell how tall he is. Looks like he wears glasses… the ones in the shot are black wire rims.”
    Geo arched a brow at Andrea. “In my bag, back with… them. I just use them to read.” He looked sad, as if he suddenly remembered all he’d lost.
    George Christiansen continued on through the phone’s speaker as if Andrea hadn’t spoken at all. “Looks like he’s worked for Nature and National Geographic … oh! I think we have that one here in the office somewhere― he took those shots of the Beluga whales that you liked so much…” Geo listened to his grandfather searching around some more, picturing him in his office, leather chairs overflowing with papers and books, the walls covered with maps and charts.
    “Ah, yes. I have it here, Geo. Let me just look at the contributor page… oh. It’s the same man from the website. Can you send me his picture? And you might as well take a shot of the wound for Sigurdsson before you stitch it, lad.” Geo smiled. The old man might seem distracted, but he knew exactly what was going on with every last soul working on the reserve, and he wasn’t afraid to tell them where they were going wrong or how to do their jobs better.
    Danie sent the shots, and they didn’t have to wait long for the old man’s reply, coming over the phone strong and sure, belying his eighty-three years. “He’s not looking good, Geo. Make some strong tea and wash out the wound