She turned and glared at him. "You did nothing whatsoever to prevent
them!"
Derek shrugged. "That's why we went out there, honey. Did you notice
how much damage those goats had done to the trees? Thousands of dollars
worth."
Johnny said wearily, "What happened?" He sank into the chair behind his
desk.
The reporter turned to him again. "Your men are shooting the livestock
of those poverty-stricken people."
Mohammed Mohmoud said, "We are keeping an accurate count of every beast
destroyed, Mr. McCord." His dark face was expressionless.
Johnny McCord attempted to explain to the girl. "As I told you, Miss
Desage, goats are the curse of the desert. They prefer leaves, twigs
and even the bark of young trees to grass. The Commission before ever
taking on this tremendous project arranged through the Mali Federation
government to buy up and have destroyed every grazing animal north of
the Niger. It cost millions upon millions. But our work couldn't even
begin until it was accomplished."
"But why slaughter the livelihood of those poor people? You could quite
easily insist that they return with their flocks to whatever areas are
still available to them."
Derek offered her a can of beer. She seemed to be going to reject it,
but a desert-born thirst changed her mind. She took it without thanking
him.
The lanky Canadian said mildly, "I tried to explain to her that the
Tuareg aren't exactly innocent children of the desert. They're known
as the Apaches of the Sahara. For a couple of thousand years they've
terrified the other nomads. They were slave raiders, bandits. When the
Commission started its work the other tribes were glad to sell their
animals and take up jobs in the new oases. Send their kids to the
new schools we've been building in the towns. Begin fitting into the
reality of modern life."
Her eyes were flashing now. "The Apaches of the Sahara, eh? _Bien sur!_
If I remember correctly, the American Apaches were the last of the
Indian tribes which you Americans destroyed. The last to resist. Now
you export your methods to Africa!"
Johnny McCord said mildly, "Miss Desage, it seems to be the thing
these days to bleed over the fate of the redman. Actually, there are a
greater number of them in the United States today than there were when
Columbus landed. But even if you do carry a torch for the noble Indian,
picking the Apaches as an example is poor choice. They were bandit
tribes, largely living off what they could steal and raid from the
Pueblo and other harder working but less warlike Indians. The Tuareg
are the North African equivalent."
"Who are you to judge?" she snapped back. "Those tribesmen out there
are the last defenders of their ancient desert culture. Their flocks
are their way of life. You mercilessly butcher them, rob their women
and children of their sole source of food and clothing."
* * * * *
Johnny McCord ran his hand over his face in an unhappy gesture. "Look,"
he said plaintively. "Those goats and sheep have already been bought
and paid for by the Commission. The Tuareg should have destroyed
them, or sold them as food to be immediately butchered, several years
ago. Where they've been hiding is a mystery. But they simply have no
right to be in possession of those animals, no right to be in this
part of the country, and, above all, no right to be grazing in our
transplants."
"It's their country! What right have you to order them away?"
Johnny McCord held up his hands, palms upward. "This country is part
of the Mali Federation, Miss Desage. It used to be called French Sudan
and South Algeria. The government of the Federation gladly accepted the
project of reforestating the Sahara. Why not? We've already succeeded
in making one of the most poverty-stricken areas in the world a
prosperous one. Far from there being unemployment here, we have a labor
shortage. Schools have opened, even universities. Hospitals have sprung
up. Highways have been laid out through country that hadn't even trails
before. The Federation is booming. If there are a few Tuareg who can't
adapt to the new world, it's too bad. Their children will be glad for
the change."
She seated herself stiffly. "I am not impressed by your excuses," she
said.
Johnny shrugged and turned to Mohammed Mohmoud who had been standing
silently through all this, almost as though at attention.
Johnny said, "Did you learn where this band comes from? Where they had
kept that many animals for so long without detection?"