Free Treasure of the Golden Cheetah by Suzanne Arruda Page A

and all clamored to carry the luggage. Jade selected one man in a white robe to lead them to what passed for a hotel in Moshi while Harry and Nakuru saw to the baggage. She coaxed and scolded in turn, urging each person to carry his own valise.
    The walk there resembled something out of an eerie dream, lit by a swaying lantern that appeared to be detached from the ghostly robe beside it. At times the lantern light caught the swish of Biscuit’s tail or the pulsing of his powerful shoulders as the cheetah padded softly beside Jade. A smiling little Greek man met them at the door of his hotel and welcomed them in Swahili. Jade paid her guide before turning to the room arrangements.
    “I need rooms for five women and thirteen men,” she said, mentally adding up all the crew and assorted personnel.
    That was the first difficulty. The man exclaimed that he had only ten rooms and two were already taken. The second problem arose when the proprietor discovered that three of the men were natives. He looked askance at Lwiza as well, dressed as she was in non-European clothes.
    “They must find rooms somewhere else,” he exclaimed.
    “Saint Peter’s bathtub!” muttered Jade. She turned and called for Harry’s headman. “Nakuru. This man says you and Muturi and Jelani may not stay here.”
    “It is well, Simba Jike. Bwana Nyati and I have come to Moshi before. The mpishi and I have a place to sleep. We will take the young warrior with us.”
    Jade decided she wasn’t sending Lwiza off to fend for herself. Everyone would have to double or triple up to begin with. “We will take the eight rooms,” she said. Next came the hard part: convincing the director, actors, and cameramen to pair up. Harry suggested that, as safari leader, he should have his own room. Jade promptly put him with the director. Miss Malta agreed to let Lwiza stay with her, but the other two women refused to share a room with each other until Jade said it was that or sleep outside. In the end, Jade was the only one with a room to herself, primarily because no one else wanted to share it with a cheetah.
    The rooms were clean, but Spartan, with creaky beds, sagging mattresses, and cracked cement floors. Each bed leg sat in a shallow tin of kerosene to keep the ants that emerged from the cracks at night from climbing into the beds. Harry urged everyone to stow their personal gear on top of the mattresses by their feet.
    “Hell’s bells, Hascombe,” exclaimed Julian. “When I hired you, I didn’t anticipate staying in . . . in a place like this.”
    Harry touched his hat brim and grinned. “No need to thank me, Mr. Julian. Although I can’t promise anything this luxurious once we head up the mountain.”
    Julian stood by his open door, mouth agape as he stared at Harry.
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Julian,” said Jade. “No ants would dare attack a big bwana’s room. You’ll be perfectly safe with Harry.”
    Harry and Jade roused everyone at dawn and herded them onto the veranda for a breakfast of eggs, fried sweet potatoes, and coffee. Jade bolted down her food, found Jelani and Muturi, and headed for the market. They’d brought along potted and jerked meat, but they needed fresh produce and eggs and a lot of chickens if Biscuit was to be fed. Cheetahs needed open space to run down prey, a commodity lacking on Kilimanjaro’s slopes. She stepped off the veranda and stopped dead in her tracks, mesmerized by the sight of Kilimanjaro looming in front of her. The lush green of its base gave way to steppes and, eventually, the glistening ice and snowcap, shimmering with a pink blush in the early light.
    Jade drank in the serene beauty of this ancient wonder. Born and grown in a violent, volcanic youth, as tempestuous and demanding as any conqueror, the mountain had eventually settled into a serene dignity. Once home only to myriad wildlife, it now tolerated newcomers on its slopes, feeding, sheltering, and watering them with a benevolence that came with old