From the Field Notes of Colonel Aubrey Fitch-Harrington, FRS Observations Upon the Fauna of Southern Africa — Volume III (In Preparation)

"The Chacma Baboon (Papio ursinus) is, in the author's considerable experience, a creature of limited cunning and wholly predictable appetite. It is, above all else, an opportunist of the most indiscriminate variety, taking whatever presents itself without selection or judgment. Non-nutritive items hold no interest for it whatsoever. A secured provisions box will, in all but the most exceptional circumstances, render a camp entirely safe from its attentions.

David had been watching the camp for three days before he came in.

This was not impatience. It was assessment. He had noted the Colonel's departure time, the direction taken, the duration of the morning walk. He had noted Cetshwayo's position — the camp chair, the eastern shade, the tea. He had formed a view of the camp's routine and found it consistent and therefore reliable, which was all he required.

He arrived at seven-fifteen.

He came alone, which was the first thing. The troop was at the waterhole, engaged in the ordinary business of a baboon morning. David was not engaged in the ordinary business of anything. He moved through the camp with the unhurried focus of a professional who has somewhere specific to be and sufficient time to get there properly.

He was large, as Chacma males are large — broad across the shoulders, with the long dog-like face of his kind and the yellowish-grey coat that absorbs the early light without comment. He paused at the entrance to the awning. Looked at the camp chair. Sat down in it. Appeared to find it satisfactory.

The bag was on the camp table. He opened it without urgency.

The zip presented no difficulty. Baboons have long, dexterous fingers and the patience that comes from having no particular schedule to keep. He worked the zip with the focused interest of someone who has done this before, which he had, on multiple occasions, across a range of bag designs. He opened it fully and looked inside.

What followed was not looting. It was assessment.

The protein bars came out first. He smelled each one, bit the corner off a second to confirm what the first had suggested, and set both aside. The glucose lozenges were in the inner pocket, which he opened without difficulty. These joined the protein bars without deliberation. He knew what he had found.

The Colonel's spare shirt came out next. David held it at arm's length with the air of someone inspecting a garment they would not have chosen. He placed it on the ground. Not thrown. Set down thoughtfully, as though he had considered a more permanent arrangement and decided against it.

Then he found the provisions bag.

It was a small canvas bag, separate from the secured box, overlooked in the morning's preparations. It contained bread, wrapped. Butter, in a tin. An apple. David considered these items with the focused attention he brought to everything.

He unwrapped the bread. He opened the butter tin. He took a modest quantity of butter on three fingers and applied it to a slice with a care that the Colonel, had he been present, would have found difficult to categorise. He ate the slice. He buttered a second. He ate that too. He replaced the butter tin lid. He wrapped the remaining bread. He replaced both in the provisions bag and closed it.

He had taken what he wanted. He had left the rest as he had found it.