It with his body he tumbled the combination and swung open the door. He

brought the ledger across to the desk. Carter, Cloete, Courtney, he

muttered as he turned the pages. Ah, Ada, Garrick, Sean. Here we are.

Twelve hundred and ninety-six pounds eight and eight pence; of course,

there are last month's accounts at the store still unpaid. Call it

twelve hundred then, said Sean. I want it now and while you are

counting it you can give me pen and paper. Help yourself, there on the

desk. Sean sat at the desk, pushed the piles of gold out of his way,

dipped the pen and wrote. When he had finished he looked up at old Pye.

Witness that, please. Pye took the paper and read it through. His face

went limp with surprise. You're giving your half share of Theunis Kraal

and all the cattle to your brother's first born! he exploded. That's

right, please witness it. You must be mad, protested Pye. That's a

fortune you're giving away. Think what you're doing, think of your

future. I had hoped that you and Audrey -'He stopped himself and went

on. Don't he a fool, manPlease witness it, Mr Pye, said Sean and,

muttering under his breath, Pye signed quickly. Thank you. Sean folded

the document, slipped it-into an envelope and sealed it. He put it away

inside his coat.

Where's the money? he asked.

Pye pushed a canvas bag across to him. His expression was one of

disgust; he wanted no truck with fools.

Count it, he said. I'll take your word for it, said Sean and signed the

receipt.

Sean rode out past the sale-pens and up the escarpment along the road to

Pietermaritzburg. Mbejane trotted at his stirrup leading the spare

horse. They stopped at the top of the escarpment. The wind had blown

the clouds open and the starlight came through. They could see the town

below them with here and there a lighted window.

I should have said goodbye to Ada, Sean thought. He looked down the

valley towards Theunis Kraal. He could see no light. He touched the

letter in the inside pocket of Witwatersrand his coat. I'll post it to

Garry from Pietermaritzburg, he spoke aloud.

Nkosi? asked Mbejane. I said, "It's a long road, let us begin. "'Yes,

agreed Mbejane. Let us begin. They turned north from Pietermaritzburg

and climbed steadily up across bleak grassland towards the mountains.

On the third day they saw the Drakensberg, jagged and black as the teeth

of an ancient shark along the skyline.

It was cold; wrapped in his kaross Mbejane trailed far behind Sean. They

had exchanged perhaps two dozen words since they left Pietermaritzburg

for Sean had his thoughts and they were evil company. Mbejane was

keeping discreetly out of his way. Mbejane felt no resentment, for a

man who had just left his home and his cattle was entitled to brood.

Mbejane was with sadness himself, he had left a fat woman in his bed to

follow Sean.

Mbejane unplugged his small gourd snuff-box, picked a pinch and sniffed

it delicately. He looked up at the mountains. The snows upon them were

turning pink in the sunset and in a little while now they would make

camp, and then again perhaps they would not. It made no difference.

Sean rode on after dark. The road crossed another fold in the veld and

they saw the lights in the valley below.

Dundee, Sean thought without interest. He made no effort to hasten his

horse but let it amble down towards the town. Now he could smell the

smoke from the coal mine, tarry and thick in the back of his throat.

They entered the main street. The town seemed deserted in the cold.

Sean did not intend stopping, he would camp on the far side; but when he

reached the hotel he hesitated.

There was warmth in there and laughter and the sound of men's voices and

he was suddenly aware that his fingers were stiff with cold.

Mbejane, take my horse. Find a place to camp beyond the town and make a

fire so I won't miss you in the dark. Sean climbed down and walked into

the bar. The room was full, miners most of them, he could see the grey

coal dust etched into their skins. They looked at him incuriously as he

crossed to the counter and ordered a brandy. He drank it slowly, making

no attempt to join the loud talk around him.

The drunk was a short man but built like Table Mountain, low, square and

solid. He had to stand on tiptoe to put his arm around Sean's neck.

Have a drink with me, Boetie. His breath smelt sour and old.

No thanks. Sean was in no mood for drunks. Come on, come on, the drunk

insisted; he staggered and Sean's drink slopped onto the counter.

Leave me alone. Sean shrugged the arm away. You've got something

against me? No. I just feel like drinking alone. You don't like my

face, maybe? The drunk held it close to Sean's. Sean didn't like it.

Push off, there's a good fellow.

The drunk slapped the counter. Charlie, give this big ape a drink. Make

it a double. If he don't drink it, I ram it down his throat. Sean

ignored the proffered glass. He swallowed what remained in his own and

turned for the door. The drunk threw the brandy in his face. The

spirit burned his eyes and he hit the man in the stomach. As his head

came down Sean hit him again, in the face. The drunk spun sideways,

fell and lay bleeding from his nose. What you hit him for? Another

miner was helping the drunk into a sitting position. It wouldn't cost

you nothing to have a drink with him.

Sean felt the hostility in the room; he was the outsider. This boy is

looking for troubleIgoHe's a tough monkey. We know how to handle tough

monkeysCome on, let's sort this bastard out Sean had hit the man as a

reflex action. He was sorry now, but his guilt evaporated as he saw

them gathering against him. Gone too was his mood of depression and in