Chekwe started the march to Leadfort in a fuming rage, but he kept his mouth shut until they passed out of sight of the border fort. Then he unleashed a furious tirade.
“They owe me ten extra rations of whiskey!” he screeched. “Now I’ll never taste a Quamdamned drop! You owe me, Hunter, and I swear, by Quam’s slippery snot-soaked spleen, when we get to Leadfort I will drink myself under every table in town and it will be your Quamdamn fault. Ten rations! Gone!”
Hunter slowed his walk and tugged on Dru’s sleeve. “Let him walk ahead,” he whispered. Chekwe charged into the lead, declaiming Hunter’s cruelty and fate’s fickle and unfair whims, and giving lengthy and obscene descriptions of Quam’s bodily functions. Quarla padded alongside him, unconcerned by his cursing or his wild gesticulati
