Chapter Eleven
As soon as Hunter headed south towards the ranch, Chekwe made a beeline for Quarla’s mining camp on Dangri Creek. Paul followed as best he could. His legs, his whole body, were wearier than he had ever imagined possible. He hoped that having a shattered shoulder bone and his arm in a sling and being well on his way to roaring drunk would slow Chekwe down, but it didn’t. Reaching the sheer slopes of the ridge barely slowed Chekwe either. The little man could scamper up slopes or through thickets in places where Paul thought a monkey would struggle to make time.
Paul was afraid of asking for a halt, but he knew that adults could sometimes be distracted from work by questions. Chekwe didn’t seem like the talkative type, but Paul was panting for breath. It was worth a try.
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