Of course! He'd given the bag to the plantation
manager, what was his outlandish name, Dosu Golan, to keep for him
before the drinking bout had begun. It was safely waiting for him in
the plantation strong box. Well, nothing like a good scare to make a
man forget a brandy head, anyhow. And there was something else,
something very nice--
Oh, yes, there it was, beside the bed. He picked up the beautiful
gleaming repeater, pulled down the lever far enough to draw the
cartridge halfway out of the chamber, and closed it again, lowering
the hammer. Those two Jeseru traders from the North, what were their
names? Ganadara and Atarazola. That was a stroke of luck, meeting them
here. They'd given him this lovely rifle, and they were going to
accompany him and his men back to Careba; they had a hundred such
rifles, and two hundred six-shot revolvers, and they wanted to trade
for slaves. The Lord Safar bless them both, wouldn't they be welcome
at Careba!
He looked at the sunlight falling through the window on the still
recumbent form of his companion, Faru-hin-Obaran. Outside, he could
hear the sounds of the plantation coming to life--an ax thudding on
wood, the clatter of pans from the kitchens.
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