Lean forward against the gun, hold the pip on his heaving chest and
fire. The bounce of the gun and the long blue gush of smoke.
Knock him down with the solid charge of short range buckshot.
Cleanly, quickly, without kicking.
'Got him!'
Another one, blundering straight into the gun line, blind with panic,
bursting out of the undergrowth almost on top of Sean.
Doe with fawn at her heels, let her go.
The doe saw him and wheeled left to take the gap between Sean and
Garrick. As it dashed through, Sean looked beyond and saw his
brother.
Garrick had left his position and closed in on Sean. He was crouched
slightly, the shotgun held in both hands, hammers fully cocked, , and
his eyes were fastened on Sean.
Garrick waited quietly during the initial stages of the beat, The tree,
trunk on which he sat was soft and rotten, covered with moss and the
orange and white tongues of fungus. From the inside pocket of his
jacket he took the silver flask inlaid with camelians. The first
mouthful started his tears and numbed his tongue, but he swallowed it
painfully and lowered the flask.
He has taken from me everything I ever had of value: My leg: Garry
looked down at the way it stuck out stiffly ahead of him with the heel
buried in the damp leaf, mould. He drank again quickly, closing his
eyes against the sting of brandy.
My wife: In the dark redness behind his eyelids he saw her again, as
Sean had left her, lying in torn clothing with bruised and swollen
lips.
my manhood. Because of what he did to her that night, Anna has never
let me touch her body. Until then there was hope. But now I am forty,
two years old and I am virgin. It is too late.
My position. That swine Acheson would never have thrown me out, but
for Sean.
And now he will take Michael from me.
He remembered again the premonition of disaster that he had experienced
when Anna reported to him how she had found Michael and Sean together
on Theuniskraal. It had started then, each little incident building
up. The day Michael had stared at the faded but bold entries in the
leather, bound stock register. Is that Uncle Sean's handwriting?'
That battered saddle Michael had found in the loft above the stables;
he had polished it lovingly and restitched the seams, fitted new
stirrup leathers, and used it for a year. Until Garry had noticed the
crude initials cut into the leather of the flap.
'SC.' That night Garry had taken the saddle and thrown it into the
furnace of the hot, water boiler. , Eight months ago, on Michael's
twenty first birthday, Garry had called him into the panelled study of
Theuniskraal, atic' reluctantly told him of Scans legacy to him.
Michael had read the dog, eared sheet and read it through with his lips
moving silently. Then at last he looked up and his voice was shaky.
'Uncle Sean gave me a half, share in Theuniskraal even before I was
born. Why, Dad? Why did he do that?' And Garry had no answer for
