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Chapter 60
- LANGAA RPCIG
- Chapter
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347 C Chapter 60 lack Pepper galloped at a spirited gait towards the woods in the west of Randlord Mansion, Heidi Gaynor rocking rhythmically on his back. The horse was beginning to obey her verbal commands, and it felt good to be in harmony with the graceful animal. She was in a cowgirl hat, a green and blue Tankini top, belted boy-leg bottoms and spiked riding boots. A Dragunov Sniper Rifle (SVD) was on her back, and a pistol, a Kimber Stainless Raptor II, was holstered around her waist. Her master had gone to Pretoria Golf Course with an entourage of bodyguards. The children were in school. Katherine was recuperating in her bedroom and had asked not be disturbed. When the billionaire left, she went to the rifle range below the hangar and spent an hour target shooting with the Russian rifle and the Raptor II. She asked the instructor for permission to ride out armed, for the fun of it. He had no objections; in fact, he said the security department expected her to ride and move about armed within the premises. Now saddled on Black Pepper, the horse took her on the dirt track to her favourite section of the woods with a Savannah touch and the splendid anthills. Armed with the two weapons, she had never felt so secure and adventuresome. The horse seemed to know where they were heading. At the right spot, when they were past the eucalyptus trees, he turned and bore her gently along the footpath. The anthills appeared, marvellous in their jutting and isolation. But the horse suddenly raised its ears and stopped without her volition. Had he seen a snake? She glanced on the stretch of the footpath ahead–nothing. Neither was there anything sinister around her. When she was about to urge him to move, she heard the sound of shovelling. It came from her left and seemed to emanate behind a thorny thicket about thirty metres from where she was. A B 348 precautionary thought advised her to ride back and inform security. But one stemming from a sense of adventure reminded her that she was armed and should go and find out what was happening in the woods of her boss’ property. What would a person carrying an SVD and a Raptor II fear? She dismounted from the horse and tethered him with the reins by the side of the footpath. Initially, she drew the pistol, but thought it wouldn’t scare an intruder; therefore she replaced it with the rifle. At the range, she fired more accurately with the rifle than the pistol. She crouched and slowly made her way to the thicket, pausing cautiously several times. The shovelling continued. One hand on the cocking lever, she went round the thicket. Her heart beat faster with adrenalin and self-reprisal as she edged to the source of the noise. Into her view came a man shovelling behind a grove. He was shirtless and seemingly in his early thirties. The man was shovelling earth into a small hole, his back to her. The trespasser was a stranger in old, tattered and soiled clothes; a pair of corduroy trousers and scruffy sneakers displaying his toes. A shirt equally soiled and worn out was draped on a bush nearby. The man was malnourished and had all the signs of a heavy drinker. Rivulets of sweat mottled his body. “Hey!” Heidi shouted, drawing his attention, the rifle aimed at him. The man dropped the shovel in his hands and turned. “What’re you doing?” On seeing the poised weapon, he raised his hands and widened his eyes. “Who’re you?” She demanded sternly. The man knelt in submission beside the hole, but said nothing. She cocked the rifle. “Who’re you? What’re you doing here?” “Please don’t shoot,” the man pleaded. “I’m Adrivas José... from Tete in Mozambique.” “What’re you doing here?” “I was burying a friend—” “Burying a friend in someone’s private property? I don’t buy that.” [3.86.235.207] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 00:08 GMT) 349 “I’m sorry, ma’am. He was a Moslem. He insisted he had to be buried within twenty-four hours. I honoured the last wish of a friend. He bowed to Allah three times a day.” She looked at the hole he was filling. “Was your friend a toddler?” “He was a grown man my age.” “Then that’s not a grave. It...