Michael Dun - 13. Chapter 13

Peter Sheffield was finally alone.

The trek into Potchefstroom was long, hard, and miserable. In the quiet saloon beside the hotel, he sat down to drown his memories of the last few days. Top of the list was guilt, and he organised a neat alibi about his missing friends. He would say John and Gordon had gone their own way, to Barbeton. He would say that he did not want Barbeton gold, but Rand gold.

He would not say he had killed John Mansfield. Besides, it was self-defense. John had thrown the first punch and Peter thought his life was at stake. This was the dead-end bushveldt miles away from civilisation, the strong and quick survived in this wilderness. He buried the body, the most natural thing to do. A man died. He could have been the one if it were not for quick thinking.

The man seated beside him at the bar guessed that he was English. At first he sat with his back facing him, then he slowly turned. But Peter did not notice. He was somewhere between guilt and the fear of getting caught. If he had remained in England he could have been a barrister, or a member of the bar. Here he was, in Africa instead, a murderer.

But it was far too late to mourn the past. It was time to make a fresh start. He looked up and noticed an unshaven, lean looking man with a wide brimmed khaki hat staring at him. The man sat a little to the side, out of his direct view, staring intently at his subject. “You are English.” The man said. “English and of high office.”

“Who the devil are you?”

“Me. I am me.” The stranger remarked.

“Oh, come now. Be serious chapsy. I am Peter Sheffield.”

“You are drunk.” The stranger commented, then called the barman over.

“That I am. Now what did you say your name was chapsy?

“I did not say. I have not said. I will not say.”

“Well, you must have a home, then. Why, I am almost sure your family is missing you. Go on, toddle off now, chapsy.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then said, “I have gold.”

“What makes you so sure I am interested in your gold.”

“I shall show you, come with me.” The man stood up, shuffled through a door, and closed it behind him. Peter followed.

It happened so quickly, the man spun around, grabbed Peter’s neck and held him close to the ground. Suddenly there was a gun in his hand, pointing at Peter’s head, the thumb and index finger automatically went to work.

Peter waited to die. But when he opened his eyes, the man said; “Now you will listen to me…”