Derek dropped the pseudo-twang and his voice expressed disgust. "I got
a chore for you Johnny, that you're going to love. Rounding up some
livestock."
Johnny looked up from the report he was running off and shot an
impatient glance at him. "Livestock? What the hell are you talking
about?"
"Goats."
Johnny McCord flicked the stop button on the Alphabetyper. "Where've
you been? There isn't a goat within five hundred miles of here."
Derek went over to the refrigerator for beer. He said over his
shoulder, "I was just making a routine patrol over toward Amérene
El Kasbach. I'd estimate there were a hundred Tuareg in camp there.
Camels, a few sheep, a few horses and donkeys. Mostly goats. Thousands
of them. By the looks of the transplants, they've been there possibly
a week or so."
* * * * *