The five pack horses laboured up the faint path which zigzagged towards the ridge. It had been twenty days since Shell Man had left comforts behind at his warehouse near the coast. He had already traded six packs of shells. Even so, it had been a long and gradual ascent from the sea as the caravan carried a larger load than usual towards making his fortune in the inner zone. While close to the sea he was paid, not in ammunition, but in fresh food, including bread loaves, leather shoes, winter coats and hay for the horses. He still had plenty to trade in the city.
He always gave the lead mare the lightest load. A small bell tied to her leather panniers tinkled quietly in rhythm with her gait. Her energetic pace encouraged the caravan up the trail, not that he drove them hard, they were too precious
