Mellor was taken aback.
Johnny said, "I can have Derek back-trail them, if you want to be sure, but it's almost positive they came from the south, this time of year."
Mellor sputtered, "They might have come from the direction of Timmissao. Who are they, anyway?"
"I don't know. Tuareg. I thought we'd supposedly settled with all the Tuareg. Good Lord, man, do you know how many transplants a thousand goats can go through in a week's time?"
"A week's time!" Mellor rasped. "You mean you've taken a whole week to detect them?"
Johnny McCord glared at him. "A whole week! We're lucky they didn't spend the whole season before we found them. How big a staff do you think we have here, Mellor? There's just three of us. Only one can be spared for patrol."
"You have natives," the older man growled.
"They can't fly helicopters. Most of them can't even drive a Land Rover or a jeep. Besides that, they're scared to death of Tuaregs. They wouldn't dare report them. What I want to know is, why didn't you stop them coming through?"
Mellor was on the defensive. He ranked Johnny McCord, but that was beside the point right now. He said finally, "I'll check this all the way through, McCord. Meanwhile, I'll send young Mohammed Mohmoud up with a group of his men."
"To do what?" Johnny demanded.