The Dawn of Fury (3 page)

“I can understand that,” said Nathan. “Thanks.”

He stepped out the door and moved on, Cotton Blossom plodding along behind. One thing the man said had struck a note of caution. Each time he inquired about a horse or mule for sale, he was implying he had the money to buy. There were desperate men who would kill for just one of the double eagles in his pocket, and that left him facing a new dilemma. How was he to buy a horse, a mule, a saddle, a weapon, food-or anything—without revealing his gold? He trudged wearily on. He had roasted a few potatoes and had brought them with him, but they were not enough. Weak from lack of food, he stumbled.

When he came to a wind-blown oak, he sat down to rest and collect his thoughts. He now knew he must travel beyond the devastation of the war before buying a horse or mule. He could follow the Blue Ridge, crossing into Kentucky somewhere south of Roanoke. But he must have food, whatever the cost. He forced himself to his feet and continued west, the evening sun in his eyes. Three hours later sundown left him facing a chill west wind, and he settled down on the lee side of a rocky knoll near a shallow creek. There he ate the last of his roasted potatoes, Cotton Blossom watching hungrily.

“Sorry, pardner,” Nathan said, “but you need meat, and so do I. Tomorrow I'll be at the end of my rope if we don't find some decent grub.”

With nothing but cold water from the creek to sustain him, Nathan was on his feet at dawn, bound for the mountains that never seemed to come any closer. More and more often he stopped to rest, leaning against an oak or pine, lest he be unable to get back to his feet. By the time the sun began to slip toward the elusive mountains, he was dizzy with weakness. Stumbling, he fell and was unable to rise. When he finally came to his senses, he was shocked to discover that sundown was only minutes away. Cotton Blossom eyed him sympathetically. Suddenly the hound got to his feet, growling. Nathan sat up, listening. The wind had died almost to nothing, and somewhere to the west there was the barking of a dog.

“Cotton Blossom,” said Nathan, “where there's a dog there's people, and where there's people, there's grub.”

Nathan got to hands and knees, and with a supreme effort staggered to his feet. Another day without food would be the finish of him. Somewhere ahead there was a camp, a cabin, and food, and he must reach it before dark. In his weakened condition he might stumble off a bluff. He set off in a lope, a shambling run, ignoring thorny underbrush and last summer's blackberry briars dried fierce and hard. Cotton Blossom was now forging ahead, barking a challenge to the other dog. His opponent responded, sounding much nearer, and Nathan could smell wood smoke. Nathan could see the shake roof of a barn, and by the time he reached it, Cotton Blossom was headed for the cabin beyond. He was brought up short by a snarling yellow hound who didn't relish the company of another dog.

“Ichabod,” bawled a female voice from the cabin, “you or Immanuel see what's roused up that fool dog. My God, you'd think Grant and the Union army was a-comin'.”

Growl for growl, Cotton Blossom was facing up to the other dog, and Nathan waited for Ichabod or Immanuel to end the standoff. Neither did, and a big woman in bonnet and homespun dress opened the door and stomped out on the porch. She spoke to the hound and it slunk under the porch, continuing to growl deep in its throat.

“Ma'am,” Nathan shouted, “I'm hungry. I have a little money, and I can pay.”

“Emma Meekler never turned away a hungry man,” she said. “Come on in. You're invited to supper, and you keep the little money you got.”

By the time Nathan reached the cabin, Ichabod and Immanuel had stepped out on the porch. Both were brawny, bearded, over six feet, with long sandy hair. Nathan judged that either of them could have caught and soundly thrashed a bobcat with one hand. They wore patched overalls, faded flannel shirts, and brogan shoes. The pair eyed Nathan without friendliness, stepping aside to allow him to enter the cabin.

“These are my sons, Ichabod and Immanuel,” said Emma.

“I'm Nathan Stone, and I'm half starved. I haven't had a decent meal since the war ended.”

“Which side was you on?” one of the bearded men asked bluntly.

It was a touchy question, one that could cost Nathan the meal he desperately needed. But Emma came to his rescue.

“Ichabod, that's not a proper question, and it's none of your business.”

“It sure as hell is, ma,” Ichabod shouted. “Them damn Yankees ..”

“Ichabod,” Emma snapped, “you watch your tongue.”

“Sorry, ma” said Ichabod, not looking sorry at all.

“I was with Lee,” Nathan said, “and spent six months in a Yankee prison.”

Ichabod and Immanuel were silent, and Nathan thought Emma was a little uncomfortable. He doubted that either of the men had ever been off the farm.

“I'll have supper on the table in a few minutes,” said Emma. “There's a pan, water, and soap on the back stoop if you'd like to wash up.”

Ichabod and Immanuel took their seats at the table, while Nathan continued on through the kitchen to the back door. The very odor of frying ham left him staggering. It had a similar effect on Cotton Blossom, for he was already on the back porch.

“After supper,” said Emma from the kitchen, “I'll give you some leavings for your dog.”

“Thank you,” Nathan said. “He's about as used up as I am.”

Nathan sat down on the bench next to Emma, across from Ichabod and his surly brother. There was fried ham, fried eggs, cornbread, and molasses. At each plate was a mug, and there were two pitchers of water on the table.

“Sorry we have no coffee or milk,” said Emma. “Not much variety, but for what there is, we have plenty.”

Nathan found himself unable to eat very much. One thing that distracted him was the predatory look in the eyes of Ichabod and Immanuel. There was little doubt the pair had heard him tell Emma he could pay for his food, and if Nathan Stone were any judge of men, these two were contemplating the money he had and pondering a means of getting their hands on it. It seemed Emma was the only one with an appetite and there was an enormous amount of cornbread and fried ham left.

“You're welcome to sleep in the barn, Mr. Stone,” Emma said.“There's hay and I'll get you a blanket. There's a mess of ham scraps for your dog, but take him with you. That no-account varmint of Ichabod's won't leave him alone.”

Nathan said nothing, but when Ichabod's eyes met his, there was a hostility that put Nathan on his guard. When Emma returned, she had a blanket and two cloth-wrapped parcels.

“This is for your dog,” she said, handing him the smaller one, “and this one is leftover ham and cornbread. Being long without food, you couldn't eat much, but you'll be getting hungry during the night.”

Nathan took the two packets of food and the blanket and headed for the barn. There, he paused only long enough for Cotton Blossom to wolf down the food, then took the dog with him into the shadow of the lofty pines nearby. Nathan chose a small ridge from which he could observe the cabin and the barn. There he settled down, wrapping himself in the blanket, and waited. While he waited, he ate as much of the ham and cornbread as he could, silently thanking Emma for her generosity. He would need all the strength he could muster. Nearly two hours later, as he watched in the starlight, two shadows separated themselves from the cabin and started for the barn. Ichabod and Immanuel! In Nathan's weakened condition, either of the pair was capable of killing him with their bare hands. Nathan wrapped the blanket about his shoulders and headed west, Cotton Blossom following.

“Cotton Blossom,” Nathan said, “I reckon we'd best spend the rest of the night getting some distance between us and that pair of varmints. Come the morning, I wouldn't put it past them trailing us. At least for a ways.”

Fortified with food and having had a chance to rest, Nathan was able to travel what he believed was at least ten miles before a rosy dawn swallowed the darkness of night. The weary pair followed the shallow runoff to a spring that gurgled out from beneath a rock ledge at one end of a narrow valley.

“Here's where we hole up and rest awhile,” said Nathan. There was no wind, the sun was up, and for a January day, it was pleasant. Nathan lay down, having folded the blanket into a pillow, and Cotton Blossom stretched out a few yards away. The dog had proven himself not only a worthy companion, but an edge that might mean the difference between life and death to an unarmed man. The sun was noon-high when Nathan awoke. Cotton Blossom was about halfway done devouring a rabbit. Taking advantage of the cold spring water, Nathan finished the rest of Emma's ham and cornbread. He must take full advantage of his renewed strength, finding more food before weakness overtook him again. Hereafter, he wouldn't be so quick to reveal that he had money to pay. It was hard times. His being afoot in threadbare clothes was evidence enough of his need. Nathan got to his feet and shook out the blanket.

“Bring the rest of that rabbit with you, pardner,” he said. “We don't know how far it is to the next grub.”

Just before sundown, Nathan stopped awhile and rested. The night would be cold with frost, likely. Better that he keep moving than sit huddled in his blanket awaiting the dawn. He walked steadily the rest of the night, covering his head with the blanket to protect his ears. Despite his exhaustion, he went on until the sun had time to burn away the chill. He was traveling southwest now, and being at the foot of a mountain range, there was no problem finding water. Springs abounded, and the wary travelers took refuge near one for a day of rest. By early afternoon they were again on their way, Nathan's belly growling. He had begun to believe he'd made a bad choice, keeping to the lowlands. Settlers who had escaped the ravages of the war were likely deep in the mountains, and in winter, with snow a possibility, he dared not venture there afoot. The first stars were blossoming in a purple sky when Nathan paused. He smelled smoke, and with a slight breeze from the west, he was downwind from it. He moved cautiously on, Cotton Blossom at his heels. It was a violent time when a man knew not whether he was encountering friend or foe.

Nathan was hoping for a settler's cabin, but those hopes withered and died when he saw the glow of a camp fire. The man or men in the camp had kept the fire small, so that an approaching stranger couldn't tell if there were one man or a dozen. Nathan sighed. He had but one option.

“Hello the camp,” he shouted. “I'm friendly and I'm hungry.”

“Come on up to the fire,” a voice responded, “and keep your hands where I can see 'em.”

Nathan obeyed the command. On the opposite side of the fire, a man stepped out of the darkness. He was about Nathan's height, and his mackinaw was unbuttoned, allowing access to a tied-down Colt on his right hip.

“You got money?” he asked.

“If I did,” Nathan said, “would I be afoot, begging a meal?”

“I reckon you wouldn't,” the stranger said. “I got beans and bacon.”

“I'd ask nothing better,” Nathan said.

Skewered on a stick, a rasher of bacon simmered over the fire. But then everything went wrong. Cotton Blossom took a dislike to the stranger and cut loose with his most formidable growl.

“I don't like dogs,” the man shouted. “Git that varmint away from me.”

Cotton Blossom moved like a striking rattler. His lean neck arched out and he swallowed the rasher of bacon in a single gulp. The man was quick with a Colt, and his first shot barely missed Cotton Blossom. Before he could fire again, Nathan caught his arm and they fought for the pistol. Still weak from the lack of food, Nathan lost his grip and the stranger swung the muzzle of the Colt like a club. It grazed Nathan's head and he went down, his adversary on top of him. But Nathan had an ace in the hole. Like a clawing, snarling cougar, Cotton Blossom leaped on the gunman's back, and the man screamed. This allowed Nathan to gather his wits and hump his assailant off. Seeing that Nathan had control of the situation, Cotton Blossom backed off. The two men had the Colt between them, fighting for possession of it. Suddenly the Colt roared and the stranger's struggles ceased. Nathan rolled away from him and lay there gasping for breath. Cotton Blossom crouched in the shadows, growling. Nathan sat up, holding his aching head.

“My God,” he said, unbelieving. “My God.”

He sat there until his head stopped pounding and then got unsteadily to his feet. He had killed a man over a dog, and unintentional as the act had been, he was still shaken to his very soul. Finally reason took over. While the fight had started over Cotton Blossom, it had ended with a stranger doing his damndest to kill Nathan Stone, and Nathan had resisted. Whatever the dead man had, he wouldn't be needing, and that included a horse, a saddle, a Colt, a warm coat, and food. It was time for some cold-blooded straight thinking. He searched the dead man, finding a hundred and ten dollars in gold eagles and a pocket knife. There was much leading Nathan to believe the man might have been a renegade. His clothes and boots were virtually new, and feeling less and less guilty, Nathan took them. The boots were a bit large, with pointed toes and undershot heels, but the coat, clothes and hat were almost a perfect fit. Nathan dragged the dead man off into the darkness, away from the fire. Only then did Cotton Blossom come near.

“Now,” Nathan said, “we'll find this hombre's horse, saddlebags, and grub.”

The horse proved to be a big black with a white blaze on his face. The saddle was double rigged, and the saddlebags proved the biggest treasure of all. There was half a side of bacon, a sack of dried beans, part of a sack of coffee beans, a change of clothes, and two hundred rounds of ammunition for the Colt. In the pocket of the extra shirt was an oilskin-wrapped packet of matches. Nathan shared some of the bacon with Cotton Blossom, broiled some for himself, and finished the pot of beans that bubbled on the fire. He then went to a nearby spring and scrubbed out the pot. He took a handful of coffee beans, crushed them with the butt of his newly acquired Colt, filled the pot with water, and set it on the stone pyramid over the fire. When the aroma told him the coffee was ready, he added some cold water to settle the grounds. He waited until the brew had cooled a little, and for the lack of a cup, drank it from the pot.