The Dawn of Fury (4 page)

“We got us an outfit, Cotton Blossom,” he said, “but I'm not proud of the way we got it.”

When Nathan had finished the coffee, he washed the pot, saddled the horse and led the animal well beyond the spring. There they would spend the rest of the night. In the morning he must find some means of burying the dead man. Whoever or whatever the poor devil had been, he deserved better than being left to predators and the elements.

With the dawn, Nathan had a good look at the black horse. It appeared to be a fine animal. The brand on its left hip was a forty-four connected. Badly as he needed a horse, Nathan had his misgivings about this one, for it was the kind that would be remembered. The dead man's riding boots and double-rigged saddle suggested he was a Westerner. As the war had drawn to a close, Nathan had heard of renegades from Missouri and Kansas being driven out, forced to flee south to Indian Territory or north Texas. The more he pondered his own situation,. the more certain he became that the man he had killed was likely wanted by the law. The seven men Nathan Stone pursued were headed west, leaving Nathan to ride a vengeance trail on a horse that had belonged to an outlaw. The dead man's enemies would become his own, and he knew not where he would find them or how many there would be. He built a fire, boiled coffee, and broiled some bacon, which he shared with Cotton Blossom. He then undertook the disagreeable task of burying the dead man. Since he had no tools for digging, he found a deep gully where erosion had undercut the banks, and these he caved in effectively covering the body. He then mounted the black and rode south. Now that he was mounted, he might reach Roanoke before dark.

Nathan found it a joy being in the saddle again after being afoot for so long. The black horse fell easily into a mile-eating gait and Cotton Blossom loped along behind. In the early afternoon they reached a wagon road that veered in from the east and continued southwestward. Nathan slowed the horse to a walk. From a ridge he could see a farmhouse and a barn in the valley below. Warily he rode on, and when he reached the village he believed to be Roanoke, it was with an alarming suddeness. He rounded a bend in the road and found himself looking down the main street. While the town wasn't large, there was no evidence it had suffered during the war. At one time, most of the frame buildings had been painted, and there were board-walks along both sides of the street. A mule-drawn wagon clattered toward Nathan, and he nodded to the man on the box. Men stepped out of the various shops as Nathan rode past, watching him. He reined up before a weathered building with a wide porch above which a crude sign proclaimed it “General Store.” A hitch rail ran the length of the porch, with stone steps at both ends. A team of mules were tied to the hitch rail and in the wagon to which they were hitched was a wooden crate in which a trio of pigs grunted and squealed. Nathan dismounted, half-hitching the reins to the rail should he have to leave in a hurry. Cotton Blossom sat down near the black horse as Nathan made his way into the store. He had no sooner closed the door behind him when Cotton Blossom began an ominous barking.

“He's in the store,” a voice shouted from the outside. “Get him!”

There was an almost immediate thud of boots on the porch, and Nathan swept past the startled storekeeper, seeking a back door. He found it and hit the ground running. He had but one chance, and that was to reach his horse. He reached one corner of the building, only to be spotted by two men who came after him with rifles. He ran to the opposite corner, only to face a third man coming after him with a scattergun. Nathan drew back, pulling his Colt, and as the startled man rounded the corner, Nathan seized the front of his shirt with his left hand and slugged him senseless with the muzzle of the Colt. By then the rifle-wielding pair had rounded the opposite corner of the building.

“By God,” one of them bawled, “he's kilt Jake. Shoot the skunk.”

Lead tore into the weathered wood of the store building, but Nathan was already around the corner, running for his horse. As he rounded the end of the porch nearest his horse, three men burst out the door. The mules and wagon stood between them and Nathan's horse, but one man in his eagerness leaped over the hitch rail. He screamed when a snarling Cotton Blossom ripped out the seat of his trousers. Nathan was in the saddle and the black horse was on the run when the other two men rounded the rear of the wagon. The big black ran them down. Slugs burned the air over Nathan's head like angry bees, but he was soon out of range, riding back the way he had come. He slowed the black, looking back, and there was Cotton Blossom trotting along behind.

“Pardner,” Nathan said, “you think fast and act faster. That's what it takes to stay alive. I reckon the varmint that owned his horse was through here. Whatever he done, he got on the bad side of these folks. I don't think they aimed for me to have a trial. Question is, how many other towns has he passed through, where we're likely to get this same unsociable treatment?”

Nathan circled wide, riding west, toward the mountains. He kept to the terrain where tracking would be difficult, should anybody be so inclined. When he was sure he was well past the village, he again rode southwest. Another day and he believed he could ride due west and cross into Kentucky. He and Cotton Blossom made camp beside a creek and finished the bacon. There would be only coffee for breakfast unless he took the time to boil some of the beans. He sat hunched over a small fire, gloomily contemplating his narrow escape. How was he to track down the seven men he sought while in constant danger of being gunned down for the misdeeds of the dead man whose horse he rode? The obvious answer was to dispose of the horse, but how? He had no bill of sale, and a man could be hanged as readily for horse stealing as for murder. He could keep the horse, facing the consequences as they arose, or he could continue his journey afoot. It didn't take him long to make his decision.

“Damn it,” he said aloud, “this horse is mine. If the gent that owned him ahead of me owed some shootin' debts, then I reckon I'll have to pay 'em.”

He let the fire burn low, with just enough coals to keep the coffee hot. He then took the .44 caliber Army Colt and began what would become a ritual. Time after time he drew the weapon, “dry firing” it, getting the feel of it. He would perfect his skill until he could shoot accurately while falling, on his back, belly down, or on his feet. He had always been as adept with one hand as the other, and he border-shifted the weapon from one hand to the other for almost two hours. Weary, he rolled in his blankets and slept until first light. Having neither the time nor the taste for boiled beans, he made coffee and made do.

“Sorry, Cotton Blossom,” he said to the hound. “Maybe we can lay our hands on some grub today without gettin' shot to doll rags.”

Nathan made a decision. He would avoid the towns in southern Virginia and wait until he reached Kentucky before seeking to buy food. There was a chance that the former owner of the black horse had ridden in from the south, perhaps from Knoxville. That being the case, Nathan could ride west without fear of the horse being recognized, and without having to shoot his way out of hostile towns in which the dead outlaw had done God knew what. He saddled the black and rode southwest, keeping to the foothills. There was a cold wind out of the west, and riding it came an ominous mass of gray clouds. Three hours into the day, the snow began. At first it was fine and gritty, with a mix of sleet, but the flakes grew larger and the accumulation began. Nathan reined up and Cotton Blossom sat in the deepening snow, watching him.

“Pardner,” Nathan said, “grub or not, we'll have to find us a place to hole up. It's gettin' colder by the minute, and come dark, it'll be downright uncomfortable.”

Nathan rode on, heading west now, and with the snowfall becoming heavier, he almost didn't see the barn. Blowing snow had covered the shake roof and had whitened the log walls. If there were a barn, there should be a cabin, but through the blowing snow, he could see nothing. He lifted a wooden latch and opened the door enough to allow the black horse to enter. Cotton Blossom followed, and Nathan closed the door. He waited, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, and then went looking for an empty stall for the black. There were other animals in the barn, for he could hear them. A cow lowed once. Finding an empty stall, he led the black in, closing the slatted gate behind the animal. Quickly he found the ladder to the hayloft, and found the loft full of hay. His eyes were used to the gloom now, and finding a hay fork, he pitched some hay down into the black's manger. Cotton Blossom growled low.

“I'm up here, pardner,” said Nathan. “Find yourself a soft place and keep watch.”

Nathan dug into the soft hay, and out of the wind, was soon asleep. He was awakened by the ominous growling of Cotton Blossom, followed by a calm voice.

“Back off, feller. I ain't begrudgin' you shelter from the storm. And you up there in the loft, make yourself to home. Just one thing. Would you fork down some hay, so's I can milk this ornery old cow?”

“I'd be glad to,” Nathan said, since he had no choice. “I'd have asked permission to take shelter in your barn, but it was snowing so hard, I had no idea where your house was.” He forked hay into the manger in the cow's stall.

“You done the sensible thing,” said the voice below. “It's likely to snow all night. We ain't had a bad one yet, and we're overdue. I'm thinking it'll be almighty cold by morning. When I'm done milking, you're welcome to come to the house for supper. I'm Isaac Wright. There's just me, my wife Jenny, and our grandaughter Daisy.”

“I'd be obliged,” Nathan said. “I'm half starved. I'm armed, but friendly, and I'm coming down. I'm Nathan Stone, and that's Cotton Blossom doing the growling.”

“Come on down, then,” said Wright. “I won't be long. My hands are already near froze.”

When Wright had finished milking, Nathan followed his host through the swirling snow to the house. Cotton Blossom plodded along behind. Reaching the back porch, the men stomped the snow off their feet and Wright swung the door open. There was a delicious warmth, a smell of cooking food, and hot coffee.

“Jenny,” Wright said, “we have company for supper. Nathan Stone and his dog, Cotton Blossom.”

“Come on in,” said Jenny. “Supper's ready. Cotton Blossom can sleep next to the stove, and there's a bed in the loft for Mr. Stone.”

Nathan had trouble getting Cotton Blossom into the kitchen, but the food was more than he could resist and his belly led him on. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. In the light from a coal oil lamp, he found Isaac and Jenny Wright as kindly a pair as he'd ever laid eyes on. The last of Cotton Blossom's suspicions vanished when Jenny set before him a bountiful bowl of food. Isaac allowed Nathan first use of the wash pan and towel, and when both men had taken their places at the table, Jenny began bringing in the food. There was ham, fried chicken, boiled potatoes, cornbread, and brown gravy. Isaac and Nathan sat on a bench on one side of the table, while Jenny sat on a bench on the opposite side.

“Daisy,” Isaac shouted, “supper.”

“Go ahead and eat, Mr. Stone,” said Jenny. “She'll take her own sweet time gettin' here.”

When Daisy took her place beside Jenny and was introduced to Nathan, she said nothing, but her eyes were on him throughout the rest of the meal. When Isaac and Jenny left the table, the girl spoke to Nathan for the first time.

“When you leave here,” she said, “I'm going with you.”

Startled as he was by the girl's bold manner, Nathan continued eating, saying nothing. She eyed him boldly, without shame, and he forced himself to look at her. She was attractive enough, but not a day over fifteen, if he was any judge. As inviting as the bed in the loft sounded, Nathan decided that he didn't want to spend the night in that house. But before he had finished his supper, Isaac was offering to show him to the loft.

“Reckon you must be pretty well give out,” said his host, “and there ain't nothin' to do 'cept set here and look at us, once you've et.”

“You've fed me and my dog,” Nathan said, “and that's all I have a right to expect. While I appreciate your generosity, I'd honestly feel better if I slept in the hay loft. I aim to get an early start in the morning.”

“That won't bother us,” said Jenny. “Isaac has to milk the cow, and he'll be up two hours before daylight. Besides, I won't have you taking the trail without a decent breakfast and somethin' to eat along the way.”

There was no way out of accepting their hospitality, and as Nathan got up from the table, there was something akin to triumph in Daisy's dark eyes. Isaac led the way up the stairs, carrying the lamp. Nathan followed, Cotton Blossom padding along behind. When they reached the loft, there was room to stand only where the roof peaked. It wasn't all that warm, but comparing it to the barn, Nathan could appreciate the difference. The bunk was crude and homemade, but there were plenty of blankets.