The Dawn of Fury Read Free

Richmond had been, and lacking all the things that he needed. One of the few buildings left standing was—or had been—a blacksmith shop. Nathan eased one of the double doors open and stepped inside. The forge was cold and a bearded old man in patched overalls sat on an empty nail keg. A second man hunkered next to him, and the pair of them eyed Nathan curiously.
    â€œHowdy, gents,” Nathan said. “Would either of you be knowin’ of anybody with a horse or mule for sale?”
    â€œMister,” said the bearded man, “we been through hell, and we been picked clean as Christmas geese. Them as has a horse or mule ain’t sellin’ at no price. Even if some high roller come along and had the money.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œSorry, 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.
    â€œCotton 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.
    â€œIchabod,” 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