Nash lay in his bedroll, shivering, in dread of leaving the warm blankets. He took a deep breath and plunged into the cold, pulling on his trousers and shirt with shaking hands. He bent over, pulled on his boots, tied a double knot, and stepped out into the false dawn. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?” he asked Uriah, who was already drinking coffee brewed over the campfire. “Thought maybe we both needed a little extra. Seems like we’ve been at this a long time.” Nash nodded and ate and began his chores. Uriah waited by the fire, sipping coffee while Nash scrubbed the plates clean and put the cooking gear away. “Flynn was by this morning. Says his hands are hurting bad. He thinks it’s going to storm, but then he’s been saying that for the last two days. Thought we’d give him the benefit of the doubt, though, and not go out so far.” Uriah climbed to his feet, pitching the dregs of his coffee on the fire, and Nash followed his father to the makeshift corral. The horses were bunched together, their breath hanging over them in a cloud.
