The Legend of Black Wolf - Sully's Journey Home

Chapter Four

        With most of Sully's strength gone, he awoke to a fever he knew he couldn't outrun. Days and nights in the damp had taken their toll after weeks on the run. His inability to find enough food after his rations had run out hadn't helped, either. And, as much as he wanted his journey to be over, he wanted to die next to his beloved. He couldn't let it end in the middle of nowhere. And so, that last morning, he pushed himself onward, finally coming across an old farmhouse.

        The building had seen better days, but there was smoke at the chimney and the sound of someone chopping wood, so he knew there was someone home. As afraid as he was of someone recognizing him and having him arrested, he felt too sick to stay in the woods any longer. His plan was to beg them to let him help them out on their property for the winter in return for lodging in the barn and some food. The worst they could do is run him off and he would be back where he was.

        Walking up to the barn behind the house, he came upon an old man who was at the chopping block. A small pile of fresh wood lay at his feet. As he let the axe rest, he reached for a dingy handkerchief. Sully cleared his throat to make himself known.

        The sound all but made the old man jump out of his skin. Clearly, they lived where they didn't see many travelers or visitors. As the old man's eyes rested on Sully, his shoulders eased a bit. The sight of this sickly man before him told him that he couldn't mean any harm; he wasn't much more than a bag of bones.

        "Excuse me sir, I don't mean to disturb ya, but I thought I would stop and ask if you're looking to take on any hands for the winter?" Sully asked, his voice sounding hoarse and foreign to him. As the old man stood there, taking in the sight, it occurred to Sully that he hadn't spoken to another person since his shave and that had been about two months ago.

        "Son, why don't you come sit down." The old man said, coming to life after pocketing his handkerchief. He reached for Sully's arm and led him to sit on the stump that served as the chopping block. "You goin' home from the war?" The old man pointed to the bag Sully was still travelling with. He had been so consumed with thoughts of Abigail over the past days and weeks that it had slipped his mind to discard his army issued pack. His pins and patches still rested in the bottom, safely hidden from view.

        "California." Sully lied, hating himself as he did so. But the less the old man knew, the better.

        "Well, ain't we mighty proud to have ya here!" The old man said. "Name's Ezra Botkins." He stuck out his hand, taking off his hat in respect as he did so. Sully shook his hand.

        "Sully." He blurted out without really thinking. The thirst that had consumed him ever since he'd contracted the fever was more important than safe-guarding his name from the old man, and he hoped they didn't get newspapers way out here, in the middle of nowhere.

        "Mini!" The old man shouted towards the house. "Git out here!"

        "Please, sir, I don't mean to intrude." Sully said again, slightly flinching as the man shouted for his wife.

        "No harm at'all, Son. Minerva will be dang charmed to have one of you brave boys here. Gives her somethin' ta fuss over 'sides me." The old man chuckled and clapped Sully on the shoulder. Then he shouted for his wife again. A tiny woman came out of the backdoor of the homestead, a pipe in her mouth.

        "Tarnation, Ezra! What're ya—" As she began to nag Ezra for breaking the peaceful silence of the morning, she spied Sully on the chopping stump next to him. Nearly dropping her pipe, she came out with a charming smile on her face, suddenly wanting to make a good impression for their unexpected and very disheveled visitor. Sully stood to introduce himself.