Three men already occupied the way-hut. In the light of a single lantern sitting on the stone oven, one of the men was clearly dead. Blood oozed from a slice across his neck and his sightless eyes stared up at shadows dancing on the ceiling as the other two dug through his pockets.
Keo had entered the hut first and consequently stood between the murderer and his knife. Moorden crowding into the room behind, pushed him toward the two men. Fortunately, the thieves were as surprised as were the two boys.
The Southern Highway brought Keo no new challenges in the first few days of his journey. Paved with square, kiln-fired bricks, the road undulated slowly downhill toward the Capital more than two-hundred miles to the west. The only traffic sharing the road were the occasional coal wagons rumbling to the east. From short conversations with the drivers he learned they headed to the Southern Draw, hoping to find it free of snow, trying to be first to collect coal mined during the snowbound month’s winter.
