Chapter Thirty Nine
To Take Advantage Of A Drunk
When Jon Handshaker woke on the morning of what was to be the last day of his journey westward, the hairs on his arm were standing up from the chill, his skin roughly goose-fleshed. Jumping up, he began a wild and silly dance around the clearing, throwing his feet high into the air and walking on his hands. He was feeling quite cheerful, and besides, he needed to get his blood warmed up and moving. He was not quite ready to start using a fire yet, although there had not been any recent sign of people in these parts for nearly forty miles, only the grass grown road he was following, and the occasional tumbledown house or barn.