The fewer people he met the better it was in every way for him.
He shared the vigor and spirit of his horse.

His breath turned to smoke, but the cold whipped his blood into a quicker torrent.

He hummed snatches of the songs that he had heard Samuel Jarvis sing, and went on mile after mile through the high hills toward the low hills of Kentucky.
Dick did not pass many people.

The ancient name of his state--the Dark and Bloody Ground--came back to him.

He knew that war in one of its worst forms existed in this wild sweep of hills.