October 13, 1811
Zeb nodded at Hannah and headed toward Natchez. Seems strange to be going someplace without Hannah, he thought.
Suba wanted to run, and Zeb let her canter for short distances, but most of the time he kept her at a steady trot.
The sandy road into Natchez was wide and flat with no deep carriage ruts. The soil was slightly damp, and he could see the hoofprints of horses that had passed that way before him. The trees cast early afternoon shadows, and open fields of cotton stretched as far as he could see on both sides of the road.
Zeb paid the toll and crossed Catherine Creek. Suba started a little at the loud thumps of her hooves against the heavy wooden bridge timbers. Zeb pulled her in. “It’s all right, Suba. Nothin’ to worry about. Calm down. Atta girl.”
Gradually the cotton fields gave way to a number of small houses clustered under the shade of ancient live oak trees. Not a weed or a blade of grass grew in the clean-swept yards.
Just ahead of him, Zeb could see a row of large houses on each side of the street. Many of the houses were made of squared-off, flatboat logs, weathered dark brown. Some of the newer-looking houses were built of milled lumber, painted white. Trees bordered the wide road. He was in Natchez, the place his grampa called “the cultural center of the South.” It probably is, at least for the part of the South that Grampa knows, Zeb thought.
At the first cross street, Zeb saw a sign nailed to a tree with an arrow pointing left. Suba didn’t want to stop. He had to keep turning her so he could read the sign.
ABSOLUTE AUCTION
horses
EVERY TYPE AND BREED
A FEW SELECT RACEHORSES
OCTOBER 12, 1811
TEXADA TAVERN, WASHINGTON AND WALL
SUNRISE TO DARK
There was no place he would be more likely to find his grampa than at a horse auction. Instead of going directly to King’s Tavern, he turned Suba to the left and trotted up Pine Street. Then, following more arrows, he turned to the right on Washington Street, heading toward the river.
When Zeb got to Washington and Wall Streets, Texada Tavern was everything he had hoped it would be. It was the largest brick building he had ever seen. He was disappointed, though, not to find crowds of people milling around as they always do at a horse auction.
There was plenty of evidence on the dirt road that many horses had been there. Could they have sold them all already?
Zeb tied Suba to a rail and hurried into Texada Tavern. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside. The barroom, off to one side, was already crowded, but it wasn’t boisterous like some of the stands on the Natchez Road. Men sat at tables, drinking and talking quietly. Others stood at a bar, drinking.
Behind the dark wooden bar, a man in a white shirt with arm garters holding his sleeves back sloshed two glasses at a time back and forth in a tub of soapy water.
Zeb stepped up to the bar. The bartender wiped the damp wood in front of Zeb with a wet cloth. “What can I get ya?”
“Don’t want anything to drink. Want to find out about the horse auction.”
“Horse auction?” the man said in a loud voice. He chuckled. “You’re late, boy. That was yesterday. You buyin’ or sellin’?”
Zeb sagged against the bar. I’m a day late. I must’ve figured September for thirty-one days instead of thirty. Grampa could’ve come and gone. Now what?
“I’m lookin’ for someone. Someone I’m sure would’ve been at the auction. Did you see a—”
“Look,” the bartender said, picking up a wet glass and drying it with a towel, “I didn’t go to the auction. Never do. If he came in here, I might’ve seen him. But I doubt I’d remember.”
Grampa wouldn’t have come in here for a drink, Zeb thought.
Zeb was about to turn away when the bartender said, “You’re in luck, boy. See that man just came in? Over there with the big leather hat? That’s Dancey Moore. He buys and sells a lot of horses. If anyone’d know who was here, he would.”
The bartender leaned over, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Just between you and me, boy, don’t do no buyin’ or sellin’ with him ‘less you got money to lose. He loves to take advantage of you Kaintucks.”
Zeb looked down at his clothes. He wore a shirt and pants he had found in the throwaway box at Yowani, clean but ragged. He had no hat, and his borrowed boots were old and worn. I look like a Kaintuck for sure.