the Cherokee Trail (1982) Read online

  "It is a thought. By the way, where did you get the buffalo steaks?" "Mr. Boone killed a buffalo. He was kind enough to bring us the meat." Ah, yes. Temple Boone. I observed that it was he who brought out the team. Have you taken it upon yourself to employ him, too?" -- I have not. Mr. Boone merely wished to help. Of course, he is employed by the stage line. That he had not told me until today."

  "Temple Boone? Employed by us?"

  "Yes, of course. He told me he had been hired by Ben Holladay to catch and break or trade for horses from the Indians, horses for the stage lines."

  Mentally, Stacy swore. Why hadn't he been told? Of course, why should he be told? The procurement of horses was not necessarily his responsibility, and such horses might be used anywhere along the line from Missouri to California.

  "He should be a good man for the job. I understand he's had a lot of experience with wild stock."

  Mary got up and moved away, and Stacy watched her talking with the Irish girl, then with her daughter.

  Slowly, sipping his coffee, he began to relax.

  He liked the smell of cooking, of coffee, and the quiet sounds of the women moving about.

  A boy came in and sat down at the table, and the little girl brought him a plate with some cookies on it.

  "Mrs. Breydon? May I speak with you a minute?" "Please call me Mary, Mr.

  Stacy. All my friends do."

  "I must warn you. Somewhere around here some outlaws have found a hideout. We do not know where it is, but we know who some of them are. I want you and all our agents to be aware of them, and they are no common run of outlaw. One of them is a man known as Denver Cross."

  "You believe he will try to steal our horses?"

  "I do not. Denver plays for bigger stakes, and I believe he is getting settled to wait for a gold shipment.

  "There's mining in the mountains now. They've found gold along Cherry Creek and at several other points. Soon there will be a shipment going over our line to the East. I believe that is why Denver Cross is here." "We will be careful."

  Chapter Six.

  She awakened to a rumble of thunder. For a moment, she lay still. The room was dark, but she knew that daylight was not far off. Slipping from her bed and careful not to awaken Peg, she donned her robe and slippers, then went quietly into the cottage living room and looked across at the station. There was a light showing from the window and, to her surprise, a saddled horse at the hitching rail outside. Waiting for a distant flash of lightning, she glimpsed the horse, but it was unfamiliar.

  At this hour?

  Hurriedly, she returned to her room and dressed. For a moment, she hesitated. She still did not have a pistol, and she would look foolish crossing the road in the rain carrying a Henry rifle.

  Yet, suppose-his There was a swift dash of rain, then a steady downpour. Taking up a thick Indian blanket, she held it over her head and around her shoulders; then, stepping out on the porch, she closed the door behind her and walked swiftly across the road to the station.

  Shaking the drops from the blanket, she glanced toward the barn. The door was open a few inches. On these chilly nights, that door was always closed and only opened to lead out the teams. It might be opened a little to let a man in or out but not just a crack.

  Somebody was probably watching from the barn. Wat Tanner slept in the tack room. Turning away, she opened the door to the station and stepped in.

  The man at the long table turned sharply toward the door, his hand going to the opening of his coat; then, seeing a woman, he let the hand fall. He was a strong but rough-looking man, his hat pushed back to reveal a swarthy, almost brutal face with high cheekbones and a slight scar at the corner of his mouth that pulled the corner down somewhat. It was a face that once seen, would never be forgotten. And she had seen it before. "Mum?" Matty's tone was even. "This gentleman's inquiring for a boy, a young lad."

  The man's teeth flashed in a smile. "He was working for me, and he ran away. I've come to take him back."

  She folded the blanket and placed it on the end of the bench. "What if he did not want to go back?"

  "I'm afraid I'd have to take him, anyway, ma'am. The boy was apprenticed to me.

  He's not finished his time."

  "You have his papers?"

  "His what?"

  "When there is an apprenticeship, there are forms that have to be filled out."

  "I guess I just forgot to bring 'em, ma'am."

  The man's smile was tolerant but amused. "Next time I'm by this way, I'll show 'em to you. Now I want the boy, and I understand he's here, workin" for you. Name of Wat Tanner." Mary Breydon walked around behind the table and filled her cup. "I am sure the simplest way to arrange this," she said, "would be for us to meet in Laporte where we can see the judge. We can place the matter before him." The smile left the man's face. He was growing irritated. "I am afraid I can't wait for that.

  I've ridden all the way in the rain-was "Where are you from, Mr.-?"

  "Williams," he said. "I'm from north of here, up nigh the Wyoming border. Now if you'll let me have the boy-was "I am very sorry. You cannot have him. If you wish to meet me in Laporte before the judge, I am sure something can be arranged. "Although," she added, "I very much doubt the boy wants to go with you."

  "Ma'am, I've come a long way. I'm not coin' haccomkcom without that boy. Now you turn him over to me, or-was V

  "Or what, Mr. Williams? The boy is here, in my care, and I shall not turn him over to you without an order from a judge."

  "What if I just take him?"

  "You wouldn't take him very far with a belly full of lead, would you?" The voice was casual, even pleasant.

  She did not turn, keeping her eyes on Williams, the cup of hot coffee in her hand.

  Temple Boone moved farther into the room from the door of the pantry. His hat was wet, his jacket dripping.

  "Howdy, Boone." Williams's tone was as quiet as Boone's. "I didn't expect to see you around here."

  "Roundin up stock for the stage line," Boone explained conversationally. "It's a livin'."

  "If you like what you're Join'," Williams suggested, "I'd say stick with it and you'll do a lot more livin'. We want that boy, Boone."

  "Seems like a lot of fuss over one youngster," Boone said, but like the lady said, you can meet in front of a judge an' make your claim." He smiled suddenly, a flashing, handsome smile. "And I'd bet a new saddle it wouldn't be the first judge you've been up before."

  Slowly, Williams put down his cup, resting his fingertips on the edge of the table as if about to rise.

  "I wouldn't if I was you," Temple said. "You never seen the day." Slowly, the hands eased back into the center of the table, one of them reaching for the empty cup. "They won't like it," he said hoarsely.

  "They sent me for the "Leave him alone," Boone replied. "He's doing no harm to anybody. You boys push him and he's liable to get scared-or mad. Might make all the difference."

  "You tell that to Denver."

  Boone sat down opposite Williams.

  "Denver an' me don't see eye to eye. We never did. You just tell him the boy is doin' all right and to leave him be." .

  "You wouldn't think a youngster would be that canny,"

  Williams said. "He left just no trail at all. I'd run out of chances until I heard somebody at Virginia Dale Station say there was a boy-kid workin' down here." Williams drained his cup, seeking for the few last drops. "You can have him. He's a durned thief, anyways.

  Stole Johnny's boots off him after he was dead."

  "I did no such thing!" Wat Tanner spoke from the door. "Johnny asked me to pull "em off.

  Promised his ma he'd never die with his boots on.

  Then he told me they was almost new, and I was to take them. "I said they was too big, and he said I'd grow into them. He said some of you boys would steal 'em, anyway. He was the one tol" me to git, said your lot was no fit comp'ny for a boy."

  Williams flushed, stealing a shamed look at Mary Breydon. "I don't believ
e he said any such thing! Anyway, who was Johnny to talk?"

  "He was best of that crowd," Boone said. "Why else was he killed?" Williams got up.

  "I'm ridin'."

  "You do that. And you tell Denver Cross the boy is a friend of mine, and so are the folks at this station.

  You just tell him that and make sure he hears it."

  When Williams had gone, Mary Breydon accepted the breakfast Matty fixed for her and sat down across from Boone. "You have some strange friends, Mr. Boone."

  Boone smiled. "It's a big country, but there aren't all that many people. Sooner or later, you get to know everybody. Ofttimes the men who are outlaws and those who are the law once worked side by side or fought in the war together.

  "Take you, now. You've just met Williams, and he's an outlaw. You've become mighty important to Scant Luther, another man of doubtful character." He smiled widely. "Seems to me, Mrs. Breydon, that you have some strange friends)"

  She laughed. "All right. But thank you for speaking up for Wat." "He'd do as much for me," Boone said lightly. "After all, he's one of the few of us who is really "western." Everybody out here is from somewhere else."

  "You, too, Mr. Boone?"

  He ignored the question. "Seen you unloadin some books. Do you read books like that?"

  "I do."

  "Never read me many books." He paused, embarrassed. "Always figured to, sometime. I seen a few around. One time, a long while back, I worked some in a store back in Missouri.

  They had all manner of books. Folks goin"

  West used to buy "em. I just couldn't believe there was so many folks who not only could read but wanted to."

  "If one has a book, Mr. Boone, one is never alone. They will talk to you when you want to listen, and when you tire of what they are saying, you just close the book. It will be waiting for you when you come back to it." He pushed back from the table. "I'd better get the team ready. The stage will be cumin" in."

  When he left, trailed by Wat, she looked after him. "He's a strange man, Matty."

  "Good-lookin', too," Matty said, her expression innocent. "He's a fine figure of a man."

  "I suppose so. My husband was, too, and I miss him, Matty."

  "You're a young woman."

  Mary flashed her a quick look. "I wasn't thinking of that. Marshall was a wonderful man. I doubt if I should ever be so lucky again."

  "The odds would seem to be against it, ma'am, but some women just seem to attract the good men. Others just attract the good-lookin' rascals." She went to the stove. "I'll just warm up some of that stew.

  It is a wet, unpleasant morning."

  Mary walked to the window and looked down the road.

  Since arriving, she had been nowhere, done nothing but get the station and the cottage into some kind of shape and find her way in a strange situation. When the weather cleared, she would get a horse and ride down the valley. Or she might even go into Laporte.

  It was an old town, although small. Once it had been mentioned as a possible state capital, but Denver had grown rapidly after the gold discoveries. Yet a visit to Laporte was an essential. There were things she needed and some she could no longer do without. Also, she needed a hostler here at the station. Boone was just helping until they got settled. The rain on the roof was a pleasant sound.

  Matty opened the stove and added some fuel. They used the fireplace only occasionally now, although she had always loved an open fire.

  Her thoughts returned to the events of the morning.

  What did those men want with Wat? Williams, she gathered, was a man of doubtful character, probably an outlaw. And who was Wat? The man called Johnny, of whom they had spoken, was obviously not his father, yet what was the connection? She must ask Boone. He would probably tell her nothing, for these western men were oddly reticent about talking of each other unless they had something good to say.

  She was lonely. Until now, she had been too busy to think of such things, certainly to think of herself.

  She was lonely for someone with whom she could talk, not just of horses, the station, or of the people here but of books, music, the greater, wider world. Not necessarily, she realized, a better world.

  There was little leisure here, little time for self-examination or things concerned with the self. People here were, for good or ill, too busy doing things, living, building, creating in a physical sense.

  There was almost no backbiting, little gossip as such.

  What talk there was concerned events, people, cattle, horses, the prospects in any one of a dozen fields. Nobody seemed to be sitting still; nobody had empty hands. There were some who might only be stirring up dust, but they were trying. She must not allow herself to stagnate. There were books, as Temple Boone had reminded her, and she should read to Peg, and to Wat, for that matter. Standing by the window looking out on the rain-wet morning, she turned over in her mind the men she had met.

  One and all, they seemed inwardly strong; each was responsible for himself. If one of them made a wrong step, he seemed willing to accept the blame, and nobody asked favors of another.

  Deliberately, intentionally, they were self-reliant.

  Later, when Boone came in from the stable, she mentioned it to him. "Ma'am? You ever notice a child?

  If he falls down and hurts himself, most times he won't start to cry until he's close to his mama. There's no sense in crying if there's nobody to listen. Out here, a man does for himself, or it ain't done. You just don't wait for somebody to do it for you. And there's no sense in cryin' or compla* because nobody has the time to listen. "If somebody is hurtin', somebody will help and then go on about his business. They'll help you cross a river, pull a wagon out of the mud, splint a broken leg, round up cattle, or whatever.

  They'll help you, ma'am, but unless you're down sick or somethin', they won't do it for you.

  Everybody saddles his own broncs out here."

  "Mr. Boone? It is probably needless to warn you, but be careful. Be very careful. I recognized the man you called Williams. He was one of the guerrillas who raided my home during the war. While the North and the South were fighting, they were riding, looting, burning, and killing. was "Seems likely."

  "My husband saw their leader out here. He started to accuse him, and the man shot him. He killed my husband, Mr. Boone. And my husband was a very good shot."

  "Bein' a good shot is one thing. Sometimes it simply ain't enough. People who do their shootin' out here don't waste around."

  "I know. I am afraid Marshall was not expecting it just that way. He was prepared to fight, but the other man just drew his gun and shot Marshall."

  "I suspect. You know who that other man was?"

  "His name was Jason Flandrau."

  There was a long moment of silence. A Brick fell in the stove, and Matty came in from the cottage. She looked across at them, then asked suddenly, "Mum? Is something wrong, then?"

  Temple Boone did not respond, but he put his cup down and leaned his forearms on the table.

  "Ma'am? Have you any idea why Jason Flandrau shot your husband?"

  "Perhaps because he expected Marshall to challenge him. Perhaps because he expected to be shot."

  "Listen to me now," Boone said, "and listen close. You're a mighty smart woman, and nobody is goin' to have to draw you pictures.

  "Jason Flandrau is callin' himself "Colonel' Jason Flandrau now, and he's bein' spoken offor governor. He's livin' down to Denver, an' livin' mighty high on the hog, if you know what I mean. He's joined the church.

  He's been singin' in the choir, talon' a big hand in all the public meetin's. "The minute he seen your husband, he saw an end to all that, for once the story got out, he'd be finished. Folks might accept a former Confederate, although there's con- , siderable doubt of that, but nobody has any use for a guerrilla. They'd run him out of the country, maybe hang him. He claimed self-defense, ma'am, and he was surely tellin' the truth. He had to kill your husband before he could talk, and he done it."

 
"I suppose you are right."

  "Doesn't that mean something else to you, ma'am?".

  "Of course, Mr. Boone. I see that he must kill me, too, as soon as he discovers I am here."

  "You ever met him?"

  "No, I have not."

  "No matter. Soon as he hears about you, he will know what he has to do, and he will hear. There's already been a lot of talk up an' down the line about you."

  "About me?"

  "Ma'am, you're a mighty beautiful woman, and beautiful women are scarce in this country right now.

  Sooner or later, he's goin' to hear about you and make the connection. As far as that goes, Williams will probably rush to tell him. He recognized you, didn't he?"

  "I doubt it. I do not believe he ever saw me before. I saw him from our window. I was inside the house until it started to burn; then we fled out the back. No, I don't believe he ever saw me."

  She paused. "Mr. Boone? Why did they want Wat?" "Surprised you haven't guessed.

  They want him because he knows where they are hid out.

  Don't you see? They've found a place, and that was where Wat ran away from. They're afraid he'll tell the law, or somebody. If they get him, they'll either keep him locked up, or they'll kill him."

  "Kill a little boy?"

  "Ma'am, in Lawrenceville and some other places, they killed women, children, and old men.

  Besides, the stakes are bigger now. Jason Flandrau has not only been mentioned for governor, he wants to be governor. You've got to get out of here, Mrs. Breydon. You've got to take that little girl of yours and run."

  "I can't." She looked directly into his eyes. "This is my home now. This is my job.

  As far as Jason Fl"... Drau is concerned, he will not be governor if I can help it."