When they came to the door, the Indian very solemnly handed the fresh meat to Wat. Then he glared at Matty. "No for yowl Papoosesl"
Then they rode away, but as they reached the place where the road turned, they looked back. Matty waved, and they waved in return.
There were no days without work, but now the work had fallen into patterns, and each knew what must be done.
"That Wat," Ridge Fenton said one morning, "if he keeps on the way he's goin', he'll work me out of a jobl"
"The lad's no blacksmith," Matty said, "although he's good with horses." "No blacksmith, is it? He watches me all the time, helps when he can. That boy's learnin' too durned fast!"
Later, Matty asked Wat, "Is it a smith you're goin' to be? Mr. Fenton says you are pickin' it up an' rarely fast."
"No, ma'am. I don't figure to be no blacksmith, but every man should have him a trade, something to fall back on in time of need."
"What do you really want to be?" Mary asked.
Wat flushed and looked down at his plate.
"I'd like to write stories like that Sir Walter Scott you read from."
"It's hard work, Wat, and very few writers make a good living." -- "That Sir Walter Scott did. Temple Boone said he did mighty well." "Temple Boone told you that?"
She was surprised.
"It's true, ain't it?"
"Yes, it is. He was a very popular writer.
So were Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare. They all did very well."
She paused. "How did Mr. Boone happen to tell you that?" "He was readin' him. He was reading a book by Sir Walter Scott. He was slow at it, he said, but he was going to get better and read faster. He said a man could be anything he wants to be if he'll just try hard enough." "And what does Mr. Boone want to be?"
Wat looked at her slyly. "He'll most likely tell you hisself when he gets around to it."
She exchanged a look with Matty.
"We can all improve ourselves, Wat. In these days, with books so easily had, there's no reason for anyone not to have an education. And if you want to be a writer, you should be reading a lot and not just the sort of thing you wish to write but other things as well."
After Wat had returned to the stable, Matty said, "He's a fine upstanding man, mum. Mr. Boone is a man any girl might set her cap for."
"It is too soon for me to think of that, Matty.
I was very much in love with Marshall, and he's never far from my thoughts. Anyway, I must go back to Virginia when the war is over. After all, my home is there, and Peg's future."
"I've been wonderin" about that, mum. You gettin' more western all the time. You've changed, mum, whether you recognize it or not."
"Maybe."
"And there's that nice Mr. Stacy. He's a good man, too, with a good job, and he's one who will do well. Folks talk of buildin' a railroad west after the war, and they say he's mixed up with it somehow."
She straightened up from the washboard where she had been washing clothes. "What I like about this country is that nobody thinks anything is too big or too hard. If they want to do something, they just take it for granted they can do it, and then they just naturally go ahead." She scrubbed for a few minutes and then said, "Although Mr. Boone says, and I think he's right, that the railroads will change the country for the worse. They'll make it richer, but the people will be different.
"Now it takes them a while to get here, and they hear a lot of talk and pick up a certain way of thinking. Western folks have standards. They have a certain way of behaving toward women and toward each other, and when they make a deal, their word is enough.
"When the railroads get in, Mr. Boone thinks that will change. A lot of people will be coming West with different ways and ideas. He may be right. I met some people back East I wouldn't want to see out here."
"But all of us came from back East!"
"Yes, mum, we did, but the West has a way of weeding out the bad ones, or they don't last.
There's a few, like Scant Luther, but mighty few. "That outlaw Johnny Havalik, the one who gave his boots to Wat, they say he'd never rob a woman. He'd stop a stage and take the money from everybody else but never from a woman."
When she had finished ironing and folding the clothes, Mary Breydon walked outside. There was a feeling of change in the air, the first touch of spring, probably, although it was a bit early for that.
She stood looking down the valley. How quickly one forgotl She could hardly believe there was a war on and that people whom she knew were fighting and dying. It all seemed so far from here, as though it were another world, yet there was a difference, and it was not only in the air.
Everybody who came West was coming to build, some to build in the West, some merely to get rich and get out, but all were intending to do great things, to grow, to achieve. She heard the talk of the stage passengers while they were eating. None of them seemed to have any doubts; none of them seemed worried by Indians, by deserts, mountains, or the wilderness.
This was their land of Canaan, the land where dreams came true, but here there was a difference, for each one of them seemed sure that he had to make the dreams come true, that it would be the result of something he did.
Peg came out and stood beside her. "It's nice, isn't it, mama?"
"Yes, it is, Peg."
How long before the war was over? How long before they could think of returning? And what about Peg? Her memories would be of Cherokee Station, and when she looked back, it would be at these quiet hills, at these weather-worn buildings, at memories of Matty, Wat, and Mr. Boone.
Peg had been too young. She could scarcely be expected to remember the parties, the balls, the beautifully dressed people, the music and the house with its white columns and its vine-covered walls. She would have no memories of the smartly trotting horses bringing the black, varnished carriages to their door and the people getting down from them and her father welcoming them at the door.
All in the past, and they were her memories, not Peg's. "Matty?" The Irish girl had come to the door to throw out some water. "We must find that land, file claims for ourselves. When the war is over, there will be thousands of people coming West, all wanting land."
"Yes, mum, I'd like a bit of land, a place with trees and a stream. was "Maybe we should look further west? In the mountains?" "It's like the rest of them, mum. No matter where you are, there is always something else that might be better, just a little further west." It was true, of course. Wandering got into the blood, and there were always those greener pastures that lay over the fence or over the next range of mountains.
Here all was strange and new yet somehow familiar. Western men and women had little time for contemplation, although Temple Boone said he did most of his thinking alongside a campfire or when riding. Western men were thinking of how things could be done; they were used to making do. Since coming to Cherokee, she had heard several stories of men alone who had set their own broken bones, amputated limbs, doing what could be done to survive. Only a few miles away, two sisters had built their own log cabin. Yet she was hungry for news from home. There were few letters, but newspapers were occasionally left at the station, and a couple of mere had left books. She listened hungrily to the talk among the passengers. So much was happening in the world, and she heard so little of it.
Back home, there would be talk, much of it idle chatter, of course, but there would be talk of government and policy, of art, music, and books, of what was happening in Europe and occasionally even in Asia or Affica. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow had just published Tales of a Wayside Inn, Jules Verne had written Five Weeks in a Balloon, and George Eliot had published Romola. In Paris, Bizet had a new opera, Les Pescheurs, and people back East and even out here were singing "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" and "Clementine." A man in New York had invented something they called roller skates that had little rubber wheels instead of blades. A French firm had begun selling Perrier water bottled at a spring near Nimes. An American writer, Nathaniel Hawthorne, had di
ed, and so had the French artist Delacroix. U. S. Grant had been made commander in chief of the Union armies.
Mary had never heard of him until some victories were won in the West. He had never been considered among the great generals, like Meade or McClellan. Someone on one of the stages had said that he and Lee had served together in the war with Mexico.
"We're so far from everything)" she spoke suddenly, impatiently. "We're missing so much, Matty)"
"Yes, mum, but look about you. We are where so much is happening and where so much is about to happen. I think we are fortunate, mum, because we are among the first. If we look about us, I think we can both become rich women, and I do not mean by simply marrying some man who has it." She gestured westward. "They are finding gold and silver in the mountains, mum. There was a man stopped by the other mornin', a man with a horse and two donkeys, and he was headed west, worried about food supplies and blastin' powder, mum."
She twisted the water from a towel. "I grubstaked him, mum." "You did what?"
"When you put up the money for a prospector's sup- plies, they call it "grubstakin'," and if he makes a strike, a find of gold or silver, that is, then you share in it."
"How much of a share?"
"One-third, mum." She dried her hands and took from her pocket a paper. "He signed this, mum. If he makes a find, I get one-third of it all, forever."
"What if you never see him again?"
"I'll hear it if he finds anything, and if he does na come to me with it, I will surely go to him.
He's an Irishman, mum, and although the Good Lord knows there are thieves among us, too, I told him I'd go to Cork and look up his kinfolk there and tell them what a blackguard he'd become. I'd also set the law on him." She smiled a little.
"Or maybe Ridge Fenton or Temple Boone."
"How much did you give him?"
"All I'd saved, mum, but I shall eat here, and there will be a bit of a wage cumin" to me soon, and I'm going nowhere at all."
She took up her tub to carry to the door. "Here he comes, mum. Temple Boone, I mean, and you'd better fix your hair a mite."
Mary gave her an exasperated look. "I shall fix my hair, and thank you for telling me, but I am not, as you phrased it, "settin' my cap' for Temple Boonel"
"You could do worse, mum. He's a bit on the rough and wild side, but a true man, with it all, and mum, they are hard to come byl" A quick look in the mirror did show a strand of loose hair here and there. She straightened it with quick, deft fingers. She was not interested in Temple Boone, but nonetheless---
He paused inside the door, hat in hand, giving her a quick, approving glance, and she was glad she had straightened her hair. "Mind if I pour myself some coffee, Mrs. Breydon? No reason for me to disturb you, I'm just sort of passin' through."
"Do help yourself, Mr. Boone. Did Matty tell you that the children almost ran upon Scant Luther?"
"He's been scoutin' around, ma'am. It's about time I gave him his walkin' papers."
"There's no need. I still have my pistol."
He smiled. "Havin' a pistol and knowin' when to use it are two different things. Use your best judgment, ma'am, but don't wait too long.
Luther has no business here, and the company does not want him around. If he comes, it is because he is li. Eain' to cause trouble. And don't waste rime reasonin' with him. He knows what the game is.
Tell him to get Off, and if he makes a step toward you, shoot him. It isn't as if he was a stranger. You know him and what he's like."
Boone sat down with his coffee. "There's talk around, ma'am. Your station is makin' a name for itself, and it is being talked of as an overnight station."
"But we haven't room!"
"That's just it. They'd build on some sleepin' rooms. Add to the place." He sipped his coffee. "Mean something to you, too, ma'am, because your salary would go up."
She had not thought of that. It would not be much, of course, but it would help.
"I suppose I must thank Mark Stacy for that."
"No, ma'am. You did it yourself, you and Matty and the others. Whenever you offer good food, good service, and a bright, friendly atmosphere, you will be talked about.
Travelers tell each other, and about the bad places, too."
He refilled his cup, straddling the bench beside the table. "I've been thinkin', ma'am. I mean I've been thinkin' about you. Now-" "Mum? That man Jordy Neff? He's comin" down the road, and he's ridin' with two others."
Temple Boone turned sharply to look up the road. Then he reached back and slipped the loop from the hammer of his six-shooter. "I see him." Mary Breydon's expression changed. "And he's riding my horse I"
Temple Boone watched Jordy Neff dismount. His features were tight and hard. "Mrs.
Breydon," even the tone of his voice had changed, "are you ready for trouble?"
"What kind of trouble?"
"Shooting trouble," he replied.
"The stage is coming in," she said. "Nothing can happen until it is gone."
"Tell that to Neff," he said. "His kind doesn't wait, and that's Williams and Mody Mercer with him." He turned to look at her. "This is killing trouble. Where's Peg?"
"She's across the road, in our house. When the stage comes in, she will come over to help."
"She mustn't. She's got to stay there." As Mary started to move, he put up a hand. "Nol Stay here! She will have to take her chances." "What do you mean? Why should there be trouble?" "Flandrau's been wanting to be rid of you. Jordy is his pet killer, and as for Mercer, he'll stop at nothing, just nothing at all."
"But the stage-I"
Boone turned to Matty. "Serve them, serve the stage people, too." Mary Breydon stood staring out of the window. "That horse is mine!" Suddenly she was angry. "If they want trouble, they can have itl"
"Mary! Mrs. Breydon, think what you're doing.
The men you're lookin' at are utterly vicious.
You've never seen their like!" "Oh, yes, I have!
They raided Harlequin Oaksl They killed some of our people! They ran off our stock!"
He stared at her. Didn't she realize there were three of them, and it was he alone against them?
Where was Ridge Fenton? Where the hell was Ridge? He could take-maybe he could take Neff, but what about the others? "Mrs.
Breydon." He spoke softly. "For God's sake, don't say anything about that horse) Not now!"
"I'll do no such-to "
"Here comes the stage," Matty said. She wiped her hands on her apron, smoothed down her dress.
"Ma'am? The stage is here."
It came around the corner at a spanking trot, swung around the half circle, and pulled up at the station. Jordy Neff and his men were just outside the door. They turned to look.
"Matty?" Boone whispered. "Where's the shotgun?" She gestured toward the bedroom door.
"Right inside my door, left-hand side."
He backed up toward the door, his cup of coffee in his left hand. Jordy first . . . he would be the quickest one, then Mercer and Williams- He was good with a gun, and he knew he was good, but three of them? And a perfect chance for Mary Breydon to be killed, accidentally. An innocent bystander.
They swung open the door and came in, just ahead of the passengers. Neff stared across the table at Boone. "Well, what d'you know?
Temple Boonel Look what we got here, fellas Temple Boonel He stared at Boone, smiling a little. "You killed Longman, didn't you? He was a friend of mine."
"He was a thief. He had it coming."
Neff laughed. "Of course, he did! He killed his share, Lord knows! Men, women, maybe children, I don't know, but I set store by him. We rode together."
The passengers were trooping in. There were nine of them, at least four of them with the mark of the West on them. Two were strong-looking men wearing gun belts.
Two others were business types, but both were armed.
All four were tanned and rugged.
Matty moved quickly, quietly, serving them the steaks she had prep
ared. They were elk meat and very good.
One of the newcomers glanced from Neff to Boone, then apparently nudged his companion. The man edged over, out of the line of fire. Neff forked a piece of the steak into his mouth, and Mary Breydon said, "Mr. Neff, you are riding a stolen horse!"
His mouth was full; he was chewing, and he had another piece of meat on his fork, halfway to his mouth. Caught in midmovement, he stared; an ugly glint came into his eyes and passed.
He put down his fork slowly, chewed and swallowed. "Ma'am, you bein' a woman- "Mr.
Neff, I said you are riding a stolen horse. The horse belongs to me. He was stolen in a guerrilla raid on my plantation at Harlequin Oaks."
Neff s face was a shade more pale. He glanced briefly at the men across from him. "There's a lot of horses, ma'am. It's easy to make a mistake, you' know. I-"
"This is no mistake, Mr. Neff. That horse was stolen, and he belongs to me." She reached into her pocket. "I had been planning to put these papers in the hands of the sheriff, but as long as you have brought the horse here, there may be no need of that.
"These papers," she added, "are the pedigree papers for the horse you have been riding. The horse belongs to mel"
Jordy Neff's face slowly began to flush.
All eyes were on him. Who did this woman think she was, anyway? Callin" him like this in front of everybody? "You're makin a mistake, lady," he said. "That there horse is mine."
"Sir?" She spoke to one of the men at the table.
"I dislike to disturb your lunch, but would you step out there and look under that horse's mane? Look high up and you will find a C branded there."
"My father's name and mine before I was married was Claybourne. That horse was raised on Harlequin Oaks,. She was a pet of mine."
"Ma'am? Are you accusin' me?"
"I am not. I am simply saying you are riding a horse that waSo stolen from me and for which I have the papers. Do you have a bill of sale, Mr.
Neff?" His face flushed a deeper red. He was fairly trapped and had no idea what to do. If he drew a gun here, somebody was going to get killed, and he had a feeling that maybe these strangers might take a hand. Mody and Williams were there, but- Williams slowly, carefully pushed back his corner of the bench and stood up. "I am going to pay you, ma'am. Is it two bits?"
the Cherokee Trail (1982) Page 14