Mary Breydon went outside, standing for a moment in the warm sunlight. Suddenly, all this was very familiar, very real.
Was it here, then, that she would make her home? Was Virginia no longer to be a part of her life? Here she was doing something important. She was a part of the westward movement. In her own small way, she was helping to build America, helping to make so many dreams come true.
Before the war, she knew of this only as a vague place called the West. It was where people went and where so few returned. The East she knew was a place of established families, businesses that had been in operation for many years, children whose great-grandparents had been young together, and it had been a good world in so many ways, a safe world.
That was not true here. Everything was new; everything was building. It was rough, hard, and unpolished. The law was around but never in the way. Men were expected to handle their own difficulties, and courage was the most respected virtue, with integrity a close second. Many a man whom you might call a thief with impunity would shoot you if you called him a liar or a coward.
Temple Boone came outside and stood beside her. “It’s a good country,” he said. “Don’t be judging it too harshly. We’re young yet. We’re still growin’ up. Where society doesn’t have the organization to handle trouble, we have to handle it for ourselves.”
“I know.” She watched the road. The stage would be coming soon. She smiled to herself as the thought came. Was her life to be governed now by arrivals and departures?
“I understand,” she said to Boone, “that you are an admirer of Sir Walter Scott?”
He glanced at her. “I have read him, although I read badly. The people he writes of are much like us, I think, in temperament and war. My first ancestor in this country was a rebel transported from England to Barbados. I know too little of my family but tradition. That much I’ve been told, and even the name of the vessel. It was the John Friggat of Bristol.”
He glanced up the road. “Yes, I like Scott. He speaks to us, I think, and in the Carolinas where I once lived and in Georgia, he is very popular.”
“We will be reading from him tonight if you care to stay. I’ve been reading to Wat and to Peg nearly every night.”
“I shall be there if all goes well.” He touched his hat. “Now I have other business.”
“Mother?” Peg took her hand, watching him walk away. “Do you like him?”
“He is a good man, I think.”
“But do you like him?”
Mary smiled. “Don’t be so persistent! I am not ready to think of that yet. Your father is still too close to me, and when I think of a man, I think of him. When I remember the good things, he was always a part of them. I want to keep those memories, for they were the richest and most beautiful part of my life.
“Besides, I have much to do! I have to keep this station and make it better. I have to find a school for you and Wat and make our home better than it is. I can do this myself.”
“I think you like Mr. Stacy.”
She laughed. “Are you trying to find a romance for me? Mark Stacy is a good man, too, I think. He’s a successful man, and I believe he is a man who will go far.
“You want to remember, Peg, just romance is not enough. You may often imagine yourself in love, but always remember you have to live with that person from day to day, in sickness and in health, as they say.
“You will want to be proud of him when you introduce him to your friends, and you want him to be comfortable with them, as you must be with his friends. One must never marry a man thinking he will change or that you will change him. If he does or you do, then he will not be the same man you married, and the less for it.
“But this is no time to think of that! And I am not even sure I know what I am talking about. Go help Matty set the table for the stage!”
Where was Wat?
She walked across to the stable and looked inside. “Wat?” There was no answer.
The door of the tack room stood open. His bed was neatly made, but there was no sign of him.
Stepping outside, she glanced around. Ridge Fenton was sewing a piece of leather.
“Mr. Fenton? Have you seen Wat?”
“No, ma’am, not in some time. He’s around somewhere. You looked in the barn?”
“He’s not there.”
“Come to think about it, he did say something about huntin’ arrowheads. Said he was all caught up on his work, and he wanted to find somethin’ special for Peg.”
Of course! She should have thought of that; still it was not a place she wanted him to go. It was close enough, yet out of sight of the station.
What was she thinking about? The boy had run free as a wild animal before he joined them. He was a tough little fellow and knew more about getting along in the wilderness than she did. Perhaps more than any of them, Ridge included.
Still, she was going to read a little later, and she had not told him.
She turned up the narrow path into the trees. It was only a little way. She’d have to hurry because Temple Boone would be coming back soon.
It was very quiet. Once around the corner of the hill, if you could call it a corner, all sound of the station seemed to be cut off.
She went down through the trees. It was an open place, right down there—
There was a cry from the brush. “Ma’am! Go back! Run!”
She stepped through the trees, and Scant Luther was standing there, feet apart, grinning at her. Nearby, tied in a bundle, was Wat.
“Figured you’d come lookin’,” he said. “Been any of the others, I’d just a kept from sight. You, I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to see what you was up against.”
“Mr. Luther, you are a very foolish man. If I were you, I’d leave now, while you have the chance. Mr. Boone and Mr. Fenton will be looking for me soon. I am afraid they both have rather short tempers.”
“They do, do they?” He chuckled without humor. “I reckon I can handle the both of them, settin’ back here like I’m gonna be. Settin’ waitin’ for them.”
“I should think, Mr. Luther, that your first experience with us would have been enough. One would think that anybody of intelligence would stay away.”
“I came to get even. I’m a gonna start with you an’ this boy. I’m goin’ to let you see what I do to him, an’ then I’ll do worse to you.”
“Mr. Luther, will you go now? They are expecting me back at the station. I am afraid I cannot wait any longer.”
Oddly, she was not frightened. She knew what she must do and that she had no choice. He was big, a hulking brute, and she hoped—
“You can’t wait no longer? Well, what d’you know? Miss Uppity here can’t wait!
“Won’t do you no good to scream. I already know that hill just cuts off any sound. You an’ me, we’re alone.”
Desperately, Wat struggled. He almost sat up; then he threw himself at Luther’s legs.
Scant, with a bored look, kicked him, then kicked him again.
“Mr. Luther? One more time.” Her face was very cold. She felt very poised, very still inside. She had expected it to be different than this, but—
He started toward her, and with one easy motion she drew one of the derringers from her pocket and shot him.
It was totally unexpected. She had no weapon in sight, and Scant Luther was sure that even if she had one, she would not have the courage or the good sense to use it.
The derringer was a .44 caliber, and it had two barrels.
He was no more than fifteen feet away, and the slug staggered him. He backed up two paces. “Why you—!”
She walked around him toward Wat. She paused, the derringer in her hand. “Mr. Luther, I would suggest you take your wound and get somewhere right away. You are going to need help.”
“Damn you! You—!”
Her heart was pounding heavily, and she could not seem to swallow, but she held the gun steady. Luther took a step toward her.
“Mr. Luther, I have another b
arrel. If I must shoot you, I will.”
He stared at her, his eyes mean and ugly; then, suddenly, his expression changed. His eyes widened; he gasped, and his skin turned an ugly gray.
“You had best go where you can get help, Mr. Luther. You’re going to need it.”
He backed away, then started through the brush in a stumbling run. Beyond, through the trees, she caught a glimpse of his horse.
Putting the gun in her pocket, she knelt beside Wat and began to pluck at the knots with nervous fingers. They were very tight.
“Ma’am? There’s a jackknife in my hip pocket.”
She got it out, opened the big blade, and cut him free. When he stood up, she handed the knife back to him. “Gee, ma’am, you sure fixed ol’ Scant! I never seen the like!”
“Let’s go home, Wat. I—I don’t feel well.”
They had reached the station when they met Ridge Fenton, rifle in hand, hurrying toward them. Matty was on the steps of the station.
“We heard a shot,” Ridge said. Then he added, suddenly concerned at her appearance, “Ma’am? Are you all right?”
“She shot Scant Luther!” Wat exclaimed. “Shot him right through the brisket!”
“You shot Scant?” Fenton was incredulous. “What—?”
“Please! Not now. I want to lie down. Matty—!”
“Sure, mum. You come along with me now.” With an arm around her waist, Matty took her inside. “You just sit down now, mum. A cup of hot tea, that’s what you need. It’s been a shock.”
The cup rattled against the saucer when she took it. A swallow, then another.
“Matty, it was awful! Awful! That man—he had poor Wat all tied up. He was planning to kill me. He was going to kill Wat first, and then—”
“Don’t talk about it, mum. It’s done. It’s over an’ done with.” Matty added tea to her cup. “Mum? There’s another thing to think about.”
“What’s that?”
“You did it, mum. You met him face to face, and when you had to defend yourself, you did it. You stood right on your own two feet and looked him right in the eye, and when there was no help for it, you shot him.
“It is not easy for a woman to be alone, mum, but you did what had to be done. Nothing can take that away from you, and believe me, nobody is goin’ to feel sorry that you shot Scant Luther.”
She shuddered. “I think—I’m going to lie down, Matty. I hate to leave you with everything to be done, but I’m afraid I—”
“You just go lie down. Peg an’ me, we’ll handle it. Won’t we, Peg?”
“Yes, we will.” She ran for the sideboard. “I’ll set the table.”
With Matty beside her, she crossed to the house and lay down on the bed. Matty returned to the station, and she lay for a long time, staring up at the ceiling.
She had shot a man.
It was unbelievable. She—Mary Claybourne, Mary Breydon, had actually shot a man with a pistol.
It was long after dark when she awakened. She lay still for a minute, listening. Lights were on in the station, and several horses were tied at the corral.
Lighting a match, she lifted the chimney from the lamp and touched the match to the wick. When it caught, she replaced the chimney and looked at herself in the mirror.
She looked a sight, and there were people at the station. Suddenly, she remembered.
She had not reloaded the empty barrel after the gun was fired. Her father had taught her that, and she had heard Temple Boone mention it, also. She got a cartridge and reloaded the gun, glad the derringer was so easily loaded. Her larger gun was cap and ball and took more time. Some of the older men did not like what they called the “newfangled” guns.
She crossed the street to the station.
Mark Stacy was sitting at the table when she entered. With him was Preston Collier. Both men got to their feet promptly.
Temple Boone was there, also, tall, lean, and quiet; his eyes searched her face.
“Mrs. Breydon!” Stacy said. “We’ve been told what happened! Please join us. We’ve been worried about you, very worried.”
“Why? It is all over now.”
“We just wish it were,” Collier said, “but we’ve had word there’s trouble coming, serious trouble.”
She smiled suddenly. “We’ve had trouble here, Mr. Collier, and we’ve handled it. Whatever is coming, we can handle that, too!”
Chapter 22
*
MRS. BREYDON, TEMPLE Boone has assured us you are not easily frightened, so we are going to place the matter before you.
“This is Monday. On Saturday next, there will be a stage leaving Denver carrying at least six men. Four of these men have already paid their fares and are completing their business before starting for Laramie.
“We know, and others know as well, that these men will be carrying rather large sums of money. These men will ride a special stage accompanying the usual run. They are en route to California.
“We also have learned that Denver Cross is aware of this and plans to rob both stages, and if our information is correct, he plans to do it here.
“It seems,” Collier added, “that he intends to take care of some unfinished business here at the same time.”
“How many men will he have? Denver Cross, I mean?”
“We understand there will be six men involved, and we will be prepared for them.”
“I think he will have more than that,” Mary Breydon said. “I think he will have twice that many.”
Collier smiled, shaking his head. “We know who the men are. We also know that is all he has. We know Mercer will be there, and Williams, of course. Neff is believed to be one of them—”
“He won’t be there,” Temple Boone said.
They glanced up at him. “He won’t be able to make it,” Boone said.
“Nevertheless,” Collier persisted, “we understand there will be six men.” He glanced over at Mary. “I am involved because two of the men traveling west are business associates of mine who are also friends. I want nothing to happen to them.”
“I want nothing to happen to anyone at my station,” Mary said.
“Of course,” Collier agreed. “The point is that we expect to have a reception committee awaiting the outlaws, and we would like you and your family to be in Laporte.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No,” Mary said. “This is my station, and it is my responsibility. I will not be away when there is to be trouble.”
“We want no harm to come to you, nor your daughter.”
“Neither do I, but my place is here. Also, as you must realize, the outlaws would know we were gone and would immediately suspect something was wrong.
“No, gentlemen, our place is here, and this is where we will be. There may be injuries. The passengers will certainly wish to be fed. Now unless I am mistaken, the outlaws will have one or more men inside the station before the trouble begins.”
“That’s good thinking, Mrs. Breydon.” Mark Stacy turned to Collier. “Of course, she’s right. They will have a couple of riders, men strange to Mrs. Breydon, probably, or at least men who will keep her attention on them, waiting here in the station.”
Temple Boone straddled a chair. “Look,” he suggested. “How are they going to do it? Come charging in here a-horseback, alerting everybody that something is about to happen?
“I think Mrs. Breydon is right. Suppose they have two men eating in here, innocent as babes. Another man could be getting Ridge Fenton to fix a horseshoe for him or some other little chore.
“They’ll know all about Ridge. He always talks peace and is readier for a fight than any man I know. They’ll want one or two men there to put him out of action.
“A couple of others might come shagging down the pike and ride over to the corral just before the stage comes in. They’d have Ridge out of action, they’d have Mrs. Breydon and Matty Maginnis locked up, and they could open fire on the stage from three directions.”
&n
bsp; “Open fire?” Collier exclaimed. “This is to be a holdup. Why should they open fire?”
“Mr. Boone is right,” Mary said. “We know who some of these men are. They are former guerrillas, and they kill the weak and helpless as well as others. They will want no witnesses left alive to testify against them or to identify them.”
“Mrs. Breydon,” Collier said, “I am going to insist that you be away from here. You could go to my ranch. You’d be safe there—”
“No, Mr. Collier. A year ago, I might have done just that, but a lot has happened this past year, both before I came here and since. I will be here, where I should be.”
Mark Stacy interrupted. “Mrs. Breydon? You can be here if you wish, although the stage company certainly does not expect it of you, but if you are to be here, promise me that you’ll all get into Matty’s room with the door locked the minute that stage rolls into the yard.
“You see,” he said, “that stage will be loaded with deputies, heavily armed, waiting for trouble. That stage is strongly built, and my men will all have shotguns.”
“They’ll be watching the stage when the passengers get aboard in Laporte,” Boone said.
Collier smiled. “Of course. But the passengers they encounter will be a different group of men. Don’t worry, Boone. They’ll be surprised. We’ll get the lot of them.”
Tuesday passed quietly, and Wednesday, yet Mary could feel the tension building within her. Had she been foolish? How could she dare risk the lives of Peg and Wat? Or of Matty? Or even to allow the children to see such a thing or be close to it. No matter what took place, men would be killed or injured, and with all that shooting going on, there was no telling who might be killed.
“Matty,” she said when they were alone, “I am frightened.”
“I know, mum. I feel just the same. ’Tis a power of wickedness there is in the world, and too bad that the likes of you an’ me must suffer for it. You could go, mum. I’d stay.
“I’m not suggestin’ you’re afraid, but it’s just that my life has been rougher than yours. I’m used to it now. I’d not want you or Peg to see what will happen.”
Louis L'Amour Page 16