"Mr. Boone? Shouldn't there be more horses? That's the team that brought us in last night. I a.s.sume they are fit to take a stage out again, but it would be better if they had more rest. And what if one of them was indisposed?"

He smiled at the word but looked thoughtful when he glanced toward the corral. "There should be more horses here, ma'am. In fact, my horse should be here."

He paused, and glancing at him, she saw his eyes had lost the lurking smile. "You'd better let me handle this, ma'am. But you're right. There should be at least six more horses in that corral aside from mine. That Luther's been a lot of things, but I didn't think he was a horse thief."

"That's a very serious accusation."

"It is, ma'am, but a man who steals a man's horse can steal his life. Many a time a man's horse is all that's between him and a mighty ugly death. We don't have much patience with horse thieves, ma'am."

"The law-"

"Ma'am, I respect the law. We need it, but we don't have any more protection than we can give ourselves. There ain't an officer of any kind within a hundred miles, and even if they were around, they can't act until after the fact, ma'am. After your horse is stole or you're dead, they can hunt down those who done it, but you're just as dead as if there was no law. Any man who steals my horse has bought hisself a ticket."

She was thinking, frowning a little. "Mr. Boone? Do you think Scant Luther would steal from Ben Holladay?"

"He'd be careful, mighty careful. Ben's not a man to fool around with, and Scant's not one to take chances."

"What facts do we have, Mr. Boone? Six horses, seven, including yours, are missing. You say Scant is no fool, so where are the horses?

"Suppose," she suggested, "he planned to steal them but did not want to take chances? What would he do?"

Boone pushed his hat back on his head. "Well-I reckon he might just drive those horses off, not too far, mind you, an' hold them where he could produce them if need be. Then he might wait to see what happened."

"And where would he hold them?"

Temple Boone looked off down the valley, thinking. After a moment, he said, "This here's pretty wide-open country. There's canyons here and there, some good hideaways if you know the country, but I'd say the best place would be Steamboat Rock, but that's quite a ways."

"Wouldn't there be tracks?"

Boone hesitated. "Could be. Ain't been much rain lately."

"Are you a good tracker, Mr. Boone? I understood you'd been a scout for the army?"

"Now see here! What're you thinkin' about?"

"I'm going after those horses, Mr. Boone. I am the agent for the company, and I am responsible."

"Ma'am, you're crazy! Off in those hills, alone, that Luther would shoot you down like a dog! You just back off now. You leave this to me."

She turned swiftly away without replying and walked back to the house. Once inside the station, she stood thinking; then she turned to helping Matty prepare for the incoming stage.

"Matty? I don't know who is on the next stage, but we have to feed them, and Matty, I want to send them away from here talking about it." She looked around at Matty. "Are you a fighter, Matty?"

"I'm Irish, mum."

"All right, we're fighting for your job and mine. Let's win."

When the stage rolled in, the food was on the table, and it was hot. There had been little to choose from, for she had yet to order supplies, but there was ham and beans and two apple pies made from dried apples.

Among the supplies, she found some bolts of calico for trading with the Indians. From one of them, she cut enough material for a tablecloth. It was bright red, but it was also attractive.

There were six pa.s.sengers, one of them a woman; the others were city men and one army officer headed for Fort Laramie.

One of the city men, a tall, serious-looking man with a beard, paused in leaving, hat in hand. "Thank you, ma'am. That's the best food we've had on the trip."

"Thank you, sir. Come back next week when I've had a chance to order supplies."

He smiled. "I'll do that, ma'am. I really will."

When the stage was gone, she took off her ap.r.o.n. "Matty? You're in charge. I'll be gone for a few hours."

"Hours?"

"I've got a job to do, Matty. Some of our horses are missing."

"What-?"

"Ma'am?" Wat interrupted Matty. "I can track."

"You can?"

"I growed up out here, ma'am. I been trackin' lost cows or findin' hid calves since I was able to walk. Anyway, I figure I know where those horses are."

For a moment, she hesitated. "All right, Wat. Get our horses-Oh, I forgot! We don't have any horses but those from the stage that just came in."

"Can you walk a couple of miles?" Wat asked. "It ain't no further."

"All right, Wat. Shall we go?"

He hesitated. "There's liable to be somebody there, an' I think we'd better have a gun."

"I'll get my rifle."

"No, ma'am. There's a shotgun in there. It's a spare for the express messenger. I seen it, and I seen some loads for it. You take your rifle and they ain't goin' to pay much attention, but you take that shotgun an' get close-they'll listen to you, ma'am."

She looked at him again and hesitated. She was a fool, and Mr. Boone was right. She would be more than a fool if she went after those horses with nothing but a small boy to show her the way. Nevertheless- Her jaw muscles tightened. She would go. If a man could do it, why couldn't she?

Wat led the way, taking off down a narrow, dusty path back of the corral that led off across the road and under the trees. When they had walked almost a mile, Wat dropped back beside her. "Ma'am? If you want to say somethin' to me now, you hsst at me. Don't you go to speakin' out. They'll hear you, sure."

"What's there, Wat? Do you know?"

"Yes'm. It's just a rope corral an' a place under the trees where they bed down. There's water there, an' stole horses been held there many a time."

It was very quiet. A fly buzzed past her face. She felt a small trickle of perspiration on her cheek. She brushed it away and shifted the shotgun again. It was heavy, heavier than she thought.

Wat stopped again, then motioned her forward, and she saw them. There were nine horses in a small rope corral, and beyond them, under a tree, a man was sleeping on his rolled-out bed. Nearby, there were some ashes and a coffeepot on the fire. As she started to step forward, Wat put up a restraining hand.

Another man came down from the trees, and walking over to the bed, he bent over to pick up his gun belt. Quickly, she stepped out into the open. "Leave that alone!"

Startled, the man paused and looked around. He saw only a woman and a small boy. He spoke. "Bob?"

"Lemme alone. I'm sleepin'."

"Bob, we got comp'ny."

The man sat up. "Huh? What-" He looked again. "h.e.l.l, it's that woman from the stage station. The one who took the whip to Scant."

"That's right, gentlemen, and I've come for the stage-company horses and also that saddle horse that belongs to Temple Boone."

"To who?" The seated man got quickly to his feet. "d.a.m.n it, Pike! You never told me that was Boone's horse!"

"What difrence does it make? Who the h.e.l.l is Boone?"

"If he finds we got his horse, you'll sure be findin' out who he is." He turned toward Mary Breydon, who had walked closer.

"Lady," he started to say.

"Back up and sit down again. You, too, Pike."

"Now, look here, ma'am," Pike started to say, "I-"

"Mr. Pike, or whatever your name is, I've got an express gun here, it is loaded, and I'm very nervous. If you should frighten me, I am apt to shoot it, and I have done a lot of shooting at ducks. I think it would be much easier to hit you. I hope I don't have to."

She gestured with a movement of her head. "Wat, get our horses."

"Like h.e.l.l!" Pike started to take a step, and her thumb eared back the hammer on one barrel. It was a sharp, very audible click. Pike stopped so quick he teetered on his toes, then settled back.

"For G.o.d's sake, Pike!" Bob said. "She means it!"

Wat was running a lead rope from halter to halter with all the skill of an old-timer. Then he caught a mane hold on one of the stage horses and swung to its back.

"Kid," Pike shouted, "you get off that hoss an' leave them be or by the eternal I'll have your hide!"

"You got to catch me first!" Wat yelled. "Come on, ma'am! Give 'em a barrel just for luck!"

"Not this time." She was very cool. "Stay away from Cherokee Station," she said quietly, amazed at her own steadiness. "I don't want to kill a man again."

Only when she was under the trees did she turn her back to them, and behind her she heard Bob say, "Did you hear that? She said she didn't want to kill a man again!"

Wat looked down from his horse. "Who'd you kill, ma'am? Was it one of them sojers who tore up your plantation?"

"I have never killed anyone, Wat. I don't know why I said *again.' It just slipped out."

"It was the right word, ma'am. You surely gave 'em the right word." He began to chuckle. "Wait until Scant Luther hears about this!"

Chapter 4.

SHE REMEMBERED SO well what her father had said, "Don't waste time worrying about the mistakes of yesterday. Each morning is a beginning. Start from there."

As she had begun, so she continued. Each night, before going to bed, she took a small tablet and planned her work for the next day, thinking out each step that must be taken.

Wat, working like a man twice his size, had cleaned the stable. She walked through it, inspecting the job he had done. When she finished, she said, "Wat? Come back to the station with me."

At the station, she said, "Matty? There was a piece of that apple pie left. Is it still there?"

"Yes, mum."

"Give it to Wat. Let him eat it now. He's just finished a job he can be proud of."

As she was leaving the station, she turned to him again. "Wat? Can you whittle?"

"Whittle? Ma'am, any boy who has a jackknife can whittle. I been whittlin' since...well, I been whittlin' seems like forever."

"All right, in your spare time, or whenever you feel like it, I want you to whittle some pegs about a foot long, about an inch thick, and I want them peeled."

"How many?"

"About two dozen, I think." At his puzzled expression, she said, "I want some pegs on which to hang the harness in the tack room."

"You could use nails. That's what most folks do."

"Wooden pegs are better, Wat. They are less destructive of the harness."

"All right, ma'am. I'll sure do it." He turned back to the table and the slice of apple pie.

WHEN WILBUR PATTISHAL wheeled his stage into the street of Laporte, Mark Stacy was waiting for him on the boardwalk in front of the stage.

"Wilbur? What's this I hear? Who's that woman running the station out at Cherokee?"

Wilbur's face was expressionless. Only his eyes showed a faint amus.e.m.e.nt. "You hired M. O. Breydon. That's her."

"A woman? At Cherokee?"

"She fired Scant Luther," Wilbur said. "And man, did she ever fire him! Ran him out o' there with a whip!"