"Scant? I don't believe it."

"She done it, though. And that ain't all. Somebody-I ain't sayin' it was Scant-stole a team and Temple Boone's gelding. She went over there afoot an' brought 'em back. She had herself a shotgun, and the way Wat tells it, they didn't see fit to put up any argument."

"Who is Wat?"

"Youngster she has workin' for her. She's got an Irish maid, too. Maid an' cook."

"We'll see about that. I gave n.o.body authority to do any hiring. And a woman? At Cherokee?"

"Mr. Stacy? Was I you, I'd walk soft goin' out there. You go in there all hot to change things an' you're liable to lose her.

"She taken over just about the time you left for Kansas City, and in the two weeks she's been there, she's turned that place around. You go out there an' take a good long look at things before you start firin' people."

Stacy swore softly, but he was thoughtful. Wilbur Pattishal was a character, no question about that, but he was also the best driver on the line, and he was no fool.

Fired Scant Luther? Impossible! Nonetheless, operating a stage station was no job for a woman no matter how big and tough she was.

Fired Scant? There had to be something wrong about that. Could be they were working together. There was no question that Scant was a thief, but n.o.body was in a hurry to accuse him of it.

He had started into the office; now he stopped. She had recovered Temple Boone's horse. What was Boone doing out there?

Mark Stacy knew Boone but slightly. He had come drifting into the country very much a loner and supposedly from Texas. Like many another western man, his past was his own secret, and he never spoke of it. He had worked for other stage lines as a shotgun guard, had trapped some, prospected, rounded up and captured wild horses, and the story around was that he was good with a gun.

What was he doing at Cherokee?

When Wilbur came out of the office, Stacy turned to him. "Wilbur? What's Boone doing out there? Is he tied in with Luther?"

"The other way around, seems to me. He was on the stage Miz Breydon come in on, settin' back there quiet, mindin' his own affairs.

"He seen her fire Luther, standin' by, just lookin' on, but I had an idea if she'd needed help, he'd have stepped in mighty quick." Wilbur chuckled. "Only she didn't need help. No way."

"I don't like it, Wilbur. D'you suppose there was some connection between them before?"

Pattishal took out a thin cigar and bit off the end. "If I was you, I'd not waste time speculatin'. I'd go out there an' see for myself. But I'd step mighty soft if I was you, too. That's no ordinary woman. That's a lady."

Stacy snorted and walked off down the street. What a mess! Getting rid of Luther was one thing, and he was glad the man was gone, but a woman? At Cherokee, of all places?

When he reached the corner, he paused. A big man standing on the corner turned toward him. The man wore a badge on his shirt. "Howdy, Mark! Hear you got a woman runnin' the station out to Cherokee?"

"Not for long. That's no place for a woman no matter how tough she is." Stacy paused. "Marshal? Have you heard anything new about Denver Cross's outfit?"

The marshal was watching a rider down the street, and he took his time replying. "No, not a word." He turned his eyes to Stacy. "But I'd be careful if you're shipping any treasure. They are around somewhere, holed up back in the mountains."

"How about Johnny Havalik?"

"There's a story around; some of the boys been telling it in the saloons. The word is that Johnny's dead. The story is that Denver Cross shot him."

"I wish it had been the other way around. Havalik seemed like the best of a bad lot."

"He was a loner, though, and Cross wanted men around who would step to his music. He didn't like loners."

"You don't know where they're holed up?"

"No, I don't, and I'm not lookin'. I've trouble enough right here in Laporte and between here and Denver. What happens north of here- "The fact is, I've had an idea there was some kind of tie-up between Scant Luther and Cross. I was keepin' an eye on Scant, hoping something would turn up, but now that woman of yours turned him out, so I've lost that chance."

"Luther and Cross? How did you make that tie-up?"

"Cross used to waste around down to Fort Griffin. So did Luther. Scant had a saloon down that way where some of the rough crowd used to hang out, and Denver dealt cards there for a while."

THERE HAD BEEN no time to dream, no time to remember. Only at night, when at last she could lie down, could she think back to other days. Yet they were now no more than a memory, almost as if they had never been. The great white house with the pillars, the long green fields, the white fences, the splendid horses, and the long, quiet rides with her father as he rode over and supervised the plantation.

All gone now. The land was there, and the land was hers, and sometime after the war was over, she would go back; she would rebuild the house, the barns, the fences. Not as magnificently as they had been, for she would not have the money, but she would rebuild and begin again.

That was all for tomorrow. Perhaps before Peg became a young lady, if they were fortunate. Possibly she, too, could come of age in the beautiful land now so torn and ravaged by war, that land so far away, so lost to her now.

"One day," her father had often said, "this will all be yours, so you must learn how it functions. Never trust your affairs to anyone else. If you have a foreman or a superintendent, that's fine, but be sure you know what is going on. You give the orders, you check to make sure your wishes are carried out."

The old days were far away now, but the lessons were not. Here the problems were the same, increased by the difficulty that some men simply did not like to take orders from a woman.

Her every muscle ached. Working right along with Matty, she had washed, swept, mopped, and dusted. They had baked bread, made cookies, and she had made up a requisition for supplies.

At last, she had turned to the cottage where they would live. When it was swept and mopped, she moved their bedding there, put her few books on a shelf, and got out the picture of her late husband.

Shortly before stage time, when they were setting the table, she suddenly thought of something.

"Matty? At first, you did not tell me you had a pistol."

"No, mum, not at first. A woman's not expected to have a gun."

"But you had one?"

"Yes, mum, and I kept it hid. You'd best do the same. If they know you have it, they will do their best to get it from you. If they don't know you have it until you need one, it can make all the difference."

It was good advice, and she must have a pistol, a gun she could handle easily and have close at all times. She remembered the shock when she first looked into Scant Luther's eyes and saw the hatred and the violence there. He was a man who would stop at nothing, and the story that he had been horsewhipped by a woman would by now have reached from Denver to Laramie to Julesburg.

The pa.s.sengers were boarding the stage when Wilbur Pattishal stopped near her. "Ma'am? Mark Stacy will be on the stage next time it comes. Or maybe the time after, but he's comin', and he doesn't believe any woman can run a stage station on the Cherokee Trail."

"Thank you, Wilbur. We're ready for him."

"I'd sure hate to lose you, ma'am. All the people are sayin' how good your food is and all. It's the best I ever et." He paused. "Seen some Injuns this side of Virginia Dale. Friendlies, seemed like, but Injuns are notional, ma'am, so you be careful. Remember this, an Injun respects strength an' mighty little else. He respects strength an' honesty."

"I have heard you could trust their word."

"Ma'am," Wilbur said patiently, "Injuns are folks. They're like you an' me and Scant Luther. Some you can trust; some you can't. There's just as many honest folks among Injuns as among white or black. An' there's just as many thieves and liars.

"Injuns have their decent men like Mark Stacy, an' they have their Scant Luthers, too. There's just no way a body can say anybody is all this or that. You've got to judge each man by himself."

"Thank you, Wilbur."

She watched the stage leave and then turned back toward the stage station. Wat was washing his hands in the basin by the door. She stopped near him.

"Wat? I want to thank you. No matter what happens here, I shall never forget you. You've been a pillar of strength, and no man could have done better."

He flushed and turned his face away. "Thanks, ma'am. It was an awful mess when you taken over."

"Wat? Did you ever go to school?"

"No, ma'am, not exactly. We lived near a preacher one time, an' he taught some of us who lived around to read an' write.

"Johnny, he used to bring me books once in a while. I never did see him more'n three or four times, but he brought me a book or two. I read them."

"What books, Wat?"

"Ivanhoe was one, and then there was Robinson Crusoe. I surely did like them books. It taken me a while to read them, but 'twas worth it."

"Who was Johnny?"

The expression left his face. "Just a feller we knew. He was just a rider-by. Stopped in now an' again."

"Did you live on a ranch?"

"Sort of. Pa didn't have money for many cows. He done what he could."

"Where was this, Wat?"

"Edge of the mountains. That was the last one. We had us two, three places. One was back in Kansas somewheres. Injuns burned us out, run off the stock. Pa worked in a store for a while. When that job played out, he tended bar in a saloon in Wichita."

"You moved a lot."

"Yes, ma'am. Pa was a mover. He wanted a place of his own. Didn't do him much good when he got it."

"Where was that?"

"Edge of the mountains." Wat dried his hands. "All right if I eat now, ma'am?"

At her nod, he turned quickly away and went inside, and she looked after him, frowning with irritation. She had learned exactly nothing except that he had once lived in Kansas and that he had read Ivanhoe and Robinson Crusoe.

Later, she asked, "Did you have many books in your home, Wat?"

"No, ma'am." He glanced at her, embarra.s.sed. "Pa never learned to read." Then, defensively, he said, "We had us a Bible, a great big old book. Pa said it had been in the family more'n a hundred years.

"There was a lot of writing in the back of it, names an' dates an' such. Pa set store by it. Said all the births an' deaths was written in it."

"You should have that Bible, Wat. It is probably a family record."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Where is it now?"

"Up there. Edge of the mountains, I guess."

From outside, there was a pound of hoofs, and when she stepped outside, she saw Temple Boone.

"Ma'am," he warned, "Mark Stacy's on the stage. He'll be here within the hour!"

Chapter 5.

FOR A MOMENT, she stood irresolute. This was the moment she had feared. Stacy had been shocked to hear that a woman had taken over Cherokee Station. He was prepared, so the rumors were, to discharge her and bring in a man, almost any man.

"Mum? We're fighters, you know, but on occasion we are bluffers, too. He's expectin' a woman, so give him a woman!"

"What?" Puzzled, she turned to look at Matty.

"You're not only a woman, mum, you're a lady, and a beautiful one with it. He's lookin' to find a woman-the Good Lord only knows what manner of woman he's expectin'-but not you, mum.

"Go quickly now and change! Put on the blue dress; it's that beautiful no man could withstand it! Put on the blue dress and be a-waitin' him! He's expectin' a woman, so give him a lady, a grand lady! All in a lovely gown and all! He'll be speechless, mum!

"If it is a fight we're in, I say come out a-fightin' with your best weapons! Me old father used to say, *Never let 'em get set! Take 'em off their feet an' keep 'em so!' It's you, mum, must do it! Be the great lady you are and he'll never have the nerve to fire you! Before he gets his wits about him, he'll be on the stage an' gone!"

For a moment, she just stared. Of course! Matty was right, so right!

"All right! But you, too! You were a maid once, you said. You told me you'd the black dress and the ap.r.o.n left, but that isn't what we want! Just a fresh dress and an ap.r.o.n! Quickly now! And you, too, Peg! Come! We've only minutes!"

She ran into the other room of the cottage and changed. Her hair, it looked a fright. Still-she took her brush and comb, looked a moment, and made swift touches here and there.

Her dress was lovely. Fortunately, she'd taken it out for Matty to press only the other day, and it had been hanging ready-ready for what?

She had barely crossed to the station when they heard a shout and the rattling of chains, the pounding of hoofs. The stage swept up, turned in a cloud of dust, and the weary pa.s.sengers began to descend.

She went out on the steps and stood waiting. The pa.s.sengers started toward the steps, then stopped. "Gentlemen? And ladies? Welcome to Cherokee Station!" Gracefully, she stepped to one side. "If you will come in, please?"

Staring, they paraded past her, two women and four men. And then at last the man she knew at once was Mark Stacy.

He was tall, strongly built, not at all bad-looking. He had stepped down from the stage without seeing her and was talking for a moment with the driver. As he turned away, the fresh team was led out by Temple Boone, and as they pa.s.sed him, he looked up to see Mary Breydon.