He stopped, his mouth open. Hastily, he gulped, closed his mouth, and, confused, started toward her. He had been expecting a termagant, one of those big, strong women, as forceful as any man, such as one often found in western mining camps. Instead, there was this utterly beautiful young woman.

A lady, they had said, and so she obviously was. Confused-all his carefully chosen words were forgotten.

She smiled beautifully, graciously. "Mr. Mark Stacy, is it? Welcome to Cherokee Station! Please come inside. Your food will grow cold.

"Peg? Will you show Mr. Stacy to his place? Please do."

Mark Stacy fumbled his way to his seat. The table was covered with a red calico cloth. There were red calico curtains at the windows, the floor was spotless, and the food smelled terrific. He glanced around.

It was like a different place. Only the old fireplace and the stove that had been added later to give greater warmth, only they were familiar. The windows were in all the right places, but the place itself...he couldn't believe it.

Mary sat down opposite him. She pa.s.sed the plate, heaping with steaks. "It is buffalo steak, and many prefer it to beef. You're familiar with it, Mr. Stacy?"

"I was a buffalo hunter," he explained, "although I never ate a buffalo steak that tasted quite this good."

"They are a feature of Cherokee Station, Mr. Stacy. The meat of the country, you know!"

Mark Stacy was confused and somewhat irritated. He had a feeling of being taken advantage of but could not quite see how it was done. Certainly, no station on his or any stage line had either meals like this or a station manager as glamorous. It was nothing like what he had expected, and he did not quite know what to do about it.

"I must say, Miss-?" He was a thin man with a beard.

"It is Mrs. Breydon, sir. I regret to say I am a widow."

"What I wanted to say was that I've never had food like this on any stage line. Nor a station as attractive. I almost wish I could stop over."

"We haven't the facilities for that, sir, but one day we might. When we do, I hope you come this way again."

The stage driver thrust his head in the door. "Five minutes, folks!" The driver turned toward Stacy. "Will you be goin' on with us, Mr. Stacy?"

"I'll catch the next stage. I've some business here." He got up hastily and went out.

The driver was about to swing aboard. "She's a looker, ain't she, boss?"

"She is a handsome woman. Whether she's a station agent remains to be seen."

"Wait'll you see the barn. She's got it fixed like one o' them fancy private stables back East. Anything you want, it's right there, under your hand. She ain't missed a trick."

Stacy stood, hands on his hips, watching the stage roll out; then he walked to the stable.

Wooden pegs in the walls, extra harness all hung, collars on one peg, the rest of the harness on another. The stalls were clean, the tack room free of dust, the harness repair tools all laid out.

Had she known he was coming? Of course, she had. The grapevine always carried such news, and anyone who fed as well as she did was sure to have made friends along the line. Yet, even so, he had never seen a station so clean, so well organized, and she had been here less than three weeks. All this could not have been done in the few hours before his arrival.

He walked back to the door and surveyed the station. What had that pa.s.senger said? That he wished he could stop over?

The station itself, the corrals, the barn, and the cottage. It was a nice setup, nicely laid out, but he had not really noticed that when Luther was running the place. Woman or not, she had certainly improved the place, but how in G.o.d's world had she been able to fire Scant Luther?

He had planned to do it himself if Major Breydon did not succeed, and he had not looked forward to it. Surely, there would have been a physical encounter.

Another thought came to him. What was Boone doing here? He had led out the team, then disappeared. And that boy she had hired? What was his name?

He was not himself doubtful that a woman could run a stage station. He was doubtful that she could command the respect of the men she would need to hire and serve. Or handle outlaws- That was another thing. Where was Denver Cross? If he was hid out somewhere in the area, he must be planning a move against the stages. What else was there? And soon gold shipments would be coming down from the mountains. And why was Temple Boone here?

He glanced toward the station, seeing a flash of blue when Mary Breydon pa.s.sed the window. He felt a sudden surge of jealousy.

Of course. He'd been a fool. Boone was here because Mary Breydon was. If he kept her on, every loose drifter in the country as well as some of the others would be stopping by. Slowly, thinking the while, he walked back to the station.

"A cup of coffee, Mr. Stacy?"

He glanced at her, then nodded. "By the way, have you met Preston Collier yet?"

"Collier? No, I don't believe I have. Who is he?"

"He's a rancher, about the largest ranch in the area, I believe. They've a lovely home just over the hill a few miles. He runs a good many horses, and we've bought from him a time or two. He's a good man. Easterner. New York, I believe."

He sipped his coffee. "You know, Mrs. Breydon, I hired your husband, M. O. Breydon, not you."

"My husband was killed on the way West. Our initials were the same. I needed the job, and I believed I could do it. Now I am sure I can."

"You seem to have taken hold very well. Might I ask what your background is?"

"My father operated a rather large plantation. We had a good many horses, carriages of several kinds, and we entertained a lot. As my father had no son, he tried to teach me how to carry on."

"I see. You know this is Indian country?"

"I do."

"And there are outlaws."

"So I understand."

"What would you do if you were attacked?"

"What have the others done before me?"

"They defended themselves. Several were wounded or killed."

"And you lost some stock?"

"Of course. It is the horses Indians want most of all."

"I have a Henry rifle, Mr. Stacy. As for losing stock, a theft has already been attempted. I recovered the stock. I don't believe you have a man who could have done it better."

"Perhaps not. But a woman of your quality-"

"I am a woman who needs a job, Mr. Stacy. We are not talking of quality now, nor really are we talking of the fact that I am a woman. What we are both talking about is the question in your mind: can I do the job?

"I think I can do it. I have made a beginning. I suggest, sir, you give me time. As for Indians or outlaws, you yourself said some of your men had been wounded or killed. I am prepared to take that risk."

He stared into his coffee. What kind of a mess was this, anyway? He had thought to come down here, tell the woman quietly that it just wouldn't work, and then get somebody else, but he had not expected to find the station in such excellent shape, nor had he expected this kind of a woman.

Before he could speak, she said, "I doubt if you have had the time to check my list of supplies. There are several items not usually requested.

"I have asked for vegetable seeds and potatoes for planting. If we are to feed a large number of people here, I see no reason why we should buy vegetables when we can grow them right out here back of the station.

"I want to put in a garden, plant potatoes, carrots, onions, cabbage, Indian corn, and a few other things. I believe that I can cut the food bill by at least a third."

"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 6.

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-?

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-"

"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-"

"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 goin' back without that boy. Now you turn him over to me, or-"