The Blacksmith’s Bravery (10 page)

Vashti clenched her teeth and nodded. She'd never been up to the mining town before, and the road was a bit rougher than she'd imagined. The hairpin turns and sheer drops gave her pause. And Bill said the worst terrain lay ahead of them.

She watched his hands as he worked the lines gently, making fine adjustments with subtle movements she could barely see. Not one horse broke stride as they clopped through a wooded area and splashed across a shallow creek.

“Pull now,” he called, and the six leaned into the harness to carry the coach up the next grade without losing speed.

“How'd you learn to drive so well?” she asked.

“Oh, I been driving since I was one-sixteenth your size.”

She smiled.

“Hold on.”

She grabbed the metal bar again and tried not to look toward the far edge of the road as the coach careened down a dip and up the other side. The wind tugged at her sleeves and whistled past her ears.

“That gully took my hat off the first time I ran it,” Bill said with a laugh.

The horses slowed to their businesslike jog for another half mile. Bill bent down and took a bugle from beneath the seat.

“Are we nearly to the swing station?” Vashti looked ahead but saw no signs of civilization.

“Around the next curve.” He put the horn to his lips and blew a long blast. Lowering the shiny instrument, he smiled at Vashti. “Now Jules Harding, he could play a right smart tattoo on the horn. I just give it a lungful.”

They swept into the yard of the stage stop, and Bill pulled the team up.

Two men came running from the cabin to help unharness the blowing horses. Vashti jumped down and winced as her feet hit the ground. She hadn't realized how long she'd braced her legs on the footboard. She took a few steps to get her blood flowing and opened the coach door. “Do you gentlemen want to stretch your legs? We'll leave in about ten minutes.”

The two passengers climbed down. One of them eyed her keenly as he made his exit. Vashti looked away, hoping she wouldn't blush. That would surely give away her secret. As the two men ambled toward the house, the one who'd stared at her said something to the other. The second man turned around and looked at her. Vashti turned her back to them and shut the door of the coach. Bill came around from behind the coach.

“The necessary's out back. I suggest you wait until the passengers come back.”

She nodded, staring at the ground. Her face was scarlet for sure. “You want some coffee?” Bill asked.

She shook her head.

The hostler led a team of mules out of a corral, where he'd had them hitched up and waiting in their harness. In no time flat, the bay horses had been turned out and the six mules put in their place before the stagecoach. Bill came around the corner of the cabin and nodded to her. Vashti ran around the other side of the little building. Within two minutes she was back, panting as she climbed up. The passengers had boarded, and the station agent and his helper stood leaning against the corral fence.

Vashti felt their eyes on her as she climbed aboard. The rough boots made her feet feel clumsy, but she sprang as quickly as she could up to the seat beside Bill. “What are they staring at?”

“You, of course. They think you're awfully young to be riding shotgun. I told them you're a top marksman.” He spit tobacco juice over the side. “Melvin said, ‘Oh, that's what you call it in Fergus.'” He laughed.

“So he knows I'm a woman?”

“I'd say so. He guessed.”

“I think the passengers are suspicious, too.”

“Makes no difference, so long as the lawless part of the population doesn't know.”

“Word will get around.”

“Mebbe so.” Bill gathered the reins. “Up now, you lazy mules!” The team began the merciless uphill pull. Another eight miles of hard going.

“You ever been held up?” Vashti asked.

“Sure.”

She eyed him in surprise. “Really?”

“Every driver who's been around awhile has been.”

“Here? I mean, on the Fergus line?”

“Once. Before that I was down on the Wyoming run. Wild, oh, that route was wild, especially during the war.”

“You mean the War Between the States?”

“That's right. It was like the Injuns knew most of the soldiers were busy elsewhere, and they attacked all up and down the line. Stole horses and food—burned everything else. Hay, grain, stations. Everything. Times were hard then, and it cost a pretty penny to keep the line running.”

“Mr. Bane told me it cost a lot more then to ride the line.”

“Sure it did. But most people were afraid to ride anyway, at least on certain parts. If it hadn't been for the mail contracts, the stagecoach companies would have folded.”

Vashti clung tightly to her shotgun and the edge of the seat as they took a curve.

“So what was the worst scrape you were in?”

Bill spat over the side. “About twenty Injuns come after me. Old Ben Liddel was sittin' where you are. He pumped the lead, I'm telling you.”

“How'd you get away? Outrun 'em?”

“Nope. A team of horses hitched to a coach can't outrun their horses. Mules even less likely. No, we drove into a piece of road between some rocks and stood 'em off for three hours. We weren't far out from Julesburg. Finally, half a dozen men came riding out to see what had happened to us. They ran the Injuns off. Good thing, because Ben and me were about out of lead.”

Vashti eyed him for a long moment. “You telling it straight?” “I sure am.”

“Did you have any passengers?”

“Not that day. Had five sacks of mail, though. And we got it through, yes sirree. 'Course, I took a bullet in my hand.”

Vashti stared down at his tanned, leathery hands. “Which one?”

“That one. The right.”

“Did it heal up good as new?”

“Pretty good. Still bothers me some, especially in cold weather or when it's going to rain. But I was mighty glad they didn't hit me in a worse place.”

The wheels hit a rut, and Vashti lurched forward, nearly flying over the footboard.

“Hold on, there, Georgie!” Bill grabbed the back of her vest and yanked her back up onto the seat.

Vashti gasped and looked up into his placid blue eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don't need no ‘sir.' I'm just Bill.”

“Thank you kindly, Bill.”

He nodded. “So, you want to drive.”

“I do. I surely do.” For a split second, she thought he might offer to let her take the reins.

Bill spit a stream of tobacco juice off into the brush. “What'd you ever drive before?”

“My daddy's horses.”

“How long ago?”

She couldn't hold his gaze. “Awhile.”

“Like ten years or more?”

“Something like that.”

“Hmm.” They were approaching a steep incline. Bill let out a little rein and called to the mules, “Hup now. Step along, boys.”

Vashti held on and kept quiet. When they got to the top of the rise, the road leveled out for a short stretch.

“Driving a farm wagon h'ain't like driving a stage,” Bill said.

“No, sir, I expect you're right. My daddy had a carriage and four.”

Bill's eyes narrowed, and he shot her a sidelong glance. “That true?”

“Well… the team of four is.”

“Ha.”

“Johnny Conway said when he was a nipper, somebody made him a rig to practice driving on.”

“That's a passable way to learn. At first. If you can't learn on real horses.”

“Well, I don't see how I can learn on real horses when I don't have any of my own and Mr. Bane won't let me drive his.”

“Hmm.”

Vashti watched him cautiously for a bit then cleared her throat. “Would you make me a rig, Bill? I've got a place to put it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, sir. I mean Bill.”

He pursed his lips and, after a moment, shot more tobacco juice over the side. “I'll think on it.”

They rode along for another hour without much talk. Vashti stared out over the valley below them and across at the distant peaks and rock formations. Some of the stone columns had fanciful shapes. She imagined one group as a quartet of trolls, watching them strain up the ribbon of road.

“Look ahead now,” Bill said.

She turned forward. They approached a place where a huge boulder crowded to the edge of the road.

“Anyplace there's cover, you need to be watching.”

“You think there might be outlaws hiding behind that rock?”

“You just never know. They say that back in the old days when the most ore was coming down, this was a favorite spot.”

Vashti's neck prickled. The road was so steep, the mules walked slowly, leaning into their collars. She sat straighter and flicked glances at every conceivable hiding place along both sides of the road, always coming back to the base of the boulder. The only sounds were creaking leather, the mules' labored breathing and snorting, and the crunch of the wheels on the sandy ground.

When they'd passed the spot, she sighed and relaxed a little.

Bill nudged her with his elbow. “It also makes a good courting spot, on top of that boulder.”

She laughed. “Did Mr. Bane tell you his nephew's coming?” “I heard.”

“He's boarding him at the Fennel House.”

Bill grunted. They reached a somewhat flat spot in the road, with no trees or large rocks about, and he halted the team. “I like to let them take a breather here. More uphill ahead.”

Vashti nodded. “What would you have done if bandits jumped out from behind that rock back there?”

He frowned and spit again. “It's a bad place. Can't run away from 'em, 'cause the road's so steep. Can't turn around. Reckon I'd have to stop and give 'em what they wanted—unless you shot 'em first.”

She gulped. “You think I should shoot if that happens?”

“If someone jumps out, aiming a gun at us, I'd just as soon you let off a round and didn't wait to parley. If they's only one or two of 'em, that might be enough. If they's a whole gang… well, that's different. At a tight spot like that, it's better to give in than get killed.” He shrugged. “Just be glad we don't have to worry about Injuns anymore in these parts.”

By the time they reached Silver City, every muscle in Vashti's body ached. The passengers grinned at her as they left the coach. “Thanks, young fella,” one of them said.

“You're welcome.” She kept her hat on as Bill drove the coach around to where the liveryman would unharness the team.

As she climbed down again, she heard the man say to Bill, “You've got a new messenger.”

“That's right.” Bill came around to her side of the coach. “All right, George, let's get over to the hotel.”

Vashti quietly walked alongside Bill, carrying the small canvas bag she'd brought.

“I generally share a room with the shotgun rider,” Bill said as they reached the steps of the Idaho Hotel.

She paused with one foot on the bottom step. “Mr. Bane said to get a separate room.”

“He paying for it?”

“I reckon.”

Bill shook his head. “He won't want to keep doing that.”

“Well, he was in a bind today.”

“So this is a onetime thing for you?”

She raised her chin and met his gaze just below her hat brim. “No, sir. I want to learn to drive and do this regular, like I told you.”

“Then you need to think about your bunking arrangements. Folks will think it's odd if you have a separate room. And that Griff pays for it, or pays you enough for you to do it. People will think about that.”

“What do you think I should do?”

Bill lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Don't know. There's a widow woman over on Placer Street. Maybe if you told her who you are, she'd let you board with her whenever you come up here.”

“Then wouldn't folks wonder why the widow took in a boy as her boarder?”

“Maybe so.” Bill spit off to the side of the steps. “You got any ideas?”

“Well, I'm not sleeping in the same room with you.”

He pulled back, frowning. “Didn't mean to suggest you should.”

“Then let's get in there and ask for two rooms.”

He threw his hands in the air, managing to keep hold of his whip as he did so. “Fine with me, Georgie. Come on.”

CHAPTER 7