The Blacksmith’s Bravery (17 page)

Johnny laughed. “He's wondering who my new guard is.”

“Well, you'd best keep it quiet. Don't go telling people when you unwind tonight with a whiskey or two.”

“Me? I ain't no blabbermouth.”

“Humph,” said Vashti, and he scowled at her.

“You sure look better in a dress.”

“You said that. And I said—” She broke off, catching the glint of sun on metal ahead, among the rocks to the left of the road. “What's that?”

“What?”

“In those rocks.”

Johnny peered ahead. “I don't see anything.”

Ten seconds later, they'd come within a hundred feet of the rocks.

A man jumped from behind the biggest boulder and stood in the middle of the road, aiming a rifle at them.

“Hang on!” Johnny laid the whip on. “Yee-haw!”

The horses leaped forward, tearing toward the gunman. Vashti had to cling to the edge of the seat to keep her perch.

“How'm I supposed to aim?” she screamed against the wind of their speed.

“Just sit tight.”

At the last possible moment, the man let off a round and leaped aside. Vashti's heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst. When she looked back, she couldn't see the man. Johnny drove on for another half mile at full speed, then began to talk the horses down until they fell once more into their road trot, snorting and shaking their heads.

Vashti pulled in a deep breath and eyed him askance. “You seen that fella before?”

“Uh-huh. He tried it three or four times last summer. He's so stupid, he tries to get you coming downhill. Anyone with half a brain would know to stop the coach when the horses are going uphill so they're already going slow and can't get into a run.”

“Is he dim-witted?”

“Don't know. We never stuck around long enough to find out. The first time, Bill was driving. Got his hat shot off. But Bill was carrying treasure to Boise, and he told me he just made up his mind he wouldn't stop for one outlaw, not no-how. Ever since then, if we see him, we just try to run him down.”

“What if he hits one of you?”

“Hasn't yet.”

Vashti huffed out a breath and stared at him. “If you hadn't lashed up the horses like that, I could've got a shot off. Put an end to his nonsense.”

Johnny shrugged. “Remind me next time.”

“Oh sure.”

He laughed. “One of these days, he won't move fast enough, and I'll roll the coach right over his weaselly little carcass.”

“Who is he, anyway? Does he live around here?”

“I dunno. He just showed up one day last June, and ever since, we watch for him.”

“And he always jumps you going downhill?”

“Naw, he tried it once the other way, but Ned emptied his shotgun at him and grabbed his revolver. Thought he might have got him with a couple of pellets. The robber ran into the rocks. That was the last time I've seen him until now. But it's the same fella.”

Vashti puzzled over that. “Why doesn't the sheriff come out here and scour those rocks and arrest him?”

“He tried, but the popinjay wasn't there. He's showed up on a couple different stretches of road, too.”

“Well, he must live somewhere.”

Johnny shook his head. “We've asked the tenders at every station, and nobody around here knows who he is. Probably just some drifter who's hiding out. Once it gets real cold, he'll probably clear out.”

Vashti thought about that for the next mile, while she searched the roadside for movement that didn't belong. At last she said, “One of us could have been killed.”

“Yup.” Johnny grinned at her. “If'n you get shot, you want to be laid out in them clothes, or in your swishy dress?”

Griffin and Justin rode side by side toward the Chapman ranch on Wednesday morning. Justin still looked ill at ease in the saddle, but he didn't complain the way he did when he'd had to ride a mule all the way from Nampa. Griff had picked a gentle little chestnut gelding for him out of his string. “Red” was a horse he could rent out to a tinhorn and not worry about the rider breaking his neck.

Of course, Justin bounced all over the saddle.

“Sit yourself down, boy,” Griffin called.

“I'm trying.”

Griff shook his head. “Whoa. Here, pull up for a minute. Whoa, Red.”

Justin hauled back on the reins, and they stopped. Griff's horse, Pepper, stopped next to Red.

Griffin adjusted his hat and studied the boy's posture. “Look, when you trot, you've got to set yourself in that saddle like you weigh a thousand pounds.”

Justin grimaced. “How do I do that?”

“Think about how heavy you are. You weigh a ton.”

“I thought you said a thousand pounds. That's half a ton.”

“All right, then, half a ton. You weigh a lot. And while you set there, every ounce of you is pressing down on your feet.”

“My feet?” Justin frowned at him.

“That's right. Don't keep all the weight on the horse's back. Put it down on your feet. Five hundred pounds on each foot. Heavy as lead. Heavier.”

Justin's brow furrowed as he scowled toward Red's ears. He rocked forward a little so that he was almost standing in the stirrups.

“That's it,” Griff said. “When Red picks up his trot, you think about that. Weight pushing down into your boots. You're so heavy you'll probably break the stirrup leathers before we get to the sheriff's house.”

“How come we got to help the sheriff, anyway?” Justin's petulant words made Griff want to slap him, box him up, and ship him back to Pennsylvania.

“Because he's a friend. Ethan's as good a friend as you can get, and don't you forget it.”

“Never had no use for lawmen,” Justin said.

“Well, that's a mistake on your part. There'll come a day when you need a lawman on your side, and when that day comes, you'll be mighty glad Ethan Chapman's your friend.”

Justin muttered something.

“What'd you say?” Griffin snapped.

“Nothing.”

Griff leaned toward him. “Look here, boy, I don't know what your folks tolerated, but I don't take to letting a kid sass me.”

Justin's face went stony.

Griff clenched his jaw. Light into him or let it go? He inhaled slowly then shrugged, trying to relax his tight muscles. “Hey, you and me, we can get along, or we can go our separate ways. If you're going to stay here, you'd best learn to get along.”

Justin watched him from slits of eyes. “So… what if I don't want to get along? Are you saying I can leave?”

“Well now, that depends.” Griff pushed his hat up in the back and scratched his head. “You got enough money to take the stage home?”

“No, sir.”

“You got other transportation, then? I don't cotton to horse thievery.”

Justin's face grew longer and darker.

Griffin straightened and clucked to Pepper so that he began to walk again. Red kept pace, though Justin hadn't cued him to move.

“On the other hand,” Griff said, “I've been known to let a fella work off the cost of a horse before. You think you'd like to own a nice little horse like Red?”

Justin eyed him suspiciously. “What'd I have to do? Shovel manure for three years?”

“Nope. Maybe a year, for one hour in the morning. Or half a year for two hours. Plus bookkeeping.”

“Bookkeeping? What's that? You got so many books you can't keep track of them?”

Griffin smiled. “No, sir. That's keeping records of money and such. You should know that.”

“Oh, that kind of bookkeeping.” Justin yawned. They rode on for a minute before he asked, “What sort of work would I do for that?”

“Well, you seem to be a hand with numbers. Maybe you could help me keep track of who owes me for smithing work and keeping their horse at the livery. And maybe even for the stagecoach business if you show yourself apt and trustworthy.”

“Huh.” Justin frowned and flicked a piece of straw off Red's withers.

“Come on,”Griffin said. “Let's practice that trot again. Remember, five hundred pounds on each foot.” He waited while Justin shifted in the saddle and took on an air of concentration and then clucked to Pepper and eased up on the reins.

They clipped along for the last half mile with Justin trying to weigh more and keep his weight low. When they reached the lane leading to the ranch, Griff called, “You're doing fine.”

Justin gave him a fractured smile. “It's hard.”

“Sure is.” Griffin grinned as they trotted up to the ranch house.

While they tied their horses to Ethan's hitching rail, Trudy and Ethan came out of the house. Trudy had on a warm coat and hood and her split riding skirt, and she had a bundle of fabric under her arm.

“You going somewheres this morning, Mrs. Chapman?” Griffin asked.

Trudy smiled at him. “Good morning, Griff. Yes, I've got business with the shooting club.” She turned her gaze on Justin. “Hello, Justin. How do you like it here so far?”

Justin wrapped Red's reins around the hitching rail. “It's cold.”

Trudy chuckled. “It's a little chilly. Winter's coming.”

Griff scowled at his nephew. “Here, now, don't tie him up by the reins.”

Justin threw him a dark look. “Why not?”

“Because if he gets scared, he'll pull back and hurt his mouth and maybe break the leather.”

“What do I tie him with?”

Griff didn't like to admit he'd brought his own lead rope, as always,
in his saddlebag, but hadn't thought to add an extra for Justin.

“Here.” Ethan walked down the steps and lifted the end of a rope dangling from the far end of the rail. “Use this one. I leave it tied here all the time for folks who don't bring one.”

Justin hesitated, then led Red over a few steps to get it. “Thank you, sir.”

Griffin beamed. Maybe there was some hope for the boy yet.

“All right, ladies, we have to hurry,” Bitsy called to the other six women who'd gathered in front of the smithy. “Remember, what looks like trash to us might be a treasure this man has saved for twenty years. We don't throw anything away unless it's got mold all over it.”

“Are you sure it's legal for us to do this?” Annie Harper asked, swinging her broom down off her shoulder.

Bitsy looked at Trudy. “Your husband's the sheriff. What did he say about this?”

Trudy laughed. “Ethan said he'll keep Griff and Justin busy all morning, bringing the herd down from the high pasture for the winter—but I'd better be there to dish up dinner at noontime, so let's get at it. We've only got a couple of hours.”

“Yes, I have to be to work at the emporium then,” Goldie said. She and Vashti had come with Bitsy. Along with Annie and her daughter Myra, and the mayor's wife, Ellie Nash, they made up the cleaning brigade.

Trudy looked toward the livery stable. “We'd best get inside, or Marty will see us.”

“Yeah, we don't want him to come around asking what we're up to,” Vashti said.

Bitsy picked up her scrub bucket and opened the door of the smithy. The women followed her across the dim workshop, past the anvil and the forge. Vashti looked up at the big bellows overhead. She'd always been fascinated by the forge and all the tools Griffin had in this workshop and the things he made out of plain metal bars. She'd never had a chance to watch him work, though. It would be unseemly for ladies to stand around and watch a man working.

Bitsy opened the door to the room behind the smithy. She stood still on the threshold.

“Well?” Annie said. “Are we going in, or aren't we?”

Bitsy turned with a pained expression. “The question is,
can
we?”

Vashti eased between them and looked into Griffin's home. The tiny room was jammed with junk. A rumpled bunk was nailed to one wall. Wadded blankets and clothes covered the straw tick. All around the room were stacks of boxes, kegs, and cartons. A bucket half full of water stood beside a small box stove. Hanging from the rafters were bunches of corn drying on the cob with the husks peeled back and braided together, clusters of onions, a few strings of dried apples, and squash.