The Blacksmith’s Bravery (36 page)

Vashti smiled. “That sounds good.” She fished in her pocket and brought out two dimes. “Take this and use it if they won't add it to my bill.”

“All right. Lock the door while I'm gone. I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

She whisked out the door. Vashti walked over and locked it. She hung up her coat and put her hat and Trudy's on hooks beside it.

The window fronted the street. She walked over and moved the curtain aside with one finger. Lamplight lit the hotel's dooryard and several other buildings down the street. At least they were a good distance from the saloon. But that man could have a room right here in this hotel. She shuddered and let the curtain fall into place.

“Dear God, I guess this is one of those times when I should call
on You. Please don't let me see that fella again. Help me not to even think of him. And if he is Luke…” She stopped, not knowing what to say next.

Griffin dashed for the smithy, holding a mule's bridle in his hand. How on earth did Marty do it? He was always busting something. Griffin grabbed his leather punch off the wall of tools and rummaged in a crate of leather straps for one the right width. At least the mule's mouth wasn't torn up. A shadow fell across his work as he lined up the new strap with the one on the bridle. “Anything I can do to help, Uncle Griff?”

The blacksmith paused and looked at the boy. “That's nice of you to ask, Justin. You can run up to the office and tell Josiah Runnels we've got a small delay, but the team should be ready when the stage comes in. Ten minutes. And ask him how many passengers today. We've got two sacks of mail going out.”

Justin sped off without another word. Griffin punched a couple of holes in the straps and turned to his workbench for rivets. His quick fix might chafe the mule's cheek, but what else could he do? He didn't have another harness bridle on hand to fit the mule. That robbery had really cut into his assets.

At last the bridle was patched together. He'd have to stitch it tomorrow, when this harness came home to him with the stagecoach. He dashed out the door and headed for the back of the livery. Ethan was dismounting near the corral gate.

“Hey, Griff! Thought I'd turn Scout out while I wait for the stage.”

“Sure, go ahead.” He hoped Ethan wasn't upset with him for letting Trudy act as a shotgun messenger. “They'll be here any minute. I've got to have this team ready, or I'd stop to chew the fat.”

Ethan waved. “No problem. I'll mosey on up there.”

Griffin bridled the near swing mule. Done. He turned and looked for Marty. Found him sitting on a barrel of oats, chewing a straw. Griff felt like tearing into him. The man moved slower than a snake in winter.

“Uncle Griff?”

Justin stood in the open front door of the barn.

“Yeah?”

“Josiah says seven passengers to Silver City.”

“Good.” There'd be room for all seven inside the coach, along with the mail sacks.

At last the team was ready. Griffin pulled out his watch. The stage should arrive any minute.

“Marty, you step lively when they bring the stage in.”

“Sure, boss.”

Griffin tried not to let that rankle him. Pastor Benton's last sermon had included some warnings about anger. As he strode up the sidewalk to the Wells Fargo office, he tried to think about better things. Technically, Isabel still owned the building, but if his application for the mail contract came through for another year, he could buy it from her. That and a pile of new harnesses and maybe even another coach. He could hire more drivers and messengers….

Ethan lolled against the wall of the office, and a few people who planned to meet passengers milled about on the walkway. Griffin went to the door. Peter Nash stood inside talking to Josiah Runnels. Two sacks of mail sat on the desk.

“Hey, Griffin,” Peter said. “I'd better get back to the post office.”

Griffin nodded. “We'll take care of the mail, Mayor.”

“Do you need me to help with the team?” Josiah asked.

“Wouldn't hurt. Marty moves slower every day.”

“I'll get over to the livery, then.” Josiah put on his hat and went out.

Griffin took out his watch again. The stage was five minutes late. His stomach started doing odd things. Those outlaws—he couldn't stand another robbery. Especially not with Vashti driving. Trudy was on the stage, too, and her husband waited outside, looking relaxed but probably tied up inside. At least it wasn't raining today.

As if Griffin's thoughts had drawn him, Ethan appeared in the doorway, squinting into the dimly lit room.

“Are they late, Griff?”

Griffin snapped the watchcase shut. “Not much.”

Ethan came in and leaned on the edge of the desk. “Can't help fretting. Guess that doesn't do any good, though.”

“I know what you mean.”

Ethan bit his lip and nodded. “Maybe I should ride out and meet them.”

“They'll be fine.” Griffin wished he believed it. He kept seeing that narrow place in the rocks.

“Trudy's pretty headstrong, but I didn't expect her to go off overnight like this.”

“I guess that's my fault. Hiram and Arthur were going, and she was keen to go, too. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have another crack shot along. Besides, I didn't expect anything to happen. I'm sure they're all right.” Griffin walked around the desk and sat down. “You like being married?”

Ethan smiled. “Shoulda done it a long time ago.”

Griffin took his hat off and laid it on the desk. He ran a hand through his bushy hair. “Sometimes I think about it.”

“You surprise me.”

“Have to admit there's a gal I'm a little sweet on.” Griffin shot a glance at his friend. “Haven't said anything to her. Yet.”

“Might that be a certain person on the stagecoach?” Ethan asked.

Griffin couldn't help smiling as he thought of Vashti in her boy clothes, cracking her whip like the best of the old-time drivers. “She's got pluck. I thought she was crazy when she first asked me for a job. But she really can drive. Bill Stout came around when he knew I was hard pressed to find drivers this spring and told me I should look twice at her. She'd been practicing.” He shook his head. “Didn't expect her to mean anything to me, other than a driver.”

“Well, take your time, Griff. Make sure it's not just an infatuation. She's pretty, and she's independent, given her past.”

“What about her past?” Griff scowled at him. How dare Ethan bring that up?

“Easy, now. I'm just saying… a gal who's been forced to take care of herself most of her life can find it hard to let other folks do things for her. She might have some ideas that aren't quite like yours.” Ethan strolled to the doorway. “Your nephew's running up the street.”

“Justin?” Griffin jumped up. He'd forgotten all about the boy and left him at the livery.

Justin hit the sidewalk as he reached the door and Ethan stepped aside.

“Uncle Griff! The stage is coming!”

Griffin walked past him, out onto the boardwalk. Sure enough, he could hear the team's thudding hoofbeats and the sound of the wheels skimming over the road. He looked at his watch again. Nearly fifteen minutes late. But here, just the same. Passengers who planned to ride on up to Silver City, along with those there to meet folks getting off the stage, looked eagerly toward the sound. Libby Adams stood outside the emporium's door watching.

Hiram Dooley and Arthur Tinen Jr. rode around the corner by the smithy on their horses. They looked none the worse for wear. As the coach came into view, Griffin half expected to see arrows sticking out of the sides, but that was silly. Hadn't been Indian trouble in ten years. He blew out a deep breath. Ethan came and stood beside him, bouncing on his toes.

Trudy sat on the box beside Vashti. Trudy's dark blond hair hung in a braid over her shoulder, but Vashti had her hair hidden beneath her felt hat, as he'd demanded she do. Too bad. She looked much better when she let her womanly charms show.

Griffin frowned at his thoughts. He wasn't about to let her start driving in a dress, with her hair all shiny and soft around her face, like it was that night he ate at the Spur & Saddle. She would make far too tempting a picture that way, and she traveled miles and miles of isolated roads. No, she'd best keep dressing like a boy, even if everyone in the territory knew she was anything but a man.

Trudy started waving and grinning, and Griffin looked over at Ethan. His face looked about to crack, the sheriff was smiling so big.

The coach eased to a stop, and Griffin opened the door. He took out the bag of mail for Fergus and entrusted it to Josiah to take over to Peter at the post office, then let the passengers out. The couple who'd come last fall to see Libby about buying her store got out first. Libby hurried down the boardwalk to greet them.

“The stage will leave for Silver City in twenty minutes, folks,”

Griffin said. “If you're traveling on, coffee and a quick meal can be had at the Fennel House or the Spur & Saddle. If you're late getting back, the stage won't wait for you.”

Four men tumbled out, and those who planned to ride on after the stop looked around and headed quickly across the street. Last out was a salesman with a large sample case.

“I'd like to stop here overnight,” he said. “Is there a clean, reasonable place to stay?”

“Fennel House.” Griff pointed across the street. He turned to those planning to board the coach. “Folks, we need to swap the team out. I know we're a few minutes late, and I'm sorry about that. Let the driver take the stage around to the livery. They should be back so you can climb aboard in ten minutes.” He glanced up at Vashti, and she nodded at him. Trudy still sat on the box with her. Arthur and Hiram waited a few paces away on their horses. “Did you have any trouble?” Griffin asked in a low voice.

Vashti shook her head and smiled. “It was muddy in the creeks because of the rain, but not too bad. The ferry held us up. Had to wait nigh half an hour for it.”

“All right. Good job, and I'll see you after the stage leaves again.” He waved to Hiram and Arthur. “Come see me at the livery, boys. I'll be down there soon.” Getting Vashti back in one piece—not to mention the livestock and equipment—was well worth their wages. He wished he had enough money to pay extra guards every day. If only the postmaster general would come through with that new contract…

He went into his office and opened the safe. He'd be very low on cash once he paid off this week's crew. Had Wells Fargo sent him money to buy new equipment? He hadn't given up hope yet that the government would reimburse him for what he'd lost on the mail run, either, but it was probably too soon to look for a bank draft in the mail.

Someone came in and stood behind him. Griffin was suddenly conscious of how vulnerable he was, bending over his open safe like that. He looked over his shoulder. Justin stood blocking the light from the doorway.

“Anything I can do, Uncle Griff?” He sounded lonesome.

Griffin took most of the cash that was in the Uneeda Biscuit box and closed the safe. “Sure. As soon as we see off the Silver City coach, you can go back to the livery with me. Vashti and the messengers will tell us about their run. I always have the drivers give me the details, so I know how the roads are and hear any news they picked up. Then we'll go over the team that just came in, check their feet, and brush 'em down real good.” Tight times or not, he determined he'd find a way to pay the boy something, now that he'd started showing a will to work.

“One of the farmers brought in a great big chestnut horse after you left. Said it needs shoeing. Mr. Robinson.”

“Rancher,” Griffin said. “Not a farmer, a rancher.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griff smiled and shoved the cash into his pocket. “Come on. Let's go outside. The stage should be back soon, ready to leave for Silver.”

“Uncle Griff?”

“Hmm?” He hoped this wouldn't be another philosophical question.

“Do you s'pose I could learn to drive a four-in-hand?”

“Maybe. It takes a lot of practice. A six takes even more.”

“Well, then, can I learn to drive one horse at a time?”

Griffin laughed. “I'm sure you can. And when you're comfortable with that, we'll go to two. I don't s'pose you'd care to learn to make horseshoes?”

Justin winced. “If I have to.”

“You don't have to.”

They walked out onto the sidewalk as the coach came up the street with Bill Stout on the box.