The Blacksmith’s Bravery (26 page)

When the mules were harnessed, Griffin walked over to her. “I reckon you want to drive the rig up to the office.”

“I sure do, if you don't mind.”

“Not a bit. I'll ride along with you. Marty will come over to the office, too, to hold the team while the passengers load.”

Bill touched her shoulder lightly. “Godspeed, Georgie. I'm heading up to Silver in a couple hours, but I'll be thinking of you.”

“Thanks, Bill.” She lifted the whip in salute and hurried out to mount the box.

Marty held the leaders' bridles, and Griffin stood beside the coach.

“Ordinarily I'd help you up, but…”

She grinned. “It'd look pretty odd if you did.” With a bound she was in her seat and gathering the reins.

Griffin climbed up beside her.

“Where's Ned?”

“He'll join us at the stop.”

She adjusted the leathers along her fingers and looked ahead between the leaders' twitching ears, then nodded to Marty. He let go of their heads, and she clucked and slackened the reins.

“Let's go, boys!”

The mules set off at a laconic walk. Vashti felt her cheeks warm. This was no way to start her first official drive. Stubborn mules. She passed the near reins into her right hand and grabbed the whip Bill had brought her. She shook out the coiled lash and snapped her wrist, making the lash pop. At once, Blackie and Elijah picked up a trot,
and the other four mules followed their lead.

She tucked the whip behind her boots and sorted out the lines again. When she had the six reins in position and felt the slightest tension on every one, she dared to look up again. The mules were still trotting as they passed Walker's Feed Store, almost to the Wells Fargo.

“Not bad,” Griffin said.

She laughed. “Thank you.”

“You'll have one sack of mail going out.”

“Oh.” She gulped. Carrying the mail was a heavy responsibility.

“There'll be more when you come back tomorrow.”

She nodded. “All right. Ned and I can handle it.”

“Nothing stops the U.S. Mail. Nothing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You mind that place where the rocks are on both sides of the road?”

“Yeah. Where the outlaw hides.”

“That's the spot. If he's there, you're not giving up the mail.”

“I'm not giving up anything, Mr. Bane.”

His eyes narrowed. “That's the spirit. But you know, if it comes down to it, the mail… well, it is the U.S. Mail, but it's not worth your life or Ned's.”

“I'll keep it in mind.”

“You got a weapon?”

“Got my pistol in my bag.”

“I'd feel better if you and Ned both had long guns. I'll let you take that rifle I keep at the office.”

“If you want.”

“I do.”

She guided the mules ever so slightly, and they eased on over to the boardwalk in front of the stage line office nice as you please. Several people had gathered to wait for them.

“Whoa now!” They stopped in formation and stood swishing their tails. Vashti exhaled. So far so good. She wouldn't be so nervous with Ned beside her instead of the boss. She glanced up at Griffin.

His brown eyes glittered. “Nice job, George. I think you'll do.”

He hopped down and she stared after him, feeling hot all over. Who'd have thought a good word from the boss would mean so much to her?

Ned was waiting near the office door, his shotgun over his shoulder, but he straightened as Griffin stepped up on the walk. He gave Vashti a nod, and she returned it. Marty came trotting up the sidewalk, went to the front of the team, and held Blackie's cheek strap as a precaution. Ned followed Griffin into the office. The mail sack went into the coach first. The mail always took priority over passengers. If there was a lot of mail, sometimes passengers had to sit on the roof. But since this batch originated in Fergus, there wasn't much. The hundred residents hadn't written more than a couple of dozen letters.

Griffin plopped the sack into the coach while Ned stood by, watching the people milling about. The boss stood back and smiled at those who waited.

“Passengers can board now.”

Ralph and Laura Storey climbed into the stage, along with two miners who'd walked down from Booneville. When all were in, Griffin shut the door and went back into the office. Ned came over to the front of the coach and mounted the box beside her, holding his shotgun.

He eyed Vashti critically. “They tell me I'm s'posed to call you George.”

“Right. That's my name. George Edwards.”

He laughed. “Can't fool me. Take it away, George.”

At that moment, Griffin emerged from the doorway carrying a Spencer rifle. He handed it up to Ned.

“Pass that to the driver.”

Vashti took it and slid it into the space behind her feet, where her small bag lay.

“It's all loaded,” Griffin said quietly, “and here's a box of extra cartridges.”

Ned stowed the ammunition under their seat. Griffin stood back and nodded soberly.

Vashti took up her whip, gave Marty a nod, and cracked the lash
in the air. “Up now!” The mules broke in a smooth trot. She shot one glance over to the boardwalk. Griffin smiled, and she smiled back before facing the road.

CHAPTER 17

A
side from oozy mud in the low spots and a washed-out roadbed near a creek, the drive wasn't too bad. Every stream filled its banks nearly level as snowmelt thundered down from the mountains. Even as they bowled along past the rock formations with Ned keeping a sharp eye out for the bandit, Vashti's heart sang, and she noted patches of brown grass as they came down to the flat land, with hints of green beginning to show.

The river crossing on the ferry threw her heart into her throat. She'd never ventured on the water when it flowed this high and fast. Though the mules were firmly hitched, she and Ned stood at their heads and stroked them as they were pulled across the roaring, swirling flood.

They made it through to Nampa without mishap. When they pulled up at the home station and the tender came to open the door for passengers, Vashti let out a deep sigh and coiled her whip.

“Not half bad,” Ned said. He climbed over the top of the coach to get the luggage out of the boot.

Vashti scrambled down. The stationmaster was handing over the mail sack to the postmaster.

Mr. and Mrs. Storey were staying with the coach all the way to Boise. Laura leaned out the window and called, “Nice driving, George.”

Vashti turned and grinned at her, and Laura winked.

“Thank you kindly. I hope you folks have a pleasant journey,” Vashti said.

The home station in Nampa was run by a married man, and his wife and three children helped with the animals and the meals. A hearty dinner and a bunk in the ten-year-old daughter's room awaited Vashti. Ned went off to bunk in a room they kept for the usual stage drivers and messengers. The whole Gayle family knew she was a woman, but even the youngsters were careful to keep quiet about the open secret. When Vashti retired, young Becky was already asleep in the top bunk. Vashti put on her flannel nightgown, snuffed the candle, and slid in under a pile of quilts on the lower bed.

“Thank You, Lord.” She yawned, letting the warmth and her full belly and the comfort of a safe home lull her into sleep without being more specific about her gratitude.

The next morning when they set out for Fergus, four horses pulled the stage. They would change to a team of six mules again at the Democrat Station.

Vashti was confident they'd have a good trip. True, they had to cross the swollen river again, but the ferrymen knew what they were doing. They took on two bulging sacks of mail and five passengers. One of the riders was Emmaline Landry, a member of the shooting club. She rode in the coach with three miners going to Silver City and a cowboy hoping to get a job in the hill country. When Vashti climbed to the driver's seat, Emmaline was already quizzing the cowhand about where he'd previously worked.

Early in the afternoon, they approached the rock formations again. The breeze off the mountains chilled Vashti. She buttoned her fleece-lined jacket around her neck and wrapped her black knit muffler snugly beneath her chin, wishing she'd worn a knit cap instead of her cowboy hat.

They changed the team for four different horses at a swing station and headed steadily uphill toward Fergus. They breezed along on the flatter stretches. The Democrat Station was next, where they'd get a late dinner while the tenders swapped out the team. Then the road would be mostly uphill.

Ned slumped down in the seat, but his eyes continually roved the landscape. His leathery skin made him look old, but his hair still held its medium brown color. Vashti figured he had to be past forty, but nowhere near as old as Bill.

“How long you been doing this job?” she asked.

“Too long. I'm thinking of quitting after this summer.”

Vashti looked over at him in surprise. “What would you do?”

“Maybe take a swing station. Griffin has trouble keeping good tenders in some spots. I think I could make a go of it and have a garden and maybe some beef.”

They approached the uphill grade, heading toward where the rocks were, and Vashti urged the horses not to slacken their pace.

“Think that outlaw's out here?” she asked.

“Too early. Another month or so, when it's warm enough to sleep out and be comfortable. The ground's not even dry yet.”

That was some solace. The leaders tried to slow down. One of them broke stride. She grabbed her whip and cracked it. They surged forward. She eased up on the reins, keeping the lightest touch possible, and called out to them.

“Move, you! Get along.”

Ned jerked his shotgun to his shoulder.

Vashti caught some movement in her peripheral vision and shot a glance off to the left side of the road ahead, where Ned was aiming. “It's that outlaw.” She reached for the whip again.

“If it's him, he's got friends.”

Vashti's chest ached. She snapped the whip, popping the lash between the lead team's heads. “Hee-yah! Up now!”

She didn't look to the side again but watched the road ahead. In the distance, a report sounded above the creaking of harness and the pounding of hooves.

“What was that?” yelled one of the passengers.

“Land sakes, are we being held up?” Emmaline called.

“Easy, folks,” Ned replied. His shotgun went off and Vashti jumped. The horses sprang into a canter, outrunning the acrid smoke. Vashti's heart hammered and her hat flew off.

Above the noise, Emmaline screeched. Vashti gritted her teeth.

Emmaline belonged to the Ladies' Shooting Club. Now would be a good time for her to stay calm and produce a weapon. She wished she could use Griffin's rifle, but she'd best concentrate on keeping this stagecoach rolling. The road passed closest to the rocks about three hundred yards ahead. If they could get past that, the road was clear to the Democrat Station.