The Blacksmith’s Bravery (31 page)

He climbed down from the box wearily. He'd had some vague notion this morning of asking Vashti to see the town with him tonight. He almost laughed aloud at the thought now.

Businesslike, Vashti gathered her personal possessions and clambered down. The station agent had opened the door for the passengers, and they piled out, exclaiming about the smooth ride the “girl driver” had given them. Each of the nine men made a point of thanking Vashti before they scattered. She stood there and took it well, smiling and returning their comments.

When the last one walked away with his luggage, she sighed and turned back toward the coach. One tender was leading the team away, and another led out the new four-in-hand.

“How many of the passengers thanked you when they thought you were a man?” Griffin asked.

Vashti's lips twitched. “Nary a one. But then, they'd been terrorized and robbed, so you can't really blame them.”

Was this really only her second run? Griffin stared after her as she headed for the house.

Vashti walked slowly and deliberately. She knew Griffin was watching her. She'd hardly had a moment all day when she wasn't conscious of his gaze. Well, she intended to ignore him until time to mount the stage again in the morning.

The next driver, who wasn't under Griffin's supervision, ambled out onto the porch. He nodded at Vashti.

“You George?”

“That's right.” Vashti stuck out her hand. “George Edwards, of Fergus.”

The other driver, a man of about forty, gripped her hand. “Buck Eastman. I heard you had a holdup last week.”

“Yes.”

“An' I heard Ned Harmon got shot.”

“He did. Our doctor thinks he'll recover all right, but his arm's pretty stove up.”

“Too bad.”

“Yes, we miss him.”

“Who's riding with you?” He looked toward the stage.

“Griffin Bane.”

Eastman turned wide eyes on her. “Your boss?”

“That's right.”

He shrugged. “I heard he's fair. Maybe doesn't run as tight a ship as old Fennel did.”

“Mr. Bane's all right,” Vashti said.

Buck nodded. She expected him to move on, but he just stood there.

“Well, I'm hungry, Mr. Eastman, so if you'll excuse me—”

“I heard other things, too, and I guess I heard right.”

She pulled back and eyed him suspiciously. “What sort of things?”

“Heard Bane had a woman on his Fergus-to-Nampa run.”

“Well?”

He looked her up and down. “I reckon you're the one.”

She set down her bag and put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Eastman, I'm a driver. The rest doesn't matter. If you want to make something of it, you go right ahead. But I'd hate to see one driver make trouble for another, even if they work on different branch lines, and even if one dislikes the other.”

“I didn't say I disliked you.”

“Maybe I wasn't talking about you.”

His eyes narrowed, and he held her gaze for a moment. Vashti wondered if she'd made a mistake. He no doubt had a friend nearby—
he must have a shotgun messenger going with him. And she'd told Griffin not to mix into her business.

About the time she'd begun to wonder if she ought to apologize, Buck threw back his head and laughed. “Ain'tchou somethin'? Wait'll I tell Jack.”

“Tell anyone you want,” Vashti said. “It's no secret anymore.”

Buck pulled his hat off and slapped it against his thigh. “Good luck to you, missy. I reckon you're a good driver. I heard it took a whole gang of outlaws to stop you. You take care, now, y'hear?”

“I will. Thanks.”

She watched him swagger down to the coach. Griffin stood next to the wheelers, watching as usual. When Eastman stopped to speak to him, Vashti turned away and went inside. Supper and a bunk sounded mighty good. For a brief moment, she wondered what Griffin would do for the evening. The sun was just going down behind the distant mountains. Would he make the rounds of the saloons in Nampa?

She walked to the dining table. “Not even going to think about it.”

CHAPTER 21

V
ashti went downstairs for breakfast early the next morning, wearing her driving clothes. The station agent's wife handed her a plate full of eggs, fried potatoes, and sausage.

“You've got a full stage this morning, Georgie.”

“Oh?”

“Five fellows going up to Silver City stayed at the hotel last night. They're going to look at the Poorman mines.”

Vashti arched her eyebrows. “That outfit's been shut down for years.”

“I know. Wouldn't it be something if they got things running again?”

“Isn't the gold all gone?”

“Oh no. Most of the mines that closed did it because of the bank trouble in California. The owners mostly moved on. Oh, they say the easy pickings are done, but if these fellows have investors, they could get the machinery going again. The money's in ore you have to crush.”

Vashti nodded. She didn't know much about stamp mills and all of that, but any investment in the Owyhee Valley would be good news. It would mean more travel on the branch line and more business at places like the Spur & Saddle.

After eating quickly, she went out to the stable. She didn't like to eat when the passengers did. She couldn't politely wear her hat in the house, and if she sat at the table without it, they'd all stare. Of course,
she hadn't much hope of keeping her secret any longer.

Her favorite way to spend the last half hour before they left was getting to know the horses. The tenders were harnessing the team. Vashti took a brush and a hoof pick and checked over the leaders. With a pang of regret, she thought of the horses she'd lost last week.

When the stage from Boise rolled in, she was ready. She climbed the box and waited while the tenders hitched up the team—six horses this time—and loaded the mail and the luggage. Eight passengers climbed into the coach, and two men climbed up to sit in the seat on the roof, behind her and the shotgun messenger—Griffin. He was the last to board, looking chipper this morning. He'd greeted the mining men enthusiastically. Vashti eyed him sideways and decided he hadn't been out drinking last night, or not much, anyway. That was good. He'd be alert this afternoon when they hit the stretch leading up to Democrat's. Perhaps she'd misjudged him. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember him ever drinking more than a glass or two. Why had she assumed he'd cut loose last night? Didn't she know him better than that by now?

“Ready, Georgie?”

“Yes, sir.” She uncoiled her whip and cracked it. The horses sprang forward. Vashti settled into the rhythm of the stage. Good horses, plenty of paying passengers, and splendid weather. If not for the large man sitting next to her, she might have felt lighthearted. The hulk of a blacksmith had somehow become the man who occupied her thoughts and called to her heart.

Late that afternoon when the team was put away and Marty had reported on business at the livery, Griffin plodded across the street to the Fennel House. His hips and legs felt stiff from sitting so long on the box of the stage.

“Howdy, Mr. Bane,” Terrence Thistle called from the front porch. “The boy's over to the jailhouse with the sheriff.”

“Thank you kindly. I expect we'll eat supper here.” Griffin changed course and headed for Ethan's office.

Sure enough, Justin sat across the desk from Ethan, pushing checkers. Hiram sat on a stool in the corner, whittling and watching the game.

“Well, look at the no-accounts we got here,” Griffin boomed.

Justin leaped from his chair. “Uncle Griff! I didn't know you were back, or I'd have come and helped with the team.”

“That right?” His statement pleased Griffin, and he smiled at the boy. “You hungry?”

“Gettin' there.”

“He's whomping me at checkers,” Ethan said.

Griffin touched the top of the stove. It was cold, so he sat on the edge. “Go ahead and finish the game.”

Justin eyed him for a second then resumed his seat.

“Your turn,” Ethan said.

“Hey, we brought a whole flock of mining men up from Nampa,” Griffin said.

Ethan and Hiram looked interested.

“Five fellows from back East. They're looking into reopening the Poorman mines.”

“Well, that's news.” Ethan nodded, still watching the checkerboard. “I'll keep my ears open when I make my round of the saloons tonight.”

Griffin pushed his hat back. “They told me they represent a syndicate in London and they've been negotiating with the owners. They'd like to start taking ore out again.”

“That'd be a boon to the valley.” Ethan frowned as Justin moved a checker.

“Yup, we need more paying jobs,” Griffin said. “They'd put the roads back in shape, too.” Of course, some of the mines were still operating, but the population of the Owyhee Valley was far below what it had been two decades earlier, and only a trickle of silver and gold found its way out these days.

Ethan picked up one of his pieces and jumped over two of Justin's checkers. “There! I guess you won't get me this time.”

“Did you find out any more about those outlaws?” Griffin asked.

Ethan shook his head. “I took Hi and my two ranch hands and
spent all day yesterday looking for a place they could have holed up, but we didn't find anything. Could be they swooped in here for one job and then cleared out.”

“Doubt it,” Griffin said. “They'll probably show up on another one of my lines—or wait until they know we've got a payroll in the box.”

“Well, if the mines open up again, we'll get some soldiers in here to escort the shipments.”

“True.”

Justin made his move and hopped all the way across the board. “King me, Sheriff.”

Ethan moaned. “How'd I not see that coming?” He slapped a checker on top of Justin's piece.

“I talked to the deputy marshal in Nampa,” Griffin said. “He says a gang that used to operate in Cheyenne may have moved up here.”