Louis LAmour - The Cherokee Trail

Contents

To Harry and Ruth

Chapter 1

W HEN THE STAGE slowed to allow the horses to walk up the long grade, Mary Breydon was the only passenger awake. Or so she believed. There was no telling about the man with the hat over his face. Several times during the night, she had seen him move, and his movements did not seem to be those of a sleeping man.

Feeble yellow-gray light was filtering through the fly-specked, dust-filmed windows. She peered out.

The rolling brown hills were beginning to take shape from the darkness. It seemed a harsh and barren land, this new home of hers, its monotony broken only by occasional outcroppings of craggy sandstone. Somewhere farther west lay the front range of the Rockies, of which she caught an occasional glimpse beyond the low hills.

Aside from Mary and her daughter, Peg, there were four passengers caught in the awkward, uncomfortable positions of people trying to sleep on seats designed only for sitting.

The man with a black hat over his eyes sat in the back of the coach beside Peg and herself. Before he had gone to sleep, she had seen him as a lean, hawk-featured young man with a level, direct gaze from eyes that never seemed to smile. He wore a dark, shabby coat, a plaid shirt, gray pants, and a pistol in a tied-down holster. When he shifted position, she glimpsed a second gun tucked behind his belt, butt forward. A new Henry rifle leaned against the wall of the coach at his side.

She recognized the rifle at once, although she had little knowledge of such things. She remembered how pleased her husband had been when he had been able to purchase one, and that rifle was now wrapped in a roll of her bedding atop the stage.

Opposite him sat a well-dressed young man in a checkered vest. When he was awake, he had kept trying to catch her eye, and he had a bold, insinuating expression she found difficult to avoid, for whenever she lifted her eyes he was looking right at her.

The other man on the stage was stocky and powerfully built, wearing a short beard and a store-bought suit. He also carried a gun on his left side, butt forward. The only other person on the stage was an Irish girl only two or three years younger than herself.

As if sensing Marys gaze, the Irish girl opened her eyes. She glanced at Peg, who was sleeping with her head on Marys shoulder.

Its a fine lass you have there, mum.

A very tired one, Im afraid.

Youve come a long way, then?

From Virginia.

Ah? Tis where the fighting is? This War Between the States they talk of?

Yes, it is. Weve seen some of it.

Peg stirred, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. Mother? Is it much further?

Only a little further. Were almost there.

The heavy-set man glanced at her. Dont expect much at Cherokee, maam. The stations the worst run on the route. It aint like Ben Holladay to let it get so run-down.

He peered from the window, then added, The foods scarcely fit to eat, and Scant Luther, who operates the station, is a mean, brutal man whos drunk half the time. A fine-looking woman like you shouldnt even get off the stage.

The man in the checkered vest leaned toward her. Dont I know you from some place? You sure look

No. Her tone was definite. You do not know me. We have never met.

But I

From under the brim of the black hat, the voice was abrupt, impatient. You heard the lady, mister. She said you hadnt met. You havent.

The man in the checkered vest flushed angrily. I dont think!

Thats right, mister, you dont think. If I was you, Id start thinkin, right now. Think slow and careful. In this country, when a lady says she doesnt know you, she doesnt. Also, it is likely she doesnt want to know you.

The mans lips parted as if to make an angry retort, but the one gray eye he could see was like looking down the barrel of a gun. His face tightened with anger, but some vague intuition of danger caused him to keep silent.

The heavy-set mans eyes met Marys, showing faint, shared amusement. Scant Luther runs the roughest station on the route, maam, and he keeps a bad crowd around him. Always drinking and fighting.

Mark Stacyhes the division agenthe told me Ben Holladay wanted Luther fired, but he was waiting for his replacement.

Did he say who the replacement was to be?

Yes, maam, he did. Hes hired a former soldier, Major M. O. Breydon, formerly of the U.S. Cavalry. Seems the major was invalided out of the army. Hed applied for the job.

Her eyes met his. I am Mrs. Breydon. I am also M. O. Breydon. The major was killed by guerrillas a few weeks ago, and I am taking the job in his place.

There was a moment of astonished silence, and then the Irish girl spoke. Maam, beggin your pardon, I am, but you dont know what youre saying! You an that sweet little girl in such a place! Its not to be thought of! You cant be serious, maam!

Indeed I am. I am very serious. Nor do I have a choice. A part of the Battle of Bull Run was fought across our plantation. Our buildings were burned and our stock run off. When the war is over, we shall go back, but now I have to make a living.

Scant Luther, the heavy-set man warned, is a very disagreeable man. Most of us respect womenfolks, but Luther is drunk half the time.

He will have no reason to stay after I dismiss him. I am sure we will have no trouble.

Youll soon know, maam, the heavy-set man commented. Thats it, right ahead!

Mary Breydon leaned forward to see better. They were racing along a road through a small but lovely green valley scattered with trees. Before them was a cluster of gray, weather-beaten buildings, a corral, and more trees.

As they rolled to a stop at the station, the door banged open, and a big, slovenly man in his shirt-sleeves emerged. Howdy, Wilbur! Get down an have a drink! Tell the folks to come right on in!

Were runnin behind time, Scant. Wheres the team?

Aw, dont get yourself in a sweat! Theyll be along! Come on in; grubs on the table!

Wilbur Pattishal stepped down from the box. Scant, weve no time to spare. I want that team out here, and I want them now.

Luther turned around slowly. Well, now. If youre in such an almighty hurry, you just go get em yourself!

Two or three rough-looking men were standing about, one of them with a bottle in his hand. He laughed.

Mary Breydon stepped from the coach, drawing all eyes. In her hands, she held an open letter that she handed to Wilbur.

Mr. Pattishal? Will you read that, please? Read it aloud.

Wilbur glanced at the letter, then looked around and cleared his throat.

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is authorization for M. O. Breydon to proceed to Cherokee Station and upon arrival to take over its operation. It also authorizes M. O. Breydon to discharge Scant Luther and such others as Breydon shall deem necessary.

Mark Stacy
Division Agent

In the moment of startled silence that followed, Mary Breydon said, Mr. Luther, you are discharged. You will vacate the premises immediately, removing only such articles as belong to you personally.

Luther stared, then laughed. Maam, youre makin a ruddy fool of yourself! No woman can run a station on the Cherokee Trail! Why this heres the roughest