Free Louis L'Amour by The Cherokee Trail Page A

into the station and tell Matty not to mention me. Just feed them and let them ride on. I’ll wait until they are inside, and then I’ll go over to the house.”
    “You scared of them?”
    “Not scared, just careful.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Wat, I am going to tell you something, but keep it to yourself. My husband was shot and killed by a man named Jason Flandrau. He shot my husband because of what we knew about him, and he does not want people out here to know.
    “He killed my husband to keep him from talking, and he may have heard that I am here.”
    Wat walked across to the station as the men were tying their horses. She saw the door open and close. The men looked around, then followed him in, and as soon as the door closed, when they would be looking about the room, she crossed to the house.
    Peg looked up from the tablet where she was drawing. “Mama? What’s the matter?”
    “There are some men at the station. I do not want them to see me.”
    “Did they?”
    “I don’t believe so. We will have to wait and see.”
    Inside the station, Wat moved over beside Matty. “How’s about some of that pie? As long as there’s only the two of us to eat it—”
    “You’ll have to wait until I feed these gentlemen. They might want some pie.” Her attention caught at his comment “only the two of us.” He was staring at her, his eyes intent as if trying to tell her something.
    “I know you got to feed these fellers, but if there’s any left…I mean, you don’t eat pie, and that leaves only me.”
    Matty glanced toward the two men, two strong, rough-looking men, both wearing guns. Of course, nearly everybody out here did wear guns, but—
    “Coffee?” she asked. “Is it coffee you’re wanting?”
    “And a bite to eat if you’ve something put by.”
    “We’ve a bit of stew left, and we’ve bread, fresh baked by meself.”
    “We’ll have it.” The younger man glanced around. “We heard there was a woman runnin’ the station, but I’d no thought she’d be Irish.”
    “Are you Irish yourself, then? You’ve a bit of the look.”
    “Aye, a bit. My grandmother was from Donegal.” He glanced around again. “Is it you who runs the station?”
    “Who else? Could the boy run it, now? He’s long in the country, though, and I couldna do it without him.”
    She put down two cups and filled them. “But I didna come for that, not for runnin’ of a station or what all. I come for the gold they said was lyin’ about everywhere.”
    Taking a long-handled wooden spoon, she began dishing up stew. “ ’Twas my wish to go back to Ireland a rich girl and have the pick o’ the lads there.”
    “You’re dreamin’, girl.” The older man spoke harshly. “How much gold have you seen? It’s here, but there’s only a few of them has it.”
    “You watch. I shall find my gold and go home a great lady.”
    The younger one asked, “Did you come right here from the old country? Or did you stop in Virginia?”
    “Virginia? I dinna ken the place. ’Twas to Boston I came and worked there until I could get the fare for the stage to come west. It was California where I was bound, but when I heard there was gold in Colorado and it was a thousand mile the closer, I chose Colorado.”
    There was no more talk. They settled to their eating, and as Matty had noticed, eating in the West was a serious business not to be interrupted by idle conversation. From time to time, she refilled their cups. She knew tough men when she saw them, and these were all of that.
    Where was Mary Breydon? It was unlike her to leave Matty to handle things alone. She glanced at Wat, and he stretched, brushing a finger past his lips as he did so.
    Trouble, was it? She refilled the teakettle and stirred the fire. The water in the kettle had been hot, and soon there would be more.
    “Meetin’ the stage?” she asked.
    “Passin’ through. Headin’ west.”
    One of them muttered something to the other, and the older man said,