Free The Blacksmith’s Bravery by Susan Page Davis Page A

come for tickets and a few other prospective passengers milled about, making small talk.
    Right on time, a bugle blew. Griffin heard the pounding hooves and rattling wheels before he caught sight of the stage. His chest swelled a little, and his throat tightened as the red and gold coach flew down the street. People scattered and stood admiring the sight or cursing the driver, who popped his whip more for show than practicality. The six bay horses—nearly matched—slowed to a trot then drew up right where the pile of luggage waited.
    Griffin laughed. Those horses’ flanks were dark with sweat, but their breathing wasn’t labored, and no foam had formed along the harness straps. The good drivers knew how to pace the team and still put on a performance when they neared each stop.
    The messenger hopped down and flung the door open.
    â€œWelcome to Boise, folks.” The ticket agent offered a hand to a middle-aged woman who climbed stiffly down from the coach. Shewas followed by a string bean of a boy. Griffin looked no further. The gawky lad had the Bane chin and his sister, Evelyn’s, dark doe eyes, with which he warily scanned the people on the boardwalk.
    â€œJustin.” Griffin stepped forward and held out his hand.
    The boy snapped his head around and caught a quick breath.
    â€œUncle Griff?”
    â€œThat’s right.” His hand closed over the boy’s. “Glad you got here safe. Do you have a trunk?”
    â€œNo, sir. Just a satchel.”
    Griffin turned to the back of the coach, and they waited for the messenger to toss down the luggage.
    â€œWe’ll stay in a hotel here tonight,” he told Justin. “Then we’ll take the stage back to Fergus in the morning.”
    A battered leather bag landed with a thud beside them, and the boy stooped to grab the handle. As he straightened, he flipped his overlong hair back from his forehead.
    â€œJust so’s you know, I don’t want to do no smithing.”

    Vashti clung to the curved metal on the side of her seat. The coach swayed on its leather straps as they barreled around a corner. She was grateful that the sheer drop-off was on Bill’s side, not hers, but she realized two things: If she was going to become a top-notch driver, she’d have to get used to flying along these precarious roads. And coming back downhill tomorrow, she’d be on the side edging what amounted to a cliff.
    The horses slowed to a walk as the grade increased. Bill let them lumber along up the incline. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, brought out a small hunk of tobacco, and bit off a piece. Stuffing the wad back into his pocket, he glanced over at Vashti.
    â€œI like a chaw while I’m driving.”
    She nodded.
    â€œGriff says you want to learn to drive.”
    â€œI know how to drive.”
    â€œThat so?”
    â€œI can drive two and four.”
    â€œSo you could drive a stage on the flat, with four horses?”
    â€œI could.”
    â€œHuh.” They rode on in silence until the horses gained more level ground. Bill snapped the reins. “Up now.” The team picked up a steady jog. “We’ll trade for mules at the next stop. It’s a little over halfway to Silver. The last half’s the worst.”
    Vashti clenched her teeth and nodded. She’d never been up to the mining town before, and the road was a bit rougher than she’d imagined. The hairpin turns and sheer drops gave her pause. And Bill said the worst terrain lay ahead of them.
    She watched his hands as he worked the lines gently, making fine adjustments with subtle movements she could barely see. Not one horse broke stride as they clopped through a wooded area and splashed across a shallow creek.
    â€œPull now,” he called, and the six leaned into the harness to carry the coach up the next grade without losing speed.
    â€œHow’d you learn to drive so well?” she asked.
    â€œOh, I been