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

driving since I was one-sixteenth your size.”
    She smiled.
    â€œHold on.”
    She grabbed the metal bar again and tried not to look toward the far edge of the road as the coach careened down a dip and up the other side. The wind tugged at her sleeves and whistled past her ears.
    â€œThat gully took my hat off the first time I ran it,” Bill said with a laugh.
    The horses slowed to their businesslike jog for another half mile. Bill bent down and took a bugle from beneath the seat.
    â€œAre we nearly to the swing station?” Vashti looked ahead but saw no signs of civilization.
    â€œAround the next curve.” He put the horn to his lips and blew a long blast. Lowering the shiny instrument, he smiled at Vashti. “Now Jules Harding, he could play a right smart tattoo on the horn. I just give it a lungful.”
    They swept into the yard of the stage stop, and Bill pulled the team up.
    Two men came running from the cabin to help unharness the blowing horses. Vashti jumped down and winced as her feet hit the ground. She hadn’t realized how long she’d braced her legs on the footboard. She took a few steps to get her blood flowing and opened the coach door. “Do you gentlemen want to stretch your legs? We’ll leave in about ten minutes.”
    The two passengers climbed down. One of them eyed her keenly as he made his exit. Vashti looked away, hoping she wouldn’t blush. That would surely give away her secret. As the two men ambled toward the house, the one who’d stared at her said something to the other. The second man turned around and looked at her. Vashti turned her back to them and shut the door of the coach. Bill came around from behind the coach.
    â€œThe necessary’s out back. I suggest you wait until the passengers come back.”
    She nodded, staring at the ground. Her face was scarlet for sure. “You want some coffee?” Bill asked.
    She shook her head.
    The hostler led a team of mules out of a corral, where he’d had them hitched up and waiting in their harness. In no time flat, the bay horses had been turned out and the six mules put in their place before the stagecoach. Bill came around the corner of the cabin and nodded to her. Vashti ran around the other side of the little building. Within two minutes she was back, panting as she climbed up. The passengers had boarded, and the station agent and his helper stood leaning against the corral fence.
    Vashti felt their eyes on her as she climbed aboard. The rough boots made her feet feel clumsy, but she sprang as quickly as she could up to the seat beside Bill. “What are they staring at?”
    â€œYou, of course. They think you’re awfully young to be riding shotgun. I told them you’re a top marksman.” He spit tobacco juice over the side. “Melvin said, ‘Oh, that’s what you call it in Fergus.’” He laughed.
    â€œSo he knows I’m a woman?”
    â€œI’d say so. He guessed.”
    â€œI think the passengers are suspicious, too.”
    â€œMakes no difference, so long as the lawless part of the population doesn’t know.”
    â€œWord will get around.”
    â€œMebbe so.” Bill gathered the reins. “Up now, you lazy mules!” The team began the merciless uphill pull. Another eight miles of hard going.
    â€œYou ever been held up?” Vashti asked.
    â€œSure.”
    She eyed him in surprise. “Really?”
    â€œEvery driver who’s been around awhile has been.”
    â€œHere? I mean, on the Fergus line?”
    â€œOnce. Before that I was down on the Wyoming run. Wild, oh, that route was wild, especially during the war.”
    â€œYou mean the War Between the States?”
    â€œThat’s right. It was like the Injuns knew most of the soldiers were busy elsewhere, and they attacked all up and down the line. Stole horses and food—burned everything else. Hay, grain, stations. Everything. Times were