the Cherokee Trail (1982)

by L'amour, Louis

  Dismounting, she tied Arthur and ran up the steps.

  At the doorway, she paused, throwing her cape off her hair. A surprised butler, a black man, turned to her. "Yes, miss? Was there something?" "May I see Mr. Collier, please?

  It is quite important."

  "Are you a guest, miss?" He noticed her muddy boots and beyond her the cow pony tied at the rail. "I see you are riot."

  He was politely apologetic. "You see, ma'am, Mr. Collier does not like to be disturbed when he is with his guests. his "It is really very important, and I have ridden a long way- The door was open, and she could see them dancing within. They were playing a waltz, and she was not a guest; she was an outsider. For a moment, she started to turn away; then her lips tightened.

  "Will you take me to him, please? Or ask him to see me?"

  Something in her voice made him look at her again. Not only her voice but her manner.

  "Certainly, miss; I shall see what I can do."

  Suddenly, several couples came out on the wide veranda. One of them was Regina Collier. "What is it, Richard?"

  "It's a young lady, Miss Regina. She wishes to speak to your father." Regina looked past Richard, and her eyes met Mary's. "Oh, it's not important, Richard. It's just that woman from the stage station. If it is important, father can stop by there in the morning."

  Mary stepped forward into the light. "Please, Miss Collier, it is very important. Could I see him now?"

  What she might have answered, Mary had no idea. Suddenly, there was a cry from the doorway.

  A tall man in the uniform of a British officer started toward her.

  "Mary! Mary Claybournei Of all people! What in the world are you doing here!"

  "Sir Charles!" She held out both hands to him.

  "You are the one who should answer that question! What are you doing here?" "I came to hunt buffalo," he said, "and Preston was kind enough to invite me to stay with him."

  He glanced at her clothing. "But, Mary? You haven't come to the party?"

  "I'm afraid not, Charles. Harlequin Oaks was destroyed early in the war, our horses were stolen, and my father died just before the war. "I married Major Marshall Breydon. Do you remember him? The plantation was destroyed, and there was nothing for us to do but find another way to earn a living until the war was over. The land is still mine, of course, but in the meanwhile, I'm operating a stage station."

  He laughed. "But that is charming! You, Mary Claybourne, a station agent?" He laughed again.

  "Only in America!"

  Several of the guests had come to the door, and Mary was suddenly self-conscious. "Really, Charles, I just came to see Preston Collier. It is something of an emergency."

  "You know him, of course?"

  "No, we've never met. I've been here such a short time. was "Mary, I will find him for you, but first you must dance with me!" "Dance? Here, now? Oh, not I am not a guest, Charles, and I am not dressed for-was "You are my guest! I insist, for old times' sake!" The musicians were playing another waltz.

  Suddenly, she laughed. "Why not, Charles? I'd love to!"

  On the wide veranda, with a light rain falling outside and the other guests watching from the doorways, she danced, muddy boots and all. Suddenly, she felt gay, happy .... It was like old times! For the moment, all was forgotten, only the music, an old friend from far off, better times, and the steps of the waltz.

  She had always loved to dance, and Sir Charles was a marvelous dancer. Carried away, she danced as she had not danced in years, and when they stopped, there was a brief spattering of applause.

  Preston Collier came up to them. "Sir Charles? Please present me. I am afraid I have not had the pleasure."

  "Preston, this is Mary Claybourne. I mean, Mrs. Mary Breydon. She is an old, old friend from Virginia! Many times when I was in Washington, she and her family entertained me in their home, at Harlequin Oaks. "They were the most beautiful parties, and I spent many, many happy hours in her home! Her father was alive then, and he was a remarkable man. Remarkable in every way. Besides that, he had the finest horses I've ever ridden.

  "I just couldn't believe it when I saw her here, of all places." "This is a pleasure, Mrs.

  Breydon. Won't you join us?" "Thank you, Mr. Collier, but I am not dressed for it, nor do I, unfortunately, have the time. As a matter of fact, I rode over here in a great hurry to see you on business."

  "Business?"

  "I am the station agent at Cherokee now, Mr.

  Collier, and we've just experienced an Indian raid. Nobody was injured unless it was one Indian, but they drove off our horses."

  "So? I am sorry, but I do not understand."

  "I was hoping to borrow six horses from you so the morning stage could leave on time."

  Collier was embarrassed, and suddenly Mary felt sorry for him. It was unfair to make the request in the presence of a guest, but- "I know you are not friendly with Ben Holladay, Mr. Collier, but would you lend the horses to me personally? After the one round trip, I shall return them to you."

  "Mrs. Breydon," Collier said suddenly, "I sincerely regret that we have not met before. I am afraid that the loss is ours, and you may be sure we will make amends for the oversight.

  "As to the horses, I shall instruct Burke to deliver "them to you at once. The morning stage, you say?"

  "Yes, and thank you, Mr. Collier."

  "Say no more." He glanced around. "Will you join me in my study for coffee? It will take Burke a few minutes to get the horses for you and will give us time to get acquainted?"

  "I'd be delighted, Mr. Collier."

  "You will join us, Sir Charles?"

  "Delightedf"

  The study was a small, quiet room off the hall. It was lined with books and had huge leather chairs--a man's room, furnished for comfort.

  "Please be seated, I'll have some coffee brought in."

  When he had given the order, he came back and seated himself. "Now tell me about it. What happened to bring you West?"

  "My father passed away at the beginning of the war and only a few months after my marriage to Major Breydon. The major was away with his command, and during and after the Battle of Bull Run, the plantation was virtually destroyed; our stock was driven off and the crops ruined. "Major Breydon was wounded, lost an arm, in fact, and while he was still in the hospital, our plantation was raided by guerrillas. They stole the few of our horses that remained, burned Harlequin Oaks, and killed some of our people. Fortunately, I escaped."

  "I am sorry. Sorry for the destruction but glad you escaped." "The first part was the fortune of war, Mr. Collier. Our plantation happened to be in the way. The second part, the raid by guerrillas, men who were simply thieves, was another thing entirely. These men were despised by soldiers of both the Union and. the Confederacy, men who simply took advantage of a state of war to rob and kill. But there is no need to talk of that here."

  The coffee was served with some small cakes. "It is good to see you again, Mary. You will never believe how much we, who were away from home, loved those long weekends at Harlequin Oaks. Not long ago, I was in Paris, and some of us who had been military attaches in Washington at the time were talking of those soirees at the plantation."

  They talked then of riding to the hounds, of horses, and of people. "And Major Breydon?" Sir Charles asked. "He is here now?" "He was killed in Julesburg only a few months ago. He was shot down on the street."

  "Oh, I'm sorry! Who could have done such a thing?" "It was done," she replied quietly, "by the leader of the guerrillas. He saw himself recognized and shot my husband before he could be accused. "My husband wore his gun in an army holster with a button-down flap. He was shot without warning, shot on sight."

  There was a rap at the door; then it opened.

  "Mr. Collier? I was told I would find you here.

  I wish-was It was Jason Flandrau.

  "If you wish to know who would do such a thing," Mary Breydon said, "you might ask Mr. Flandrau."

  Flandrau took in
the situation at a glance. He had no idea what Mary Breydon was doing here, but that she was among friends diswas obvious. It was equally obvious that his plan to enlist the support of Preston Collier was no longer a possibility.

  "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to interrupt."

  He closed the door and stood for just an instant, shaking with fury. This was an end to it, then, all his work, all his planning, his great chance, all gone glimmering.

  There was but one thing to do now. He turned to the door and called for his horse. "Do you mean to imply that Jason Flandrau was the leader of those guerrillas? But he came to me highly recommended! We have mutual friends!" "I do not imply, Mr. Collier. I state it as a fact.

  You have been away, so perhaps you have not heard. An attempt was made to kill me only a few days ago. The attempt was made by a man referred to as Turkey Joe Longman. He was pursued, and in the gun battle that followed, he was killed. I believe he was one of the guerrillas.

  "A few days before the attempt, Longman came to the stage station with a younger man whose name I do not know, but that younger man was riding a horse stolen from us and on which I still have the papers."

  "But can you trace any of this to Flandrau?"

  "I am afraid I cannot. The killing of my husband was ruled self-defense, as my husband was armed, and Jason Flandrau said my husband made a threatening gesture."

  A man came to the door. "Sir? The team is ready, sir. Shall I accompany Mrs.

  Breydon?"

  Mary stood up. "No, thank you. I shall be all right." She extended a hand to Preston Collier.

  "You have been most gracious."

  Turning to Sir Charles, she said, "You have no idea what this means to me, to see someone from home.

  I had not realized I missed it so much! If you have a moment, please stop by the station. I can offer you nothing like this, but Matty is a wonderful cook, and the meals are good."

  After she was gone, Preston Collier asked, "This Harlequin Oaks? It was a fine place?"

  "There were people who preferred an invitation to Harlequin Oaks to any other place on the eastern seaboard. Claybourne had the finest horses and the best food a man could find and an excellent cellar with it. The home place was about four hundred acres of as fine land as I have seen, but they had more back in the mountains, some six hundred acres of timberland. I know it well, as we often went there to hunt.

  "Once the war is over and the land can be brought back into production, she will be a very wealthy young woman."

  "Odd that she would come West and take the kind of job she has." "Not if you know the family. Very independent, very able. Her father was prepared to accept any responsibility, and after all, there is not much a young woman can do."

  The wind blew cold along the Cherokee Trail, and raindrops blew from the leaves and spattered against her rain cape. It was a long ride back through the rain, yet she felt good, better than she had felt in days. Seeing Sir Charles was only a part of it, as was the kindly reception from Preston Collier and the defeat of Flandrau. That, she believed, was complete and final as far as his political ambitions were concerned. Even had he planned otherwise, Collier was too wise a man to back the political aspirations of a man liable to such an accusation. The young, ambitious newspapers of Colorado would crucify anyone who supported such a man. Yet it did not lessen her danger.

  If she were destroyed, he might still have a chance, although a slim one. Especially if she could be eliminated in such a way as not to implicate him.

  Thinking about it coolly, Mary Breydon faced that fact. Her troubles were far from over, yet she doubted if another attempt would be made with firearms. Now he must be more subtle. Whatever was done must seem to be an accident.

  It was long after midnight when at last she led the horses into the yard at Cherokee.

  Wat opened the barn door. "Better bring 'em in here, ma'am. was "Watl What are you doing up at this hour?"

  'Me an" Ridge, we been takin' turns watchin' out for you. He just gotten himself to sleep.

  IN we're quiet, he'll go right on sleepin'."

  When the horses were stalled, she tiptoed inside and, sitting alone beside the fire, drank a cup of coffee from the blackened pot. It was very hot and very black, and it tasted good. For a moment, after she was in bed, she lay awake looking up at the darkness where the ceiling was. She could not remember a time when she had gone to bed so pleased with herself and the situation. The horses had been stolen, yet she had found others, and tomorrow the stage would leave on time.

  Nobody could have done it better, not Temple Boone or even Mark Stacy. She was smiling when she fell asleep.

  When the stage had gone and Peg had finished gathering the dishes from the tables, she looked over at Wat, who was looking at something in his hand. "What's that?"

  "Arrowhead. his "Can I see?"

  He held it out on his open palm. "Where did you get it?" He waved a hand toward the hill rising beyond the trees. "Yonder. There's an old Indian camp."

  "Could I find one?"

  "Maybe. If you look sharp and if you're lucky."

  "Will you take me?"

  "I don't know. What would your mother say?"

  "She wouldn't mind. It isn't far, is it?"

  "No, just over yonder. Just a few minutes. I don't know, though. You'd be scared."

  "Scared? What is there to be scared of?"

  "Ghosts. Ghosts of dead Indians. Some say they hang around old camps." "Have you seen one? A ghost, I mean?"

  "No, I never. That doesn't say they ain't none. I found a dead Indian once. I found his skull and some bones. Some ribs and the spine.."

  "What did you do?"

  "I covered him up again. Pa said never to disturb the remains. He said it was all right to pick up arrowheads but not to disturb their graves. If they were very, very old, he said somebody should study them who understood what he was doing. Somebody who knew what he was seeing. "He told me one time that he found a cut bank where a stream had washed away the bank, and there in plain sight were three camps, each one a few inches or a few feet above the other, and each one was different, different kind of arrowheads, like that."

  He turned the arrowhead in his fingers, then handed it to Peg. "You can have that. Some Indian made it a long time ago. Come on, I'll show you where I found it."

  She put the arrowhead in her pocket. "Thank you, Wat. That's the first thing a boy ever gave me."

  "Aw, it ain't nothin'! You wait! I know where there's jasper and sometimes other kinds of stones. That of arrowhead ain't nothin'." "It is so. I like it."

  "Come on. I'll show you where I found it. It's just over yonder. We won't be gone very long."

  "Shouldn't we tell mother?"

  "It's just over there. You'll be back before she knows you're gone. Anyway, you don't have to be scared.

  I'll take care of you."

  "I'm not scared!"

  Walking together, they started away toward the hill beyond the nearest trees. There was a narrow draw there and a bare place in the midst of the brush and close to one side of the draw.

  "See?" Wat indicated a circle of fire-blackened stones almost covered with dirt and sand.

  "That was where they built their fires. Now if we look around-"

  "Did you come here looking for arrowheads?"

  "Not really. The first time it was with pa. That was just after the stage station was built. Pa had his wagon, and we were fetching bone-was "Bones?"

  "We used to go out and pick up comold bones, buffalo bones, antelope, anything like that. When pa got a wagonload he'd drive it into town and sell it."

  "Sell bones? Who would want some smelly old bones?" "They weren't smelly! They were old. They grind them up for fertilizer and some other stuff. I don't know whatall. his "People bones?"

  "No, silly. Buffalo bones, most of them.

  There were some others. One time pa found a tusk, like from an elephant? Like you see in pictures? He told some people in Denver about it, but the
y wouldn't come to look. Said it was nonsense. Pa sold it to a peddler for twenty dollars."

  "Twenty dollars? For an old bone?"

  "It was a tusk. Ivory. Pa said it was probably worth more, but twenty dollars was a lot of money, and he didn't know of anybody who wanted it. Pa said he could eat good for two months on twenty dollars."

  Wat stopped suddenly, picking up a piece of stone almost as large as a man's fist. It was chipped along one edge. "See this here? Indians chip off flakes of stone to make hide scrapers. After they skin a buffalo, they use these to scrape off the fat on the underside."

  "Oh . . . look! I found an arrowhead!"

  She held it up for his inspection. "You sure did!" Wat was pleased. Suddenly his expression changed. "Look! Look yonder!"

  He pointed to a track just beyond where she had found the arrowhead. It was a boot track, a large boot track.

  "What is it?" Peg was puzzled.

  "Sshl" He gestured for silence. "Look there!

  It's freshl" His voice was low but intense. "That was made this mornin"!"

  "How do you know?" Disbelief was obvious in her tone. "Look," he said. "It rained some last night. Not much, but some. See how the ground is speckled by the big drops? And the wind blew, too. "Well, there's no speckles in that track, and the edges are sharp and clear."

  "Maybe Mr. Fenton was over here."

  "Ridge? Naw, he won't take a step out of the area least he has to or there's a fight shapin' up. He makes like he's scared an' doesn't want to get into a fight, but you just try keepin' him out of one. That of codger would tackle a grizzly and give him first swat! No, sireel I know who made that track! It was Scant Luther!"

  "Wat? Let's go home. I'm scared." Then she said, "How could you tell it's his track? It's just an old boot track!"

  "I seen his tracks many's the time. See there?

  That patched place? He fixed that himself. And this place where the heel's run down? He walks like that. You watch him."

  "I don't ever want to see him. Wat, let's go home."

  "We can't. Least, I can't. I got to see what he's doin', and you can bet your hide he's up to no good. He hates your mama."