Louis L'Amour by The Cherokee Trail Page B

but do what she came for.
    Swiftly, she crossed the street and entered the hardware store. When a man with sleeve protectors came up to her, she said, “I want to buy a pistol.”
    He glanced at her. The request was not unusual. “I have a fine little twenty-two here, ma’am.”
    “I do not want a twenty-two. I want a navy pistol, thirty-six caliber.”
    “That’s large for a woman—”
    “I have fired them. My husband taught me.”
    “Oh? That’s different, ma’am.” He took a pistol from under the counter. “Brand, spankin’ new, ma’am. One of the best.”
    She glanced at it. “I’ll take it. I want some powder and ball, too.” She had started to turn away to where Peg was looking at some ribbons when she saw the matched derringers. “What are they worth?”
    “Ma’am, they are very fine weapons. Small but very well made. Cost you forty dollars for the pair. And they are forty-four caliber, ma’am.”
    Forty dollars? And she was already buying one pistol. Yet how much was a life worth? “I’ll take them. Will you charge them, please?”
    “You want to carry them loaded, ma’am? I think—”
    “I am leaving on the stage this afternoon, sir. They wouldn’t be much good to me unloaded, would they?” She smiled.
    He smiled back. “I guess not. I’ll load ’em, ma’am.” He nodded toward the other side of the store where the dry goods lay. “Looks to me like your sister has found somethin’ she likes.”
    She smiled again. “Thank you, sir. The young lady is my daughter.”
    “Daughter? Say, you wouldn’t be Mrs. Breydon, would you? The one who operates Cherokee? They do say you’ve the finest grub this side of Georgetown.”
    “Thank you. I am Mrs. Breydon.”
    She crossed to the other side of the store. In a few minutes, her other shopping completed, she returned for the loaded guns and left the store.

----
    I N THE OFFICE over the bank, Jason Flandrau stood at the window. He was talking to two men in business suits who were seated near his desk. He turned to face them, his back to the window.
    “Gentlemen, you do me honor! To tell you the truth, I have thought of running for governor. I know a bill was introduced with the idea that Colorado would become a state. In such case, I am sure they would prefer the territorial governor they have now to any newcomer. However”—he smiled graciously—“if enough people were to ask me—”
    “I am sure they will, Mr. Flandrau. Some of us want a change. We feel a change is essential, and such an up-and-coming man as yourself—Well, we are sure you are what the voters want, Mr. Flandrau.”
    “You gentlemen understand these things better than I. But if the bill passes, then think of me, and if you wish it, I will run.”
    He turned back to the window, scarcely able to conceal his elation. Of course, they could not know how he had carefully set the stage for just this to happen, and now—
    He looked down into the street. A woman and a small girl were crossing the street, an uncommonly beautiful woman—
    He stiffened, and his hands gripped the curtain pole that crossed the middle of the window so hard it nearly snapped.
    Mary Breydon!
Mary Breydon here! Of all the damned miserable luck! He stared, started to turn away, then looked again, but she was out of sight on the walk below him.
    “Is something wrong, Mr. Flandrau?”
    He managed a smile. “No, no, of course not. I was just thinking. We could do a lot together, gentlemen. Now if you’ll permit me?”
    They got to their feet. “Of course. We are interrupting.”
    “No, but I do have some business. Let us wait, gentlemen, and see what happens to that statehood bill.”
    When they were gone, Flandrau sat down at his desk. Who would ever have believed Mary Breydon would come West? Had she accompanied her husband, or had she come later because of his death?
    He had heard the rumors, of course, but he could not believe that the Mary Breydon he knew would be the woman operating a