The Blacksmith’s Bravery by Susan Page Davis Page A

quartet of trolls, watching them strain up the ribbon of road.
    â€œLook ahead now,” Bill said.
    She turned forward. They approached a place where a huge boulder crowded to the edge of the road.
    â€œAnyplace there’s cover, you need to be watching.”
    â€œYou think there might be outlaws hiding behind that rock?”
    â€œYou just never know. They say that back in the old days when the most ore was coming down, this was a favorite spot.”
    Vashti’s neck prickled. The road was so steep, the mules walked slowly, leaning into their collars. She sat straighter and flicked glances at every conceivable hiding place along both sides of the road, always coming back to the base of the boulder. The only sounds were creaking leather, the mules’ labored breathing and snorting, and the crunch of the wheels on the sandy ground.
    When they’d passed the spot, she sighed and relaxed a little.
    Bill nudged her with his elbow. “It also makes a good courting spot, on top of that boulder.”
    She laughed. “Did Mr. Bane tell you his nephew’s coming?” “I heard.”
    â€œHe’s boarding him at the Fennel House.”
    Bill grunted. They reached a somewhat flat spot in the road, with no trees or large rocks about, and he halted the team. “I like to let them take a breather here. More uphill ahead.”
    Vashti nodded. “What would you have done if bandits jumped out from behind that rock back there?”
    He frowned and spit again. “It’s a bad place. Can’t run away from ’em, ’cause the road’s so steep. Can’t turn around. Reckon I’d have to stop and give ’em what they wanted—unless you shot ’em first.”
    She gulped. “You think I should shoot if that happens?”
    â€œIf someone jumps out, aiming a gun at us, I’d just as soon you let off a round and didn’t wait to parley. If they’s only one or two of ’em, that might be enough. If they’s a whole gang… well, that’s different. At a tight spot like that, it’s better to give in than get killed.” He shrugged. “Just be glad we don’t have to worry about Injuns anymore in these parts.”
    By the time they reached Silver City, every muscle in Vashti’s body ached. The passengers grinned at her as they left the coach. “Thanks, young fella,” one of them said.
    â€œYou’re welcome.” She kept her hat on as Bill drove the coach around to where the liveryman would unharness the team.
    As she climbed down again, she heard the man say to Bill, “You’ve got a new messenger.”
    â€œThat’s right.” Bill came around to her side of the coach. “All right, George, let’s get over to the hotel.”
    Vashti quietly walked alongside Bill, carrying the small canvas bag she’d brought.
    â€œI generally share a room with the shotgun rider,” Bill said as they reached the steps of the Idaho Hotel.
    She paused with one foot on the bottom step. “Mr. Bane said to get a separate room.”
    â€œHe paying for it?”
    â€œI reckon.”
    Bill shook his head. “He won’t want to keep doing that.”
    â€œWell, he was in a bind today.”
    â€œSo this is a onetime thing for you?”
    She raised her chin and met his gaze just below her hat brim. “No, sir. I want to learn to drive and do this regular, like I told you.”
    â€œThen you need to think about your bunking arrangements. Folks will think it’s odd if you have a separate room. And that Griff pays for it, or pays you enough for you to do it. People will think about that.”
    â€œWhat do you think I should do?”
    Bill lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Don’t know. There’s a widow woman over on Placer Street. Maybe if you told her who you are, she’d let you board with her whenever you come up here.”
    â€œThen wouldn’t