Louis L'Amour Read Online Free Page A

make a sound, but they would be inside before there could be any reaction.
    He hesitated. Should he take a chance and go over the corral bars? Or should he shoot from the partial protection of the corral? It was a little safety to be traded for increased mobility, and he wanted to go over. They would be doubly alert now. One of them thought he had heard something, and also, as they were nearing the house, their every sense would be alert.
    Inside the house, Mary Breydon turned restlessly in her half sleep. Her robe, which she had kept on, had tightened around her legs, and irritated by it, she had half sat up to free herself from it when she heard a faint scratching from the door.
    Instantly, she was on her feet, tightening her robe. The sound was coming from the door.
    Frightened, she stepped into the room. What should she do? What
could
she do?
    Suddenly, unbelievably, the bar seemed to lift of its own volition. It tipped back, then fell to the floor with a thump. Instantly, the latch lifted, and men plunged into the room. Turning swiftly, without thinking, she caught up the coffeepot and with one sweeping, swinging movement, threw the scalding coffee into their faces!
    A man screamed as the scalding coffee struck and began pawing at his eyes as if he would tear them out. Another wheeled and plunged through the door, fighting to get out. At the door, he tripped and fell sprawling, and Scant Luther leaped over him to get into the room. Dropping the now-empty coffeepot, Mary grabbed up the broom but did not swing it. At the moment it came into her hands, she remembered something the major had told her long ago, and as Luther lunged to grab her, she thrust hard with the end of the broomstick.
    The thrust caught him in the pit of the stomach, and he stopped, gasping for a breath. Swiftly, she struck again. Out of wind, his wild grasp at the broom failed, and he took a glancing blow to the face that ripped his cheek.
    From outside, there was a shot, then another one. Luther scrambled for the door, and she struck him again, this time with the business end of the broom.
    Matty appeared in her door, pistol in hand.
    Mary Breydon stopped, staring after them, half sick with fright.
    “They’re gone, mum,” Matty said. “You did ’em in.”
    From outside, there was a sound of running, then of horses charging away into the night.
    Temple Boone appeared in the doorway, rifle in hand. He stepped inside, picking up the now-empty coffeepot. “Now ain’t that hell? Just when I wanted a good cup of coffee!”
    Chapter 3
----
    M ARY AWAKENED IN the first gray light of day and lay still, staring up at the ceiling and trying to organize her day.
    She had moved in and taken charge, and she had survived that and her first night. The word that she was a woman would by now have reached Mark Stacy, who was division agent, and running a stage station was no job for a lady. That would be his first thought. Yet she had taken charge, and she had fired Scant Luther. No man could have done it better.
    Yet he would be coming soon, and what he must find was a better station. No, not a better one. It must be
the
best. It must be neat, clean, with good food ready to serve when the stages arrived.
    The teams must be changed promptly, the barns must be clean, all the mess Scant Luther had left must be cleaned up.
    How much time did she have? A day? Two days? She might even have a week. There were other stations, and Stacy was a busy man.
    The station first, for here they would feed the passengers, handle the mail and any shipments there were, and that would be the first place Stacy would notice. Above all, good food, served hot, something passengers could go away talking about.
    They had begun cleaning but had barely touched the work to be done. That needed to go forward.
    Next, an inventory of what supplies were on hand and what was needed. A careful check of the stables to see what needed to be done. At that moment, she thought of her father.
    Sitting