A Claim of Her Own by Stephanie Grace Whitson

Author:Stephanie Grace Whitson [Whitson, Stephanie Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

When the light inside Mattie’s tent finally went out, Freddie rose from his hiding place behind a boulder. She had refused his offer to walk her up here earlier tonight, and he didn’t want to make her mad, so he’d let her go and then followed at a respectful distance just to make sure no one bothered her. Stretching and rubbing a stiff shoulder, Freddie made his way toward home.

Just as he passed Tom English’s lot, a lone rider came trotting into town. Freddie stopped to watch the horse. It was a beautiful bay, but it had been ridden hard. Its coat was flecked with sweat, and when, just outside of Usher’s Livery, the rider yanked back on the reins, foam flew from the bit. When the man dismounted and banged on the closed livery door, Freddie trotted toward him.

“Mr. Usher closes at sundown,” he said. “Now it’s dark.”

Even in the moonlight Freddie could tell that this was one of those people who would treat him bad. Which made sense from the way he had treated his horse. “I’ll take care of your horse if you want,” he offered. “He’s a pretty horse. I’ll be real good to him. I like horses. He could founder or drink too much. I’ll walk him until he cools down and—” The man didn’t let him finish. Instead, he reached in his pocket, pulled out a wad of paper money, and stuffed a bill in Freddie’s hand.

“Do it,” he said. “And take the bedroll and the saddlebags to . . .” He looked up the street. “A hotel? A decent hotel?”

“That’d be the Grand Central,” Freddie said. “It’s just before you get to a big new building going up. You’ll see it. That’s going to be Mr. Jack Langrishe’s new theatre. He’s gonna have plays and music and concerts and—” Freddie paused. “There won’t be girls like the ones . . . like the ones farther on down Main.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll like the Grand Central. It’s real nice. And Aunt Lou—”

The stranger didn’t even wait to hear about Aunt Lou’s cooking. “Grand Central,” he growled. “Take care of it.” And without even waiting for an answer, he marched off up the street.

Freddie looked down at the paper money. He glanced toward the stranger, who was striding toward the swath of golden light spilling out of the nearest saloon. Folks in Deadwood didn’t want paper money. They wanted gold. In fact, things cost more if paid in paper money. But the stranger probably wouldn’t believe him even if Freddie told him. He’d find out soon enough.

“Come on, boy,” he said, speaking gently to the animal, which at first shied away from his uplifted hand, but then submitted to being petted. Freddie walked the horse up and down the street in front of Mor’s store until he was breathing normally. Then he led him over to the Whitewood Creek and let him drink, but only a little. Then he walked him some more. Finally, he took the horse around to the back of the store.

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