the Cherokee Trail (1982) by L'amour Louis

Author:L'amour, Louis [L'amour, Louis]
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2010-12-12T06:26:28.453000+00:00

Chapter Twelve.

"What can I do?" She gestured. "I have my work to do, and I must move around a good bit. I have to be outside part of the time."

"First thing, ma'am, this Flandrau feller who you think wants you dead wouldn't want it tied to him.

He'll try to send somebody to do the job who isn't close to him but somebody who knows his business. "That makes it unlikely that he will take a shot at you when the stage is in with folks milling about.

Remember, I said it is unlikely, but he might. If he's smart, as I believe, he will try to catch you alone in the yard where there's nobody around to see where the shot came from or to start hunting him.

"He would like to slip in here, kill you, and get away clean. If he handles it right, that is just what he will do."

"You don't give me much of a chance."

"No, ma'am, not unless you use your head.

Don't walk across the yard alone in broad daylight. Don't establish any habits. That's what he will be looking for. If you go to the stables at a certain hour each morning, hell be waiting."

She watched him as he walked away. Who was he?

What was he? He was said to be good with a gun, and there was a whisper around that he was a very dangerous man.

To her, he seemed merely a quiet, still-faced man who rarely smiled but who went about his business with a cool assurance.

What he felt about her or thought of her, she had no idea, yet he had never once suggested this was not her kind of work or that she should get out of this business, as many others had.

She preferred it that way, yet it nettled her a little, also. Thinking of it, she laughed at herself for being so feminine. He was, after all, a very attractive man.

Her eyes strayed toward the tree, and from the corners of her eyes she studied it. Slowly, then, her eyes swept the yard. Of course, that might not be the position the gunman would take up, but if he did, what places in the yard were beyond his vision?

She could go from here around the corral to the back of the barn, or she could go from her house to the blacksmith shop without exposing herself to what might be his firing position.

Her father had served in the Blackhawk War, and there were times when he and her husband would talk for hours about tactics, firing positions, and the ranges of various weapons. She wished she had paid more attention, but who would have guessed she would find herself in such a position as she now held?

In the back room on Larimer Street in Denver, Jason Flandrau sat tipped back in a chair, his boots on the table. "She's there," he said. "You boys saw the wrong woman."

"She was Irish as Paddy's Pig, the one we saw," Turkey Joe Longman said.

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