{"product_id":"the-cherokee-trail-isbn-9780553270471","title":"The Cherokee Trail","description":"A woman ahead of her time, Mary Breydon knew how to get things done. Raised on a Virginia plantation, she learned how to care for livestock, respect her workers, and keep good books. But after her husband is killed, Mary must provide for her young daughter by running a stage coach station on the Cherokee Trail. With the help of an Irish maid and a mysterious stranger, Mary faces challenges that even the men eagerly anticipating her failure would have a difficult time overcoming. After firing the previous station manager with the aid of a bullwhip, she must track down stolen horses, care for a wayward boy, and defend against Indians. If that wasn’t enough, she also has to protect herself from the man who murdered her husband—and is coming for Mary next.Our foremost storyteller of the American West, \u003cb\u003eLouis L’Amour \u003c\/b\u003ehas thrilled a nation by chronicling the adventures of the brave men and woman who settled the frontier. There are more than three hundred million copies of his books in print around the world.\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    WHEN THE STAGE slowed to allow the horses to walk up the long grade,   Mary Breydon was the only passenger awake. Or so she believed. There   was no telling about the man with the hat over his face. Several   times during the night, she had seen him move, and his movements did   not seem to be those of a sleeping man.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Feeble yellow-gray light was filtering through the fly-specked,   dust-filmed windows. She peered out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The rolling brown hills were beginning to take shape from the   darkness. It seemed a harsh and barren land, this new home of hers,   its monotony broken only by occasional outcroppings of craggy   sandstone. Somewhere farther west lay the front range of the Rockies,   of which she caught an occasional glimpse beyond the low hills.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aside from Mary and her daughter, Peg, there were four passengers   caught in the awkward, uncomfortable positions of people trying to   sleep on seats designed only for sitting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man with a black hat over his eyes sat in the back of the coach   beside Peg and herself. Before he had gone to sleep, she had seen him   as a lean, hawk-featured young man with a level, direct gaze from   eyes that never seemed to smile. He wore a dark, shabby coat, a plaid   shirt, gray pants, and a pistol in a tied-down holster. When he   shifted position, she glimpsed a second gun tucked behind his belt,   butt forward. A new Henry rifle leaned against the wall of the coach   at his side.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She recognized the rifle at once, although she had little knowledge   of such things. She remembered how pleased her husband had been when   he had been able to purchase one, and that rifle was now wrapped in a   roll of her bedding atop the stage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Opposite him sat a well-dressed young man in a checkered vest. When   he was awake, he had kept trying to catch her eye, and he had a bold,   insinuating expression she found difficult to avoid, for whenever she   lifted her eyes he was looking right at her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The other man on the stage was stocky and powerfully built, wearing a   short beard and a store-bought suit. He also carried a gun on his   left side, butt forward. The only other person on the stage was an   Irish girl only two or three years younger than herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    As if sensing Mary's gaze, the Irish girl opened her eyes. She   glanced at Peg, who was sleeping with her head on Mary's shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"It's a fine lass you have there, mum.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"A very tired one, I'm afraid.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"You've come a long way, then?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"From Virginia.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Ah? 'Tis where the fighting is? This War Between the States they talk of?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Yes, it is. We've seen some of it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Peg stirred, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. \"Mother? Is it much further?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Only a little further. We're almost there.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The heavyset man glanced at her. \"Don't expect much at Cherokee,   ma'am. The station's the worst run on the route. It ain't like Ben   Holladay to let it get so run-down.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He peered from the window, then added, \"The food's scarcely fit to   eat, and Scant Luther, who operates the station, is a mean, brutal   man who's drunk half the time. A fine-looking woman like you   shouldn't even get off the stage.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man in the checkered vest leaned toward her. \"Don't I know you   from some place? You sure look-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"No.\" Her tone was definite. \"You do not know me. We have never met.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"But I-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e     From under the brim of the black hat, the voice was abrupt,   impatient. \"You heard the lady, mister. She said you hadn't met. You   haven't.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man in the checkered vest flushed angrily. \"I don't think-!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"That's right, mister, you don't think. If I was you, I'd start   thinkin', right now. Think slow and careful. In this country, when a   lady says she doesn't know you, she doesn't. Also, it is likely she   doesn't want to know you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man's lips parted as if to make an angry retort, but the one gray   eye he could see was like looking down the barrel of a gun. His face   tightened with anger, but some vague intuition of danger caused him   to keep silent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The heavyset man's eyes met Mary's, showing faint, shared amusement.   \"Scant Luther runs the roughest station on the route, ma'am, and he   keeps a bad crowd around him. Always drinking and fighting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Mark Stacy-he's the division agent-he told me Ben Holladay wanted   Luther fired, but he was waiting for his replacement.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Did he say who the replacement was to be?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Yes, ma'am, he did. He's hired a former soldier, Major M. O.   Breydon, formerly of the U.S. Cavalry. Seems the major was invalided   out of the army. He'd applied for the job.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Her eyes met his. \"I am Mrs. Breydon. I am also  M. O. Breydon. The major was killed by guerrillas a few weeks ago,   and I am taking the job in his place.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There was a moment of astonished silence, and then the Irish girl   spoke. \"Ma'am, beggin' your pardon, I am, but you don't know what   you're saying! You an' that sweet little girl in such a place! It's   not to be thought of! You can't be serious, ma'am!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Indeed I am. I am very serious. Nor do I have a choice. A part of   the Battle of Bull Run was fought across our plantation. Our   buildings were burned and our stock run off. When the war is over, we   shall go back, but now I have to make a living.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Scant Luther,\" the heavyset man warned, \"is a very disagreeable man.   Most of us respect womenfolks, but Luther is drunk half the time.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"He will have no reason to stay after I dismiss him. I am sure we   will have no trouble.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"You'll soon know, ma'am,\" the heavyset man commented. \"That's it,   right ahead!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mary Breydon leaned forward to see better. They were racing along a   road through a small but lovely green valley scattered with trees.   Before them was a cluster of gray, weather-beaten buildings, a   corral, and more trees.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    As they rolled to a stop at the station, the door banged open, and a   big, slovenly man in his shirt-sleeves emerged. \"Howdy, Wilbur! Get   down an' have a drink! Tell the folks to come right on in!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"We're runnin' behind time, Scant. Where's the team?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Aw, don't get yourself in a sweat! They'll be along! Come on in;   grub's on the table!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Wilbur Pattishal stepped down from the box. \"Scant, we've no time to   spare. I want that team out here, and I want them now.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Luther turned around slowly. \"Well, now. If you're in such an   almighty hurry, you just go get 'em yourself!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Two or three rough-looking men were standing about, one of them with   a bottle in his hand. He laughed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mary Breydon stepped from the coach, drawing all eyes. In her hands,   she held an open letter that she handed to Wilbur.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Mr. Pattishal? Will you read that, please? Read it aloud.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Wilbur glanced at the letter, then looked around and cleared his throat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    To Whom It May Concern:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    This letter is authorization for M. O. Breydon to proceed to Cherokee   Station and upon arrival to take over its operation. It also   authorizes M. O. Breydon to discharge Scant Luther and such others as   Breydon shall deem necessary.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Mark Stacy\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Division Agent\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In the moment of startled silence that followed, Mary Breydon said,   \"Mr. Luther, you are discharged. You will vacate the premises   immediately, removing only such articles as belong to you personally.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Luther stared, then laughed. \"Ma'am, you're makin' a ruddy fool of   yourself! No woman can run a station on the Cherokee Trail! Why this   here's the roughest-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"There's Injuns, outlaws. Ma'am, you wouldn't last two days!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"We are not discussing my qualifications, Mr. Luther. You are   discharged. I suggest you take what is yours and leave. And please!\"   She gestured toward the hangers-on. \"Take these with you!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    For a moment, she thought he would strike her. He took a half step   forward, then glanced to the right and left. The heavyset man stood,   hands on his hips, watching. So did Wilbur Pattishal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Then, for the first time, Luther seemed to see the man in the black   hat standing to one side, alone. Something in his manner, in the very   way he stood, warned Luther to be careful. He glanced at the man   again, then his own stubbornness took control. He backed up and sat   down in the doorway, blocking it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"All right, lady, if you figure you can fire me, you just go right   ahead and do it! This here's betwixt you an' me. If you're good   enough to run this station, you're good enough to fire me. You just   have at it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He gestured to his men. \"These here men are out of it, an' so are   those who come in on the stage. If they step in, there'll be some   shootin', an' somebody will get killed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Now I say you ain't goin' in there. Not you or anybody else least I   say so, and I-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She moved so quickly it caught them unawares. One step and she had   the whip from Wilbur's hand. It had a four-and-a-half-foot stock and   an eight-foot braided lash, and the moment she took it in her hand,   it was obvious she knew how to handle a whip.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She struck swiftly. The whip cracked like the report of a pistol, and   the buckskin popper on the end of the lash bit flesh from Scant   Luther's neck. With a cry of pain and startled anger, he lunged to   his feet, and the second blow of the lash took him over the   shoulders, the third on his leg.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He swore and lunged toward her, but she stepped quickly aside and   struck again. Turning, he ran in a stumbling run, the popper ripping   his shirt with one last blow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Luther stumbled and fell. For a moment, he lay in the dust, and Mary   gathered her whip. \"Mr. Luther,\" she spoke quietly, \"you are   discharged.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Slowly, he got up from the ground. The man in the black hat had   turned casually, facing him and, beyond him, his men. Blood trickled   down his neck, and there was a livid streak across his shoulder and   back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I'm goin', ma'am, but I'll be back. You can depend on it. When you   least expect me, I'll be back.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Ignoring him, she turned toward the passengers. \"If you people will   wait, I'll see what there is to eat.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    One of the men had lingered, and now she turned her attention to him.   \"Is there something you want?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I'm the stock tender, ma'am. What of it?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"You've got five minutes to get that team out here and hooked up.   Otherwise, you can start down the road.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He put his hands on his hips. \"Now what if I did just that?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I'd hitch the team myself, and I'd pass your name to Ben Holladay.   You'd never work another day from St. Joe to Sacramento.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He stared at her; then his eyes fell, and he walked away toward the stable.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She went inside the station and stopped, appalled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The table was stacked high with dirty dishes, and on the very end of   the table were some empty plates and a plate of steaks swimming in   grease.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    More dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. In a corner was a pair of   worn boots caked with dried mud, and several dusty coats hung from   nails driven into the wall. At a window, a dirty curtain hung from a   broken rod.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Taking off her jacket, she rolled up her sleeves and went to work.   First she opened the shutters on the other windows and let light   stream into the room; then she put water on to boil and, taking a   broom, began sweeping up the worst of the mess.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When the water was hot, she washed enough dishes to feed the few   passengers and the stage driver.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man in the black hat appeared in the door. \"Don't worry about me,   ma'am. I'll get something to eat later.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"You're not going on the stage?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"No, ma'am. A man left a horse here for me. I figured to pick him up   an' ride on.\" He paused. \"Gettin' late to start a long ride. Maybe   I'll just throw my bed on the grass under that tree, just for   tonight,\" he added as he moved off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Mum?\" The Irish girl stood in the doorway. \"My name is Matty   Maginnis. If you'd let me, I'd be glad to help. I've done a sight of   it in my time.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Please, would you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When they were working, washing dishes, cleaning up, Mary asked, \"Are   you going far, Matty?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Rock Springs Station if there's no work in Laramie.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"If it is a job you want, why not stay here and work for me? I'll   need somebody to help around and to cook.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I'll do it, mum, and pleased for the chance.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Working swiftly, they wiped off the benches and the table, put clean   dishes in place, and dumped out the greasy steaks Luther had   provided. It needed a little longer, but when they sat down, it was   to a meal they could enjoy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It was when she went to the door to call the passengers to the table   that she saw the boy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He was standing alone by the corner of the barn. He looked tired, and   he looked hungry. He was shabbily dressed and barefooted. Suspended   from a cord around his neck was a pair of boots, man's boots, hand   stitched and polished.word","brand":"Bantam","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302014472421,"sku":"NP9780553270471","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553270471.jpg?v=1767738662","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-cherokee-trail-isbn-9780553270471","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}