Louis L'Amour by The Cherokee Trail Page A

the judge, I am sure something can be arranged.
    “Although,” she added, “I very much doubt the boy wants to go with you.”
    “Ma’am, I’ve come a long way. I’m not goin’ back without that boy. Now you turn him over to me, or—”
    “Or what, Mr. Williams? The boy is here, in my care, and I shall not turn him over to you without an order from a judge.”
    “What if I just take him?”
    “You wouldn’t take him very far with a belly full of lead, would you?” The voice was casual, even pleasant.
    She did not turn, keeping her eyes on Williams, the cup of hot coffee in her hand.
    Temple Boone moved farther into the room from the door of the pantry. His hat was wet, his jacket dripping.
    “Howdy, Boone.” Williams’s tone was as quiet as Boone’s. “I didn’t expect to see you around here.”
    “Roundin’ up stock for the stage line,” Boone explained conversationally. “It’s a livin’.”
    “If you like what you’re doin’,” Williams suggested, “I’d say stick with it and you’ll do a lot more livin’. We want that boy, Boone.”
    “Seems like a lot of fuss over one youngster,” Boone said, “but like the lady said, you can meet in front of a judge an’ make your claim.” He smiled suddenly, a flashing, handsome smile. “And I’d bet a new saddle it wouldn’t be the first judge you’ve been up before.”
    Slowly, Williams put down his cup, resting his fingertips on the edge of the table as if about to rise.
    “I wouldn’t if I was you,” Temple said. “You never seen the day.”
    Slowly, the hands eased back into the center of the table, one of them reaching for the empty cup. “They won’t like it,” he said hoarsely. “They sent me for the boy.”
    “Leave him alone,” Boone replied. “He’s doing no harm to anybody. You boys push him and he’s liable to get scared—or mad. Might make all the difference.”
    “You tell that to Denver.”
    Boone sat down opposite Williams. “Denver an’ me don’t see eye to eye. We never did. You just tell him the boy is doin’ all right and to leave him be.”
    “You wouldn’t think a youngster would be that canny,” Williams said. “He left just no trail at all. I’d run out of chances until I heard somebody at Virginia Dale Station say there was a boy-kid workin’ down here.”
    Williams drained his cup, seeking for the few last drops. “You can have him. He’s a durned thief, anyways. Stole Johnny’s boots off him after he was dead.”
    “I did no such thing!” Wat Tanner spoke from the door. “Johnny asked me to pull ’em off. Promised his ma he’d never die with his boots on. Then he told me they was almost new, and I was to take them.
    “I said they was too big, and he said I’d grow into them. He said some of you boys would steal ’em, anyway. He was the one tol’ me to git, said your lot was no fit comp’ny for a boy.”
    Williams flushed, stealing a shamed look at Mary Breydon. “I don’t believe he said any such thing! Anyway, who was Johnny to talk?”
    “He was best of that crowd,” Boone said. “Why else was he killed?”
    Williams got up. “I’m ridin’.”
    “You do that. And you tell Denver Cross the boy is a friend of mine, and so are the folks at this station. You just tell him that and make sure he hears it.”
    When Williams had gone, Mary Breydon accepted the breakfast Matty fixed for her and sat down across from Boone. “You have some strange friends, Mr. Boone.”
    Boone smiled. “It’s a big country, but there aren’t all that many people. Sooner or later, you get to know everybody. Ofttimes the men who are outlaws and those who are the law once worked side by side or fought in the war together.
    “Take you, now. You’ve just met Williams, and he’s an outlaw. You’ve become mighty important to Scant Luther, another man of doubtful character.”
    He smiled widely. “Seems to me, Mrs. Breydon, that you have some strange friends!”
    She laughed. “All right. But