Legacies by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page B

up to the fire of your temper, never once flinching. I think he will have no difficulty confronting a desperate and violent criminal."
    "I see no humor in that."
    The Blade grew sober once more. "I expect Lije will be riding to Oak Hill shortly to ask for your father's assistance in getting appointed to the Light Horse. He knows you're upset, and he knows why you are, but he will go just the same. You may not be able to give him your approval, but don't let him leave with only the memory of harsh words between you. You will regret it, and so will he."
    Wisely, The Blade didn't press the issue and turned to leave. Lije stood in the doorway. The Blade glanced briefly at Temple, then walked away, nodding to Lije as he passed him. Thinking she was alone, Temple turned and saw him.
    "I sent word to the stables for Ike to saddle my horse," Lije said.
    Her head came up, her chin pushed forward at a combative angle. Then she lowered it, resignation flickering over her expression. "I wish I could change your mind about this, but you are too much like your father."
    "Good." Lije smiled. "That means I am forgiven."
    "You sound very confident," she said, softening a little in spite of herself.
    "I am."
    "I have no choice." She studied him from across the room. "A long time ago I learned that Stuart men will not be controlled."
    "You wouldn't want us any other way."
    "Perhaps not. But you are my son, Lije. You can't expect me to be in favor of your choice."
    "I understand that." There was a hint of regret in his eyes. "I'll give Grandfather your regards." He turned and walked from the room.
    The sound of his retreating footsteps seemed loud in the silence. Temple heard the front door open, then close. She wanted to call him back, but her son wasn't a little boy anymore who would do what his mother said. He was a man.
    As hard as it had been to remain neutral in the feud that had once so severely divided her family, she wondered where she would find the strength to accept this new development that affected her so personally.
    Â 
    By the middle of July Lije was appointed to the Light Horse patrol in his local district and given the rank of lieutenant and the command of four men. He spent most of his first month learning procedures, refamiliarizing himself with the area, and handling petty offenses.
    Three days before his grandparents and Susannah were scheduled to leave on their trip back East, a full-blooded Cherokee on the extreme corner of Lije's district caught a man stealing his horses. Shots were exchanged. The owner fell, mortally wounded, and the thief got away.
    Lije arrived on the scene, accompanied by one of his men, Sam Blackburn, shortly before the owner died. After doing what he could for the victim, he got a description of the three stolen horses from the man's wife. One was a brown-and-white paint with one glass eye; the second was their good buggy mare, brown with a white snip on its nose; and the third was a flashy bay gelding with four white stockings and a full blaze on its face. None carried a brand, but one horse had a chipped shoe on its right hind hoof that left a print plain enough for a blind man to read. They set off after the thief, following the trail he left.
    They tracked him for two days. On the evening of the second day, Lije spotted the three horses, ground-tied in the middle of an open meadow. It had the smell of a trap.
    Cautiously, Lije circled one side of the meadow while his partner circled the other side. Halfway around, Lije found the tracks of the man's horse where he had exited the meadow. He followed the trail until he was satisfied the thief hadn't doubled back, then returned to the meadow for the stolen horses.
    A note was tucked under the paint's halter. It read:  
    "Hear's them horses I stoled. I never ment to shoot nobody. It were self-defence. When he blasted at me with that shotgun and peppered my hat full a holes, it got me riled up. Never shot a man in anger afore. Never figure to do