She remembered so well what her father had said, "Don't waste time worrying about the mistakes of yesterday.  Each morning is a beginning.  Start from there."

As she had begun, so she continued.  Each night, before going to bed, she took a small tablet and planned her work for the next day, thinking out each step that must be taken.

Wat, working like a man twice his size, had cleaned the stable.  She walked through it, inspecting the job he had done.  When she finished, she said, "Wat?  Come back to the station with me."

At the station, she said, "Matty?  There was a piece of that apple pie left.  Is it still there?"

"Yes, mum."

"Give it to Wat.  Let him eat it now.  He's just finished a job he can be proud of."

As she was leaving the station, she turned to him again.  "Wat?  Can you whittle?"

"Whittle?  Ma'am, any boy who has a jackknife can whittle.  I been whittlin' since... well, I been whittlin' seems like forever."

"All right, in your spare time, or whenever you feel like it, I want you to whittle some pegs about a foot long, about an inch thick, and I want them peeled."

"How many?"

"About two dozen, I think."  At his puzzled she said, "I want some pegs on which to hang in the tack room."

"You could use nails.  That's what most folks do."

"Wooden pegs are better, Wat.  They are less detructive of the harness."

"All right, ma'am.  I'll sure do it."  He turned back to the table and the slice of apple pie.

When Wilbur Pattishal wheeled his stage into the street of Laporte, Mark Stacy was waiting for him on the boardwalk in front of the stage.

"Wilbur?  What's this I hear?  Who's that woman running the station out at Cherokee?"

Wilbur's face was expressionless.  Only his eyes showed a faint amusement.  "You hired M. O. Breydon.  That's her."

"A woman?  At Cherokee?"

"She fired Scant Luther," Wilbur said.  "And man, did she ever fire him!  Ran him out o' there with a whip!"

"Scant?  I don't believe it."

"She done it, though.  And that ain't all.  Somebody - I ain't sayin' it was Scant - stole a team and Temple Boone's gelding.  She went over there afoot an' brought 'em back.  She had herself a shotgun, and the way Wat tells it, they didn't see fit to put up any argument."

"Who is Wat?"

"Youngster she has workin' for her.  She's got an Irish maid, too.  Maid an' cook."

"We'll see about that.  I gave nobody authority to do any hiring.  And a woman?  At Cherokee?"

"Mr. Stacy?  Was I you, I'd walk soft goin' out there.  You go in there all hot to change things an' you're liable to lose her.