Chapter 6

At a large ranch approximately 6 miles north of town, the front almost hidden from view by a long row trees, there was a heated argument going on. The man and woman doing the arguing were standing beside a newly-made large corral. The man was well-built and his complexion was sun-dyed brown and that of a man who had spent most of his life on the trail. The woman wore a soft white, cotton dress, and her brown hair was pulled up in a neat bun. A few rebellious strands had managed to escape and blew across her face. She brushed them away and continued to argue with the man.

"I just can't! I can't let you use my place as a hideout. I've done a lot of things for you but I ain't gonna take a risk like that, Carl!" She said in her soft southern accent.

"That sheriff's gonna be lookin' for us all over the county, Amy. Me and the boys can't just hide up in them hills forever, and one of them horses we took is missin' a shoe. I can fix his shoe but I'll need your anvil. Listen to me, Amy! Ain't you forgettin' what I did for your parents when they were alive?" He pleaded with her.

She sighed heavily. "No, I'm not. I'm not forgettin' how you helped us when nobody else would, but I've got the bank money hidden under the floorboards in that secret place up in the loft. Isn't that enough? You know I'd do almost anything for you but I just can't take a risk like that."

Carl Gleason shook her gently by the shoulders. "Amy, girl. Look at me, Amy. Do this for me just this once and I'll leave alone. Or maybe we could use my cut of the money and we could go to Mexico. Together. Please, Amy?"

She looked deep into his blue eyes and saw a desperate, pleading look. "Alright, Carl. You can hide here. But I don't want any of your money." She gave in.

"Oh, thank you, Amy, girl! You won't regret it!" He hugged her tenderly.

"I wish you'd never joined up with those Holt boys and things could go back the way they were when Momma and Pa were still alive. You only got back to these parts last week." She muttered softly.

"Now you know that can never happen, girl. I wished that twister hadn't come and taken your ma and pa to their graves too. I used to wish a lot of things. But wishin' can't change things or turn back time." He looked to the hills with a faraway look in his eyes. "That's why I stopped wishin' a long time ago."

The horse in the corral neighed. An answering whinny came from farther past the trees, and the faint sounds of an approaching buggy and the sound of a familiar horse's light hoof beats were heard.

Amy Jackson turned quickly away from the sound and began pushing Gleason to a saddled horse that was ground-tied nearby. "You'd better go. My uncle's comin'! If you leave right now, you should be able to make it without him hearin' you leave. I'll see you tonight. And when you come, come in by the back way. You can leave your horses in the old cook shack behind the house." She gave him one final shove. "Now hurry!"

Gleason mounted up and gathered the split reins in his left hand. "I'll be seein' you then." With a final tip of his hat, he rode off in the direction of the lonely hills where the three Holt brothers were waiting for him to return to their camp.

Amy took her gaze away from the hills and looked down the road leading to the ranch, waiting for her uncle's rig to come into view. She shaded her eyes from the noon sun that was now beating down on the prairie. The flowers that she had attempted to plant in front of the large, white ranch-house that spring had withered away and died as a result of the sun and the harsh weather conditions of the West.

Momma could've made 'em grow, she thought sadly. Her parents had been killed when a tornado had swept through the ranch destroying everything in its path. She herself had been in town visiting friends when the looming black clouds had started circling and a cone-shaped cloud came down as if being lowered by some invisible force. When she had returned to the ranch after the storm, she found it had been totally demolished and her parents were dead, leaving her an orphan. That is, until her uncle had heard of her misfortune and had moved to Sterling Gap to set up his practice. The townsfolk and friends of the family had helped her get back on her feet and she had prospered. That had been three summers ago. Amy Jackson was now 20 years of age and she was running the ranch with only a little help from her uncle now and then.

She waved a greeting as Dr. Mark Dixon's rig pulled up near the barn. The light carriage horse tossed his head and nickered to a familiar filly in the corral. "Hello, Uncle Mark!"

Dr. Dixon stepped down from his seat in the black buggy smiled at his niece. "Hello, Amy. I thought I'd come out and see how you were doing."

"I'm doin' just fine. How bout yourself?"

"Pretty well, I suppose. The people of Sterling Gap rarely have the need of a doctor though." He chuckled. "I did have a new patient last night. He just left this morning."

"Well, why don't come in the house and tell me about it while I get us a cool glass of lemonade. I just made it this morning." Amy invited. After her uncle enthusiastically accepted the invitation, the two went into the house.

The ranch house was a one-story with an attic and a vast cellar. The house was long and the railing on the shaded porch was brand new. Amy opened the door and invited her uncle inside. He tipped his hat to her and bowed gallantly with a twinkle in his eye. Amy giggled and took his hat to a peg in the wall behind the door. Then she led Dixon to a plain, but homey-looking parlor.

"Go ahead and take a seat, Uncle Mark. I'll go fetch that lemonade." Amy hurried out of the room into the kitchen. She returned a few moments later daintily carrying a silver tray with a glass pitcher filled to the peak with sweet, cool lemonade and two tall glasses.

After setting down the tray on the small, low table and filling the glasses for the two of them, she took a seat in a cushioned chair across from her uncle who was seated on the sofa. Dr. Dixon took a sip of the lemonade. "You know, Amy, I've never met anyone who could make lemonade as good as you can. This is positively delicious and very refreshing." He took a long drink and let the cool liquid run down his throat letting it cool him inside, after the hot drive from town.

Amy blushed. "Oh, you're just sayin' that. But thanks for the compliment." She smiled at her uncle and took a drink from her own filled glass. "You say you had a new patient, Uncle Mark?"

The doctor swallowed another drink of the cool, fresh liquid. "Ah, yes. I suppose you've already heard of the robbery at the bank that happened yesterday?" Amy nodded that she had indeed heard about it. Dixon continued, "Well, there was a young man, a drover, ramrod as a matter of fact, mailing some letters for his friends. Anyway, the robbers stormed in while this young man, Yates, was there. He got shot up pretty bad-"

Amy gasped. "He's alright, ain't he?"

"Yes, fortunately, two of his friends who came into town with him brought him to my office before he lost too much blood." Her uncle sighed wearily. "Those Holt brothers are bad ones. That drover had already been shot and was helpless, when that youngest one shot him again." The doctor set down his now empty glass. "There should be no risk of infection now as long as he keeps the bandages changed, so I let him go back with his trail boss this morning."

"Oh, I'm glad. Um…more lemonade, uncle?" Amy said distractedly.

Dr. Dixon did not notice his niece's preoccupied manner as she began straightening her skirt nervously. The doctor thought a moment then shook his head. "No, I don't believe I will but thank you all the same, dear."

He continued to tell her of his ventures, patients, and the hot weather for a good hour before getting up to take his leave. Before going, Dr. Dixon leaned over and took her hand and patted it. "I just wanted to come out and see how you were getting along." Amy followed him while he got his hat from the peg. "Thank you again for the lemonade, Amy. I'd best get back to the office."

"Have a safe trip, uncle." Amy opened the door for her uncle who tipped his hat to her before leaving the house.

"I will, Amy. Goodbye! If you need anything, you know where to find me." Dixon called from his buggy. Amy waved as her uncle pulled away from the corral and started to drive his horse to the road.

She watched the long billows of dust that was stirred up by the buggy's wheels as they churned up the dry ground on the road. Thoughts swarmed and milled in her mind. If the Holt brothers are as dangerous as Uncle Mark says...Her thoughts trailed off not daring for them to continue. "Oh, Carl. Please be careful." She whispered silently.