Chapter 2

Dixie made sure that both of Manuela's sons were packing iron whenever they went to work on the outside. The Henry wasn't worth the effort because of the broken sight but it would be effective indoors where there was no time or need for lining up a sight at all. But she never found where her brother had stashed the extra ammo and all she could find was about a dozen or so rounds.

She gave Pablo the Winchester because he told her he had never fired a handgun before. He seemed comfortable with the long gun and his brother Manuel was more than satisfied with the shotgun because all he had to do was aim it in the general direction of the bad guys and let her rip.

The teenaged girl strapped on the acquired six-shooter from the body of the bastard that had ridden down her mother and sent her to her grave. It was a well-worn piece of equipment but it was in excellent condition and not a spot of rust anywhere. She spent some time cleaning off the dirty shells in the gun belt. They looked like their owner had kept them there for a long time without using them. He was probably one of those drifters who wore it more for decoration than for actual use. The leather was cracked in several places from lack of care. That was taken care of by bringing in the bottle of lotion that her daddy used on the harness to keep it nice and supple. She didn't remember the name and it was unlabeled but it sure did work wonders on leather.

Since she had almost forty rounds, she decided to test it out in the corral and used the scarecrow as her target. She aimed at the scarecrow's head and the first shot went right into the scarecrow's gut. It was not the result she was looking for but after a little thought, she realized it was probably because she was trying to use the same method she was used to from firing the Winchester. All she had to do was aim for the head and she would wind up gut-shooting the bad guy and if she wanted to just wing him in one of his legs just aim for his belly. Besides, head shots were for back-shooters with lots of time to let their lead fly.

Running Eagle was busy working on the fence. One of the boys was always with him on the lookout for riders because the hired guns had a reputation of bushwhacking any target of opportunity working the land. The Indian wasn't much one for the use of firearms and he knew the ludicrous nature of confronting rifle-toting white men with a bow and an arrow. Any yahoo who came within knife-throwing range was in big trouble if the Indian felt he was in danger. His squaw was long dead, shot by a trooper just for target practice. His three sons would have been in their twenties now except for the fact they were hunted down and executed for jumping the reservation and joining a band of marauders led astray by white man's fire water and guns traded for the buffalo hides the peddlers seemed to value highly.

He had taken his squaw's younger sister in consolation, but she was captured by a band of Apaches and taken down to Mexico for raiding haciendas with lots of loot and fat women to enjoy. After that, he just left Indian Territory and took to working for the farmers who seemed to value work more than shooting guns and drinking whiskey. He had sampled the favors of a white woman who took pity on him looking bedraggled after a bad storm. She was a big woman with several small children and filled his head with stories of her "husband" off to find gold in the north. He put up with the silly chatter because she was juicy and was grateful for his attentions. He knew it was time for him to move on when a couple of the older children started to call him "daddy". His travels took him to the Hardin farm and he was happy because they didn't bother him with silly questions and fed him well. It was sad when they were mostly wiped out by the range war hired guns but he had seen it all so many times that he just shrugged his shoulders and went back to work.

She decided that she would take Pablo with her to the meeting of the sod-busters over at the general store by the junction because a lone teenaged female would not get much respect or equality of representation. Even though Pablo was obviously Hispanic, he would command some respect just for the fact that he was male. Besides, she wanted the comfort of having a long gun back-up just in case they met up with some of the Rocking "R" rider looking to make trouble.

There were not that many women at the meeting since it was really a "council of war" to decide how they would respond to the rancher's raids on their peaceful farms. Most of them were faded and worn out from years on the prairie working non-stop from dawn to dusk. A few young girls were also in attendance but they were off in a group by themselves chattering and giggling as they probably were making smart remarks about the unmarried males present at the meeting.

Dixie could see they were looking at her with pity in their eyes but she just settled down in a corner with her back to a wall and let her companion sit silently at her side with his Winchester displayed like a symbol of independence.

She saw Jethro and Hector in the first row of chairs. They were both leering at her like a pair of insipid moonstruck cows thinking about what she was wearing under her long free-flowing dress. She was tempted to pull iron and put a round in the ceiling and shout out,

"Don't be having no dirty thoughts about me, boys!"

The meeting came to order when the parson rapped his cane on the empty table in front of him.