Melinda and the Wild West (2 page)

For some reason, his face was flushed and he
seemed to be flustered as he spoke. Then, without another word, he
abruptly turned and briskly strode away.

Feeling confused about why he had acted so
flustered, Melinda curiously watched him stride down the field. She
could not help but wonder who he was. His voice was soft and kind,
his features and mannerisms were rugged, and his eyes were gentle.
What a combination! But why did he seem so flustered?

Looking down at her wet feet and legs, she
gasped and quickly dropped her skirt. No wonder he had acted so
embarrassed. A respectable young woman would never reveal her bare
feet, let alone her legs. She laughed softly to herself. How could
she have forgotten her upbringing? Was it being out in the open
air, feeling free and unfettered from the stifling life of the
city? If so, she liked this new feeling of freedom and was happy to
be a part of this wild country.

Noticing the sun setting, Melinda realized
that she had stayed out a little too long. Quickly, she stepped out
of the stream and ran toward her shoes. She sat upon the ground to
put them on and once again thought about the quiet stranger she had
met. Who was he? Was he an example of what all men out West were
like? Were all men this tall and rugged looking? Remembering his
frame, she grinned. Were all men in the West that well built? If
so, she was going to love it here. Back east, she had never seen
such a man before. This was so different from the city!

Remembering his dark eyes and quiet
mannerisms, she smiled and thought she might like to get to know
this man a little better.

At the dinner table, she asked her aunt and
uncle whose property she had just intruded upon. Maybe she could
discover something about this rugged-looking stranger without
sounding too interested in him.

Aunt Martha placed her fork on the side of
her plate and began. “His name is Gilbert Roberts. He owns a ranch
down yonder and has acres of land. He’s a dairyman and a rancher.
He has a hired man that milks the cows, but he works alongside him.
He’s a real good person to his hired help, I understand. If anyone
gets in a pickle, he’s right there ready to help out.”

Martha shook her head solemnly and said
softly, “He’s a widower, too, but he doesn’t seem to socialize
much. Gilbert has a daughter about eight years of age. His wife
died in childbirth. They had only been married for about a year
when she died. It was real sad. He’s been alone ever since and had
to raise his girl without any help. He’s real independent when it
comes to being a father. He never asks for help and likes it that
way.”

She passed the potatoes to Melinda and
smiled. “You’ll probably have his daughter in your class. Some
folks say that because he has no wife, his girl has gone wild.
Personally I think she’s a sweet young thing. Her name’s Jenny and
I hear that she gets in a few fights at school, a real feisty young
girl. The last teacher said that she was a real troublemaker.”

Melinda listened carefully. She felt sorry for
Gilbert, but she did not want to become interested in a person with
a problem child, especially one who had been married before. She
had had enough of the married men she met at the university. They
were all so opinionated and stubborn, not believing in education
for women and having little respect for her…and she was fed up with
such narrow-mindedness.

Men who had been married before seemed to be set in
their ways and resented change. They would often remind her that it
was about time she settled down and learned to cook instead of
going to college or teaching, and this infuriated her. Melinda’s
education was important to her, almost as important as equality
between the sexes.

She knew that she was making a judgment
about Gilbert, but she could not help it. Gilbert had been married
before; therefore, he would most certainly be opinionated and
stubborn. She would never marry a man who would attempt to “put her
in her place.”

So she quickly dismissed the idea of getting
to know this rugged man. But somehow, she felt drawn to him and had
no idea why. Maybe it was his quiet demeanor and soft-spoken voice.
Maybe it was his embarrassment and boyish attitude as he became
flustered and quickly turned and left. Perhaps it was his muscular
build that intrigued her. She grinned inwardly. Then she shook her
head. No. No matter what, she was not interested and that was
that.

The following day, Melinda sat at the table
enjoying lunch and a pleasant conversation with her aunt and uncle.
As she took a bite of overdone, dried roast beef, she asked, “Why
is it so hard to cook roast beef and make it have a moist and tasty
flavor? I have never in my life tasted a well-seasoned roast.”

Aunt Martha laughed, “Don’t worry, my dear.
You’ll catch on to it some day. Some people just have a knack for
cooking. It’s the same with me. Some days it’s moist and other days
it’s dry, and I can never figure out the secret.”

Melinda turned to her uncle and asked, “Uncle
William, may I please take the carriage into Montpelier? I have
some errands to run. School starts in a couple of weeks and I need
to order some supplies and open my own account at the bank.”

William gave a nod. “Of course. I’ll get the
carriage ready.”

Melinda put on a lovely white muslin dress
that was fitted snugly to the bodice and gathered at the waist. It
hung smoothly and gracefully about her hips. Smiling at herself in
the mirror, she pinched her cheeks for color. Grabbing her handbag,
she met Uncle William outside.

After she climbed into the carriage, he
handed her the reins to the horse. “He’s gentle. You won’t have any
problem. Just remember to hold on tight so you have control at all
times.”

“All right, Uncle William. Thank you.”

Realizing the time, Melinda whipped the
reins and sped down the road toward Montpelier. She needed to get
to the bank before it closed. It was August thirteenth. School
would begin in only two weeks and she had a long list of chores to
accomplish.

Approaching the bank, she noticed a sign next to the
door that said, “The Bank of Montpelier, Established in 1891.”
Looking at her watch, Melinda realized she had arrived just in
time, before the bank closed.

The bank president and his friend were
visiting on the steps of the bank. When Melinda approached, they
cordially greeted her as they tipped their hats and smiled, “Good
day, ma’am.”

Melinda smiled back as she opened the door
of the bank. Inside, she asked the teller for papers to open an
account. As she was filling out the papers, she heard the door
slowly squeak open and shut. Melinda glanced up and saw four men
enter with very sober faces: the two gentlemen who were on the
steps and two other men who were dressed like cowhands or cowboys.
As they entered, she noticed that one of the cowboys mumbled
something to the men in front of him who quickly stiffened with
fear in their eyes. She looked questioningly at them, wondering
what was wrong. Then one of the cowboys closed the door. As they
backed away from the gentlemen, she realized they had guns in their
hands.

Melinda gasped, dropping her pen to the
floor. Her heart throbbed and her face turned pale as she realized
she was witnessing, firsthand, the reason this place was called the
“Wild West.” As she watched, her eyes brimmed with anxious tears
and her chest tightened.

“Up against the wall,” the outlaw
demanded.

Melinda looked around and the only other
people in the bank were a woman stenographer and a male teller by
the name of Mackintosh.

Melinda was so frightened that her breathing
became short and irregular. Her eyes widened with the terror of not
knowing what would happen next.

“Well, well, Cassidy,” the outlaw drawled.
“Look what we have here. Two women, and one purtier than I’ve ever
seen before.”

The outlaw’s eyes boldly swept over Melinda,
from her hair down to her shoes with a look that sent a chill up
her spine. Cassidy seemed to notice the troubled look on Melinda’s
face so he quickly intervened.

“Elza, don’t frighten her. She’s a lady.
Look at her dress and the way she holds herself. I saw ladies like
her when I went back East last year.”

Cassidy took off his hat and flashed her a
gentle smile. It seemed to her that he had great respect for women.
Aunt Martha had told her that most cowboys did. If any cowboy or
outlaw showed disrespect to a woman, or treated her
inappropriately, his peers soon corrected him for his behavior.
Melinda noticed that even though Cassidy did not respect the law,
he deeply respected a lady.

He gave her a charming smile and said
softly, “Ma’am, don’t be frightened. I can see you are, but we
won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Melinda stared at him. His voice was kind and his
eyes were soft. His manner seemed to contradict everything he
represented. He was a nice looking man with a boyish look in his
face. His hair was short with bangs parted to the side. Butch
Cassidy was known for his charm and quick wit, not to mention his
fearlessness and bravery. He had an air of authority about him and
no one could mistake that he was the leader of his gang.

Mr. Gray, the bank president, exclaimed with
surprise, “Did you say Cassidy? As in Butch Cassidy, the
outlaw?”

Cassidy grinned and nodded with a sparkle of
mischief in his eyes as he put his hat back on. “Heard of me?”

Gray tried not to stammer, but it was
impossible. “Uh… y-yes, I have. D-don’t they call your gang the
Wild Bunch?”

“They sure do,” he said with pride in his
voice. With a command of authority, he looked at everyone. “Now all
of you, against the wall so we can do our job.”

Melinda was standing at the teller’s window,
and as Cassidy momentarily turned his attention to the two
gentlemen in the corner, Mackintosh leaned over and whispered, “I
heard that Cassidy was born in Utah, and was raised by religious
parents. When he was a teenager, he went astray and left home to
ride with the outlaws, taking on the name of his mentor.”

Upon hearing this, Melinda realized that
others had influenced Cassidy, encouraging him to disregard his
parents’ teachings. He could have been an asset to the community
but had chosen another direction. How many other children had gone
astray simply because of being swayed by friends?

Elza Lay was a part of Cassidy’s gang, as well as
his best friend. Lay was a tall, slender, handsome man known for
being a top bronco rider and ranch hand. He was a flirtatious sort
of fellow and seemed to have a way with women and horses.

Elza could not take his eyes off Melinda.
His penetrating glare unnerved her and she quickly averted her
eyes. As his eyes studied her, he commanded, “Give me your
purse.”

Melinda clutched her purse tightly with both
hands. It was the last of her money. The protest inside her wedged
in her throat and she could not speak. Her chest tightened until
she could scarcely breathe.

Seeing her panic, Cassidy intervened once
again. “Leave her alone, Elza. We have all we need here at the
bank.” Turning to the hostages, he demanded, “Now the rest of you,
turn around with your faces toward the wall.”

Elza Lay leaned casually against the writing
desk with his revolver pointed at his hostages while Cassidy
quickly scooped up the money into a gunnysack.

Lay turned toward the window as he said,
“Hurry, Cassidy. Meeks is holding the horses. You know how nervous
he gets.”

Melinda looked out the window and noticed
the third man standing by the horses across the street. She made a
mental note of the man’s features just before Lay struck Mackintosh
across the face.

“Where’s the rest of the money?” Lay
demanded.

Losing his balance, Mackintosh bumped into
Melinda. She took his arm to steady him and asked in a quiet tone,
“Are you all right?”

He nodded somewhat unconvincingly, his eyes wide
with fear.

“Well, where is the rest of it?” Lay
demanded as he stared at Mackintosh.

“Uh…th-that’s all. Th-there’s no more. We
only took in about $7,000.”

Cassidy shoved the last of the money in the
sack. “You know, Elza, I figur’d the best way to hurt ’em is
through their pocketbook. I can assure you they will holler louder
than if you cut off both legs. In fact, I like to steal their money
just to hear ’em holler. Then, just like Robin Hood, I pass it out
among those who really need it, taking from the rich and giving to
the poor.”

Melinda remembered hearing how he proclaimed
that he was fighting for the settlers’ rights against the rich
cattle baron. To some he was a hero but to Melinda and other
law-abiding citizens, he was a bandit.

Cassidy walked to the door and stopped.
Looking at Melinda, he gave her a charming smile and nodded.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry if we frightened you.”

Cassidy held the gunnysack in a casual
manner and slowly left the bank. He walked nonchalantly across the
street as if he did not have a care in the world. He fastened the
gunnysack to his saddlebags and then swung himself upon his horse
and rode slowly away. No one seemed to take notice of this stranger
or suspect anything was wrong as he rode down the street, passing
people on his way.

Melinda noticed that everything was planned down to
the last moment. Cassidy apparently never acted without a
well-staked-out plan. Watching out the window, she noticed that
after Cassidy was out of town, Meeks moved across the street toward
the bank with the remaining horses and left Lay’s horse standing in
front of the bank. Meeks hopped upon his horse and slowly rode
away. Again, no one took notice of the second stranger, riding off
down the road.

Through the bank window, Lay watched Meeks
ride out of town. Before he left, he softly stroked Melinda’s cheek
with his fingers and gave her a smile that shook her nerves.