Mary Peace FinleyAward-winning author of books for young people
schools and churches and stores and friends to play with? A place where we wouldn’t have to wear razors in case we get bitten by a rattlesnake? I don’t ever want to cut an X over fang holes and suck out the poison. Yuck!”Just then their father and Mr. Black galloped by. Harry trailed behind, riding Sugar, his little mare. “Raephy!” he shouted. “If you want your book, it’s on my bunk in the shed. Tell Mother we’ll be late.”Raephy didn’t want to frighten Sadie, so she called out to Harry and Daddy only with her mind: Be careful, Harry. Be safe, Daddy. Those Texans will be as angry as Mr. Black, and they’ll be wearing six-shooters, too.Raephy looked around at the endless flat prairie and the long straight line of railroad tracks. Mr. Black’s house was the only other house for as far as she could see, but her house—the McDowell house—wasn’t really a house at all. It was only two small rooms on the second floor of a rickety train station smack in the middle of nowhere. Blackwell Station.