He closed the case and grabbed his leather coat from the hook on the wall as he said farewell to the boardinghouse in Silver City. Never again would he need a hotel room this close to Redhawk. By shortly after noon, the boy who’d never had a father would be a town father. Today was his day.
Paying the proprietor on his way out, Frisco went to the livery to get his horse.
Never before had there been so many people buzzing about the little settlement of Silver City. As he left town and rode west along the southern border, the crowds thinned out, but there was still an unbroken stretch of people camping along the line, not taking their eyes off the land to their north that would soon be claimed either by them or their lucky neighbors. Already men were ground-tying their horses against the riverbank that marked the southern border of the territory. Most of the wives and children were tidying up their camps a safe distance away.
Always drawn to the working of a crowd, Frisco reined his horse where a group of men stood, contemplating the river boundary.
“It’s Mr. Smith.” The man had an eastern European accent. Czech, if Frisco remembered correctly. “I almost didn’t recognize you decked out like that.”
How far he’d come. A year ago, no one would’ve recognized him in a suit. Now they thought his frontier clothes were remarkable. “It’s not a day for fine clothes,” Frisco said. “We’ll have to get our hands dirty before there’s reason to put on fancy duds.”
“This is the man you need to talk to,” said the Czech to one of his companions. “He’s one of the brokers behind this deal.”
“I don’t know that I’d call myself a broker. Maybe an organizer—”
“This here is what we’re trying to figure.” The second man was short and well built. His right forearm looked like he’d spent a lot of time roping. “It’s going be rough going, crossing that river,” he said. “That’s a steep bank. Me and the fellas here figure we’re going to cross it and wait for noon on the other side.”
“But the border is on this side of the river,” Frisco said. “Can’t take out until you hear the signal.”
“Are you the law?” chimed a third, taller man. He pushed aside his threadbare coat to reveal a rusty revolver holstered at his belt. “There ain’t no law here to know one way or t’other. Besides, on our honor, we wouldn’t take out until noon. Just would rather get the river behind us before the start.”
Frisco had no patience for such maneuvers. These Johnny-come-latelies showed up in Indian Territory and decided that the contest was too difficult, so they wanted special arrangements. If it weren’t for men like Frisco and their petitions, this race wouldn’t be happening in the first place. And men like these fellas felt entitled to having it easy.
“How long have you been camped here?” Frisco asked.
“For a week and a half,” the rancher replied. “Why?”
“Y’all know each other? I mean, you’ve been camped here long enough.”
“Sure do. We know each other now.”
Frisco nodded, then pointed to a robust man whose disdain for the discussion was evident. “You there, what do you think of their plans?”
The man stepped forward, pushing his barrel chest right into the heart of the group. “I think it’s a pity that these men gathered with a chaplain yesterday and prayed for God’s blessing, and today they’re planning how to sneak across early. Maybe they aren’t trusting God enough to get them across a river?”
Frisco had found his man. “Listen, all of you.” He made sure to include those on the perimeter of the crowd. They were the ones who hadn’t thrown their lot in with the rest. “Make a list. Take names. Pay attention to who is standing by you when the signal flies and who has already flown the coop. You might not have the law with you today, but are we Americans or not? Are we capable of governing ourselves, or do we need someone to come impose the rules on us? By the end of the day, some of y’all might be councilmen or mayors. Soon there’ll be judges and juries ready to start hearing cases, and you all are witnesses. If you have any honor, you’ll stay on this side of the river until the signal, and you’ll report those who don’t. Maybe they won’t take the piece of land you were after, but they’ll get someone’s, and it’s not right. It’s up to us to be fair.”
The looks thrown his way weren’t charitable. He might have ruined their advantage, but he hoped he’d helped save the integrity of the contest.
Seeing that the tone of the discussion had changed, Frisco continued his journey along the line. He had a piece to travel before he got to the place he needed to start from, and he didn’t want to wind his horse getting there.
He knew when he’d reached the corner of the territory. The line of people ended and started afresh on the north side of the South Canadian River. This was the western border and where Frisco needed to be.
The men at Silver City hadn’t been wrong—the river was hard to cross, and Frisco sincerely hoped the wagons didn’t attempt it. The chances of getting stuck were great, and quicksand was a likely threat to those in a hurry and not paying mind. At this corner, it was lawful to cross the river as long as they remained against the western border, and many had decided, like Frisco, to run from that direction, where the river crossing was already behind them. He kept out of the press of people, though, and let his horse trot north until he came to the place he’d chosen. He eyed his way ahead—the dips and undulations of the land as familiar to him as the beaten leather satchel tied to his horse. He might as well take a breather and dismount. Unlike the settlers around him, he had no goods to pack up and no family to calm before the cannon sounded.
The line was defined by stakes driven every tenth of a mile or so, but you didn’t need to see the stakes because the people had already taken their spots two hours early. A trooper in cavalry blue trotted his bay horse along the line, pausing to visit with the jovial contestants but also keeping an eye toward the supposedly unmanned land to their east.
How many were already out there? Frisco ground his boot heel into the red soil. Some might say that he had an unfair advantage, but knowledge was power. Some people had it and others didn’t. Some people had faster horses. Some people could run like the wind. You used every lawful advantage at your disposal, and that was the key. He was waiting on the line, and he expected everyone else to do the same.
“You might not want to wait here, youngster.” The speaker’s grizzled beard spread over his patched and threadbare shirt. “There ain’t going to be anything left from this side.”
“What do you mean?”
“We woke up this morning to find nearly everyone had pulled out and disappeared last night.” His skin was sun-marred by dark splotches scattered over his face. “By the time the guns go off, they’ll be at the claims office with the paperwork ready to file.”
Frisco pulled out his watch. Even though it wasn’t real gold, it looked out of place with his frontiersman’s garb. An hour and a half. He didn’t want to get too far from his starting position, but neither could he stomach the thought that someone who’d followed the rules would be cheated by someone who hadn’t. If there was something he could do to help . . .
He marched to the invisible line and crossed it, stepping out in front of the waiting people. Frisco caught his breath as he scanned both directions. With his view unobstructed by his fellow runners, he could see the line to the north. Sometimes it disappeared into a dip, but then it reappeared farther on, a dark smudge against the green pastureland broken up by red dirt. He tried to make out Darlington and Fort Reno, but he couldn’t be sure where he was looking. All he knew was that other people were looking at him and getting pretty riled.
“Get back behind the line.”
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Frisco raised his hand in acknowledgment, certain that the runners weren’t the only ones who’d seen him. And sure enough, troopers from both sides were barreling toward him.
Frisco had a lot of experience with being arrested. He’d
probably been arrested by the very troopers who were on their way, so he stood with his feet planted and both his hands up, trying to cause them as little concern as possible.
“You only have an hour to wait, Frisco Smith.” It was Corporal Bradley Willis, the brother of the major’s wife. The one engaged to Miss Adams’s pretty friend. “You couldn’t go that long without a visit to the guardhouse?”
Frisco felt a spike of fear. Had he made a mistake? He’d forgotten the decree that anyone caught in the lands prematurely was forbidden from claiming a lot. He was only trying to be helpful.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said. “I wanted to draw your attention to the situation here. According to the settlers, a large group left overnight. They’re hiding out there in the gullies, waiting for noon, when they’ll pop up and grab a homestead.”
Bradley’s mouth twisted as his horse pawed the ground. Frisco admired the way he sat a horse. It was as if the two beasts were connected by the same thoughts. From what he knew of Corporal Willis, the horse might be the wiser of the two.
“We’ve got deputies out there,” Willis said, “but they’re greenhorns. I don’t set much stock by them. On the other hand, I’m assigned to the line. I can’t go thrashing through the scrub looking for sooners. Especially when there’s a man breaking the law right in front of me.”
Frisco took two giant steps backward. Then, looking over his shoulder, he took one more, just to make sure he was safe. Without urging, Bradley’s horse moved forward as if it were interested in the conversation too.
“If I may make a suggestion,” Frisco said. “They’ve had the same problem on the south border as well. The best course of action might be to gather a list of names of those who moonlighted away. As an added precaution, you could take down a list of people still here at noon to protect them from fraudulent accusations should they try to claim land that was taken illegally.”
Bradley narrowed his eyes. “Do you have paper?”
“Do I?” Frisco looked back to where his horse was still standing next to the gray-headed man. “Yes, of course.” He always traveled light, but his map of Redhawk, his money, and the list of his settlers’ names stayed with him. He’d stashed his law books in his dugout house, but he had paper.
“Then I give you permission to do what you suggested. Take down the names of everyone here and those who are suspected of soonerism.”
“Today? Right now? In case it escaped your notice, Corporal, there’s a big race fixing to happen. I’ll do what I can, but—”
“Right. Do what you can. That’s all any of us are doing today. As for me, I’ve got to be on the line a mile north of here. There are a couple of ladies who think they’re going to make the run, and I’d like to be there to see that they get a clean start. When you’re able, get that list in to the authorities. If what you say is true, there’ll be a lot of people grateful for your help.”
And a lot of people who would want to murder him. Frisco looked again at the path he’d chosen. This wasn’t the way he’d pictured the biggest day of his life.
“Bradley says to let the men get the jump when the gun goes off.” Amber pulled her gloves tight. “That’s the most dangerous time. We’re better off coming up from behind than getting trampled.”
Caroline tugged on her saddle roll to make sure her stake and mallet were secure. Also included was enough food to last her three days. It’d be a hungry three days, but she didn’t dare leave her claim until things had settled down.
“For once Bradley’s speaking sense,” Caroline said. “Our horses are fast enough to keep up, and we’re sure of our route.” The air was filled with voices speaking in unfamiliar accents and tongues. Not one familiar face, though, which meant they were strangers to the area. No one here who knew the land better than she . . . and Frisco.
That was one familiar face she didn’t want to see. She tightened her saddle roll for the third time and climbed into the saddle. She surveyed the people on both sides of her. Would some of them become her neighbors? What history would they share? What history would they make?
“What are you doing here?” It was Bradley, who’d spotted them as he patrolled the line. “I thought you were going to be farther north.”
“According to Caroline, this is the spot.” Amber rode forward to meet him at the boundary.
Caroline nodded. “And there are not as many people waiting here.”
“That’s because a lot of them have already flown the coop,” Bradley said. “But don’t you worry. If we catch them, their land will be up for the taking. Now, you girls should get in position. Step back a bit from the front, remember. You don’t want your horses to get spooked or be trampled by a wagon.”
Amber reached out her hand, even though the invisible barrier separated her from her man. “Wish me luck,” she said.
“I wish us luck,” he said.
The mood of the crowd, which had been jovial for the last few days, was growing serious. The time of reckoning was upon them. Bradley had backed away from the line and was passing on some communication with the line of troopers that stretched the span of the border. Women were gathering their children together and moving away from the front.
“I’m nervous,” Amber said. She stretched her legs before her, testing her stirrups.
“It’s just a horse ride,” said Caroline, but she was feeling light-headed herself. She tested her grip on the reins and felt the sweat slicking her palms inside her gloves.
How long would they have to wait?
A call went out from the front of the line. “Five-minute warning.”
At the sound, a horse darted forward. A few others followed even as Bradley spun and spurred his horse to corral them back.
One man who’d gotten a jump looked over his shoulder at the unmoving crowd. He reined hard to pull his mare back to the line. “I thought I was on my way to victory,” he said sheepishly as he rejoined the group.
“I just hope you ran far enough to tire your horse,” a young cowpuncher responded.
The laughter helped break the tension, but in a heartbeat it was back. A fly buzzed beneath the brim of Caroline’s hat. She shooed it away, then tested her chin strap to make sure it wouldn’t slip. Hardtack shuddered beneath her. He’d picked up on her nerves and was ready to break loose. She’d have a hard time holding him back, even for a spare moment. A bead of sweat ran down her spine and soaked into her waistband.
Bradley sat astride his horse in front of them, as still as a statue with his timepiece in his hand. The wind snapped the canvas on the wagon next to them. Bradley pulled his revolver out of its holster. Everyone leaned forward. A man walked between Caroline and Amber with a spike in one hand and a hammer in the other and waited.
Bradley lifted his gun over his head. No one breathed. His eyes flickered to Amber . . . and then he pulled the trigger.
Chapter eight
You didn’t get my name.” A man waved Frisco over. What in the world? The man wore a clerk’s sleeve protectors and short pants and was sitting astride a bicycle. While he didn’t want to give up his place in the line, he did want his name on the list of those who’d waited. Frisco pulled the rumpled paper out of his shirt pocket and produced a pencil.
“Name?”
“Phineas Stargazer.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I had it legally changed. It used to be John Stargazer—”
The crowd tensed. A call sounded that ricocheted in Frisco’s chest. Had he missed it? But no one moved. The words five-minute warning sounded around him as the racers reassured themselves that they only had to wait a little longer. Frisco scratched down the name and folded the list into his pocket as he turned to run back to his horse.
“Don’t forget me.” A man rolled a sleek black buggy in his way. “I have witnesses that I’ve been here, but having my name on that list won’t hurt nothing either.”
Why had Corporal Willis given him this task? Time was running o
ut. Frisco didn’t bother folding the paper after taking down the name but shoved the list beneath his belt, running to where he’d left his horse.
Only his horse wasn’t there.
He pushed his hat back on his head and spun in a circle. The milling crowd had grown still, everyone straining toward the boundary line. His horse had been right there. Where could it have gone? He spun again and realized he was being watched by a woman sitting on a milking stool. She popped a piece of horehound candy into her mouth and crunched it slowly, never taking her eyes off him.
Something about her told Frisco that her interest wasn’t coincidence. Nearly frantic, he ran to her dying campfire. “Where’s my horse? You know, don’t you?”
“Did you lose something?” She slurped to keep from drooling around the candy. “What a pity. You was so interested in writing down names of men who left a few hours early that you weren’t paying attention. Seems like if you make those men lose their property, you might oughta look after yourn.”
Frisco looked over his shoulder. Corporal Willis was reaching for his pistol. “If you cause me to miss this race, ma’am, I fear the consequences I’ll bring against you. Where’s my horse?”
His pain delighted her. She smiled and, with an indolent hand, waved behind the line where the families were waiting. “You might oughta look over there. Seems like there was a horse belonging to a do-gooder—”
Frisco didn’t wait for the insults but ran past the campsites to where his horse was tied to an abandoned wagon wheel. He fought to get the reins unknotted, the seconds ticking away. If he knew the name of that woman or her husband, he’d make sure to personally represent anyone who wanted the land they’d illegally claimed.
The gunshot sounded like a ping compared to the roar that followed it. Frisco froze as the wall of horses, runners, and wagons fell away from him. Dust flew and the ground shook. He tasted the dirt they were kicking up as they sped away, growing smaller by the second.
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