“Yes, sir, Judge Your Honor.”
The judge turned to his stenographer. “Have the proper papers been filed on this?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the man answered. “Got ’em early this morning.”
“All right,” the judge said. “The court recognizes Mr. Markham as noted.” He pushed all his papers aside. “I want you all to know that there is going to be a definite procedure here. I’ll not tolerate any outbursts. There’ll be no objecting, points of order called for, or any other disruptive protocol that would delay these proceedings. That includes shouting, clapping of hands, stomping of boots, firing of shooting irons, or any other noise. Anyone who violates my rules will be forcibly ejected by the Federal officers here present and may be subject to arrest depending on the severity of their misconduct. In other words, if anybody riles me enough, he’ll go to jail.
Harknell turned and glared at Luther McCracken to make sure the Boomer understood. Luther glowered back with his mouth turned down in a defiant frown.
The judge went on. “First I want to hear testimony from Mr. Markham on behalf of the settlers. Following that, we will hear from Mr. Thompson representing the Cherokee Nation. Lastly, Mr. Harknell will be allowed to make a statement. As I’ve already said but wish to reiterate, I will see that a transcript of these proceedings is sent to the proper authorities in the United States Congress.” He paused once more. “Any questions? Being none, I call Mr. Lorenzo Markham to address the court.”
The fact that what he was going to say would be reviewed in Washington by highly-placed policy makers was not lost on Markham. He carried a thick set of notes as he stepped forward. “Your Honor,” he began, “the Medicine Bundle Grasslands consists of two hundred thousand acres of fine, fertile farmland that is nearly one hundred percent producible. No forest, swamp, nor other natural or man-made barrier mars that fertile terrain. Yet it is being denied to those who would use it best because of the extra-legal leasing of the area to a single rancher. This action, like similar ones, is sanctioned by the Department of the Interior in league with all the ranchers in the Indian Territory. These ranchers also conspire with certain members of the Cherokee National Council, using bribes of money and gifts to gain their advantages and desires. This practice promotes the ability of the cattlemen to form monopolies that postpone the fated and proper settlement of this arable region. The fact that only one rancher is involved on the Medicine Bundle Grasslands is ample proof of the veracity of the statements I have just made.”
Markham spoke for a full hour while the crowd, including the Boomers, squirmed and yawned through the lengthy oratory. The attorney argued the point that allowing the present conditions to continue only delayed the inevitable progress toward opening the lands to white settlement.
He concluded, saying, “In fact, I would like to point out that there have been instances when even Indian cattlemen have been denied access to grazing lands because of the leases between the national councils of the Five Civilized Tribes and white ranchers.” He placed his notes into his inside coat pocket. Then his voice rose as he said, “This is a national tragedy, since our great United States of America would enjoy unlimited advantages to having farmers and merchants living productively on those many acres. It is as the great journalist John L. O’Sullivan wrote in the United States Magazine and Democratic Review, Your Honor. And I paraphrase; ‘the fulfillment of our manifest destiny is to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for our development.’ Those words are as true today as when he penned them back in 1845.” He paused and took a deep breath for the final words of his address. “I thank the court for its kind indulgence, and pray that when the transcripts of these proceedings are sent to Congress, our honorable and dedicated representatives will see to it that this intolerable wrong is righted as quickly as possible to allow the further progress and expansion of civilization across the continental United States of America. That is something all true Christian patriots of this great nation desire with all their hearts.”
“Thank you, Mr. Markham,” the judge said. He waited while the court stenographer completed his notes. Then he nodded to the representative from the Cherokee National Council. “I now call on the Honorable Joel Thompson to address the court.”
Thompson went straight to the attack, speaking confidently in a clear firm voice. “The first thing I would like to say is that we of the Cherokee Nation are not laboring under any false impressions. Most certainly not about this so called manifest destiny Mr. Markham mentioned. We can see the handwriting on the wall, and the message it conveys is one we Indians know so well. This hearing, and others like it, are only the first steps in an insidious plot to once more ignore treaties and wrest our land away from us.”
The judge’s gavel banged on the desk. “Mr. Thompson! You will stick to the matter that has been placed in front of this court today. And that is the matter of the Medicine Bundle Grasslands, not the history of your people.”
“Very well, Your Honor,” Thompson said. “My desire is to call attention to the real reasons behind the situation out here.”
“You’ve done that now, Mr. Thompson. Continue.”
Thompson cleared his throat, and began again. “Mr. Markham’s charges that the Department of the Interior is in league with the ranchers are simply not true. The Secretary of the Interior goes no further than to properly support the rights of Indians and cattlemen to form agreements, including leases, among themselves. This certainly applies to the case of Mr. Dewey Harknell and his Rocking H cattle organization on the Medicine Bundle Grasslands.”
Harknell and Charlie nodded enthusiastically, smirking at the Boomers.
Thompson continued his dissertation. “Now, if there is any illegal conspiracy in any portions of the Cherokee Strip it is between the settlers and the railroads. The latter would like to see the land taken from the Indians so they could profit by extending their lines into those areas. If you look around, you’ll see several railroad companies represented here today. May I ask the gentlemen to raise their hands, Your Honor?”
“Denied, Mr. Thompson,” Judge Ross said. “Let’s get on with it.”
“At any rate, Lorenzo Markham is representing the railroads as much, if not more than the Boomers.”
Judge Ross said, “I told you to stick to the subject of ranching and settling on the Medicine Bundle Grasslands.”
“All right, Your Honor,” Thompson said. “Mr. Markham mentioned Indian ranchers being kept from grazing lands. I won’t deny that a citizen of the Cherokee Nation has brought up this charge. But this case is irrelevant here today for two reasons. Number one, this dispute is with the Cherokee Strip Livestock Association; and two, it is an internal matter of the Cherokee Nation out of anyone else’s jurisdiction. The situation has absolutely nothing to do with the Medicine Bundle Grasslands.”
Dewey Harknell stood up and shook his fist at Luther McCracken. The judge banged on the desk with his gavel. “Mr. Harknell! I said I would tolerate no boisterous behavior.”
“I didn’t say nothing, Judge. And I wasn’t stomping my boots or shooting my six-gun neither.”
“Boisterous behavior includes gestures,” Judge Ross said. “Now sit down and behave yourself or I’ll find you in contempt.”
“Yes, sir, Judge.”
“You may continue, Mr. Thompson,” Judge Ross said to the Cherokee representative.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Thompson said. “Those wishing to take over these vast territories portray themselves as decent, hardworking farmers and merchants. They fail to mention the saloon keepers, brothel masters, gamblers, and other purveyors of vice who are waiting to establish their vicious and criminal businesses in areas that will be but loosely defended by the forces of law and order.”
Thompson changed his speech toward a passionate defense of the rights of Indians to do as they please with lands awarded to them through negotiations and treaties with the United States Government. In his wrap up, the Cherokee said, “We respectful
ly remind Congress that the attitude of these Boomers is directed against the Five Civilized Tribes because of the settlers’ irrational feelings of superiority over red men. I wish to further state that our possession of these lands came about after we Indians were forcibly removed from our ancestral homes and made to travel a long, tortuous route to where we are now living. We refer to that dreadful journey as the Trail of Tears. But now at last we have found contentment and a place in which to sink our cultural roots to build a secure, dignified, and just existence. We have no doubt that the protection of such rights as expressed in the Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution will be guaranteed to the Cherokee people by the Congress of this great country. Our faith in that stands firm. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” Judge Ross said. “Our final testimony will come from Mr. Dewey Harknell.”
Harknell stood up and walked a few paces forward. His bulk seemed even larger in the schoolroom as he stood awkwardly, holding his sun-faded sugar loaf sombrero in his big hands. “I ain’t a good speaker but I got things in my heart that want saying,” Harknell began. “I ain’t a bad man. I work hard, I pay what I owe, and treat the other feller fair and square as long as he treats me that-a-way. I made an honest deal with the Cherokee folks in Tahlequah to lease land to run cattle on. I pay ’em ever’ dime when it’s due and they don’t have no complaints agin me. But them Boomers act like I’m some kind of bad galoot ’cause I won’t walk away from my ranch and let them waltz in on the Grasslands. They trespass on the range and cause all sorts of trouble in the running of my ranch. I say that’s a wrong thing to do if ever a wrong thing was did. They even shot a couple of my poor cowboys. Kilt ’em as dead as dead can be!”
Once again the judge loudly rapped his gavel. “I have already made a ruling on that case, Mr. Harknell.”
“Yes, Judge,” Harknell said. “All I ask from anybody is to be allowed to foller the dream I had when I was a young cowboy down in Texas. I had to leave my pa’s place ’cause my oldest brother took it over. I wanted my own outfit and I went up to the Grasslands with a half dozen head and built it up to the ranch I got now. I had to work from sun to sun and even into the night when they was stampedes or rustlers and stuff like ‘at. I never had time to go a-courting and get a wife ’cause it took ever’ minute of my day just to make things work. I fought bad luck, rustlers, the weather, wild Injuns, and now them damn Boomers to keep what I got. I want to tell them political fellers in Warshington that I just wish ever’body would leave me alone and let me get on with what I want to do.” He paused, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. He looked at the judge. “I thank you kindly.”
“And the court thanks you, Mr. Harknell,” the judge said. “All the testimony has been heard and dully recorded. A transcript will be prepared and sent to the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs. Whatever decisions, if any, to be rendered regarding the situation on the Medicine Bundle Grasslands or any other portion of the Indian Territory, will be done by that august body.” He gave the audience a steely-eyed glare. “Now! I am here by issuing an order from my court that will forbid any further intrusion by anyone for any reason at any time on the Medicine Bundle Grasslands. Army troops from Fort Gibson have already been dispatched to enforce this ruling. This court recognizes the lease between the Cherokee National Council and Mr. Dewey Harknell as legal and binding and not to be violated or ignored unless legally nullified through due process.” He took a deep breath and banged his gavel. “This hearing is adjourned!”
“All rise!” Nolan Sinclair shouted.
The judge walked from the room as two of the law officers opened the rear doors to signal that everyone should leave. The Boomers kept their seats, a bit dismayed and confused, as Dewey Harknell and Charlie Ainsley walked past. The three men from the Cherokee Nation followed them out, trailed by Grant Hollings. The lieutenant nodded to Luther as he once more tried to acknowledge him. Luther ignored the officer, turning his attention to Lorenzo Markham. Luther said, “I think we lost.”
“There was no winning or losing, gentlemen,” Markham said. “Everything happened just as expected.”
Harvey Matthews leaned forward. “But the judge said we couldn’t go on the Grasslands. He said them soljers would back him up.”
“It’s always been that way,” Markham said. “Remember when I told you about Payne and Couch? They’re constantly going into the Cherokee Outlet and getting arrested.”
Luther was confused. “I don’t understand what we’re supposed to do.”
“You’re going back down there again,” Markham said. “And again and again and again. Eventually that action is going to force Congress to free the entire Cherokee Strip, not just the Medicine Bundle Grasslands, for settlement.” He looked at them with a serious expression. “Are you willing to follow that course?”
Luther asked, “Where are you going to be, Mr. Markham?”
“Right with you,” Markham said. “I’m staying here in Clarkville, gentlemen. Each time you go down there, I’ll go along in my own wagon. My clerk will stay back to handle matters while I’m in confinement.” He laughed. “Or rather, while we’re in confinement.”
Luther suddenly grinned viciously. “Let’s fight then!”
“You bet!” Harvey said.
A well-dressed gentleman walked up to Markham. “One more battle in the great struggle, hey, Lorenzo?”
“Indeed, John!” Markham replied. He turned to the Boomers. “Gentlemen allow me to present Mr. John Pritcher of the Missouri Valley and Arkansas Railroad.”
Pritcher smiled at the Boomers. “My pleasure, gentlemen.”
“I tell you what,” Markham said. “I’m going to stand for drinks at the saloon. We’ll toast our campaign with some good American bourbon whiskey.” He picked up his briefcase. “Let’s go!”
The Boomers followed him and the railroad man out of the schoolhouse and down the street.
Chapter Eight
In the late evening after the Medicine Bundle Grasslands hearing, Rebecca McCracken finished her last daily chore of washing the family’s supper dishes. The soapy, wet task left her irritable as did the confinement of the Boomer camp. The proximity of numerous campsites and their occupants pressed down on the girl like a smothering blanket.
Rebecca walked around the wagon and emptied the basin with an angry fling of her arms that sent the water flying out over the grass. She stood on the spot for a moment, listening to the murmuring camp conversations punctuated by the shrill shouts of playing children. She suddenly experienced an overwhelming need to draw off by herself.
“Ma!”
Fionna, sitting in a chair darning socks, looked up startled. “For goodness sake! What?”
Rebecca approached her mother, doing her best to calm her irritation. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Don’t go too far. It’s fast growing dark.”
As Rebecca headed out into the open countryside, she wished it was possible for her to go far enough to leave the Boomers and their struggles forever. She strolled across the grass for a quarter of an hour, following the dipping and rolling of the terrain until the bivouac was completely out of sight. She could no longer hear the noise of the people as she continued to search for blessed solitude.
A few minutes later she reached the creek where the boys fished. The young girl was grateful no one was there. She approached the bank of the waterway and sat down in the lush grass, closing her eyes and relaxing. The water was shallow at that point, flowing gently over a crop of rocks, singing a tuneless bubbly melody.
She thought of their old house back in Missouri. It wasn’t so fancy, and her life hadn’t been all that good, but it was better than constantly camping out with all the inconveniences of having to live in a wagon. She only had one friend back home because of her dad’s squabble with the neighbors. This friendship was possible because the other girl’s family were Quakers who took no sides in the war. At school she and Rebecca ate their lunches
together; two outcasts among unreconstructed Rebels. But this girlish relationship came to a close when Rebecca left school at age twelve. By then she was helping the teacher with the classes, and when Luther found that out she had mastered all the education available in the little one-room school, he pulled her out. Fionna needed her to help out at home.
Now, after sitting a few moments on the creek bank, Rebecca was enjoying a good cry. She sobbed and wiped at the tears, venting feelings that had been building up since the return to Clarkville. Her sadness came from a combination of loneliness and disappointment. She was upset about Esther Ratner’s situation and the violent deaths out on the Grasslands. Additionally, another disturbing element had entered her life in the form of Lieutenant Grant Hollings.
Rebecca was actually more perplexed than disturbed about the young army officer. She felt a great affection and attraction toward him. Just thinking of Grant brought flashes of happiness to her, and the girl wondered if she had fallen in love. She’d had crushes on boys before, but those feelings were nothing compared to how she felt now. These latest emotions were more sensitive, making her ponder on why something so wonderful could be so painful at times. It was an emptiness that craved filling, yet she didn’t know exactly what it was she wanted or needed. Rebecca felt as if she was starving but couldn’t sense the pangs of hunger to stimulate her into eating.
Grant had made a couple of appearances at the McCracken campsite during his official visits. After curt exchanges of words with Luther, he stayed only long enough for brief conversations with Rebecca and Fionna. Luther sensed his daughter’s growing infatuation with the young man, and did not appreciate it. Finally, after the third visit, he told Grant Hollings he was not welcome at their wagon. “Lieutenant,” Luther said, “if you got any business with me, you just send a note. I’ll come to you.”
This refusal to allow the army officer to visit left Rebecca with a gnawing sense of angry frustration. She had hoped Grant would ask her to go for a walk like many of the young couples in camp did in the evenings. He had a way of making her forget her drab life. Being near him made it seem that something better than a new homestead with its continuance of drudgery was just over the horizon.
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