Scar and the Double D Ranch

by Jim Cox

  Governor Routt gave firm, short answers and then dismissed the gathering.

  The Washington men came to the dining room thirty minutes late that evening. They were dressed in fashionable, eastern attire. Introductions were made, and meals were eaten during small talk. Everyone seemed to avoid the Indian topic. When their plates were removed and coffee poured, a heavyset Washington man asked the governor, “What do you think about the Indian problems you’re having out here?” The governor and Scar knew where the man stood on the matter from the question.

  “What problems are you referring to?” the governor asked.

  “You know…the trouble they’re causing the white prospectors. They drive ’em away from their gold and silver claims. They have no right to do that. The gold and silver don’t belong to the Indians.”

  “How do you figure? Most of the land where gold and silver are being dug was given to the Indians in the 1863 treaty,” Scar said rather firmly.

  “Not the mineral rights,” the heavy-set man responded, “and in my mind gold and silver are considered minerals. The claims are perfectly legal.”

  “We’ll have to re-examine the treaty before determination can officially be made with certainty,” Governor Routt responded.

  “What’s wrong with putting all the Indians on reservations?” another Washington man asked. “They’re not capable to live among white folks without causing trouble. They don’t possess any skills to contribute to our society.” Scar started to challenge the man’s comments, but the governor’s raised eyebrows and a slight shake of his head indicated to Scar he should hold his tongue, so he remained quiet.

  The conversation paused for a couple of moments before a soft-spoken Washington man, who had been quiet most of the evening, said, “I think they should be left alone. I believe the treaties were signed in good faith and should be enforced. The natives have a right to live in peace on the land we’ve given them in the treaties. They were here before us.”

  “Regardless,” the heavy-set man interjected, “we should move them to reservations before the year is out. Locations have already been established. There’s no need to wait any longer.”

  “How do we get them there?” the governor asked. “What if they don’t want to go?”

  “If they don’t go when we’ve got the mandate, we’ll have the army intercede and drive ’em there.”

  “That may be easier said than done,” Scar said.

  “They wouldn’t have a chance against our military,” the man said. “We could wipe ’em out in a week’s time if necessary.”

  “Like we did on June 26, 1876?” Scar suggested.

  “What do you mean? What happened in June 1876?” the Washington man asked.

  Everyone looked at him. After a pause, the soft-spoken Washington man said in a subdued voice, “It’s when the Indians had an uprising and overcame Colonel George Custer and his entire regiment of two hundred and sixty-three men.”

  The heavy-set man’s face turned slightly red with embarrassment as he blurted out, “They were lucky…took Custer by surprise. It’ll never happen again.”

  “Don’t fool yourself, sir,” Scar said. “I’ve seen natives in action and man for man the Indians can be far superior. It’s true we have more troops, and they’re better armed, but the natives know this country. They know every hiding place, every water hole, how to live off the land, and how to fight. It would take us years to round them up if they decided to fight and wouldn’t go voluntarily.” Scar paused and then continued, “In my judgment, we’d be better off living with them than trying to move or control them.”

  “I’m not interested in what you think, young man. You’re not old enough to have the experience to know what’s best for our country.”

  The governor interceded and said, “I’ll not have that kind of talk to a young friend and member of my cabinet. If we can’t discuss this matter with a civil tongue, I suggest we adjourn, and you men return to Washington.” The heavy-set man stared at the governor with beady eyes and tight lips, but the other three Washington men nodded their agreement.

  After everyone’s tempers had settled, the governor said, “Let me tell you about this young man who is sitting with us. He’s had more experience with the natives than anyone I know. Around the state of Colorado, we have a great deal of confidence in his ability to negotiate with Indians. The most important attribute he brings to the table is the respect the Indians have for him. Their name for him is Scarred Warrior, and they say he does not lie like the rest of the white men.”

  “Is that why you appointed him Director of Indian Affairs?”

  “It’s part of the reason. He’s fair to both sides. He can be trusted to do the right thing to protect people and the Indians.”

  “May I ask how you obtained the respect of the Indians?” the soft-spoken man asked. Scar nodded. For the next several minutes he explained how several years ago he had given the old Indian chief food and a horse during his wagon train trip to Colorado.

  “Show ’em the necklace the old chief gave to you in return,” the governor said. Scar took it from around his neck and handed it to the men. As it was being passed around, the big man identified each of the claws and explained that according to the Indians he’d been around this four claw necklace was the only one in existence. He explained how the old chief had ruled the Ute Nations for many years and was still extremely important to his tribe.

  “Have you had any other association with the natives, young man?” a Washington man asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Scar answered. “I’ve had several.” There was a long pause before he continued, “Four natives, who I consider to be close friends, live and work with us at the Double D.” The Washington men looked stunned.

  With that said, the governor adjourned the meal and suggested they convene again tomorrow.

  As they were leaving the dining room, the governor pulled Scar back and whispered, “See you for breakfast at six o’clock.” The big man nodded.

  The next morning while their breakfast was being served, Scar asked the governor, “Is it true what the Washington man said about reservations, that land has already been set aside for the Indians?”

  The governor answered, “I’ve been told by three reliable sources that areas of land have already been marked as Indian reservations on federal maps.”

  “It sounds like the decision has already been made, Governor Routt. Why are we making plans and having these meetings if the matter has been decided?”

  The governor took a long swallow of coffee before answering. “That’s a good question, Scar. It does seem redundant. I suppose there are those of us in government who still have a glimmer of hope, so we keep fighting. We’re prepared to do whatever we can to keep the natives free and able to live on the land they’re accustomed to.”

  Scar thought about the governor’s answer and then said, “Can’t the powers in Washington see that Indians are people like us? Their cultures are a little different, but they have dreams and feelings like the white man.”

  “That’s the problem, Scar. The eastern folks have been bombarded with negative information about the natives. They think all Indians are savages without feelings. They think they’re ready to kill white people at the first opportunity. Most easterners have an attitude like the Washington men we’ve been talking to. They think Indians don’t fit into our culture, they think Indians can’t make a contribution to our society, so we’d be better off to get rid of them.”

  “I can’t believe our great country has an attitude like this, Governor Routt…it’s not Godly.”

  “I agree with you, Scar.”

  “What are we going to do, sir? What’s our next step?” The governor shrugged his shoulders and said, “Pray.”

  The meetings for the next three days with the Washington men resulted in very little change to any of the men’s attitudes. Consequently, the trip was cut short. On the fourth day, Scar boarded the train for his return trip home. He felt nothing had bee
n accomplished.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  When his train arrived at Flat Peaks an hour after midnight, Scar headed to Eli’s livery. The temperature was sub-zero. As he walked, he witnessed the full moon and a sky full of stars shining brightly off the snow-covered ground. He also noticed the snow level was about the same as when he left.

  When Scar opened the livery door, a light beam highlighted a bed lump close to the stove, which was undoubtedly Eli. A few feet away was an empty bedroll with turned back blankets. “Thought you might be coming in tonight, Scar. Got you a bed made over here. You can feed the fire if you don’t mind.”

  “Thanks, Eli,” Scar said as he placed three sticks of wood into the potbellied stove. After he pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, he lay wide awake for a long time thinking about the difficulties the natives were about to experience. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Eli’s loud snoring.

  The next morning, Scar fed Maude and Frankie and then sat with Eli by the stove, drinking coffee and talking about his trip to Denver. Soon he excused himself and headed for Jenny’s Place.

  It was before sunrise when Scar entered the café and sat down at a table with four other men who were already in the middle of solving the world’s problems. Occasionally, the worldly concerns paused, and the town’s gossip took center stage, which caused Scar to smile.

  After the table emptied, the big man sat by himself waiting for the mercantile to open. He was joined by Jenny. “I heard you got in last night. How did the meeting go in Denver?”

  “Those men from Washington are a hard-headed lot, Jenny. They think the Indians’ main objective is to kill every white man that comes their way. And as much as the governor and I tried, we couldn’t convince them otherwise.”

  “That’s too bad,” she answered. Seconds passed. “I imagine you’re waiting for the mercantile to open to check on the mail, but don’t get your hopes up. I was there yesterday afternoon, and nothing has come in.” Scar shook his head with tight lips.

  “I don’t know what to think, Jenny,” he said. “Maybe Thomas is in some kind of trouble or has fallen sick. If we don’t hear from him soon, I’m heading for Baltimore.”

  Scar and Jenny spent another half hour discussing other subjects, mostly the upcoming wedding of Tony and Morning Sun. The big man took his last swallow of coffee and was ready to leave when the café’s door swung wide. The telegraph agent entered, a big grin on his face. “I heard you’d got back last night and hoped you were in here having breakfast. I’ve got a telegram for you. It’s from Thomas.” Scar quickly grabbed the envelope and ripped it open.

  January 21, 1878

  Have written four letters, all returned. Don’t know why. No luck finding Virginia or the kids. Will start home in a few days.

  Thomas

  Scar read the telegram three times and then handed it to Jenny. “I was afraid this might happen,” he said. “It would have been a miracle if he found his family after fifteen years.” Jenny shook her head. Her eyes showed her disappointment.

  When Scar returned to the ranch that afternoon, everyone was in a bittersweet mood after hearing the news about Thomas. They were anxious to see him, but sorry he had not found his family.

  The nine days leading up to the wedding after Scar’s return passed quickly. There was a spitting of snow one evening, but otherwise, the weather was favorable—cold but with no additional snow cover. The women stayed busy baking pies and preparing other items for the celebration, not to mention selecting a dress design and all the other necessities. Morning Sun and Tony seemed to be the only calm ones at the ranch.

  The church was starting to fill when the first Double D buggy drove up, with Liz and Scar along with Mr. and Mrs. Douglas. The intended bride and groom’s buggy was a short ways behind.

  Minutes later, at exactly two o’clock, Morning Sun and Tony opened the door to a filled church. Little Eagle and Little Turtle, who had come with their mother, hurried to empty seats beside Scar and Liz. Everyone turned to watch the couple slowly walk down the aisle. Tony was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and a string tie, but all eyes were on the bride. She wore a white leather headband stitched with small colorful beads. Her glistening, long black hair had been fixed into a single braid hanging to the center of her back. Her olive-colored skin was radiant against a bleached white deerskin dress that hung to her ankles. Rows of beads surrounded the neckline and at various other places. She wore moccasins that matched her dress.

  Her appearance was a total surprise to the crowd. They had expected a somewhat drab woman in plain Indian attire, but instead, they witnessed a beautiful woman who stood tall and erect, giving all indications she was proud to be of Indian blood.

  Unbeknownst to everyone, Mrs. Douglas had spent long evenings helping Morning Sun bleach deer skins and do the beading, resulting in the lovely dress the young bride now wore.

  When the Christian wedding vows had been spoken, the new couple turned to face a room filled with friends—friends with a different heritage than those of their upbringing, but friends nevertheless.

  Due to cold weather, a long congratulatory line was formed inside the church for the newlyweds. Afterward, many stood around discussing the wedding and catching up on the latest happenings in Flat Peaks.

  As soon as the excitement dulled a little, the Double D clan headed for their buggies to hurry home to prepare for the wedding party. Morning Sun and Tony remained behind to oblige their guests. However, as Scar was untying the team, he heard someone calling to him. It was the telegraph agent.

  “I have a telegram for you, Scar,” the winded agent said as he ran up to the buggy. “It’s another telegram from Thomas.” Scar took the envelope and handed it to his wife.

  “You read it to us, Liz, while I get started home.”

  January 31, 1879

  Disregard my last telegram. I have a new lead.

  Thomas

  Chapter Thirty

  After Thomas had sent the telegram advising the Double D he’d be returning to the ranch soon without his family, he’d returned to the hotel’s dining room for breakfast. He had finished his meal when a man who had been helping with his search brought him news concerning his daughter. After the agent outlined the details, it changed Thomas’ entire plan, and he hurried back to the telegraph office to send another wire, telling the Double D to disregard his previous message.

  Back at the hotel, Thomas went to his room where he sat in a comfortable rocking chair by the window. As time passed, he leaned his head back against the high-backed cushion and shut his eyes. He wasn’t sleepy, but through his closed eyes all sorts of happy endings to his trip came floating by.

  “It’s the first promising lead I’ve had since I left the ranch three months ago,” he mumbled. He recalled all the efforts he’d attempted during the past weeks without success. His thoughts went back to his arrival in Baltimore.

  It was ten thirty in the evening when he stepped off the train and walked from the platform into the Baltimore station. The place seemed overly crowded to Thomas, especially for the late hour. As he was approaching the exit, he saw a sign posted near the door describing many facts about Baltimore that caught his attention. The city was the country’s seventh largest, with a population of 322,313. Back in 1855, when Thomas had left Baltimore, it was the second largest city, with a population of fewer than 200,000. Times have changed, Thomas thought with a smile. The city grew.

  As he stepped outside, he noticed the weather was exceptionally warm for the first week of November, even for Baltimore. The stars and moon shone brightly. A slight breeze blew from the southwest. Thomas hired a buggy to take him to the nearest hotel that had quality accommodations and a nearby livery. Fifteen minutes later, the driver pulled up to the Baltimore Mid-Town Hotel—only three blocks from the train station. He was well pleased with the driver’s choice and handed him a fifty cent piece.

  As Thomas entered the hotel, he stood for a few seconds taking
in the lobby. It was spacious and nice but not so elaborate the cost would be prohibitive. Across from the entrance was a dining room. Thomas walked to the registration desk and negotiated the room price for a long stay—possibly as much as a month. They settled on fifty cents a night, not including meals or livery provision.

  He slept well, rose early, and after dressing went downstairs to the dining room. The coffee was a mite slower coming than the serve-yourself method at Jenny’s Place and was on the weak side compared to hers, but it was steaming hot. The cup was kept full during his meal of fried eggs, potatoes, and bacon. As he was paying for his breakfast, he asked his server where the nearest livery was located, adding he needed one that rented horses. He was given directions to Wenger’s Horse Livery.

  Thomas lingered a little, waiting for businesses to open and people to start stirring. He went to the lobby where he found and read the morning newspaper, drank coffee from a nearby pot, and watched people come and go.

  When the wall clock struck nine, he stood and headed for the livery, which was two blocks away. Upon entering the building, an old man, perhaps in his sixties, rose from his tilted-back chair and said to Thomas in a raspy voice, “Looks like you’re after something. What can I do for ya?”

  “I’m in need of a horse for a couple of weeks, maybe longer. If you’ve got one for rent and the price is right, I’ll take it.”

  “I only have one left for rent, but it’s got a wild streak and hard to control.” The old man paused for a few seconds. “I can tell from your duds you’re a westerner and may be horse savvy. I’ll let you have him for two bits a day, and I’ll provide the feed. But you’ll have to bring him back here every night by eight o’clock. I need to keep track of my horses’ whereabouts. There’s been a mite of horse thievery in the city lately.” Thomas agreed to the terms, gave the man a week’s fee, and said he’d be back the next day for the horse.

  He was at the livery by eight o’clock in the morning to get his horse. The liveryman led Thomas to its stall and started to bridle the horse, but Thomas called him back, saying it would be best if he was allowed to put the tack on the horse, so they’d get acquainted.