by Jim Cox
“We know, sir. We haven’t met him, but we’ve heard a great deal about him.” Both lawmen looked at each other and then started smiling.
“What is it?” Liz asked. “Why are you smiling?”
“They ain’t got a chance, ma’am. There’s only three of ’em. From what I hear about your husband, he’ll have all three locked up before the governor’s meeting starts in the morning.” Liz smiled. She was still worried but couldn’t help smiling at the policeman's comment.
The balance of the police’s afternoon search was unsuccessful. Governor Routt insisted Liz stay with him and his wife at their home until her husband was found. He said it was best to let the police do the hunting.
Mrs. Routt did her best to occupy Liz’s time, but the minutes passed extremely slowly and an hour seemed like an eternity to Liz.
Eventually, the dreadful afternoon of her husband’s capture came to an end, and so did the night that followed, though it was filled with sobs and tears. The next morning was much the same for her.
In spite of Governor Routt and his wife’s hospitality, Liz couldn’t rid herself of dreadful thoughts. What has happened to Bart? Will the police find him? Why does he have so many life-threatening situations to contend with? Has he been hurt or killed? It was during these doubtful times a feeling came over her to pray, to give the entire matter over to God.
Time was passing very slowly for her husband, too. Scar tried to free himself by sticking his knife between the door and sill and prying on the metal rod that served as the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. He whittled on the wood portion of the door, but the metal stripping kept him from making any headway. He concluded the room had been constructed to hold prisoners, so he gave up on any attempt to break out. However, past situations had taught him to be prepared, so he had developed an alternate plan to escape. This second plan would take time—maybe days, but its success depended on timing. He must wait for the right circumstance to arise.
Finally, the room darkened. Scar looked at his watch; it was after eight. I need to sleep. I need to be rested when the men return. He had no doubt he’d wake if someone entered, so he stretched out on the floor, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. But when sleep wouldn’t come because of his pounding head, he crawled to a wall and sat up. It wasn’t long before his thoughts were on the question Liz had asked him. What will you do if they eliminate your Indian Affairs job?
He must have fallen asleep sometime in the night because he woke, startled when he heard the outer room’s door squeak open. He looked at his watch; it was a little after six in the morning. Scar rose and started putting his plan of escape into action. He went to the door and put an ear against it.
“I don’t think we should bother him. Let’s wait until the governor’s meeting is over, to be on the safe side,” said a raspy-voiced man.
“There ain’t no use waiting,” a second man said. “He might even be dead. You hit him awful hard with that club. Besides, he’s all tied up and can’t get away.”
“We can at least take a peek,” offered a third voice.
The latch clicked back, and the door opened very slowly. One of the men took a step inside the room and stopped to let his eyes adjust, but the prisoner was nowhere to be seen. All he saw were leather bindings heaped up in the center of the room. “He’s gone.” the man shouted. “He ain’t in here.” All three kidnappers rushed into the room. The man with the club was the last to enter, and as he hurried into the room, he heard a slight movement by the door.
“He’s behind the door,” he called out. The other two men had turned in response to the alert, but by this time Scar had come from behind the door and stood between the man holding the club and the open door. Scar ducked under the swinging club and pushed the off-balanced man into his two cohorts, causing all three to end up piled on one another. Scar quickly pulled the door closed and locked it.
Chapter Forty-One
“Where have you been? How’d you get away from those hoodlums? The whole Denver police department has been looking for you.” the barber said when Scar walked into his shop.
“I don’t have time to talk now,” Scar said. “Can you clean me up and trim my hair and beard fast, so I can head to a meeting with the governor? I’ll tell you the whole story next time I’m in here.”
The barber gingerly turned the back of Scar’s head to him and searched through the blood-caked hair, looking more closely at the ugly gash. “The cut on the back of your head looks bad,” the barber said. “It needs tending to. I’ll put in a few stitches before I start cutting hair.”
“Have you sewn up many cuts like this before?” Scar asked.
The barber chuckled. “Wish I’d saved a dollar for every man I’ve patched up.”
“Make it fast. I’m in a big hurry.”
Scar looked at his watch. It was already seven thirty. “I need to hurry,” he mumbled. “I want to see Liz before I go to the meeting.” He was nearly to the shop’s door when the barber called to him. “I heard your wife is staying at the governor’s house.” Scar nodded his thanks.
Mrs. Routt answered the door when the knock came. Her face took on a surprised look when the door opened and then she smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Routt,” Scar said. “I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but I’m in a hurry. I want to see Liz before I head for the governor’s meeting with the men from Washington.”
“I understand. I believe she’s still at the breakfast table.”
Scar started off but turned back. “By the way, Mrs. Routt, is the governor still here, or has he already left?”
“He’s been gone for some time.”
Liz was holding a cup of coffee with her back to the door when Scar entered. “I’m back, sweetheart,” he called out. Scar had expected her to jump up and rush into his arms, but she didn’t. Instead, she stayed seated and started crying. Scar went to her and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Liz. I hate it when I get into trouble, and you worry over me.” Liz raised her head from his shoulder, wiped her eyes, and kissed him on his cheek.
And then she pulled away, composed herself, and said something totally surprising to her husband. “You’d better go now, or you’ll be late for the meeting. We can talk later.”
Governor Routt had greeted the Washington dignitaries and had seated them at a corner table in his office. The receptionist was pouring their coffee and passing a platter of pastries when the governor started. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry to say my mind is being occupied today by an emergency within my cabinet. My mind will be preoccupied and not totally on the subject in discussion. The man we call Scar, who is Colorado’s Director of Indian Affairs, has been kidnapped and is being held somewhere. The Denver police are doing their best to find him but apparently, the kidnappers have him confined, so he’s not available.”
“That’s too bad,” the balding dignitary said. “I hope he’s found soon and hasn’t been injured.”
“It’s a shame. We were both looking forward to meeting him,” the taller man said. “We’ve heard so many reports about his contribution and relationship with the Indians.” The man paused, and after exchanging glances with the other Washington man, said, “Are you up to holding this meeting, Governor Routt?” The governor nodded. “Then I suppose we might as well get started.”
As he reached for his case holding the information to be presented, they heard the door open. Heads turned. “I’m sorry I’m late gentlemen,” Scar said, as he entered, closing the door behind him. The men looked surprised. Governor Routt grinned. “I won’t bother you with the reason I’m late. Let’s just say I was detained. Please excuse my appearance. I didn’t have time to dress properly.” Handing the governor a note with the directions to the hiding place, he said, “Could you get this note to the police, Governor? The three men who kidnapped me are locked up there.” The governor smiled and motioned for his receptionist.
A minute or two later, after their cups had been topped off, the governor said, “It’s time we get started.
You men called the meeting. What’s on the agenda?”
The balding man cleared his throat and said, “Let me start by saying President Hayes sends his greetings and said to tell you he wished he could have come to discuss the Indian situation with you in person. However, since he could not be present, we are to convey his apology for not being able to consummate a suitable plan with Congress concerning the natives. President Hayes wants to enforce the existing treaties, which gives the natives sizable tracts of land without any trespassing by the white man. Unfortunately, many members of Congress do not share his beliefs. They want all Indians placed in reservations under the control of the Federal government, with the stipulation any white man has the right to explore the reservations for gold and other minerals.”
“It’ll take several years for the existing treaties to be changed. Don’t you agree?” the governor said.
“I don’t think so,” the tall Washington man said. “You may not have heard, but Congress is aggressively pushing forward to send all natives to reservations within two years.”
“Excuse me, sir. I didn’t know a congressional vote on the matter had been taken,” Scar said.
“It hasn’t been formally passed, and the president has let it be known he’ll veto any bill that would send the natives to reservations. However, a recent straw poll showed more than enough votes to overturn the president’s veto.”
“Then we might as well prepare for the inevitable,” Governor Routt said to no one in particular. Faces turned sober. “Do the Indians have any suspicion of what’s about to happen to them?” asked the balding man. His eyes stayed on Scar.
“Yes, sir,” he said with a distraught voice. “In fact, that’s why there have been so many uprisings in the past three years. They feel the treaties have already been broken and more restrictions will be implemented upon them by the white man in the near future. The northern Ute tribe I have contact with has been telling me for over two years their land will be taken from them. They say the white men from Washington have forked tongues and will not honor the treaty that was signed when the land was given to them.”
“Do you think they’ll fight to stay free…to keep their land?”
“Without a doubt,” Scar answered. “They are a proud people, gentlemen. They’re not interested in becoming farmers or ranchers. They aren’t beholden to our way of life. They are very good fighters and have been successful in protecting their way of life for centuries. They’ll fight all right, gentlemen…no question about it.” The Washington men had doubtful expressions.
Scar responded, “Maybe the news didn’t impress you folks in the east, so let me list the battles that have occurred in the last three years. There was the uprising at Power Run; the Wolf Mountain Battle; the Big Hole uprising; Meeker Massacre, and of course, the Battle of Little Bighorn. There have been thousands killed—both natives and white men. Gentlemen, Indians are very organized and adaptable in battle. They know when to attack and when to fall back. They are excellent fighters.”
“They can’t defend themselves against today’s army,” one of the Washington men said in a huff. “Those battles took our army by surprise. It won’t happen again. We’ll be ready from now on. It won’t be difficult for our troops to maneuver them wherever we want.”
“Don’t count on it, sir. Our cavalry is not large enough, and our fighting skills aren’t up to theirs in this part of the country. They know every inch of this land. Every water hole, every place that offers protection from the sun, and every hiding place. Hiding places our army couldn’t find in weeks.”
The other dignitary saw an argument starting to brew and changed the subject. “How does a native think, Scar? What makes him tick?”
Scar lowered his head as he organized his thoughts. He then said, “They’re pretty much like the rest of us living in this great land. They hold God or the Great Sky Chief as they call him, in high esteem. Each member of the tribe is loved and cared for by the tribe as a whole. If a child is orphaned, or an elderly person needs assistance, a family takes them in with the same love and rights offered to biological members. The men, as individuals or as a unit, will protect all members of the tribe under any circumstance, to the point of death.
“They don’t believe anyone owns the land, as we do. They have a strong belief the land must be used wisely and protected for future generations. Their movement from place to place is evidence of this belief. Their roaming helps prevent any depletion of the area’s natural resources.”
Scar paused for a few seconds and then with eyes on the dignitaries said, “Gentlemen, their blood is red like ours. They have the same pain as us when they’re injured. They cry when a loved one is hurt or dies, just like we do. They feel badly when a family member is mistreated. And they’ll feel like castaways who have been lied to when we abuse them, break our treaties, and move them to reservations.” The Washington men lowered their heads.
The table was silent for a spell before Scar spoke up with a much softer tone. “How will the Indians be treated? Can you give us any of the details? What are the plans?”
The men eyed one another. The taller of the two reached inside his briefcase and pulled out several folders. “The President sent this information to you and asked us to explain it. It outlines what Congress wants.” He passed out a sheet from the first folder. “This is a map of the land area the Indians presently occupy in the U.S. As you know, twenty-five percent of the land awarded to the Indians in the 1868 treaty was taken from them in 1873, leaving them with twelve million acres as shown on this map. It’s a technicality, but the Indian land is actually owned by the state it resides in. Colorado owns a little less than a million acres. If Congress gets their way, the ownership of the existing Indian land will be sold to the federal government for one dollar an acre, and all jurisdictions of the natives will be taken away from the states and given to the federal government.”
The second page was passed out. “This page represents the land in Colorado the Indians occupy, mainly by the Ute tribe.” He passed out the third sheet. “This sheet outlines the two proposed reservations in your state—one in the north and one in the south. The natives in Colorado will be divided into each location.”
“It appears several thousand acres will be left in state hands after the reservations have been formed. What happens to that land?” Governor Routt asked.
“It’s up to the state,” the balding man said. “I imagine some states will try to sell the land. Others may create some sort of a Land Grant program.” Both the governor and Scar nodded
A few other topics were discussed before the Washington men said their goodbyes and headed for the station to catch the afternoon eastbound train. Scar and the governor made plans to meet at the hotel for breakfast the next morning.
The men had finished eating and were on their third cup of coffee when Governor Routt said, “Scar, the next time I see you I won’t be the governor of Colorado. Frederick Pitkin will be filling the position. He takes over in a few months.” Scar nodded. His face was gloomy. “I want you to know your services during my tenure as governor have been greatly appreciated. I know of no other man that could have bettered your efforts.”
“I don’t do much, sir. It seems to me I get paid a great deal for very little effort.”
“That’s not true, Scar. Sometimes it’s best to be quiet and not aggravate the situation. You have a keen sense of knowing when to talk and when to be quiet, and when you speak, people listen. Your words contain wisdom and truth.”
“Thank you, sir.” Silence prevailed for a long minute before the governor spoke.
“I have some bad news for you, Scar, and perhaps some good news. The governor-elect has conveyed to me he doesn’t think the state needs the Director of Indian Affairs position, especially with the attitude of Congress, so he’ll be eliminating your job as soon as he takes office. He’s also going to eliminate the marshal positions I created.”
“I understand, Governor. I’ve been expecti
ng this. What’s the good news?”
“During the last year, you’ve gained favor with President Hayes. He likes the way you handle yourself when you’re around politicians and says you are the most knowledgeable man he knows when it comes to the Indians’ lifestyle and customs. If the natives are sent to reservations, and it looks to me like they will be, he wants you to join his forces in Washington as one of the assistants to the Federal Director of Indian Affairs.” There was a long pause as Scar gathered his thoughts.
“Please convey to the president I am honored to have been offered the position and appreciate his trust in my ability to head up this important task, but I must decline the offer.”
“I said you’d turn down the offer, Scar. I told him your respect for the natives would not allow you to be a party to any mistreatment, especially when it comes to the native’s limited rights under the treaty or sending them to reservations.” Scar nodded, and a long minute passed.
“I…I…”
“What is it, Scar? What were you about to say?”
“I may not see you again, sir.” Scar said, looking through sad, tear-filled eyes. “You’ve had a great influence on me, sir. You’ve taught me about politics and the workings of government. And your ethics are unblemished. You have never misled the people. I admire you for that, sir.”
Governor Routt thanked Scar and then asked, “What are your plans? What would you like to do for a livelihood now that your government job has come to an end?”
Without much hesitation, Scar answered, “I would eventually like to become a rancher, sir. A horse breeder, but that’s only a dream. Liz and I have a little money saved up but not nearly enough to buy our own ranch.” The governor nodded.
“When will you be heading back home, Scar?”
“We’ll catch the two o’clock train tomorrow afternoon. We came out here on horseback, but Maude and Molly will ride in the stock car going home.” It wasn’t long before the men stood, shook hands, and departed.
