by J. R. WRIGHT
“Not yet, but there will be. A lot of rich Englishmen have come to town. They have some big plans for this country. They’re the ones behind that fancy club. It’s private.”
Luke turned to see White Bird ridding herself of the brown duster, revealing the elegant pink dress she had put on just before arriving in town. Cola had told her to always look her best when in Cheyenne, if she ever got the chance to go. Luke hadn’t changed into anything different, however. He wore buckskins, as he pretty much always did when traveling. The ones he had on were tailor made, though, by a shop right here in Cheyenne, from factory tanned doe skins. They were a far cry, as looks went, from those he used to buy at various trading posts years ago.
Luke noticed how the clerk looked more favorably on White Bird now that she had the filthy duster off, folded outside in, and draped over her arm.
“Can you get a message to the governor?” Luke signed the register that was shoved at him.
“I can. What would you like me to tell him?” The clerk pulled up a piece of hotel stationary and wet a pen.
“Now that you know who I am, and where I’m at presently, just tell him that.” Luke turned, took White Bird’s arm, and led the way toward the stairs.
“It’s 201, up the stairs and to the right,” the clerk called after them. “It was good to meet you Mister Hill – Misses Hill.”
Hearing that, White Bird cordially nodded as she proudly walked away on the arm of her husband. She knew now, Tom Hill would always protect her, as he had just done with this man, who obviously had little respect for her people.
Once in the room, Luke instructed the porter to bring in a bath. He and White Bird would give each other a good scrubbing, and then he would head off to the bank to deposit the twelve thousand in extra gold, and many more thousands in Treasury notes he had brought with him.
Thinking now about something the clerk had said, Luke went to his bag and pulled out a map of the new Wyoming Territory and spread it on the bed. He put his finger on the spot where the Tea Cup was located, then laid his hand over a large area northwest of Cheyenne, where good grazing was also available. My God, he thought. There must be several million acres in that basin between the Laramie Mountains on the east, the Rockies on the west, and the assigned Indian lands to the north. Now he felt better. There wasn’t too much chance those rich Englishmen would want any portion of his little oasis of ideal grazing land, far to the northeast of that large plot north and west of town.
White Bird then came to his side. “Is all that yours?”
“No,” he said smiling down on her. “This is all of Wyoming Territory. Right here, where the Wakatu River flows through it, and on to the South Platte, down here. That’s the Tea Cup!”
“Small!” she said. “Tom Hill need more land.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Sarah!” He laughed and turned her chin up for a kiss.
Looking at the map again, Luke saw something else. To the east of Cheyenne was a grassy plain he’d traveled through years back when he fled Independence and was heading to the mountains. He remembered it as being flat and well protected by high hills on all sides. It was just a thought, but this area would be great as a range for cattle awaiting shipment by train to eastern markets, as he and James Bordeaux had discussed at Christmas.
Hours later, at the Cheyenne merchant bank, while Luke was watching his gold and Treasury notes being counted by the teller, he was approached by the bank’s owner, a man named Titus Oxley.
“I’ve been expecting you, Tom. Everything alright out at the Tea Cup?”
“Fine, Titus.” Luke turned to face him.
“By the way, I’m sorry to hear about Sarah. James Bordeaux was in last fall and told me. I’m sure she is missed.”
“She is,” Luke confessed. Her and Oxley had gotten on well over the years, he recalled. “She wasn’t just a wife. Of all people, you must know that?”
“She was quite a business woman. Kept a good tally of what the two of you had on deposit here, that’s for sure,” Oxley chuckled.
“I keep a pretty good tally myself, Titus. I know how you bankers are. You steal a little here, you take a little…”
“Come on, Tom. You know better than that,” Oxley laughed again. “Will you marry again?”
“I already have.” Luke lifted his hat and shifted it further back on his head.
“My, that was quick!”
“Well, I ain’t getting any younger. Come on over to the Empire and meet her after you close. She’s a fine lady. Not perfect with her English yet, but…”
“You’re staying at the Empire? That place is for sale, you know. A real money maker, too.”
“Then why is it for sale?” Luke asked skeptically.
“The man that owns it, an easterner named Stokes, lost everything he had in that stock market crash last fall. He left that Willie Wilder in charge and went back to see what he could salvage of his fortune. I guess it wasn’t much, ‘cause he’s now going through bankruptcy. I got a letter from him yesterday asking us to take the hotel for what’s owed on it. Otherwise it’ll be lost to creditors in New York.”
“How much?”
“I’m getting to that. There’s a catch, Tom.” Oxley, a short, slim, man with a receding hairline and a well-trimmed mustache drew a breath. “The hotel, as best I can figure it, is worth about what’s owed on it. But included with it are two extra fifty foot lots, one on either side of the hotel. Now, the way Cheyenne has grown since Stokes bought that property, those lots are worth near what’s owed on the hotel. At least in that area, which as you know is the better part of town. And then there’s the livery in back that’s part of the deal as well.”
“How much?” Luke asked again.
“Eighteen thousand owed, but it’s bringing in more than enough to cover the payments. Hell, it’ll pay for itself in less than five years, Tom.”
“No money up front?”
“None! Just say yes and I’ll draw up the papers. It’s simply a matter of transferring the note. It’ll be yours by closing time.”
“Hell, I don’t know, Titus. I don’t know the first thing about running a hotel. I wouldn’t have time to deal with it anyway.”
“You got Willie Wilder over there now. He does a fair job of running the place. Leave him in charge.”
“He’d be the first one I’d toss out on his ear,” Luke said, still angry over the incident earlier and the embarrassment it caused White Bird. “Let me think about it, Titus?”
“Of course, Tom. But don’t think too long. I’m sure there are several in Cheyenne who would jump at this deal, if they got wind of it.”
“If I was certain I could find someone trustworthy to operate the place decent, I’d say yes. Find me that man and I will. Otherwise, I’ll need to pass.” With that, Luke picked up the receipt for his deposit and headed for the red stallion tied outside.
Oxley stepped to the boardwalk directly behind him and watched as he untied the horse. “I’ll come by the hotel later. I’m anxious to meet that new wife of yours.”
“You do that!” Luke mounted the stallion and rode on down the street, reining in at a gun shop he had seen earlier. He had bought several of the new Winchester repeating rifles for the ranch the last time he and Sarah were in town. Now he had a notion to buy a Colt revolver, like all the Texas drovers that handled the trail drives wore on their hips now days. It was while he was tying the horse that he realized why he was in Cheyenne in the first place. Kenny Hardy! Why not? He was an intelligent person with an eastern public school education. And certainly he trusted him. With that thought in mind, he re-boarded the horse and rode back toward the bank.
An hour later, Luke entered the hotel with Titus Oxley by his side. The first order of business was to march behind the counter and yank the sign off the wall that said Indians weren’t allowed.
“What are you doing?” Willie Wilder came from the back office in a huff.
“Mister Wilder, Tom Hill is the new owner of the hotel,�
�� Oxley stepped up and said. “He’ll be calling the shots from now on.”
“What about me?” Wilder said frantically.
“Thanks to Oxley here, you’ll be staying on. I guess you can’t be held responsible for a rule your boss set up,” Luke said, then walked through the open front door and tossed the sign into the dusty street. It no more than landed when a heavy freight wagon crushed it to pieces under its huge wheels. “The new rule is: If they can afford the rates, they get the room! I don’t care what their color is. Is that clear, Willie?”
“Yes, sir, Mister Hill!”
“Now, if you’ll take me on a tour, I’d like to see what I bought.”
“Yes, sir, but before we go, you may want to see this.” Willie pulled a letter from one of the group of forty-eight boxes on the back wall and handed it over.
The letter was from John Allen Campbell, Governor of the Territory of Wyoming. Luke peeled it open and noticed it was an invitation to join the governor and his wife for dinner at the Cheyenne Club, the following night. Luke took that to mean he was to bring his wife as well. White Bird would be thrilled. As much as she liked to play dress up, this would be her chance to wear silk, as she had wanted to do ever since they left the Tea Cup.
“It’s an invite to dinner,” Luke said. “You’d best notify the governor we accept, Willie.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I do it now?”
“Yep. We’ll take that tour later,” Luke said, anxious now to give White Bird the exciting news. “Titus, are you ready to meet my wife?”
“You bet I am,” Oxley responded and followed Luke’s lead to the stairs. “The governor! That’s quite an honor, Tom.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Cattlemen’s Club was established as a gentlemen’s club, of which was strictly adhered to except for special nights when wives were allowed in. And this was one of those nights, as it was requested by and unanimously granted to the new territorial governor.
Willie Wilder offered to personally deliver them to the special event in the Empire Hotel’s carriage and return for them two hours later. Even though Luke now owned the hotel and everything attached to it, and could have use of the carriage at any time with or without Wilder’s permission, he thought it a grand gesture and accepted gratefully.
White Bird had selected the royal blue silk dress and matching cape for the occasion, and with her hair up, as Mary had taught her to do, and a dab of rouge on her dimpled cheeks, she looked elegant, to say the least. Luke wore the charcoal pinstripe, three piece suit that Sarah had designed for him. It had a simulated belt about the jacket, which gave it a tapered look, emphasizing his broad shoulders and tall, slender frame. But that was as far as elegance went for him. On his feet he wore brown moccasin boots, pant legs tucked in. And atop his head was the ever present dusty brown hat. Even so, by many at the time, he would have been considered frontier handsome.
The carriage arrived at the seventeenth street location promptly at seven p.m., the time stated on the invitation. Willie Wilder was quick to get down and help White Bird from the carriage, and even offered Luke a hand, which was promptly slapped aside.
“I’m not that old yet!” he scolded, then hopped down as if he were twenty years younger, or White Bird’s age. He looked up then at the opulent three story red brick building before him that had its entrance, accessible by a series of wide steps, on the second floor.
The man at the door seemed out of place in his red, black, and gold outfit that would have been more fitting of a palace guard somewhere overseas. “Who shall I announce, sir?” he asked in a very British accent.
“Tom Hill’s the name. And this is my wife, White Bird,” Luke said. But when the man actually did the announcing inside, to a very large group of people, he didn’t say it that way at all.
“Hear ye’..., hear ye’..., hear ye’... May I present, Thomas Hill, and the Madam Thomas Hill!”
With that, all eyes were on them. Luke hadn’t seen a larger group of overdressed people since leaving St Louis, so many long years ago.
After the announcement the chattering began, women to other women, men to men, while none allowed their eyes to leave either of them.
“Your hat, sir,” the doorman then said in Luke’s ear, to be heard above the clapping and welcoming shouts from afar.
“What about my hat?” Luke turned to him, confused.
“I’ll need to take your hat. There are ladies present, sir.”
Catching on, then, after scanning the room and seeing none of the men had them on, Luke reluctantly handed it over. Feeling embarrassed without it, he looked to White Bird and found her with a beaming smile as she scanned the people before her.
Just then the governor and his rather homely wife came forward. “Good to meet you, Mister Hill. This is my wife Isabella.”
“Isabella,” White Bird said pleasantly.
“Oh, my goodness child, do you speak English?” Mrs. Campbell chuckled.
“She…” Luke started.
“I have trouble with big words, like a-rith-ma-tic, but I do okay with, aaah, silk and jewels,” White Bird said, nervously jingling the emerald bracelet on her wrist while continuing with the pasted on smile.
With that, everyone who had gathered around close laughed heartily. However, White Bird was in the dark as to why. She was being sincere, just picking words at random to make her point – ones that were foremost on her mind.
“Oh, honey, I can see you’re going to fit right in here. What’s your name?”
“White Bird,” she said meekly.
“Well,” Isabella Campbell said, “I’m going to steal you away from your husband, White Bird. I have some friends I’d like you to meet.” With that, White Bird went along willingly. She couldn’t wait to tell these women her husband had just purchased the Empire Hotel.
Luke didn’t know if that was such a good idea, her going off without him, and it showed in his demeanor.
“She’ll be fine, Tom,” John Campbell, a middle aged balding man of average height, said. “I have several gentlemen anxious to meet you, as well. The parlor is this way.”
In the parlor, Luke admired the grandeur of the room. It was done all in dark oak and rich brown leather, the furnishings warm and inviting.
“Tom, I want you to meet Truman Rainford. Truman represents a number of English noblemen who expect to invest millions and bring prosperity to our new territory. Truman, this is the Tom Hill I was telling you about.”
“Invest in what?” Luke asked of the tall, blue-eyed man, who was at least a decade younger than himself. He then took the hand offered for a not too enthusiastic shake.
“Well, cattle of course,” Rainford said as if Luke should have known. “Isn’t that the business you’re in, Mister Hill? Don’t worry, old chap, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.” Truman chuckled. “Of course the bovines we plan to cultivate may be vastly superior to what you’re raising at the Tea Cup.”
“In what way?” Luke asked, already finding a dislike for this arrogant foreigner. ‘Patience, Luke. Look for an opportunity,’ a voice came into his head. No doubt it was Sarah, from the past, advising him. “You will be running Longhorns, won’t you? Otherwise it would be far too expensive collecting enough European cattle to have a sizable operation.”
“Yes. In fact we have the first herd of three thousand Longhorns on the way. The difference is our sires will be of the Durham and Herford breeds, shipped to us straight from the motherland. I have buyers scouring the countryside for enough of them as we speak. The offspring from those bulls will make your Longhorn calves look like Texas jackrabbits.” Rainford chuckled again.
“How much will it cost you per bull, once you have them here?” Luke asked as if casually interested.
“With the shipping, and all the fuss, we’ve budgeted two thousand per bull. With luck we’ll have them here inside of three months.”
“Have you calculated losses? Shipping that far has got to take a toll.”
&n
bsp; “Ten percent losses are figured in,” Rainford said confidently.
“And just how many of these superior bulls will you be needing to start?”
“Two hundred and fifty will be shipped. We’re hoping to have at least two hundred on the ground when all is said and done, considering losses, as you jolly well pointed out, Mister Hill.”
Quickly Luke did the math. “I guess you’re figuring to spend around four hundred thousand dollars on bulls, then?” Luke ran a hand over his face in hopes of hiding the smile within.
“That’s precisely right, Mister Hill. I know it sounds like a lot of money to be spending, but you have to know this is an investment in the future. One that will pay off a hundred fold as time goes by, and our herd is predominately of the European bloodline.”
“Pretty smart, don’t you think, Tom?” Governor Campbell injected into the conversation. “I’m sorry, would you like a drink? I’m having a whiskey.”
“Not while I’m talking business, Mister Campbell,” Luke said.
“I didn’t know you were. Now you have my full attention.”
“What are you proposing, Mister Hill?” Rainford asked.
“To answer your question, Governor, what Mister Rainford is proposing to do is very smart. The reason I know is I’ve been doing it for fourteen years now. Presently my herd of fifteen thousand cows is on average ninety-four percent European, six percent Longhorn. And that’s where I plan to keep it, hoping to retain the natural disease resistance of the Longhorn, as part of the mix.”
Both men took on a look of astonishment, but Rainford spoke first.
“What European breed were your bulls initially, Mister Hill?”
“Just about all of them. Good bulls were hard to come by in these parts back then – still are. Some were Herford, a few were Durham Shorthorn, and some were Aberdeen Angus.”
“You spoke of doing business. What kind of business are you expecting to do here, Mister Hill?” Rainford’s face took on a serious look.
“Well, I’m expecting to sell you some bulls, Mister Rainford.” Luke put a smile on his face. “Now be honest with yourself, sir. You really don’t know what you’re going to have once those bulls you plan to bring in arrive. All that travel on ships and trains all the way from England could take a lot out of them, if they make it at all. With my bulls you can do what you plan sooner and have climate seasoned animals. How do you know those bulls direct from over there will take to our harsh winters? It would be a shame to lose all that money because of a miscalculation.”
