Kinch Riley / Indian Territory

by Matt Braun

  Still, lunch was not altogether an ordeal. At the table they were joined by Ross’ daughter, Elizabeth. She was an exquisite young woman, with dusky golden skin and dark raven hair. Her eyes were extraordinary, emphasizing her high cheekbones and delicate features. She relieved much of the tension around the table by simply being there. Her presence precluded any discussion of business.

  After lunch there was yet another surprise. Ross suggested that his daughter would be happy to show Ryan around Tahlequah. The offer was made in such a way that it would have been impolitic to refuse. Stevens looked chagrined, for it was apparent that Ross and Tappin wanted him to themselves. Ryan, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit offended. He thought the girl a welcome, and very attractive, alternative.

  A horse and carriage were waiting outside. Ryan helped Elizabeth into the seat, then took the reins from a stable hand. The sky was a perfect cloudless blue, and a warm sun offset the chilly air. The unseasonably pleasant day somehow eased a potentially awkward situation. After getting acquainted, Elizabeth deftly turned the conversation to her people. She was proud of her heritage and quite well-versed in the origins of the Cherokee Nation. On the way into town, she told him things known to only a few white men.

  In old tribal language, she noted, the word for Cherokee was Tsalagi. The ancient emblem of bravery was the color red, and bravery was believed by her people to originate from the east where the sun rose. So in essence Tsalagi meant “Red Fire Men” or “Brave Men.” While most Cherokees had been converted to the Christian faith; tribal lore had not disappeared entirely from everyday life. Even today, the people still thought of themselves as the Tsalagi. The Cherokees’ ancestral homeland was once in the Southeast. What was known now, Elizabeth observed, as Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia. In 1830, under pressure from white frontiersmen, Congress passed the Indian Removal Bill. A legalized form of larceny, the legislation granted western lands to the Five Civilized Tribes in exchange for their ancestral birthright. Over the next several years, a total of 18,000 Cherokees were herded westward over what became known as the Trail of Tears. Of that number, more than 4,000 men, women, and children perished before reaching Indian Territory. The Cherokees still honored their memory by resisting all things white.

  In Tahlequah Ryan continued to act the rapt listener. Though he was familiar with the inner workings of tribal government, he gladly allowed Elizabeth to go on with her guided tour. Their first stop was the capitol building, which dominated the town square. All governmental offices as well as the council chambers were housed in the two-story brick structure. The building was only slightly less stately than the capitol in Kansas, and there was an air of bustling efficiency about the place. Ryan was once again impressed by the fact that the men who governed here wore swallowtail coats and conducted themselves like seasoned diplomats. It occurred to him that they were far more dignified than their counterparts in Washington.

  The Cherokee Nation, Elizabeth explained, was virtually an independent republic. White men were not allowed to own property except through intermarriage, and unlike western Plains Tribes, the Cherokees accepted no annuities or financial assistance from Washington. For practical reasons their form of government was patterned on that of the white man. A tribal chief acted as head of state, and the tribal council, similar in structure to Congress, was comprised of two houses. Issues were closely drawn, and the two political parties, the Union and the Southern, were bitterly hostile toward one another. Seldom was an accord reached until the pressure of events forced a compromise.

  On another note Elizabeth commented that Tahlequah was recognized as a symbol of progress throughout Indian Territory. While they drove around the square, she pointed out the supreme court building, a sturdy brick hotel, and several prosperous business establishments. Her voice took on an added note of pride when they passed the offices of the Cherokee Advocate. The newspaper was printed in both English and Cherokee, the two languages side by side. She went on to relate that the Cherokees, of all the Indians in America, were the only ones with an alphabet. Their language could therefore be written, books and newspapers printed. No other tribe was able to preserve its culture so completely in the ancient tongue.

  By now Ryan was aware of her in the way of a man seated beside a bonfire. There was an air about her, something in her carriage and poise that he found captivating. Then, too, there was an aura of innocence mixed with sensuality. The silk of her teal-blue gown and the hat perched atop her head merely enhanced the image. Her figure was breathtaking, with a stemlike waist, rounded hips, and firm, youthful breasts. Her voice, which was proper, was at the same time warm and somehow intimate. He’d known many women, but none with such verve and sultry beauty. The combination was irresistible.

  Upon leaving town he finally got her to talk about herself. Elizabeth told him she had attended the Cherokee female seminary and afterward gone east to a finishing school. She’d returned only last year, shortly before her mother died. Since then, she had acted as hostess for her father’s many social functions. She made no mention of suitors or plans for marriage.

  Elizabeth was no less intrigued by Ryan. She knew of his reputation as a marshal, and like most Cherokees, she had little sympathy with the white man’s law. Yet when he looked at her, she was aware of an elemental force such as she’d never experienced. She felt strangely drawn to him, and she sensed she could trust him. Still, she pushed the impulse aside, kept herself under tight control. Her father had ordered her to question John Ryan. To find out, subtly, why he’d gone to work for the Katy.

  “And you?” she inquired innocently. “Fair’s fair, after all. Tell me something of yourself.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, let’s start with where you’re from.”

  “Fort Smith, most recently. Until last week I was a deputy U.S. Marshal.”

  “Last week!” she repeated. “You mean you’ve just joined the railroad?”

  “To be precise, six days ago.”

  “Imagine that. And what is it you do, your position?”

  “Troubleshooter,” Ryan said with a slow smile. “I keep the peace for the railroad.”

  “Are you talking about trouble with Indians?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m talking about gamblers and whiskey peddlers, the construction crew. They’ll give me all the trouble I can handle.”

  “Then you weren’t retained because Mr. Stevens expects problems with the Cherokees?”

  “Not unless I was hired under false pretenses. And if that’s the case, Stevens will have to get himself another man.”

  Surprise washed over her face. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve always thought the Cherokees do a pretty good job of policing themselves. So far as I’m concerned, it ought to stay that way.”

  “I wish more people shared your views.”

  She threw him a quick, enigmatic glance. Then her eyes suddenly shone and she smiled. Ryan had the impression that he’d just been subjected to some sort of test, and passed. He laughed without quite knowing why.

  Some while later, he parted with Elizabeth on the veranda of the Ross home. A moment after she went through the door, Stevens stepped outside. His features were set in a scowl of barely contained rage. As the stable hand brought their horses around, Ryan decided it would be wiser not to ask. But then on the way into town, Stevens let it out in a rush of anger.

  The price of railroad ties had been doubled over what he’d offered. The Cherokees wanted two dollars each and there was no choice but to go along. As William Ross had pointed out, all the trees belonged to them!

  Ryan tactfully smothered a laugh. He thought Stevens understood little about Indians and even less about the Cherokees. The Red River suddenly seemed a million miles away.

  They rode in silence toward Tahlequah.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sky was like dull pewter. Heavy clouds hung ominously overhead and the Texas Road stretched northward toward the border. A
flock of crows took wing from a stand of timber along the river.

  Stevens’ mood was abstracted. Tahlequah was two days behind them, and he’d maintained a thoughtful silence since departing the Cherokee capital. Ryan sensed that the railroader was nursing wounded pride, but he welcomed the respite, for he was absorbed in thoughts of his own. His mind, as though playing tricks on him, conjured fleeting images of Elizabeth Ross. Not surprisingly, he liked what he saw.

  Late that afternoon they crossed into Kansas where the river made a sharp dogleg to the northwest. Some miles ahead lay the frontier settlement of Chetopa. While sparsely populated, no more than an outpost along the Texas Road, it was the first sign of approaching civilization. Of still greater consequence, the Katy tracks ran through Chetopa on the way to the border. A thin ribbon of steel extended magically onward to the horizon.

  Upon sighting the rails, Stevens seemed somehow revitalized. His glum mood evaporated as they crossed the border, and he sat straighter in the saddle. He motioned toward the broad expanse of prairie.

  “All this was once Osage land.”

  “I know,” Ryan said, wondering what prompted the remark. “Whiskey smugglers used to run wagons from here into the Nations.”

  Stevens nodded absently. “The damnable Cherokees would do well to heed the lesson. Otherwise they might go the way of the Osage.”

  The statement required no elaboration. The Osage had once been one of the most powerful tribes on the western plains. Warlike, they terrorized every tribe within striking distance, including those resettled in Indian Territory. Then during the Civil War, the Confederacy pressed the Osage into service against the Union. As a result of this unfortunate alliance, the Osage were compelled to cede vast amounts of land to the federal government following the war. Only last year, after one-sided negotiations with Washington, the Osage were forcibly removed to a reservation in Indian Territory. Their ancestral lands, encompassing some eight million acres, were then opened to settlement by an act of Congress. The Osage were now reduced to subsisting on government handouts.

  “There’s a difference,” Ryan said at length. “The Osage tried to hang on to the old ways. The Cherokees tend to bend with the wind. They’re red, but they know how to think white.”

  “Do they, indeed?” Stevens grunted. “You certainly wouldn’t know it from their attitude. And unless they change quickly, they’ll find out how the game is really played.”

  “What game?”

  “The only game that counts—politics!”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  Stevens was silent a moment. Then he gestured with his cigar across the prairie. “Last summer all this—the Osage lands—went on the auction block to settlers. You recall that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stevens gave him a crafty look. “A month before the public announcement, I bought a fifty-thousand-acre tract north of Chetopa. The price was seventy-one cents an acre.”

  Ryan stared at him. “Got it sort of cheap, didn’t you?”

  “I got it cheap and sold it dear. So you see, it pays to have friends with political clout.”

  “Like the Secretary of the Interior?”

  “Please,” Stevens said lightly. “I never divulge a source. But suffice it to say I do have some rather well-placed connections.”

  “And you think those connections will help you with the Cherokees?”

  “John, there are no ironclad guarantees in politics. But when the time is right …”

  Stevens’ voice trailed off. He grinned and wedged the cigar into the corner of his mouth. Ryan was left to draw his own conclusion, and it took no great effort. He thought Stevens was telling the truth, probably understating it to some degree. The Cherokees were in for rough sledding.

  An hour or so later they spotted Chetopa. The settlement was a crude collection of buildings, seemingly scattered at random beside the railroad tracks. As they rode nearer, Stevens glanced around at Ryan, and the railroader jerked his head toward the ramshackle buildings.

  “We’re being met in Chetopa.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I arranged it before we left Parsons. George Walker, our chief surveyor, should be waiting there now.”

  “What’s he going to survey?”

  “The Cherokee Nation,” Stevens said. “I delayed until now in the hope we would have William Ross’ cooperation. We don’t, but that’s neither here nor there. We’ll proceed with our plans anyway.”

  “I gather you didn’t mention it to Ross?”

  Stevens merely nodded. “I want you to act as guide for Walker and his survey crew. Your knowledge of the country will speed things along.”

  “Guide,” Ryan asked, “or bodyguard?”

  “I see no reason to anticipate trouble.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But you ought to understand something. I didn’t sign on to be the Katy’s hired gun against Cherokees.”

  “As I recall, you dispatched those two at Stand Watie’s place without any great qualms.”

  “They started it,” Ryan said flatly. “When somebody opens fire in my direction, I’ve got this peculiar habit. I shoot back.”

  “I ask nothing more,” Stevens countered. “Just protect Walker and his men, bring them back alive. I daresay you won’t find it any problem at all.”

  “And if I do?”

  “Handle it however you see fit. I trust your judgment implicitly in such matters.”

  Ryan lapsed into silence. He felt he’d been snookered, for it was obvious that Stevens had purposely delayed mentioning the assignment. But it was a reasonable request, and one that fell within the bounds of his job. Short of quitting, he saw no practical way to refuse. He decided to go along.

  “When do we leave?”

  Stevens smiled. “Tomorrow morning should be soon enough.”

  Later after supper, Stevens called a meeting. While there was no depot in Chetopa, construction crews had built a supply shack near the tracks. There beneath a lantern, he huddled with Ryan and Walker around a map of Indian Territory. He traced a line southward from the Kansas border.

  “George, your survey line should generally follow the Neosho River. From what I’ve seen, it’s fairly decent topography.”

  “How are the grades?”

  “Not as steep as I’d expected.”

  “Anything special I should look out for?”

  “Only the rivers and streams. We may encounter a problem with eroding banks. So select your approaches very carefully.”

  Walker was short and squat, thick through with muscle. His face was moonlike and he was bald except for tufts of hair curled over his ears. He knuckled back his hat, staring at the map.

  “There’s the original line we marked. Straight south from the border, then angle off toward Tahlequah and Fort Gibson. Any changes since we talked last?”

  “Just one.” Stevens indicated a spot north of Tahlequah. “Survey a line from there due southwest to the Three Forks area.”

  Walker looked astounded. “You plan to bypass Tahlequah and Fort Gibson?”

  “Let’s call it a contingency plan.”

  Stevens stood there a moment longer. Then his gaze slowly moved from the map and fixed on Ryan. The corners of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.

  “The contingency being our reception by the Cherokees.”

  The survey party resembled a small caravan. Apart from George Walker, there were two assistant surveyors in the crew. Their gear and equipment required three packhorses, with the tripod-mounted surveyor’s level lashed tight onto the gentlest animal.

  Four men and seven horses quickly attracted attention, and Ryan knew from the outset that secrecy would be impossible. There was simply no way to hide so many white men on a trek through the Cherokee Nation. Nor was it possible to disguise their purpose with the surveyors constantly plotting a north-south line.

  Their first day out Ryan spotted a lone Indian observing their activities from a distance. The rider, who was mounted on
a black-and-white pinto, trailed them until they pitched camp. There seemed little doubt that word of their presence would reach Tahlequah by morning. Ryan kept his suspicions to himself, for there was nothing to be gained in bothering the other men. But his vigil became more watchful, constantly alert.

  Ryan found the surveyors better trail companions than Stevens. They were accustomed to sleeping on bedrolls, with no complaints about hard ground or chilly nights. Even better, one of Walker’s men was a master cook over an outdoor fire. With the abundance of game, Ryan easily supplied several tasty choices for the evening meal. Everyone pitched in with the camp chores, and by the end of the first day they’d fallen into an easygoing routine. They were comfortable with one another in the way of men who thrived on wilderness travel.

  After supper Ryan took the first watch. To protect against horse thieves, a guard would be posted throughout the night. Before dawn each man would take his turn. The two assistants quickly crawled into their bedrolls. Walker, who had drawn the dawn watch, joined Ryan at the fire. Hands to the flames, he was silent for a time, as though lost in thought.

  “You expect trouble, don’t you?” he asked.

  Ryan sat cross-legged, the shotgun cradled over his knees. He studied the question a moment. “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re a little on edge. Waiting for something to happen.”

  “Never hurts to be careful.”

  “I get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Is there something Stevens didn’t tell me?”

  “Let’s just say we’re not welcome here. The Colonel and William Ross didn’t exactly see eye to eye on things.”

  “Small wonder,” Walker said with a low chuff of mirth. “Stevens is used to getting his own way—especially with Indians.”