“Risky to be sure.” Finn looked through his camera lens. “But smart.”
“Risking your life for a plot of dirt is foolish, especially if you’re willing to cheat out the others who play by the rules.” I pointed to the crowd below that had become surprisingly quiet—the calm before a storm.
“Take a look.” Finn gestured to the Kodak and stepped aside. “Hurry up.”
I lined up my right eye. “What am I looking …” My heart jumped.
“You see her, don’t you?” Finn whispered.
CHAPTER 18
Mary ~ Rush, September 16, 1893
Even though sleep should have come easily after little to no rest since arriving in town, I couldn’t stop the thoughts running through my mind. Sadness about the Contolinis warred with my excitement at the impending challenge to ride out on Sadie. It was a childhood thrill that remained in my blood.
Although I rode frequently as a child, a few years had passed since I had last ridden a horse—and in a race, at that. Tuck had worked as a ranch hand on the outskirts of Kirksville. The owner’s young wife, Bess, and I had struck a friendship. On warm afternoons, we raced each other across the open fields, laughing when our hair loosened from the constraints and fell around our faces. We rode along the river, stopping to cool the horses and our feet in the rippling waters and rest under the draping canopy of the biggest willows.
Like a long shadow in the afternoon, the part I tried to escape but couldn’t evade was fear. The likelihood of being injured alongside aggressive and more skilled riders—those equally determined to get land—was real. But that wasn’t my only concern. I was afraid of failing, then dragging myself back to Adair to admit my failure to the naysayers, especially Sheriff Murphy and his accusations of me being selfish and foolish to leave my mother and son behind.
My fear became real when, in the middle of the night before the race, a rustling and stomping of hooves came from behind the tent. Without a proper corral or stall, Joseph had tethered Sadie to a fence post. I slid Joseph’s pistol away from his bedroll and crawled out of the tent. Under the glow of a half moon, the silhouette of a man stood next to the horse. He ran his hand along her neck and then fidgeted with the knot in the rope. In no time and without thought, I was behind him with the gun shoved in his back.
“What are you doing here?” I said in a low, threatening voice.
“Looking for my horse.” He grunted as the gun pressed harder into his ribs. “Thought this might be her in the dark.”
The smell of whiskey brought back a putrid memory of Tuck’s drinking. “You’re looking to steal a horse.” I stepped backward, still pointing the pistol at his back. “You’d better be going while you can.”
As he turned, his eyes widened—the white circles on his filthy face making him look like a raccoon. “I ain’t havin’ no little bitty woman like you tell me what to do.” He teetered to the left and then straightened himself. “Especially when this here is my horse.” He slapped Sadie on the rump.
“I said, you better be going … now!” I cocked the gun and held my finger securely on the trigger. “You wouldn’t want a gunshot in your belly waking the rest of the camp, would you?”
He sneered, then stumbled off in the direction of the river.
I put the gun down, realizing my arm was shaking. I’m going to need to be awfully tough for this. Guess that was a good start.
“Well done, tesoro mio.”
I spun around and found myself face-to-face with Joseph. “You scared me to death.”
“You are coraggiosa. Now I feel better about sending you, my treasure, to race by yourself.” He slipped the gun from my hand. “Let’s put this away for tonight. Tomorrow you will keep the gun.”
“But it’s—”
“You’ll need it more than me.” He lifted it toward the night sky, the silver barrel and cylinder catching the moonlight. “Besides, you probably didn’t know about Lizzie’s pearl-handled pistol. She keeps it … let’s just say, in a private place. She has quite an aim too.” He tucked his gun into his pant waist.
“Let’s get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
*****
Sleep must have found me because I awoke to Joseph clanging pots and supplies outside the tent. Lizzie was up too, her sweet, though weak, voice peppering her husband with questions.
“What else can we leave for her? She’ll need every bit of wood, food, and water.”
“She’s fixed to ride out today with enough oats and grub to last about two days. She’s got a canteen of tea and another with water.”
“What about cover? She can’t ride out with the tent. What will she do?”
“She’ll be okay. Once she’s established her lot, she can ride back in and get us so we can drop off more supplies.”
“This doesn’t feel right, Joseph. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.”
A long silence followed.
“Me either, cara mia. She’s become the daughter we never had. But this is right. Something in my gut tells me she can do this.”
Please be right. I pushed aside the thin blanket. I’m doing this not only for Wesley but for them as well.
*****
It was a sight never to be forgotten. Every inch of ground near the starting line was occupied by animal or person. People dashed to and fro, securing supplies with ropes and leather straps and holding the bits of eager horses. Even the mules tried to lunge forward in anticipation of the start. Whether a Kentucky thoroughbred, farm horse, or cowpony, horses whinnied, and some reared, nearly throwing the riders. Whoops and hollers rang out as rushers vied for a prime starting position.
Lizzie’s walk was labored, but she was determined to watch the race and wish me well. With Joseph leading Sadie, the three of us made our way through the masses, looking for a thin place to join the line. Sadie whinnied and bobbed her head, no doubt letting the other horses know she was ready to run.
Next to us, a woman standing in the rear of an uncovered prairie schooner held her hand above her eyes and called to her husband behind the reins, “They’re cutting sections of the fence, Floyd. Letting people through already.”
With that, her husband slapped the reins, and his team of four horses surged forward, nearly tossing his wife from the back.
“Should we go too?” I asked.
“No, hold your ground.” Joseph raised the brim of his hat. “Let them get all snarled up like tar in a sieve.”
“You’d better mount up.” Lizzie patted the saddle. “Joseph, get her stirrups adjusted.”
Joseph leaned over and interlaced his fingers, making a foothold. “Step on up, your majesty.”
I slapped him on the back and lifted the hem of my dress. “I’m not much of a princess showing my legs.”
“It’s a shame we don’t have a sidesaddle, but you’d have a hard time staying put with a leg wrapped around only the horn.”
Joseph hoisted me onto the worn leather—an awkward seat as I maneuvered the fabric beneath me and gathered the layers towards my knees. “I prefer it this way. This is how I rode as a child.”
“Hold in your belly, Sadie.” Joseph tugged upward on the cinch as Sadie grunted.
From atop the horse, the view changed. Smoke billowed from the first Santa Fe that was edging toward the starting line. Many more were scheduled to carry rushers across the available heartland. This one had at least ten or more cars attached—a slithering, black snake, oozing with people on the inside as well as those clinging to the roof. The train’s whistle sounded, and my heart leapt.
“Lizzie, we’d better clear out of here before we get trampled. Can’t be fifteen minutes more now.” Joseph rubbed Sadie’s muzzle and spoke to her softly. “Prenditi cura di lei. Buona fortuna.”
It was difficult to hear his voice over the pandemonium, let alone understand Italian.
Lizzie reached for my hand. “He told her to take care of you.” Her small hand shared a strong and assured grip. “And Godspeed.”<
br />
I squeezed her hand. “Thank you for everything.” Tears blurred my vision. “I’ll be back soon with my claim. Maybe we can still find a way to get yours.”
“If the Lord is willing. This is in His hands now.” As if to confirm her thoughts, she patted my leg with surprising firmness. “Mary, you have to believe that truth.”
“But …” I squinted against the sun, searching for words to respond.
“Pray, my dear.” She took Joseph’s hand and, together, they scurried into the crowd, disappearing into the plume of dust rising as the line tightened.
I edged in as close as possible to the front with the other horse riders. Behind us, the wagons lined up, drivers holding the reins and whips ready.
A woman’s voice called out from the buckboard behind me. “She’s a disgrace. Imagine riding with your skirts pulled up like that.”
Even though thousands of eyes could have been staring at me, I turned in my saddle and shouted, “You ought to try it sometime. Stop by my land, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
A cowboy next to me tipped his hat. “After you, ma’am.” He waved his hand, ushering me in front of his black gelding.
I smiled a thank-you and moved one position closer to the start.
An odd silence blanketed the rushers. Everyone, even the animals, seemed to stop breathing as they leaned forward, waiting for the signal that would send us into a wild chase.
CHAPTER 19
Daniel ~ Rush, September 16, 1893
My heart leapt again, but this time it surged all the way through my core as the single gunshot fired in tandem with the roar of the cannon.
“Ah, darn … let me behind the camera.” Finn pushed me aside and started snapping photos as quickly as he could replace the plates.
In all the confusion, my eyes tried to remain focused on the woman with the ivory-colored hat and pale-blue dress. She was near the front of the solid moving mass, but as the thickening dust cloud engulfed the riders, a terrifying image of the smoke rising from the Boston City Stables replayed in my mind.
“I’ve lost her!” I shouted at Finn.
“Who?” He continued to peer through the lens, rotating the camera to follow the direction of the race.
“The woman.” I stepped forward and scanned what was visible of the riders.
“You’re in the way!” Finn shouted behind me.
The line continued to surge forward, stretching like a piece of black licorice taffy.
Those on horseback took the lead with smaller carts close behind. Buckboards, buggies, and spring wagons followed at top speed, bumping over the relentless prairie. Once they caught their stride, the larger teams of horses were powerful and fast, their thundering hooves vibrating the ground even where we stood.
A short distance away, two wagons collided, sending one into a ditch and the other toppling. An injured horse let loose a great screech. A man, holding his forearm, tried to calm the animal. Men on foot, most likely hoping to get the close-in claims, ran in haphazard directions as though they had all gone mad.
“Take a look at that.” Finn pushed his hat back. “Mr. Stone on his bicycle. Poor fellow.”
The man was pumping his bicycle for dear life but was sandwiched among a cluster of wagons. Every time a horse’s foot struck the ground, a mouthful of dust and dirt was thrown in his face.
“He’ll be beaten to a pulp before this race is over.” Finn clicked a photograph.
Soon, the riders pulled far enough ahead of the others, leaving the first signs of earth and the bulk of the dust behind them. In a remarkably short time, the line—now more than two hundred yards wide—disappeared in the distance.
*****
Most of the spectators descended the small hill and headed back to town. Some good Samaritans attended to the injured man and his horse. Finn and I remained on the hill watching another man take a switch to his mules, who refused to move. The more he hit them, the more stubborn they became. Now that the roar of hooves and wagons had disappeared, his swearing shattered the calm. A woman, most likely his disgusted wife, snatched the long, blacksnake whip from him. We couldn’t make out what she said, but she pointed to the south, and within seconds, the man ran toward a cluster of marker rocks adjacent to the border.
Finn whistled, and the sound cut through the air. “Unbelievable. That claim could have been ours.” He walked back and forth. “In all the excitement, the sites right under their noses got passed by. We should have strolled over there and claimed that lot, don’t you think?”
But I didn’t answer. My eyes were focused on a speck of ivory that lay in the open field.
CHAPTER 20
Mary ~ Claim, September 16, 1893
The noise was as though hell itself had let loose. Yells and hollers raged with snorts and screeching as the reverberating boom launched the line forward—an uncontrollable, unstoppable wave of humanity.
My legs hugged the saddle tightly, giving Sadie full rein. She needed no direction as our course was narrow between the other horses. For now, our only destination was straight ahead.
A cloud of dust lifted like an angry beast behind the front-runners, pouring itself into my eyes and nose. I tried to cover my mouth, refusing to drink its poison. At one point, the veil was so thick, I shut my eyes and simply trusted Sadie’s instinct to follow the others.
She must have despised being caught behind the other horses as much as me. Without my prodding, she surged forward and broke into stride with the foremost riders. To my left was a dapple-grey thoroughbred, its rider crouched over its neck and straddling an English saddle—not a common sight on the plains of the frontier. The horseman’s mouth and nose were covered with what once must have been a white handkerchief. When he looked in my direction, his eyebrows lifted atop his dirt-splattered spectacles. I had to grin in spite of myself. Apparently, I was not the only one surprised at my position in the race. Or perhaps the sophisticated rider was awed at my ability to ride astride and quite unladylike.
As if the wind intended to humble me, a gust caught the brim of my hat and pulled it from atop my head. I tried to right it and secure the loose ribbon under my chin with one hand, but the satin slipped through my fingers. My hat whirled in the air before landing on the ground for a brief moment before pursuing hooves beat it into the ground. My hair that had been bundled and held prisoner beneath the straw hat now tumbled and waved around my face in fiery streams.
Maybe it was the repetitive stride of Sadie’s gallop or the droning of the hooves and wheels cutting down the once virgin prairie grasses. For a moment, it was as though I were dreaming—set free from the memories of the past and the confusion of the present. Running away from or running toward something. Neither seemed to matter.
The English rider veered, pushing his stirrup into Sadie’s rump and jolting me from my solitude. The horse stumbled, and my hand found the saddle horn in time to save me from tumbling to the ground—surely to be trampled by the oncoming crowd. Like a peal of thunder, a wagon pulled by a team of six black horses and moving like a steam engine veered ahead of us. Like an ax laid to wood, I split to the right and the rider to the left.
Sadie was breathing hard, and her withers damp with sweat. “Come on, girl, it can’t be much farther. If I remember right from the map, the spot we want is over that bluff.” We took a sharp right and headed into a tall, grassy section speckled with goldenrod and wax goldenweed. There was so much yellow it looked like the bounty of a king. And as much as my body wanted to rest, there would be no treasure of my own until the two-foot wooden stake, carved with my initials and tied to my saddle, was driven into my claim.
Other riders and wagons zigzagged across the plain now, heading for a specific claim site or wherever they stumbled and could grab a plot. The rock markers placed by the surveying teams in the northeast corner of each site would be almost impossible to find in the mayhem.
It would be easy for several rushers to stake the same piece of land and then have to decid
e—or fight—to determine who would be the owner. Horrible stories had surfaced from earlier land rushers—especially from the Guthrie and Oklahoma City area—of cheaters, bullies, and even murderers who stole claims from honest people. Tuck and I had read articles, some truthful and others most likely stretched like a rubber band. We also listened to defeated rushers who had returned empty-handed, forlorn that they didn’t get land but happy they were breathing.
Once we were on the rise and the other side was visible, I pulled on the reins, stood in the stirrups, and surveyed the area. The remnants of a trickling creek tiptoed its way through a steep, sandy bank directly below me. On its other side was a pebbled bank dotted with a few sparse trees and bushes. Beyond it was an open area, parched and brown.
At least it has water close by. That’s surely worth it.
Carefully, I navigated Sadie down the hillside, the sand and dirt giving way beneath her weight. I was leaning back in the saddle, trying to keep my balance, when a rumbling of wood and the clanging of metal came from above.
“Can’t take her down this hill, Pa,” a raspy woman’s voice called out. “Too steep and soft. I’ll tumble for sure.”
“Where’s your courage, woman?” a gruff voice answered. “This is the spot.”
I was nearly to the bottom when a wrinkled face, framed in a bonnet, stared down at me.
“A claim jumper!” She pointed at me and cursed. “Get on it, Pa!”
Just as Sadie reached the flattened ground, a horse and rider jumped over the edge of the bluff, swooping from the sky like a hawk.
Instinctively, I gave Sadie a kick, and she leapt across the creek bed. I headed toward the open field, intent on being the first to drive in my stake. But the other horse was swift and gained on me within seconds.
Soon, the rider was alongside me. The man raised his wooden stake and swiped it at my head. Throwing myself to the side to avoid being struck, my footing came loose in the stirrups. In an instant, I slid off the saddle and fell to the ground with a thud. Like a fly caught in a spider’s web, the bottom of my petticoat tangled around my legs and held me to the ground. Rolling onto my knees and pushing myself to a stand, my eyes were met with a terrifying sight—the man spun his horse around and charged straight at me.
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