Sixkiller, U.S. Marshal

by William W. Johnstone

  Shortly after John Henry entered Indian Territory he saw a disturbing sign. The sign had been erected alongside the right of way that would be granted for whichever railroad first crossed the border into the Indian Territory.

  WARNING TO THE WHITE MAN’S RAILROAD WE DON’T WANT YOU! STAY OUT OF OUR LAND!

  INDIAN INDEPENDENCE COUNCIL

  John Henry paused long enough to read the warning, then he looked around to see if anyone was monitoring the sign. He knew that, during the war, Willie Buck had created something called the Indian Independence Council, which he claimed was fighting for the total independence of the Indian Territory from both the Union and the Confederacy. After the war, Willie Buck had made a big thing about surrendering to the Union Army, and was paroled, along with all the other Rebel commanders.

  But that was during the war. He was unaware of any activity by the Indian Independence Council since the war had ended. He was sure that Willie Buck had something to do with it, but he decided that he would check with Captain LeFlores. If there was anyone in the whole Territory who would know about it, John Henry was convinced it would be LeFlores.

  It had been a couple of months since John Henry was last in Tahlequah, and he exchanged greetings with several people that he recognized, including a few who had fought with him during the late war.

  “John Henry, you are making us proud!” Charley Silverthorn called to him.

  “Hello, Charley,” John Henry called back. “How is your boy?”

  “Growing tall and strong. Soon, he will be taller and stronger than I am.”

  “I’ll bet he is already better looking,” John Henry said, and both men laughed.

  John Henry rode up to a building that served as the Cherokee government offices. Here was the office of President William Ross. Here, too, was where the two houses of the Cherokee Government assembled when they held session. Captain LeFlores, who was chief of the Indian Police, had his office here as well, and it was to LeFlores that John Henry reported.

  “Hello, John Henry. Or should I say Marshal Sixkiller?” a smiling LeFlores said by way of greeting.

  “Captain,” John Henry replied, touching the brim of his hat.

  “What brings you to Tahlequah? Not that I’m not pleased to see you, you understand.”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  LeFlores looked puzzled. “No. Why? Should I know?”

  “Maybe not. I just thought you might know. I’ve been summoned back to meet with Marcus Eberwine.”

  “Marcus Eberwine? What do you mean, summoned back to meet with him? What are you to meet with him about?”

  “I’m told that he has been appointed as liaison between the Cherokee and the railroad.”

  “Damn, I haven’t heard that. I was hoping you were here to arrest the son of a bitch on some charge. To which railroad will he be the liaison?”

  “At the moment, it is nonspecific. I expect he will be liaison to whichever railroad is first into the Territory, and as yet, we don’t know which that will be. But my guess is that it will be the KATY.”

  “Who appointed Eberwine? The railroads?” LeFlores asked.

  John Henry shook his head. “No. It is my understanding that he was appointed by President Ross.”

  “William Ross,” LeFlores said, slurring the name. “He wouldn’t make a pimple on his father’s ass. How in heaven’s name he became our chief, I’ll never know.”

  “It was the council,” John Henry said.

  “Yes.”

  “Captain LeFlores, what do you know of the Indian Independence Council?”

  “The Indian Independence Council? You mean that outfit that Willie Buck started during the war? What about it?”

  “Is it active again? I mean, have you heard anything about it?”

  “No, I haven’t heard anything. Why do you ask?”

  “When I first came into the Territory I saw a sign that said the Indians do not want the railroad, and it warned the railroads to stay out. The sign was posted by the Indian Independence Council.”

  “Nonsense. Why wouldn’t they want the railroad here? It will benefit the entire Territory.”

  “Yes, I would think so as well. But apparently Willie Buck is against it. That is, assuming he is affiliated with the Indian Independence Council.”

  “Well, I tell you the truth, I wouldn’t put it past the son of a bitch. He is certainly ornery enough. Though, why he would be against the railroad, I have no idea. I’m glad you told me about it, though. It sounds as if it might be a group that could cause us trouble. I’ll get the police to keep a lookout for it to see if we can actually find out who they are, and what they have planned.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” John Henry said.

  LeFlores looked at John Henry, chuckled, and shook his head.

  “What is it?” John Henry asked.

  “You’ve come a long way from the young man who wanted nothing more than to avenge your father’s murder. You became the best policeman on the entire force, then you were chief sheriff, and now you are a United States Marshal. And, you have compiled quite an impressive record along the way.”

  “I had a good teacher,” John Henry said. He smiled broadly, then pointed. “You.”

  “You give me too much credit, John Henry.”

  “I like to give credit where credit is due.”

  “I appreciate that. And, do me a favor, will you? Watch yourself dealing with Eberwine. I know he is a big man in the Territory, he employs a lot of people, and he has a lot of money. But I’ve never trusted him, and if he is involved in the railroad business, I just don’t believe he is up to any good.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  Leaving the office of his friend, John Henry rode down to the far end of town where he saw a neatly painted white building with green trim. A large sign was posted on top of the building declaring it to be the office of the Eberwine Freight Company. Behind the building was the freight yard, a great, enclosed lot that was at least five acres. Half of the lot was corral for scores of mules, the other half had more than a dozen freight wagons, some ready to go, a few up on stands with one or more wheels removed as they were undergoing maintenance. From the corral a mule started braying, and another picked it up.

  As John Henry was dismounting, Marcus Eberwine came out onto the front porch to greet him.

  “Marshal, it was good of you to accept the invitation to come,” Eberwine said.

  “It was a bit more than an invitation. I’m just following orders.”

  “Perhaps so, but I am glad you are here. And, I see no need to make our visit all business, though of course we will discuss business. But first, we may as well enjoy the meeting. I thought you might be here in time for lunch, so I’ve had my cook prepare a meal for us. Come in, we’ll visit and discuss this railroad situation.”

  John Henry had never had a direct run-in with Eberwine, though he could remember the distress of his father when one of his friends had lost his store to Eberwine.

  “How did you get into such debt with him, Michael?” James had asked.

  “He charges so much for the goods that he brings in that I can’t make a profit,” Michael had responded. “I can’t raise the prices, my customers are my friends. I have dealt with them for years. But my debt to Eberwine grew so deep that he went to court and took the store from me.”

  John Henry recalled that conversation, and felt that doing business with Eberwine today was, in a way, a betrayal of Michael Santone. He would have preferred not to socialize with Eberwine, but he didn’t know any easy way to avoid the lunch.

  If John Henry had expected something like a ham sandwich, or perhaps some cold chicken, he was very much mistaken. Inside the office building he saw a table, covered with a crisp, white table cloth, set with gold candelabra, shining silverware, classic china, and delicate crystal stemware. The lunch, served by a white-coated server, consisted of tinned oysters, freshly caught trout, baked sweet potat
oes, wine, and canned peaches in heavy cream.

  John Henry picked at his meal, while Eberwine consumed his with great gusto, so enjoying his eating that he didn’t even notice that John Henry barely touched his food. After the meal was over and the white-jacketed server cleared away the table, Eberwine suggested that they move to another part of the room where two overstuffed oxblood leather chairs faced each other, separated by a small, round table. There were papers on the table, at least one of which, John Henry noticed, was a map.

  Another servant, this time a very attractive young woman, approached the two men carrying a small, wooden box. When she reached them she opened the box, displaying its contents—at least two dozen aromatic cigars.

  “These are from Cuba, you must try them,” Eberwine said. He took one out and handed it to the woman. She used a silver cutter to snip the tips, then she licked the side, handed the cigar to Eberwine, and held a match under it. Eberwine puffed until the end glowed red and his head was enwreathed by smoke.

  She took a second cigar out and snipped the tips, but before she licked the side, John Henry shook his head and reached for it. She lit his cigar as well.

  “I think it is absolutely uncivilized to discuss business in any way other than in the convivial atmosphere of good cigar smoke,” Eberwine said.

  “It is a good cigar,” John Henry said, wanting Eberwine to lead the conversation.

  Eberwine removed the cigar and studied the end of it for moment before he spoke again.

  “Tell me, Marshal, you have been a part of this railroad operation for some time now—which one do you think will be first to reach the border?”

  John Henry had his own belief about which one he thought would be first, and he had shared that idea with Captain LeFlores, but he had no intention of sharing it with Eberwine. At least, not until he had some feel of what Eberwine’s role was in this operation. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he said. “Both of them are building as quickly as they can and, at the moment, I would say that they are about even.”

  “But surely you have an idea of who is in the lead. Or at least, who you think might win. I don’t wish to breach any agreement of confidentiality you may have with them, but I think it would make my job easier.”

  “What, exactly, is your job, Mr. Eberwine?”

  “Why, I thought you knew.” Eberwine stuck the cigar back in his mouth, then spoke around it. “I am to be the liaison between the railroad and the Cherokee people. But I don’t know exactly what that will entail until I know which railroad I will have to deal with.”

  “Have to deal with? You say that as if you aren’t welcoming a railroad into Indian Territory.”

  “On the contrary, sir. Who would not welcome the railroad, and the prosperity it is sure to bring to all of us?”

  “Evidently, there are some who don’t want the railroad.”

  “You would be talking about the Indian Independence Council?’

  Eberwine’s mention of the Indian Independence Council surprised John Henry.

  “You mean you know about them?”

  “Yes, of course I have heard of them. They have certainly let it be known that they are displeased with the idea of a railroad coming into the Indian Territory.”

  “It’s strange that you would know that, when Captain LeFlores did not.”

  “Are you telling me that the captain of the Indian Police is unaware of the opposition of the Indian Independence Council to the railroad? My, that doesn’t give one much confidence in our police, does it? I mean, you know about it, and you aren’t even one of us.”

  “One of us?”

  “Well, I meant that figuratively, of course. Of course, you are Cherokee, even though you are no longer a full-time resident of the Territory, being as you are a United States Marshal. And I’m not Cherokee, though my heart is certainly with the Cherokee nation. But tell me, how is it that you know about their opposition to the railroad, and LeFlores does not?”

  “I wouldn’t have known about it if I hadn’t seen a sign that they posted. I know the Indian Independence Council was something that Willie Buck put together in order to justify his looting during the war. I didn’t know he was still involved with it.”

  “Do you think it’s Willie Buck?”

  “Who else would it be?” John Henry asked.

  “Yes. Who else indeed? But you are right about their opposition to the railroad. I got a letter of demand from them as soon as it was announced in the Cherokee Advocate that I was to be the railroad liaison. I do know, though, that it is composed of a group of Indians, and not just Cherokee, who want the Indian Territory to be independent from the United States. As I understand it, they want to establish a separate nation, a nation to be called Sequoyah, I believe.”

  “Do you still have that letter?”

  “Yes, would you like to see it?”

  “I would, if you don’t mind.”

  Eberwine rose from his chair and walked over to his desk. Pulling open one of the drawers, he removed the letter, then brought it back to John Henry.

  “My first thought upon getting it was to tear it up and throw it away. As you will see when you read it, it is quite belligerent. But, upon second thought, I decided to keep it, just in case they decided to act upon one of their threats and someone in authority might want to see it.”

  John Henry nodded, then took the letter and began to read:

  Dear Mr. Eberwine:

  We, the members of the Indian Independence Council, have read with interest the news of your appointment as Railroad Liaison.

  The railroad must not, and will not, be built. Be warned, we will not stand by and allow any further incursion by the white man into our lands until such time as we have gained full and complete independence from the collection of states that call themselves the United States of America.

  In your capacity as liaison, we caution you to order the railroads currently under construction to halt at the border. Any attempt made by the railroad to cross into Indian Territory will be resisted, by violence if necessary.

  Once our independence is gained, we will build a railroad system through our new nation and, at that time, enter into agreements with American railroads that will allow trade and commerce.

  Any attempt to build a railroad before our independence is gained, and agreements made, will end in disaster.

  Sincerely,

  Indian Independence Council

  Willie Buck, President

  John Henry looked up after he finished reading the letter. “I’m surprised he signed it.”

  “Oh, I think he fashions himself a patriot. I’m sure he is quite sincere in wanting the Territory to secede.”

  “We tried to secede once before, and it brought us nothing but trouble,” John Henry said.

  “Yes, you are talking about the Civil War, when the Five Civilized Nations opted to secede from the Union and join the Confederacy. That wasn’t a very smart move, I will admit. But this isn’t anything like that. What the Indian Independence Council wants, as I understand it, is complete independence, not to be affiliated with any other country, but to be a nation itself.”

  “That wouldn’t be a very wise thing to do. In the first place, we would be completely landlocked by states and territories of the United States. What sort of independence would that be? Besides, even if these people are serious about secession again, and make a declaration of independence, wouldn’t it make sense to support the railroad, rather than oppose it? A railroad would give us a connection to the outside world.”

  “Yes, but I think their point is that the white man would own the railroad. I believe they want us to own the railroad.”

  “Us?”

  “Again, I am speaking figuratively. I meant, of course, that they want the Indians to own the railroad.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Eberwine walked John Henry to the door. “I’m sure, Marshal, that with you on the job we will have no difficulty in bringing the railroad to the Indian
Territory.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, Mr. Eberwine.”

  “How can I not be confident? You have made quite a name for yourself as a U.S. Marshal, and before that, as an Indian policeman.”

  “As I said, I appreciate your confidence,” John Henry said.

  After John Henry Sixkiller left his office, Eberwine walked over to stand in front of the window and watch as the marshal mounted his horse and rode away. Not until then did he call out.

  “You can come out now, Mr. Dixon. He’s gone,” Eberwine said.

  Matt Dixon had been hiding in a back room of Eberwine’s office, peeping through a crack at the U.S. Marshal who was meeting with Eberwine. As soon as the marshal left, Dixon came out of the back room and, without being invited, walked over to the desk to take a handful of Eberwine’s cigars.

  In a world without guns, Dixon, because he was small, and almost anemic looking, would scarcely be noticed. But this was a world with guns, and Dixon had the two attributes that served him well in his chosen profession as a hired gun. He was fast and accurate, but many gunfighters were fast and accurate. Dixon possessed that additional character trait that made him a man to be feared by even the fastest and most skilled. Dixon could kill without compunction. Dixon could take a man’s life with no more thought than he would give to stepping on a bug.

  Eberwine had sent for Dixon, and was going to hire him. But even Eberwine felt uneasy in his presence. He winced, as Dixon put at least five of the expensive cigars in a pocket. He lit one, causing Eberwine to wince again as he scratched a match across Eberwine’s desk.

  “Is that the man you want me to kill?” Dixon asked as he held the match to the end of his cigar.

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it that way,” Eberwine said.

  Dixon squinted at him through the tobacco smoke. “No? How would you put it?”

  “I want him—out of the way—so he won’t interfere with my plans.”