by Matt Braun
The existence of a town site had been common knowledge for almost two weeks. Enclosing two thousand acres with sturdy fence had attracted considerable attention. While the work was under way Boudinot had been closely guarded by a squad of Southern Party supporters. Establishment of a town populated with whites left no doubt that he’d cast his lot with the railroad. Opposing forces on the Cherokee council would view it as the supreme betrayal, and another assassination attempt seemed a virtual certainty. He was guarded day and night.
As dusk fell, Boudinot and his followers approached Stevens’ private car. Ryan was already stationed there, summoned earlier by Stevens. His orders were to oversee security while Boudinot took supper with the railroader. The dinner was something of a celebration, marking the Katy’s first major railhead in Indian Territory. Stevens was determined that the evening would not be marred by unpleasant incident.
Boudinot’s followers were already familiar with Ryan. As the man who had saved Boudinot’s life, he was something of a celebrity in the Southern Party. Once Boudinot was safely inside, Ryan began posting the men around the car. He stationed them at intervals of ten feet and assigned men to both the front and back doors. Armed with rifles, they were alert and clearly intent on keeping their leader alive. So far as Ryan was concerned, the greater threat was to railroad workers. Anyone who approached the car in the dark risked being shot to ribbons.
The evening progressed without mishap. Sally Palmer joined Stevens and Boudinot and champagne was served. Stevens proposed a toast and they all drank to continued good fortune. At the dinner table there were more toasts, and the conversation was frequently punctuated by laughter. Boudinot, who was something of an actor, treated Sally with the courtly air normally reserved for a lady. She thrived on the attention and failed to notice Stevens’ smile.
Outside Ryan could see them through the windows. As the champagne flowed and their laughter grew louder, he wondered if the celebration was premature. Boudinot, who was under a sentence of death, might never live to enjoy his new prosperity. And for all the toasting, Stevens’ problems had only just begun. Hostile Cherokees who were willing to kill to protect their land would stop at nothing to halt the railroad. All things considered, the laughter had a false ring to Ryan.
It occurred to him that there would be no celebration in Tahlequah tonight. Elizabeth would no doubt blame him, at least in part, for the new town site. As for William Ross, there was no question that today’s events would provoke some sort of drastic action. In Ryan’s view it wasn’t a matter of whether or not the tribal leader would retaliate. It was only a matter of time and opportunity.
And where it would hurt Stevens most.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Good evening, John.”
“Evening, Elizabeth.”
Ryan removed his hat and stepped past a servant into the vestibule. Elizabeth stood framed in the doorway of the parlor, hands clasped at her waist. There was an awkward pause as the servant disappeared down the hallway. Then, hat in hand, Ryan crossed the vestibule.
“Sorry for the late hour,” he said. “But I need to see your father.”
“Doesn’t everyone,” she replied. “Half the tribal council will be here before the night’s out.”
“I take it you’ve heard about Vinita?”
“Yes, of course,” she said in a normal voice. “Mr. Boudinot’s town site could hardly be called a secret.”
“How’d your father take it?”
“Aren’t you here to ask him yourself?”
“More or less,” Ryan admitted. “Word’s out the council went into session today. We’re hoping nobody decides to act in haste.”
“So you’re here with another message, is that it?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
She smiled coolly. “How valuable you’ve become. Colonel Stevens’ eyes and ears in the Indian camp.”
Ryan silently conceded the point. Not quite two weeks ago, Stevens and Boudinot had celebrated establishment of the new town site. Since then, the Cherokees had been curiously silent. The track laying went ahead, pushing southward, unmarred by incident or threat. And as yet, no attempt had been made on Elias Boudinot’s life.
Then, for no apparent reason, the Cherokee council had been called into session. Earlier in the day, upon hearing the news Stevens had summoned Ryan. Ordered once again to Tahlequah, Ryan had declared it a fool’s errand. Still, even as he voiced the objection, he’d known it was a waste of breath. He was being sent not as a peacemaker or with any thought of arranging a truce. He was instead exactly what Elizabeth had termed him: the railroad’s eyes and ears. He’d been sent there to gather information.
Now, in the face of her cool anger, he sought another topic of conversation. He wondered what he might say that would restore things between them. At their last meeting she had rebuffed him, severed the relationship. Unless he won her over tonight, he doubted that there would be another chance. Yet for all his resolve, he knew she would not be persuaded easily. She considered him inseparable from the railroad and therefore guilty by association. He saw no simple way around the argument. It was in large measure the truth.
Elizabeth led him into the parlor. Her attitude was polite but distant. She explained that her father was still conferring with council members after spending a day at the Cherokee capital. When, or if, he would be able to see Ryan was open to question. Major David Tappin was expected at any moment.
Once seated, Ryan attempted to steer her onto another subject. He asked about her blood-bay stallion and got a monosyllabic answer. Then, still searching for neutral ground, he inquired as to the source of her father’s thoroughbred saddle stock. Her reaction convinced him that it was a futile effort. She stiffened, and her tone was unmistakably crisp.
“You needn’t make small talk for my benefit. It won’t change anything.”
Ryan tried to gauge her mood. “I gather,” he said after a moment, “you still hold me responsible for that last shooting.”
She averted her eyes. “Why go into it again? We’ve said all there was to say.”
“Maybe so,” Ryan said quietly. “But I’d like to think there are other things we could talk about.”
“Apart from the railroad, you mean? No, I think not, John. Not anymore.”
“Why?” Ryan demanded. “Nothing’s any different than the first couple of times I came here.”
“I’m different.” Her eyes were dark and strangely tormented. “At first I forgot who I was. Who you are.”
“And who am I?”
“A tibo.” Her voice was tinged with sadness. “A white man who works for the railroad.”
Ryan gave her a searching look. “Does that make me your enemy? No allowances for anything else?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you so naive? You must know what Stevens and Boudinot intend.”
“Nobody’s confided in me just yet.”
“How convenient! Does that somehow excuse you?”
“Excuse me of what?”
“Working against my father,” she said fiercely. “Isn’t it obvious that Stevens wants to undermine him—force his resignation?”
“To what purpose?” Ryan pressed her. “Stevens will get his railroad no matter what.”
“Perhaps he will,” she acknowledged. “But wouldn’t it be easier—and quicker—if my father were no longer chief? Or president of the Intertribal Council?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you? You think Stevens has concocted some elaborate scheme.”
“I think he wants Elias Boudinot in—and my father out!”
“Just to speed up the railroad?”
“No!” She spat the word at him. “The railroad is only a means to an end. The end of the Cherokee Nation! Why won’t you see that?”
“And you think Boudinot’s the man to get the job done?”
“Why else would he organize a town site? He’s forced the issue and ridiculed my father. Forced my father to act!”
Ryan shook his head indulgently. “Maybe Boudinot just wants to get rich. It’s not all that odd a motive.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
“I think it’s as believable as your version. Stevens just doesn’t need a conspiracy like that. Not to build a railroad.”
Her voice was barely audible. “Won’t you feel foolish when you finally learn the truth.”
Elizabeth rose and walked from the room. Staring after her, Ryan realized she’d taken with her the last word. She’d spoken a truth, her truth.
And challenged him to prove it false.
William Ross received him in the study. Upon entering, Ryan was struck by the older man’s look of exhaustion. He thought Ross appeared to have aged ten years in the past weeks.
There was no warmth in Ross’ greeting. He nodded grimly and motioned Ryan to a chair. Without a word he proceeded to stuff his pipe with tobacco. Then, over the flare of a match, he puffed away for a few moments.
“Forgive me,” he said eventually, “but I haven’t much time. I’m expecting someone.”
“Elizabeth told me.”
“Then perhaps you won’t mind being brief. It’s been a long day.”
“And a longer night,” Ryan said pleasantly. “From the looks of it, you’ve still got a ways to go.”
Ross ignored the comment. “What brings you here at such a late hour?”
“I have a message from Stevens.”
“Do you, indeed?”
The words were spoken around quick spurts of smoke. Puffing furiously, Ross ground the pipe stem between his teeth. His eyes were rimmed with fatigue, but his fiery look indicated he was struggling to control his temper. At last, almost wreathed in smoke, he pulled the pipe from his mouth.
“Very well,” he said. “What’s the message?”
“Stevens got wind that you called the council into session.”
“I made no particular secret of it.”
“All the same,” Ryan went on, “he’s worried you might do something hasty. He thinks it would be to everyone’s benefit to arrange a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“Just between you and him. The sooner the better. Wherever you say would suit him fine.”
“How accommodating!” Ross snorted. “And what does he suggest we discuss at this meeting?”
“He wants to work out a compromise of some sort.”
Ross peered at him owlishly. “I once heard the definition of a white man’s compromise.”
“Oh?” Ryan said. “What’s that?”
“A compromise is when both parties to an agreement feel equally buggered.”
Ryan was visibly startled. The crude language was somehow at odds with the man. He thought it revealing that the Cherokee leader, who was normally so dignified, had resorted to a gutter phrase, Whether intentional or not, it indicated the degree of Ross’ anger.
“The point being,” Ross continued, “a compromise is out of the question. Anything Stevens suggests would not be in the best interests of my people.”
“No harm in listening,” Ryan insisted. “All it could cost you is a little time.”
“Offer declined,” Ross said firmly. “Although I will give Stevens credit for audacity. To suggest a compromise after conniving on Boudinot’s town site …” He paused, shook his head. “Well, you must admit, it takes a certain amount of gall.”
“No argument there.”
“Shall we move on, then?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“To your next question,” Ross chided him. “Stevens wouldn’t have sent you all this way merely to request a meeting. What else does he want to know?”
“Now that you mention it”—Ryan smiled, clearly embarrassed—“he told me to find out why you ordered the council into session.”
Ross gave him a thoughtful stare. “I suppose it’s no real secret. I’ve asked the council to consider measures which might impede construction of the railroad.”
“Impede?” Ryan repeated quizzically. “Are you talking about delaying construction or stopping it?”
“The council has its share of hotheads. They advocate stopping the railroad by whatever means necessary.”
“And you?”
“I prefer a more businesslike approach.”
“Anything you can talk about?”
“Of course,” Ross said easily. “By tomorrow it will be common knowledge anyhow. I intend to raise the tax on cattle to a dollar a head.”
Ryan inclined his head in a faint nod. “Won’t the other tribes tend to follow suit and raise their taxes?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”
“Which means the Texans will go right on trailing to Abilene. Why pay a high tariff just to ship your cows with the Katy?”
“If I were a Texan, I would ask myself that very question.”
“Stevens won’t like it,” Ryan noted. “He’s counting on the cattle trade as a source of funds.”
“Tell him he’ll have to look elsewhere.”
“You really think that’ll put a crimp in his plans?”
“If it doesn’t,” Ross said, “then I’ll think of something else.”
“All right,” Ryan said, rising to his feet. “I’ll deliver the message.”
“One other thing, John.”
Ross carefully laid his pipe in an ashtray. He folded his hands on the desktop, staring down as though hesitant to continue. Finally he looked up at Ryan.
“This will be our last visit. I regret to say, you’re no longer welcome here.”
“Listen, I know Elizabeth—”
“Let me finish,” Ross interrupted. “It has nothing to do with Elizabeth. You’ll recall I mentioned certain hotheads in the council.”
“Yes?”
“Some of them believe I’ve aided the railroad by my—association with you.”
Ryan laughed. “That’s pretty farfetched.”
“Nonetheless,” Ross informed him, “the charge has been made. If I’m to govern effectively, then I’ve no choice but to put such allegations to rest. I hope you understand.”
“Keep the tibo at arm’s length. Isn’t that the gist of it?”
“Yes, it is.” Ross smiled ruefully. “A practical man sometimes has to bend before the political wind. I’m genuinely sorry.”
Ryan accepted his handshake. Then, aware that there was nothing left to say, he walked to the door. Outside, still somewhat dazed, he proceeded along the hallway. It occurred to him that Elizabeth must have known of her father’s decision. And yet in their earlier conversation she’d said nothing. He wondered why.
As he crossed the vestibule, a servant hurried to open the door. Then, abruptly, he stopped short. Major Tappin stepped through the entryway, removing his hat and handing it to the servant. He gave Ryan a jaundiced look.
“We meet again, Mr. Ryan.”
“Just passing through, Major.”
“Good. I’m pleased to hear it.”
Ryan started around him, then turned back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’d think it’s obvious. After all, I am a peace officer, Mr. Ryan.”
“I still don’t get your drift.”
“Tell me,” Tappin said, watching him with undisguised hostility, “killed anyone lately?”
For what seemed a sliver of eternity, their eyes locked. Then, his expression murderous, Ryan took a grip on his temper. Only a fool allowed himself to be baited on ground of another man’s choosing. And Tappin was clearly trying to bait him.
He smiled and stepped through the open door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
By the middle of June, end-of-track had progressed to within a few miles of Pryor’s Creek. The winding tributary lay fifty miles south of the Kansas border, and halfway to Fort Gibson.
The summer heat cloaked the land like a shroud. Track laying, even in the early morning hours, became a grueling and sometimes maddening business. Swarms of flies and mosquitoes fed on the work gangs wit
h a ravenous appetite for blood. Heat and festering insect bites slowed construction to a torturous pace.
Approaching Pryor’s Creek, the survey line had been laid three miles west of the Texas Road. The purpose was to avoid an irregular stretch of hilly terrain, and thereby speed construction. Yet the Irish Brigade was forced to slash their way through dense canebrakes, with the ground underfoot like muddy, jungle sloughs. What had originally seemed a good plan gradually evolved into a nightmare of agonizing labor. Everyone cursed the survey crew and the mosquitoes alike.
With all their other problems, the work gangs gave little thought to the Indians. Hardly a day passed without a party of Cherokee horsemen being spotted on a distant hill. But the riders never lingered, and the nearest village was ten miles to the east, on the banks of the Neosho River. Out of sight was out of mind, and the beleaguered workmen ceased to think of the Indians as a threat. The swampy bottomland and a sorching sun became the enemy.
Still, for all the construction delays Robert Stevens was very much aware of the Cherokees. He convened a war council on a muggy evening, not long after Ryan’s meeting with Ross. The section chiefs, led by Tom Scullin, trooped into the private car and took seats. Ryan, who had returned from Tahlequah that afternoon, was the last to arrive. He’d made his report earlier, and he already knew that Stevens was in a foul mood. He stood by the door, separating himself from the others.
Stevens waited until the men were settled. Then, in a carefully measured voice he related the details of Ryan’s meeting with William Ross. He paused and allowed the news to percolate a few moments. Finally, when no one spoke up, he went on in a somewhat harsher tone.
“The bastard intends to cripple us financially. A dollar a head would sound like a death knell to the Texans.”
Scullin cleared his throat. “You think we’d lose the cattle trade, is that it?”
“Hell, yes!” Stevens said roughly. “The other tribes play monkey see, monkey do with the Cherokees. Before it was over, every cow would be taxed three dollars—maybe more!”
Scullin swapped a look with Otis Gunn. The engineer glumly shook his head, obviously disturbed. His gaze shifted to Stevens.