Kinch Riley / Indian Territory
Page 42
After closing arguments, the judge instructed the jury. By Cherokee law, he told them, the defendant was required to prove nothing. The burden of proof fell on the prosecution, and even the slightest doubt was sufficient to forestall conviction. When the jurors withdrew for deliberations, an uneasy tension settled over the courtroom. Some of the spectators stepped out for a smoke, only to be called back inside before ten minutes had elapsed. The jury filed back into the box with an air of grave solemnity. Their verdict, read aloud by the foreman, was unanimous: guilty on all counts.
The judge pronounced sentence immediately. Ordered to rise, Tappin was informed that Cherokee law exacted the death penalty for a capital crime. The date of execution was set for November 18, at the hour of dawn. The judge hammered his gavel and adjourned the proceedings. It was 4:32 on the courtroom clock.
The appellate process in the Cherokee Nation was no less efficient. Early the following morning, the Supreme Court heard an eloquent appeal, delivered by David Tappin’s lawyer. Pleading insufficient proof as well as mitigating circumstances, defense counsel requested that the sentence be reversed. The court promptly upheld the conviction and declined to stay the execution. The appellate hearing took only slightly more than an hour.
Dawn tore a gray line across the horizon on the morning of November 18. It was bitter cold, with a metallic sky and gusty winds. Light flurries carpeted the ground with a fresh layer of snow.
The wagons halted in a wooded clearing outside Tahlequah. David Tappin rode in the lead wagon, his hands manacled and shackles locked around his ankles. Escorting him were four grim-faced Light Horse armed with Spencer carbines. In the second wagon, similarly armed, was a squad of six Light Horse. Their new commander, Joseph Starr, rode beside the wagon, mounted on a dun gelding.
A short distance to the rear was the carriage of William Ross. Acting as outriders, a squad of Light Horse rode with their carbines laid across the saddle. The carriage drew to a stop behind the wagons and the mounted Light Horse fanned out along the road. The carriage door opened and William Ross, wearing a somber greatcoat, stepped down. Ryan followed directly behind, bundled in the woolly mackinaw. The two men waited at the edge of the clearing.
Tappin was assisted from the lead wagon by his escort. The leg shackles were taken off and he was marched to the far end of the clearing. The treeline formed an irregular oval, with densely wooded terrain on three sides. One of the Light Horse removed Tappin’s hat and his outer coat, which had been draped over his shoulders. Underneath he wore a dark suit, with a matching vest and a four-in-hand tie. He looked, as always, impeccably groomed.
Execution in the Cherokee Nation was performed by firing squad. With Tappin in place, the six Light Horse in the second wagon moved forward. They were accompanied by Joseph Starr, who formed them on line some twenty paces from the condemned man. Starr then walked purposefully to Tappin, who studiously ignored him. From his pocket Starr took out a piece of white cloth cut in the shape of a circle and exactly three inches in diameter. He pinned the white circle onto Tappin’s suit jacket, directly over the heart.
No one had spoken a word during the preparations, but now, taking a step backward, Starr pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and began to read the death warrant in a loud, clear voice. The crisp air punctuated every word with a puff of frost. Tappin betrayed no emotion as he heard himself sentenced to execution. He stood there, seemingly impervious to the cold, his manacled hands drawn tightly together. He appeared vaguely bored by the proceedings.
Starr finished reading and returned the paper to his pocket. He looked at Tappin. “Do you wish to say anything?”
“Yes,” Tappin answered in a resolute voice. “I am a Tsalagi and I will die well. Let no one say otherwise when I am dead.”
“Anything else?”
Tappin seemed to consider a moment. Then, as though it wasn’t worth the effort, he shook his head. Starr pulled a large black kerchief from his coat pocket. He started forward.
“No blindfold,” Tappin said flatly. “I prefer to see the men who kill me.”
Starr nodded, replacing the kerchief in his pocket. He turned and walked away, followed by Tappin’s four-man escort. Upon reaching the firing squad, he halted and took a position off to one side. The escort continued on to the edge of the clearing.
David Tappin stood alone. His features were immobile under the dappled light of oncoming dawn. Squaring his shoulders, he stared past the firing squad. His gaze settled on William Ross, and an ashen smile touched the corner of his mouth. After a moment his eyes shifted almost involuntarily to Ryan. His expression altered into a cold look of hate.
“Ready!”
At Starr’s command the firing squad shouldered their carbines. Tappin’s eyes snapped around as though compelled to watch. He stared straight into the muzzles.
“Aim!”
The firing squad seemed frozen in place, staring impassively across their sights. Everyone but the condemned man held his breath.
“Fire!”
All six carbines cracked in unison. The white cloth circle imploded, vanishing in a ragged starburst of blood. Tappin wilted under the impact of the slugs, literally blown off his feet. He hit the ground on his back and one leg jerked in an afterspasm of death. His eyes were open and stared at nothing.
A powdery silt of snow, shaken off the trees by the muzzle blast, dusted the clearing. The firing squad slowly lowered their rifles and there was a long moment of silence. Finally, as the others watched quietly, Joseph Starr walked to the fallen man. He went down on one knee, inspecting the body closely. Satisfied, he climbed to his feet and turned, nodding to William Ross. His voice was firm and clear.
“Sentence has been carried out according to warrant. David Tappin is dead.”
Ross gave no sign of acknowledgment. He wheeled sharply about and walked to the carriage. Ryan was only a pace behind, following him through the door. The driver lightly popped the reins and the matched set of grays took off down the road. The mounted Light Horse, formed in a column of twos, brought up the rear.
Some while passed before Ross seemed to recover himself. When he spoke, his tone was curiously muted. “A nasty business and well finished. At least he died with dignity.”
Ryan nodded. “Tappin was never short on grit.”
“Indeed he wasn’t.” Ross hesitated, then turned to Ryan. “Tell me, what are your plans now?”
“I reckon that depends on Elizabeth.”
For appearance’s sake, Ryan had spent the last two nights with Dr. Frank Porter. It seemed the wiser choice, since he was a witness in the case and Ross was technically an officer of the state. His plan was to call on Elizabeth sometime later in the day.
“May I speak frankly?” Ross asked.
“Don’t see why not.”
“Elizabeth and I discussed your idea about moving west.”
Ryan waited, his expression stoic.
“Her place is here,” Ross went on. “As she told you, she could never be happy in the white world. But more importantly, she could never be happy away from her people. Before anything else, she is a Cherokee.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ryan said, looking down at his hands. “I guess I was just kidding myself.”
Ross studied him intently for a moment. “Do you think the Cherokees can win the fight to retain independence?”
“No,” Ryan said without hesitation.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re up against the United States government. Add that to crooked politicians and men like Stevens and it’s a lost cause. You’ll win a few battles, but you won’t win the war.”
“How long do you think we could stave them off?”
“All depends,” Ryan said. “You could take a lesson from Boudinot, though. Whatever battles you win will be won in Washington—not here in the Territory.”
“Fork-tongued diplomacy,” Ross said with a smile. “Is that the idea?”
“Sometimes you’ve got
no choice but to play by the other fellow’s rules.”
“Suppose it would postpone the inevitable for another twenty years, perhaps a generation. Would you say the end justifies the means?”
“If I were you,” Ryan said honestly, “I’d go at it no holds barred. The longer the fight lasts, the longer you keep your independence.”
“I couldn’t agree more. In fact, after our experience with the railroad, I’ve decided to revise our tactics completely. Washington will soon be overrun with red delegations.”
Ryan laughed out loud. “That ought to be a sight to see.”
“Would you care to join me in the fight?”
“Join you!” Ryan said, visibly startled.
Ross gave him a wise look. “You’ve had experience with bureaucrats and crooked politicians and men like Robert Stevens. I also have faith in your sympathy with the Cherokee cause. I’d say you’re well qualified for the job.”
“Wouldn’t work,” Ryan observed. “Too many Cherokees want a piece of my hide. It’d just start another round of killing.”
“I think not,” Ross said confidently. “You’ll recall that I have a certain influence within the Cherokee Nation. No one would seriously consider antagonizing my son-in-law.”
Ryan stared at him. With an easy laugh, Ross patted his arm. “Put your worries aside, John. Once you’ve joined us, the past will soon be forgotten. Cherokees love no man quite so much as the one who rallies to their cause.”
“Level with me,” Ryan said pointedly. “Elizabeth put you up to this, didn’t she?”
“Well, after all, John, she is her father’s daughter.”
William Ross chuckled with robust good humor. His words were all the affirmation Ryan needed. Father and daughter had extended the greatest gift of all. It was what he himself wanted most—a new life and a fresh start. A chance to dwell among the Cherokees.
A short while later the carriage rolled to a stop before the house. As Ryan stepped out of the coach, the front door opened. Elizabeth hurried across the veranda, then halted at the top of the steps. Her eyes went past him and something unspoken passed between father and daughter. Her face suddenly radiated joy and she rushed to meet Ryan. Her voice was warm and inviting.
“Welcome home, John.”
Ryan gathered her into his arms. Some smoldering instinct told him that he was where he belonged, where he would stay. The killing, all his days of wandering were in the past.
His death work was done.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is an epitaph for Kinch Riley.
Essentially it is a true story, gleaned from musty newspaper archives and the chronicles of men who were there. The place is Newton, Kansas, during the summer of 1871. On a sweltering August night a gunfight occurred which came to be known as “Newton’s General Massacre.” According to the Topeka Daily Commonwealth , six men died in the space of ninety seconds. Three more were wounded, one of whom was later killed under curious circumstances. Witnesses to the slaughter credited a young boy, known only as Riley, with having accounted for most of the dead.
Kinch Riley is the story of what led to that fateful night in Newton. More significantly, perhaps, it is a reasonably accurate account of how a bond of loyalty came to exist between a lawman and a consumptive youth of seventeen. Certain liberties have been taken with names and events, but Kinch Riley nonetheless explores one of the Old West’s most enduring mysteries. While supporting details are available regarding events leading to the shootout, little is known of the boy named Riley.
After killing five men he simply vanished from the pages of history.
The enigma of Kinch Riley has confounded Western scholars for better than a hundred years. Though the story which follows is fiction based on facts, it provides one solution to a seemingly unfathomable riddle. Perhaps the only solution.
At last, it lays a ghost to rest.
Look for MATT BRAUN’s
EL PASO
and
THE WILD ONES
Also available in a special two-in-one edition for $6.99
… and don’t miss the author’s
other classic Western adventures
Dodge City
Dakota
A Distant Land
Windward West
Crossfire
Highbinders
The Warlords
The Spoilers
Hickok and Cody
The Overlords
Tombstone
Rio Grande
Brannocks
The Gamblers
Rio Hondo
Savage Land
Noble Outlaw
Cimarron Jordan
Lords of the Land
One Last Town
Texas Empire
Jury of Six
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
KINCH RILEY
Copyright © 1975 by Matthew Braun.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Kinch Riley was previously published under the title Kinch.
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 9781429998123
First eBook Edition : April 2011
EAN: 9780312-94853-5
Ace edition / May 1978
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / June 2000