The Homesteader: A Novel

by Oscar Micheaux

  CHAPTER V

  WHEN THE INDIANS SHOT THE TOWN UP

  The claim of Jean Baptiste, containing 160 acres of land, adjoined thelittle town of Dallas on the north, and it was one of the surprises thatAgnes Stewart had not wandered into it when she found the sod house andhad later found Jean Baptiste in the snow.

  The town had been started the winter before. A creek of considerabledepth, and plenty of water ran to the south of it a half mile, and upthis valley the promoters of the town contended that the railroad wouldbuild. It came up the same valley many miles below where at a waystation it suddenly lifted out of it and sought the higher land toBonesteel. Now the promoters, because the Railroad Company ownedconsiderable land where the tracks left the valley to ascend to thehighland, contended that it was the purpose of the railroad to split thetrade country by coming up the valley, and that was why the town hadbeen located where it was, on a piece of land that had once belonged toan Indian.

  There were three other towns, platted by the government along a routethat did not strike Dallas, and if the railroad should continue theroute it was following where its tracks stopped west of Bonesteel, itwas a foregone conclusion that it must hit the three governmenttownsites.

  This had ever been, and was, the great contention in the early days ofthe country of our story. But to get back to the characters in question,we must come back to the little town near the creek valley.

  The winter preceding, when the town had been started, men had chosen tocast their lot with it, and by the time spring arrived, there was a halfdozen or more business places represented. From Des Moines a man hadcome and started a lumber yard; while from elsewhere a man hadcooperated with the promoters in establishing a bank. Two men, whosereputations were rather notorious, but who, nevertheless, were wellfitted for what they chose, started a saloon. From a town that had norailroad in the state on the south, a man came with a great stock ofmerchandise. A weazened creature had been made postmaster; while adoctor, beliquored until he was uncertain, had come hither with a hopeof redemption and had hung out his shingle. He was succeeding in thegame of reform (?) as the best customer the saloon had. A tired man wasconducting a business in a building that had been hauled many miles andwas being used as a hotel. Many other lines of business were expected,but at this time the interest was largely in who the settlers were thathad come, and those who were to come.

  A beautiful quarter section of land joined the town on the east, and theman who had drawn it had already established his residence thereupon, sothat he was known. On the south the land was the allotment of an Indian;while the same was true on the west. Naturally, when it was reportedthat a Negro held the place on the north, considerable curiosityprevailed to meet this lone Ethiopian.

  But Jean Baptiste was a mixer, a jolly good fellow of the best type andby this time such was well known. As to where he had come from, we know;but his name had occasioned much comment because it was odd. To make itmore illustrious, the settlers had added "Saint," so he was now commonlyknow as St. Jean Baptiste. The doctor, whose name was Slater, hadimproved even upon this. He called him "St. John the Baptist." Butnobody took Doc very seriously. So full was he of red liquor most of thetime, that he was regarded as a joke except in his profession. Here hewas considered one of the best,--his redeeming feature.

  The coal The Homesteader had hauled from Bonesteel was not all forhimself, but for the lumber yard which sold it at fifteen dollars theton, and the quality was soft, and not of the best grade at that.

  He hauled it into town the morning following the episode of our story,and after unloading it and taking his check for the hauling, returnedhome, took care of his stock, and upon returning to town, forgot torelate anything concerning his experiences.... _Perhaps_ he forgot....Jean Baptiste could be depended upon to forget some things....Especially the things that were best forgotten.

  He walked across the quarter mile that lay between his claim and thetown, and up to the saloon. Inside he encountered the usual crowd, Docamong them.

  "Hello, there, St. John the Baptist," cried that one in beliquoreddelight. "Did you crawl through all that storm?"

  "I'm here," laughed Baptiste. "How's Doc?"

  "Finer'n a fiddle, both ends in the middle," and called for anotherdrink. Just one. It is said that saloons would not be so bad if it wasnot for the treating nuisance. Well, Doc could be regarded here then, aspractical, for he never bought others a drink.

  "See you got your nose freezed, Baptiste," Doc laughed. Baptiste wenttoward the bar, took a look at himself, and laughed amusedly upon seeingthe telltale darkness at the point of his nose, his cheeks and hisforehead.

  "T' hell, I didn't know that," he muttered. The crowd laughed.

  "Play you a game of Casino?" suggested Doc.

  "You're on!" cried Baptiste.

  After they had played awhile a Swede who lived across the creek entered,took a seat and drawing his chair near, watched the game. Presently hespoke. "The Indians are coming in today, so I guess there will be ashooting up the town."

  The players paused and regarded each other apprehensively. Othersoverheard the remark, and now exchanged significant glances. This hadbeen the one diversion of the long winter. Indians who lived on thecreek, coming into town, getting drunk, and then as a sally ride up anddown the main street and shoot up the town. The last time this had takenplace, the bartender's wife had been frightened into hysterics. Andthereupon the bartender had sworn that the next time this was attempted,they would have to reckon with him.

  The few people about became serious. They knew the bartender wasdangerous, and they feared the Indians, breeds, mostly, who made thisact their pastime. They were annoyed with such doings; but were inclinedto lay the blame at the saloon door, for, although the law decreed thatIndians should not be sold liquor they were always allowed to purchaseall that they could possibly carry away with them inside and out. Soupon this announcement, those about prepared themselves for excitement.The news quickly spread and to augment the excitement, a few minuteslater the breeds in full regalia dashed into town. They tied theirhorses at the front, and proceeded at once to the bar.

  "Whiskey," they cried, shifting their spurred boots on the barroomfloor.

  "Sorry, boys, but I can't serve you," advised the bartender carelessly.

  "What!" they cried.

  "Can't serve you. It's agin' the law, yu' know."

  "T' hell with the law!" exclaimed one.

  "I didn't make it," muttered the bartender.

  "You've been playing hell enforcing it," retorted another.

  "Now, don't get rough, my worthy," cautioned the bartender.

  "Give us what we called for, and none of this damn slush then," criedone, toying with the gun at his holster. The bartender observed this andgot closer to the bar for a purpose. Those about, being of the peacefulkind, began shifting toward the door.

  "We've been breakin' the law to serve you," said the bartender "andyou've been breaking the law after we done it. Now the last time youwere here you pulled off a 'stunt' that caused trouble. So I'll notserve you whiskey, and advise you that if you try shooting up the townagain, there'll be trouble."

  "Oh, is that so?" cried the bunch. "Well," sniffed one, who was moreforward than the rest, "we'll just show you a trick or two. And,remember, when we've shot your little chicken coops full of holes, weare going to return and be served." With a hilarious laugh, they wentoutside, got into the saddles and had their fun. The population tookrefuge in the cellars in awed silence.

  It was over in a few minutes and the breeds, true to their statement,returned to the saloon, and stood before the bar.

  "Whiskey," they cried, and couldn't repress a grin. Ordinarily they werecowards, and their boldness had surprised even themselves.

  "Whiskey?" said the bartender, nodding toward the speaker.

  "That's my order!" the other cried uproarously. The bartender arrangedseveral bottles in a row. This they did not understand at first. Theydid, however, a moment later.<
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  "Very well," he cried of a sudden as his eyes narrowed, whereupon, withdeliberation he caught the bottles one by one by the neck and as fast ashe could let go, threw the same into the faces before him with all theforce he could concentrate quickly. So quickly was it all done thatthose before him had not time to duck below the bar before many had beenthe recipients of the deluge. Within the minute there was a wildscramble for the door--all but three. For while the others disappearedover the hill toward the creek, Dr. Slater took thirty stitches orthereabouts in the faces of the recalcitrants.