On any given night the intersection was a beehive of activity. The hotel was elegantly posh, the casino was an orderly temple of vice, and the saloon was a riotous circus of mayhem. Businessmen and gamblers, hard-cases and politicians, whores and barflies came there in a sweaty pursuit of the fast life.
Tilghman dismounted outside the hotel early that evening. A groom took his horse to a stable around the corner and he entered the hotel with his warbag. After registering, he went to his room and sponged off trail dust in the washbasin. Then, downstairs again, he treated himself to a steak dinner in the dining room. By eight o’clock he was headed uptown.
A few minutes later he knocked on the door of Heck Thomas’s home. When Thomas opened the door, his face creased with surprise. “Bill!” he said, grinning. “Where’d you come from?”
“Just rode in,” Tilghman said. “Took a room down at the Palace.”
“Well, don’t stand there.” Thomas turned, shouting to his wife, “Hey, Dottie, look who’s here.”
Dorothy Thomas was a plain woman with an engaging manner. She greeted Tilghman warmly and served coffee after the men were seated in the parlor. Then, aware that Tilghman’s visit was business rather than social, she excused herself. Thomas drained his coffee cup.
“I take it you’re here for the big powwow tomorrow?”
Tilghman nodded. “Got my invite yesterday.”
“Helluva note,” Thomas observed. “Just tied a can to Grimes’s tail. He deserved better.”
“That’s politics, Heck. One day here, the next day gone.”
Tilghman’s remark went to the heart of the matter. The new year had gotten off to an unsettling start when President Benjamin Harrison reaffirmed the old adage that politics does indeed make for strange bedfellows. He opened 1890 with sweeping changes in the political hierarchy of Oklahoma Territory. The changes were the result of widespread criticism about what the newspapers termed the “anarchy of outlawism.” Factions in Congress declared it a national disgrace.
Until statehood was granted, a territory was at the mercy of the federal government. The president, by the stroke of a pen, could alter virtually any aspect of territorial affairs. Which was precisely what President Harrison had done shortly after the first of the year. In one surgical stroke, after weighing the counsel of his advisors, he removed the Republicans and replaced them with Democrats.
Heading the list was Governor George Steele. He was unceremoniously dumped, and overnight, William Renfrow, a banker from the town of Norman, was sworn in as the new governor. Political wags were quick to note that he had been responsible for naming a street in the territorial capital after President Harrison. Apart from the governor, the shakeup extended to the territorial supreme court as well as district courts throughout Oklahoma. Over twenty political appointees fell before the axe.
For Tilghman, the general upheaval had only passing interest. He studiously avoided the political arena, and he held most politicians in low regard. Yet the U.S. marshal, who had served with distinction, had ultimately won his respect. Unlike most appointees, who saw themselves as administrators, Walt Grimes had often accompanied his deputies into the field, and traded shots with outlaws. Still, despite his efforts to establish law and order, he belonged to the wrong political party. He’d been swept out with the other Republicans.
The man who replaced him was Evett Nix, a staunch Democrat. Though he had no law enforcement experience, Nix was a prominent figure in Guthrie political circles. A former Kentuckian, he had joined the first land rush, and was a partner in the town’s leading wholesale grocery concern. Quoted widely in the newspapers, he had vowed to rid Oklahoma Territory of its outlaw element. Upon appointment as U.S. marshal, he had requested authorization for a hundred deputies, five times the number currently serving. If nothing else, his brash demands kept his name in the headlines.
On January 8, the day after Nix’s appointment, Tilghman received a tersely worded summons. He was to report to the marshal’s office in Guthrie on the morning of January 10. The message gave no reason as to the purpose of the summons, or Nix’s intentions. But Tilghman, figuring it was politics as usual, had a hunch his commission would be revoked. What surprised him most was that he found the thought curiously unsettling, not at all to his liking. He’d somehow experienced a turnaround during his months on the trail with Heck Thomas. He wanted to stay on as a deputy.
Tilghman departed the afternoon before the meeting. There was no train service between Chandler and Guthrie, though the stagecoach line made twice-daily stops. Still, he had no fondness for crowded coaches, and the inevitable conversations that developed with other passengers. He decided to travel on horseback, which gave him time to further ponder the situation. The ranch, as was customary during his absences on law business, was left under the care of Neal Brown. As he rode out, it occurred to him that his old friend was more essential than ever to the operation. Except for Brown, he could never have signed on as a marshal.
Outside Chandler, on the road to Guthrie, he’d been struck by a thought that kindled mixed emotions. Should he be dismissed as a deputy, that would allow him far more time to spend with Zoe. Since Christmas, he had seen her at every opportunity, and she clearly welcomed his company. Whatever she’d said to her father, Amos Stratton had never again raised the subject of their age difference. Yet, however much he wanted to be with her, he was uneasy with the idea of no more law work. The months spent tracking Doolin and the Wild Bunch had reawakened his taste for challenge. His life was somehow fuller as a lawman.
All in all, it required a fine balancing act. The ranch, and Zoe, and working as a lawman, kept him hopping like a one-legged man in a footrace. But he’d somehow come to
