On his first morning at home, Neal Brown brought him up to date on ranch operations. The mares had foaled a week past, dropping four colts and six fillies. An inspection of the stables confirmed that all were doing well under the care of the Sac and Fox hands. The offspring were frisky, their legs sturdy, and all clearly had the conformation of their sire, Steeldust. The breeding program was off to a rousing start.
Tilghman was immensely gratified with the results. For the first stage, he thought the crop of colts and fillies held great promise for the future. When time permitted, he still intended to expand the bloodlines with another stallion and other thoroughbred mares. But for the moment, with his duties as a lawman, he was content with the progress thus far. Steeldust had performed admirably as a stud, and there was reason to be pleased.
At the noon meal, Brown finally ran out of talk about horses. He looked up from his plate with mock solemnity. “Those girls you arrested?” he said, waving a fork. “From the newspapers, sounded like you had your hands full.”
“Yeah, couple of real hardcases.” Tilghman played along, aware that he was being ribbed. “First time I ever traded shots with a female.”
“So what happens to them now?”
“Tried, convicted, and sentenced. They’re on their way to reform school.”
“No joke?” Brown asked idly. “Well, I guess reform school’s the right place for pint-sized desperadoes. Evett Nix must’ve been tickled you brought ’em in.”
“After a fashion,” Tilghman said, laughing. “’Course, I think he would’ve preferred Doolin.”
“What the hell,” Brown said in a bantering tone. “You got your man—uh, girl. That’s what counts.”
“Too bad you weren’t with me, Neal. Things might have gone better.”
“Think so, do you?”
“Yeah, I do,” Tilghman said, nodding. “Fact is, I wanted to ask your help on another matter.”
Brown squinted at him. “You talkin’ about law work?”
“Not anything all that risky. I just need someone to cover my back.”
“Cover your back where?”
Tilghman sipped his coffee. “Thought I’d scout the Dunn ranch again. It’s been two weeks since that last raid, and who knows? Doolin might figure we wouldn’t look there so soon.”
“Why me?” Brown said crossly. “I ain’t no lawdog.”
“Well, you might say it’s a secret mission. I halfway forgot to clear it with Nix. Thought I’d have a looksee on my own.”
“Just a looksee?” Brown scoffed. “What if we stumble acrost Doolin and his bunch?”
“Doubtful,” Tilghman replied. “I had in mind a quick scout, in and out. Figured you wouldn’t object to lending a hand.”
“You get my ass shot and I won’t never forgive you.”
“Appreciate the assist, Neal. Knew I could count on you.”
“Yeah, sure,” Brown said gruffly. “Just a prize sucker, that’s me.”
“You’re an upstanding citizen, always were.”
“Tell me that when the shootin’ starts.”
* * *
Early that evening Tilghman called on Zoe. She hadn’t expected him, unaware that he had returned to Chandler. But she pulled him into the house, insisting that he stay for supper. He gladly accepted.
“Just potluck,” she said, walking him into the parlor. “Nothing special, I’m afraid.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Tilghman said. “Don’t put yourself to any trouble.”
“I’m so happy to see you I could skip supper. Who needs food?”
She squeezed his arm as they entered the parlor. Amos Stratton smiled and rose from his easy chair, extending his hand. After a moment, Zoe excused herself and hurried off to the kitchen. Stratton motioned him to a chair.
“When’d you get back, Bill?”
“Late last night. Rode in from Guthrie.”
Stratton struck a match, lit his pipe. “We read about you in the newspaper. Those two little girls must’ve been a sorry pair.”
“Sad thing,” Tilghman observed. “They got mixed in with a bad lot.”
Stratton now took an interest in his work. Their conversation, rather than stiff and formal, had become a casual exchange between friends. Tilghman was treated more as a family member, his calls a welcome occasion. Their talks often ranged over a wide variety of subjects.
“Speakin’ of news,” Stratton said, nudging a crumpled newspaper at the foot of his chair. “You heard the latest on the statehood movement?”
“Heard it yesterday,” Tilghman acknowledged. “There’s talk of little else in Guthrie.”
“Yeah, I’d bet they’re beatin’ the drum over there. Big things are in the works.”
“Guess it depends on whose ox gets gored.”
“Same as always,” Stratton said easily. “The Indian’s got to make way for progress.”
“There’s a difference here, Amos. We’re talking about the Five Civilized Tribes.”
Tilghman’s remark went to the heart of a wide-ranging debate. The battle for statehood had been joined, and at stake was twenty million acres of land in the Nations. The debate, by now a matter of national interest, raged in the halls of Congress as well as the White House itself. No one doubted that the future of both Oklahoma Territory and Indian Territory would be played out along the banks of the Potomac. There, in the political arena, the issue of statehood would be decided.
The key to the debate was that the Nations possessed almost all of the mineral wealth to be found in both territories. Coal mines had begun operating on tribal lands as early as 1871, when the Katy railroad first laid tracks through the Nations. The largest of these mines was located in the Choctaw Nation, and for the most part had remained under strict tribal control. But with the rapid growth of Oklahoma Territory, and a steadily increasing demand for coal as fuel, the situation had changed. White entrepreneurs, as well as government, now coveted the red man’s natural wealth.
“Indians are Indians,” Stratton said. “I never bought that stuff about the Five Civilized Tribes. Don’t appear all
