Tribesmen from the various reservations always comprised a good part of the crowd. Like the white men, they brought their wives and children early every Saturday morning. The weekly trek to town was to them a peculiarly white ritual, but one they enjoyed. Their trade was welcomed by merchants, though there was widespread prejudice toward any Indian. Still, the array of goods in the stores, and most especially the horse racing, made the white man’s patronizing manner more bearable. Inveterate gamblers, the race drew them like steel to a magnet.
Moses Keokuk never missed the races. The Sac and Fox chief generally arrived with a string of fleet ponies, and a willingness to wager his last dollar. His horses were admirably suited to the racetrack, a mile-long graded oval bordered by rails. Speed, coupled with endurance, usually decided a race, and his prize stock was renowned for stamina. He invariably left the races a richer man than when he’d arrived.
The largest purse, and the wildest betting, was reserved for the last race of the afternoon. The favorites in today’s final outing were a roan stallion owned by Keokuk and Steeldust, Tilghman’s sorrel stud. Tilghman and Zoe, along with Keokuk, stood behind the railing at the finish line, waiting for the race to start. The friendship of a lawman and a tame Indian was still thought to be somewhat odd, and drew criticism from some quarters. Yet no one, drunk or sober, voiced their opinion within Tilghman’s hearing.
The field of eight horses got off to a clean start. Steeldust jumped out to an early lead, while Keokuk’s roan was mixed with the pack. The horses held their positions until the turn for home, when the roan stallion attempted to close ground by going to the rail. The stratagem failed, for the roan was boxed in by Steeldust out front and another horse on the outside. The jockey, a young tribesman, then had no choice but to pull back and pass on the outside. In the homestretch, the roan swept past the other horse, gaining ground quickly if too late. Steeldust crossed the finish line a length ahead.
“Big fool!” Keokuk, thoroughly disgruntled, shook his fist at the young jockey. “Got me robbed by them … mules!”
Tilghman laughed, waving to Neal Brown who was up on Steeldust. Then, with Zoe hugging his arm, he turned to the chief. “You weren’t robbed, Moses. The better horse won.”
Keokuk rolled his eyes. “Your horse Sac and Fox horse. Never shoulda sold ’im to you!”
The chief stormed off in a huff. Zoe wagged her head at Tilghman. “Shame on you,” she said, squeezing his arm with merriment. “You’ve spoiled his whole day.”
“Fat chance,” Tilghman said, grinning. “Moses probably covered himself with a bet on Steeldust. He’s a cagey old fox.”
“You mean he bet on his horse and yours?”
“Knowing Moses, I’d say he had himself covered six ways to Sunday.”
The races over, they followed the crowd into town. There, in one of Chandler’s better cafes, they had a leisurely supper. Shortly after dark, the Saturday evening dance began on the courthouse square. They joined throngs of people attracted by the fiddlers and the brass section of the orchestra. Farmers and cowhands, their women held closely, swept around the enclosure to a variety of rousing tunes. On the sidelines, fascinated by yet another of the white man’s curious rituals, the Indians watched with vast amusement. Children, laughing and playing, darted through the crowds of onlookers.
Tilghman and Zoe left about ten o’clock. The drive to the Stratton ranch, and then back to his place, would put him home well after midnight. As the buckboard rolled out of town, she snuggled closer, gaily chattering on about their day together. But a mile or so farther on, when she began talking about wedding plans, Tilghman fell silent, listening but not responding. She slowly realized that she was talking to herself.
“Bill?” She searched his face intently. “What’s wrong? You suddenly got very quiet.”
Tilghman avoided her gaze. Smiling and cheerful until a moment ago, he now seemed wrapped in gloom. “Something’s been bothering me,” he said at length. “Started eating on me after we dropped those boys off at the funeral parlor in Guthrie. I don’t rightly know how to tell you.”
“Just tell me,” she said promptly. “Whatever it is, you know I’ll understand.”
“Well—” Tilghman stared off into the distance, as though wrestling with some inner turmoil. Then, all in a rush, he let it out. “I got to thinking we ought to postpone the wedding.”
She sat back, startled. “Why on earth—” Her voice failed her and she fought for control. “Have you changed your mind, about marrying me?”
“Not for a minute,” Tilghman said quickly. “I want to marry you worse than before. That’s the God’s honest truth.”
“Then what’s wrong?” she asked. “Something has to have changed.”
Tilghman looked away. “Zoe, I’ve got myself involved in a war. The other night, when we shot it out with those boys, I saw it for what it was.” He hesitated, reluctant to put it into words. “We’ll have to kill every one of them. They’re not about to surrender.”
She tilted her head. “And you don’t want to leave me a widow. Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”
“Yeah, in a way.” Tilghman’s tone softened. “I never believed any man could kill me. Hell, I still don’t. But there’s always…”
“Always a chance,” she said, finishing the thought. “Isn’t that what you were going to say?”
“I’m just sayin’ we ought to wait till this Doolin thing’s ended. For all I know, that could be tomorrow.”
“But you believe it will be longer, much longer?”
“That’s my hunch,” Tilghman said in a thick voice. “They’ll fight to the last man.”
She was suddenly caught in a crosscurrent of emotion. If she insisted, she had no doubt he would go through with the wedding as planned. Still, he would be
