Saloons and gambling dens were everywhere in evidence, as well as several sporting houses. The most spectacular of the lot was the Reaves Brothers Casino, where it was advertised men could find honest games and fine whiskey. The sporting life, particularly at the start, was the economic mainstay of any boomtown. But Guthrie was gearing itself to become the center of commerce for the entire territory.
Under the sure hands of carpenters and stonemasons, some fifty buildings were in various stages of construction. Among them were three banks, two newspapers, three hotels, and several office buildings. While the activity was noteworthy in itself, what distinguished Guthrie from other towns was its leaders and their vision of the future. The structures they erected were being built to last, at least a third constructed of brick and stone. Their common goal was to make Guthrie the frontrunner in the fledgling territory.
Tilghman was no less enterprising. His latest project had to do with the field south of town where the local elections had been held. The land was owned by a homesteader, who was an enterprising man himself. Originally, like other homesteaders, his plan had been to farm the land. But with the explosive growth of the town, he saw greater opportunity on the horizon. One day soon, Guthrie would spread beyond the townsite, and his land bordered the town limits. He figured he was sitting on a fortune in future town lots.
Though of a similar opinion, Tilghman’s experience as a horse trader gave him an edge. The first step had been to convince the homesteader that his bonanza in town lots was at least a year down the road. With that accomplished, he’d persuaded the man that leasing the field near town would be more profitable than planting it in crops. After that, they got down to serious dickering over the price. The homesteader was wily, but no match for a seasoned horse trader. In the end, Tilghman got a one-year lease for three hundred dollars.
The lease enabled Tilghman to move ahead with a certain moneymaker. Horse racing in the west was, if anything, more wildly followed than in the east. Western races were smaller, usually of a regional nature, but widely attended, something of a festive event. Entry fees from horse owners made for large purses, and the betting was always heavy. So Tilghman, playing the game at both ends, intended to collect on a double hit. He would operate a racetrack and book the bets at the Turf Exchange.
Today, standing at the edge of town, he watched as workmen put the finishing touches on the racetrack. A crew of graders had leveled the field and then laid out an oval track a half mile around. At the southern side of the field a stable had been built large enough to house ten horses. The stable and the railing around the track were now in the process of being whitewashed. The overall visual effect was one of a professional operation.
Tilghman thought of it as a license to print money. The first race, advertised with posters around town, would be held Saturday, only three days away. His cut from the entry fees would be substantial, and weekly races would ensure a tidy profit. The Turf Exchange, though in the final stages of construction, was the only full-fledged sports book in Guthrie. There, eager for entertainment and generally enthused about horse racing, the townspeople would wager large sums. Westerners, who were inveterate gamblers, would bet on anything, especially a favorite horse. The races would do a landslide business.
Eleven horses had already been entered in the Saturday race. Some of them he’d seen working out on the track, and he wasn’t overly impressed. His own string of four horses arrived today on the noon train from Kansas, still under the care of Neal Brown. He planned to run a leggy chestnut gelding in the race, and he thought the prospects of winning were far better than average. All that remained was for he and Sutton to calculate odds on the horses entered. He planned to post the board late that afternoon.
On his way to the train station, Tilghman passed through the heart of the business district. Citizen’s National, the first bank to open its doors, would ultimately dominate the downtown area. Three stories high with a massive cupola, it was being constructed of native stone. Already the ground floor was completed, and as offices on the second and third floors were finished they would be leased to professional men and business concerns. Lawyers and physicians, arriving daily, were competing for office space.
Around the corner, the Palace Hotel presented an equally imposing sight. Four stories high, with polished granite columns at the entrance, it was intended to be a plush affair. The rooms were spacious, with all the latest conveniences, suitable to attract a select clientele. Other hotels were being built, but everyone agreed that the Palace was indeed palatial. Big and elegant, and with just the right touch of class.
Tilghman, as he passed by, was reminded that Guthrie’s leading citizen occupied one of the ground-floor rooms. George W. Steele, formerly of Indiana, had been selected as the first governor of Oklahoma Territory. In the Organic Act, passed by Congress, the new territory comprised all Indian lands west of the Five Civilized Tribes, once those lands were opened to settlement. The territory was divided into seven counties, with lawmaking powers vested in a legislature to be elected by the people. The office of governor had been filled by presidential appointment.
Some thought Governor Steele was a tool of the railroads, a friend to robber barons. Others were equally firm in their belief that the new governor was a man of integrity. Tilghman,
