“Where to?”
“Where else?” Grimes said hotly. “The Nations.”
Any peace officer, even those who served in Dodge City, had heard tales about the Nations. But Tilghman had always thought them overblown, half hot air and half truth. He listened attentively as Grimes described the strangest circumstances ever faced by men sworn to uphold the law.
With wider settlement of the frontier, a new pattern of lawlessness began to emerge on the plains. The era of the lone bandit faded in obscurity; outlaws began to run in packs. Bank holdups and train robberies were boldly planned and executed, somewhat like military campaigns. The scene of the raids often resembled a battleground, strewn with the dead and dying.
Local peace officers found themselves unable to contend with the lightning strikes. Instead, the war evolved more and more into a grisly contest between the gangs and the federal marshals. But it was a game of hide-and-seek in which the outlaws enjoyed a sometimes insurmountable advantage. A deadly game that was unique in the annals of law enforcement.
Gangs made wild forays into Kansas and Missouri and Oklahoma Territory, terrorized the settlements, and then retreated into the Nations. There they found virtual immunity from the law, and perhaps the oddest sanctuary in the history of crime. Though each of the Five Civilized Tribes had its own sovereign government, their authority extended only to Indian citizens. White men were untouchable, exempt from all prosecution except that of a federal court.
Yet there were no extradition laws governing the Nations. Federal marshals had to pursue and capture the wanted men, and return them to white jurisdiction. In time the country became infested with hundreds of fugitives, and the problem was compounded by the Indians themselves. They had little use for white man’s law; the marshals were looked upon as intruders in the Nations. All too often the red men connived with the outlaws, offering them asylum.
For the marshals, the chore of ferreting out lawbreakers became a herculean task. Adding yet another obstacle, even the terrain itself favored the outlaws. A man could lose himself in the mountains or along wooded river bottoms, and in some areas there were vast caves where an entire gang could hole up in relative comfort. The tribal Light Horse Police refused all assistance, and the gangs usually chose to fight rather than face a hangman’s rope. It was no job for the faint of heart.
“There you have it,” Grimes concluded. “The Daltons are running wild and their example just breeds more gangs. We need the help of experienced lawmen. Men like yourself.”
Tilghman arched one eyebrow. “Are you offering me a job?”
“Hear him out,” Madsen interjected. “I told the marshal how you’d made your mark in Kansas. We think you’re the right man for the job.”
“Chris makes a good point,” Grimes added. “You proved yourself in Dodge City, and that’s high recommendation. You’re the kind of man we want.”
“I appreciate the—”
“Let me finish,” Grimes cut him off. “I’ve been authorized to recruit sixteen deputy marshals to police the territory. Chris and Heck are the first to sign on, and you’d be the third. That’s pretty select company, Mr. Tilghman.”
“Another day, another time,” Tilghman said, “I’d be honored to serve with these men. But I’ve put law work behind me, marshal. I’m a businessman, now.”
“So I hear,” Grimes said shortly. “To be frank about it, that has me stumped. You’re one of the best peace officers ever to pin on a badge. Why quit now?”
“Let’s write it off to personal business and leave it there.”
“Goddammit, Tilghman, this is personal business. You settled here, and men like you have a responsibility to make the territory safe for everyone. Where’s your public spirit?”
Tilghman stood. “I generally don’t overlook insults. In your case, I’ll make an exception.” He nodded to Madsen and Thomas. “See you gents around.”
“Hold on!” Grimes said crossly. “I’m just trying to—”
Tilghman turned, ignoring him, and walked to the door. Heck Thomas rose from his chair and hurried into the hallway. He caught Tilghman at the landing to the stairs.
“Don’t take it personal,” he said amiably. “What with the Daltons and all, Grimes has a load on his shoulders. He’s under a lot of pressure.”
Tilghman shrugged. “A badge doesn’t excuse bad manners. He ought not to push so hard.”
“I tend to get riled on things like that myself. ’Course, he’s right when he says that some men have more responsibility than others.”
“Way I see it,” Tilghman said, “I’ve done my duty more than most. I won’t lose any sleep over it.”
Thomas searched for a convincing argument. Over his years as a lawman he had learned a little about life and a great deal about death. He had few illusions left intact, and instead of thirty-nine, he felt fifty going on a hundred. These days, he saw people not as he wished them to be but simply as they were. He understood Tilghman.
In the Nations, even among other peace officers, Thomas had seen his share of hardcases. Yet there was nothing loud or swaggering about Tilghman, nothing of the toughnut. Instead, he seemed possessed of a strange inner calm, the quiet certainty more menacing than a bald-faced threat. Thomas respected a man of cool judgment and nervy quickness in tight situations. Those were the traits he wanted in men who rode beside him. The traits he saw in Tilghman.
“Funny thing,” he said now. “Seems like I’ve been wearin’ a badge all my natural born life. Hard to remember a time when I wasn’t.”
“Same here,” Tilghman admitted. “What with scouting for the army, and law work, it seemed like every day led to another fight. I never had time for anything else.”
“Maybe there’s a reason,” Thomas said. “Some men are good at it and some men aren’t. I suspect you and me are two of a kind.”
Tilghman wondered about that. For the past several years, Thomas had
