Brian Garfield (36 page)

Granville Stuart's voice grated painfully on Huidekoper's ears: “A.C.—I hear you don't like the way the country's developing.”

Huidekoper pulled out a chair and adjusted himself on it; the actions gave him time to compose his thoughts. “As I see it, the country has got limitations no one wants to acknowledge. Too many have made the mistake of allowing themselves to be caught up in this cattle craze. The Marquis De Morès keeps increasing his herds at a mad rate, and at the same time it seems as if every week another Texan arrives with as many cattle as he's got left from the twelve-hundred-mile drive from the Red. We've got an alarming invasion on our hands—they're increasing the number of beeves in the Bad Lands far beyond the capacity of our grasses to support them. We'll soon be entirely overgrazed. As for such fodder as remains, I reckon horses are best adapted to it.”

Deacon Osterhaut said, “Crying wolf again, A.C.? They more than three million acres of grass on the Little Missouri. Three
million.
You're irresponsible, forever fueling fears.”

Was the Deacon's alliteration deliberate? Surely not. He hadn't the ear.

Howard Eaton said, “I happen to agree with A.C. Too many folks seem to look at Dakota as a place to make a killing but not a living. They don't see it as a place to settle and stay. They've all got plans to go ‘home.'”

Huidekoper said, “To me this
is
home.”

Eaton said, “What about you, Theodore? Is this country home?”

“It is for now,” said Roosevelt. “I've no idea what the future holds. But at this time the Bad Lands are my home, and this country has my undivided regard.”

Granville Stuart glanced unpleasantly at Roosevelt, making a show of his dislike. Huidekoper thought immediately that Stuart was not at all the sort of man who ever could apprehend the value of the little New Yorker; Stuart probably did not like Roosevelt's cocksuredness and most likely regarded Roosevelt as no more than a nuisance that had to be tolerated—a small bull who, wherever he went, brought his own china shop with him. That was Roosevelt's reputation. Old Four Eyes. Storm Windows. Dude Roosenfelder. But Huidekoper felt confident that his expectations of the Cyclone Assemblyman had been met. All but one, which—now that he had Roosevelt's encouragement in the matter—he had every hope of accomplishing this very night.

Unlike the Montana baron, Roosevelt did not have a big voice but he seemed to have learned to make his limited vocal range effective by enunciating precisely and biting off words with sharp attention-commanding clicks of his teeth. He said to Howard Eaton, “What you've said has merit. We're all beginning to feel crowded. As long as we have tolerable weather we can get by with fifteen acres per head of cattle, but should there be drought we'd need twice as much, and we're nearly at that density now. It isn't only the newcomers. We all depend on cooperation in the cattle trade—without it, there'd be no round-ups and indeed no trade at all. Now we seem to be at a point where when one outfit overstocks its range, it is not only that outfit's cattle that suffer—it's the cattle of everyone along the river who finds his grass consumed by visiting herds that happen to have wandered by for a bite.”

He was looking at Johnny Goodall when he spoke. Johnny said mildly, “If anybody breaks a law, I expect he ought to be held to book for it.”

Huidekoper inserted himself angrily. “Where's there no effective law enforcement, there are still certain unwritten laws that civilized men recognize. Your employer seems to have chosen to disregard those. Let me put it plain to you, Johnny—some of us are tired of being intimidated by the roughshod tactics of the Northern Pacific Refrigerator Car Company. I for one won't stand for more of it. If your cattle are pushed onto my range I'll have no hesitation. And if that doesn't put it clear enough, it's my opinion the Marquis has as much moral code as a water trough.”

Feeling Johnny's immediate brittle stare, Huidekoper clasped his hands behind him and thrust his chest out while privately he wondered,
What is in me that will not let me leave well enough alone?

Granville Stuart said, “It's all very well to stand at the end of your chain barking, but if I was you I'd be careful the Marquis doesn't slip the chain.”

The sarcastic outburst gave Johnny time to think it over and fortunately the heat went out of his eyes. He said, “Take that up with my boss, Mr. Huidekoper, not with me.”

Huidekoper resumed breathing, realizing only then that he had stopped doing so. Johnny Goodall was a decent man, he thought charitably, but nevertheless it was deuced difficult to feel any warmth toward the Texan. Brutally practical, Johnny chose his friends by their usefulness or their toughness, and was loyal to his hire simply because it was his hire, with no evident concern for the moral quality of his employer.

Granville Stuart said, “I understand the Marquis owns his grazing lands. Bought them and paid for them. No man here can say as much. You're a bold man to talk of
your
range, Mr. Huidekoper.”

Huidekoper said, “The Marquis may be a friend of yours, Mr. Stuart, but he's no friend of mine. Nor of these other men here, whether they know it or not.”

Howard Eaton spoke quickly in an all too obvious effort to head off strife. “We're here to try and organize a stockmen's association. Let's try to keep it to that, gents. Now Mr. Granville Stuart's been kind enough to come clear over from Montana to give us the benefit of his advice—as some of you know, Mr. Stuart's chairman of the Montana Stock Growers' Association—and I for one am interested to hear what he has to say.”

“We sure can use somebody's help,” Pierce Bolan said. “Things around here are a God-damned panorama.”

“Mind your blaspheming tongue, Pierce,” said Deacon Osterhaut.

Granville Stuart pushed his chair back. He crossed one leg over the other and tipped his head forward to light a cigar. He turned it in the match flame until he had it going to his satisfaction and then, having concluded that careful ritual and gained everyone's expectant attention, he spoke:

“Last week my range foreman came on an old lumber camp, found more than two hundred horses penned up. Whoever put them there must have fled when they heard my men coming, for there was no one about. Every one of those two hundred animals had its brand obliterated—likely by a red-hot frying pan. Do you take my point?”

It struck Huidekoper now that despite his unpleasant voice, Granville Stuart was possessed of a gift for suasion. The Montanan went on, speaking in his deep unhurried manner. “Either we give up or we declare war on horse and cattle thieves, both on my side of the Montana-Dakota line and on yours. Apprehend them or drive them out of the country. Now I am not speaking for range war. We don't want another Lincoln County catastrophe up here. It might cost lives on our own side—anyhow if you go openly to kill thieves, you can be held by the authorities for murder. So I'd surely recommend against open war.” He smiled, however, in such a way that it was clear he had no compunctions against the waging of a
secret
war against the thieves.

Roosevelt said, “Except in matters of immediate self-defense or the protection of our property from present endangerment, I don't believe we have the right to take it upon ourselves to define or enforce the law.”

Granville Stuart watched him unblinkingly. “Mr. Roosevelt, there's a federal marshal two hundred miles south of you, and a sheriff a hundred and fifty miles east of you, but there's no authority that's seen fit to look into your difficulties with thieves. If you delegate responsibility to a government that won't accept it or exercise it, then your only choice is to take it back into your own hands.”

“The instinct may be natural,” Roosevelt replied, “but I put it to you, sir, that the mark of a civilized man jolly well is his ability to control his instincts and set aside his savage impulses. By Godfrey, it wasn't for the benefit of lynchers that our forefathers founded this republic.”

“We're not in the republic now,” said Stuart. “Your friends asked my advice. I'm giving it. Form a committee of safety—or live with the consequences.”

“The important matters are not stock-poaching and petty thievery,” Roosevelt argued—addressing himself not directly to Stuart but to the gathering at large—“and I don't believe the important matters can be solved by forming ourselves into a wild band of night-riding avengers. Our serious concerns are with the proper division of range and the restriction of new immigration, so that no one is crowded out, and with such other matters as may affect our common interest. I had understood we were meeting tonight to form a ranchmen's association, and with all due respect to our visitor from Montana I submit that any such association should restrict itself by charter and by unanimous consent to the pursuit of proper legal ends by proper legal means.”

Granville Stuart squinted complacently through his cigar's smoke. “Appears to me you and Huidekoper make a fine pair. You both have an uncommon fondness for empty talk.”

At that moment Johnny Goodall did an astonishing thing. He said, “I move we form a Little Missouri Stockmen's Association, and I move we elect Theodore Roosevelt chairman.”

Amid the hubbub—men waving their arms, shouting, proposing names of other candidates—Granville Stuart stalked outside in an evident huff; and Roosevelt buttonholed Johnny Goodall. Huidekoper, fascinated, pushed his way near enough to hear. Roosevelt was saying: “I pray you, don't let this be put to a vote. I don't care to be the cause of quarrels among my neighbors. I'm grateful for your splendid courtesy but I'd count it a favor if you'd withdraw my name.”

Huidekoper plunged in boldly. “Nonsense. Let it go forward. You'll win hands down.” In a compartment of his mind he found himself amazed to be on the same side of things as the Marquis's man.

“No, old man. Not here.” Roosevelt's eyes darted everywhere—as if seeking a place to hide—and suddenly Huidekoper understood: Roosevelt had lost his political confidence.

Johnny Goodall aimed his weathered squint down at Roosevelt. “Not a man here who saw you work on round-up will vote against you.”

Huidekoper gripped Roosevelt's coat—to the New Yorker's evident displeasure; Huidekoper released it quickly but spoke with undiminished urgency: “Johnny's right. You've got it in the palm of your hand, Theodore.”

“Great Scott, man—can't you see I don't want public office!” Roosevelt wheeled away in what seemed to be an effort to prevent their seeing the moisture in his eyes but he wasn't quick enough. It astounded Huidekoper to realize the man was so afraid.

Names were being shouted across the room. “Nominate Howard Eaton!” “My vote's for Gregor Lang!” “Move we elect A.C. Huidekoper!”

That last was Howard Eaton's voice. What a princely gesture. Huidekoper beamed at him but couldn't catch Eaton's eye.

Deacon Osterhaut's voice scratched: “Second that nomination—in favor of A.C. Huidekoper!”

The man was shameless. He'd perform
any
act of cajolery or flattery to make his way up the social ladder by gaining the benediction that came with the loan of Huidekoper's pack of hounds.

Huidekoper lifted his hands in the air. “Let me have your attention. Gentlemen! Please!”

He bellowed it. The bedlam dwindled. Huidekoper said, “By the standard rules of order, before other nominations can be entertained, the motion is before the chair to form a Little Missouri Stockmen's Association, and to elect Theodore Roosevelt chairman. The motion has been seconded.”

Roosevelt said, “Those are two distinct matters. They should be put forward as two separate motions. The chair must exist before you can put forward candidates to fill it.”

There was a rising mutter of voices. Huidekoper waved his arms again. “Mr. Roosevelt is correct in reminding us of our parliamentary duties, of course. Which is precisely why his presence is so important. A vote for the establishment of an association should not imply a vote for any particular leader. Mr. Goodall, would you care to withdraw your motion and replace it?”

“Sure.”

After a moment, when it became evident the Texan had nothing further to say, there was a ripple of laughter.

Howard Eaton said, “You've got to say it, Johnny. Do you move we form a Stockmen's Association?”

“I sure do.”

“Then I second the motion.”

Huidekoper said, “All in favor? Show of hands.” Hands went up. “Opposed?” The hands went down. “Seems to have carried unanimously. Now I guess there's nothing further to prevent us entertaining motions for the election of a chairman, is there, Theodore?”

“Technically you ought to elect a chairman pro tern in order to conduct the proceedings and supervise the balloting.”

Huidekoper grinned. “Anyone want to nominate A.C. Huidekoper for that job?”

Howard Eaton shouted, “So moved!”

Someone seconded. Huidekoper said, “Chair will entertain motions …”

Johnny Goodall opened his mouth to speak. Roosevelt stared at him with such desperate gravity that the very force of his expression seemed to draw Johnny's eyes and make Johnny hesitate. Roosevelt shook his head back and forth—beseeching. Johnny's squint narrowed and Huidekoper thought,
Do it, Johnny. You've got to. If you let him get away from this, he may never have the nerve to face another election.

And
, he thought dryly,
we'll lose our best gladiator against De Morès
.

Johnny's chest deflated. Huidekoper realized there was a chance the courteous Texan would do what Roosevelt wanted him to do.

Huidekoper gripped Roosevelt's arm roughly. The New Yorker's head came around. There was an increasing impatient discord of talk in the room. Huidekoper pitched his voice to reach no farther than Roosevelt's ears: “If anything, it's more important to you than it is to us.”