Oklahoma kiss (47 page)

      
"Absolutely nothing," Matthew said. "It's been this quiet ever since the soldiers rode in about three hours ago. Since no one is buying anything today, it’s my guess the storekeepers have closed up shop in order to get a good spot to watch the settlers rush for land when the signal shot is fired."

      
"Where are you two going?"

      
"There is one restaurant open in town, so we intend to have some breakfast before the people decide to make a run on it."

      
"Was . . . there anyone at the ranch?" Warren asked, being careful not to actually say Coy's name.

      
Adam fell into step with them. "If you had a . . . visitor, he had to have sprouted wings and flown in because I checked all of the horses when I changed mine for a fresh mount."

      
"Damn! I hoped. . . ."

      
"Yeah, I did too."

      
They were just finishing their meal when Tom Bastrop and John Smith, his new hired gun, walked in and saw them. John sat down at a table alone when Tom took a chair from one of the tables, pulled it up beside Warren, turned it around, then sat down and rested his arms against the back.

      
"Heard there was a bit of trouble here last night." He shook his head with disgust. "Can't understand what's gotten into these people. Many have known you for most of your life and it's a shame the way they are turning against you now. For what it's worth, I think you and your entire family are a credit to the community. And if there is anything I can do to help, just let me know."

      
"I appreciate it, Tom."

      
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Adam casually glanced at Seth, wondering how he had managed to gain Tom's confidence so quickly that he was allowed to accompany him as his personal body guard. Then, Adam sat a little straighter in his chair when he saw Seth rubbing his ear. It was a signal they had used as young boys to warn each other that trouble was brewing and to be careful.

      
"I heard you were going to join the run." Tom accepted the cup of coffee the waitress placed in front of him. "I figured you were satisfied with the amount of land you have."

      
Warren grinned sheepishly. "I'll admit to getting a wild hair in my butt, but I didn't intend to do it for the land. I planned to stake a claim right across the river on part of the land that borders the Bar 4, to keep as much distance between us and them as possible, but now it looks like I need to worry about my so-called friends instead of the homesteaders."

      
"Oh, it will all blow over before you know it and everything will get back to normal."

      
"Well, it might blow over but I'll never forget how some of our neighbors turned on us." Suddenly curious, Warren glanced at Tom. "What brings you into town today?"

      
He stared at him hard. "The truth is, when I heard you intended to claim some of that land . . . well, I came to try and talk you out of it."

      
"Why?"

      
"To put it bluntly, there's bound to be a lot of confusion. It seems like it would be awfully easy for someone to put a bullet in your back."

      
Warren glanced at Matthew. "It's funny that you should mention it, that's what we were discussing last night. And if it will put your mind at ease, I'm going back to the ranch. After what happened last night, I don't want to leave Blair . . . and Coy alone."

      
Tom frowned. "You have enough men to protect them, don't you? If not, I can send . . ."

      
"That's not the problem," Warren hastened to say. "Even though Adam proved to any rational thinking man that the Townsends had nothing to do with that fire last night, there are still plenty of men around who are blinded by their hatred and resentment. As long as I am around, I can probably keep the situation here in town and out at the ranch under control. But if something happened to me, there's no telling what Radigan or others like him might try to do. There's no doubt in my mind that either Samuel or Collin is capable of running the ranch. But I'd rather for them to stay out of it as much as possible. They've always been more Indian than white and if they had to make a stand against trouble—well, for a long time we had a saying around our house: "If the soldiers killed Indians, it was referred to as a brilliant campaign, but if the Indians killed whites, it was considered a massacre.' So you can imagine what would happen if they were suddenly left in charge. Coy is too hot-tempered, and Blair, she's just a woman. So, rather than take any unnecessary chances, I’m going back to the ranch."

      
"You definitely have a point there," Tom agreed.

      
Adam suddenly leaned forward. "Bastrop, I’ve been sitting here listening . . . and . . . when a man is wrong, he should be big enough to admit it. So, I admit it. I believe I’ve made a mistake about you."

      
There was hesitation in Tom's hawklike eyes. "I’m . . . not sure that I follow you."

      
Adam shifted uneasily on the chair, giving the impression of being slightly reluctant to say what was on his mind. "That first time we met, I took an instant dislike to you, and I believe the feeling was mutual. And as far as I’m concerned," he added indifferently, "I strongly doubt if those particular feelings will ever change. I’m telling you this because I allowed my personal feelings to cloud my judgment, which is something a lawman should never do. Maybe I shouldn't admit this, but I disliked you so much, I stopped looking for other suspects. . . ."

      
"Suspects? What did you suspect me of doing?"

      
Adam's eyes narrowed and his lips curled with disgust. "Bastrop, don't try to feed me that line. You knew I thought you were responsible for most of the trouble that has been going on around here . . . especially after I learned you were bringing in hired guns. But, I’ve received no complaints about you or them, and now that I’ve seen how you're standing by Warren and his family ... it looks like I was mistaken about you all along."

      
There was a cold edge of disdain in Tom's voice, "Do you expect me to stand up and cheer over this revelation?"

      
Adam shrugged. "I don't give a damn what you do. But we have a mutual friend who needs all of the support he can get right now, and if it means putting our hard feelings aside for the time being, I’m willing to if you are."

      
"Mutual friend!" Warren cocked his head back to peer at Adam. "That little sister of mine had better not hear you refer to us as mutual friends.' You never did tell me what date the wedding is set for."

      
For a moment, he did not know what to say. He didn't want to involve Blair in this trouble, yet, he couldn't claim there would be no wedding —not after what Warren had seen. Adam had never considered the possibility that Warren might believe that nonsense he'd been telling Tom Bastrop. And, he'd never had an opportunity to let Warren know that he believed Tom to be capable of anything to obtain his goals— and in all likelihood, that meant eliminating the law and the largest rancher. Unknowingly, Warren had placed Blair's safety in jeopardy. Adam figured if a man was cowardly enough to hire professional gunmen to do his dirty work, he was gutless enough to use an innocent woman.

      
"We haven't set an actual date yet," he finally mumbled.

      
Warren's words held a double meaning for Adam. "Well, I've known Blair a lot longer than you have, so I'm sure it will be soon. If you don't set a date soon enough to suit her, she's liable to drag you to the church herself. Then, too, she has four big brothers, so if she needed any help, I guess we would have to oblige her." He smiled and slid his chair back. "I'd better head on out toward the ranch. Don't worry about the check. Breakfast is on me this morning."

      
Tom had been sitting quietly, but his face had turned many shades of color and his hands had tightened on the chair until they were deathly white. "I didn’t know things were that serious between you and Miss Townsend."

      
Adam saw his opportunity and he grabbed for it. Later, if his comments got back to Blair and Warren, he could always explain. Besides, there might not be another chance to undo the damage that Warren had inadvertently done. "Hell, I didn't know they were that serious either! There's no doubt, Blair is a beautiful young woman . . . but I’m not ready to settle down yet, not for a long time."

      
Tom started to reply, but he was interrupted by a shopkeeper who came charging into the restaurant.

      
"Deputy Cahill, I need you immediately! One of those homesteaders is trying to run out on a bill he owes me. I complained to the soldiers, but they told me I would have to come to you about it."

      
Adam reached for his hat and offered Tom a bland smile. "Well, duty calls. Come on, Matthew, we might as well hang around down there until the signal shots are fired at noon. It isn't often men can see history in the making, and I have a feeling people will be talking about this day for a long time to come."

      
Thousands of people were assembled on a two-hundred-mile front anxiously waiting for a volley of shots that would open the final frontier in the United States. They had not converged just at Doughtery, but at predetermined borders to the east and north as well. In many places those in front of the waiting line made a solid, even front as far as the naked eye could see.

      
Pawnee Bill and over four thousand of his registered boomers had left the Kansas border four days earlier and traveled the sixty-nine miles southward across the Cherokee Strip to the northern boundary of the Indian Territory in readiness for the fateful shot . . . and still, there were more.

      
There were thousands of men and women from every walk of life: farmers, clerks, schoolteachers, millers, gun hands, tinhorns, bakers, saloon women, cooks, wranglers, preachers, doctors, saddle makers, bartenders, lawyers, undertakers, freighters, tinkers, craftsmen, seamstresses, blacksmiths, speculators, carpenters . . . and still, there were more.

      
They came in and on every conveyance imaginable: prairie schooners, horseback, buggies, racing sulkies, carts, ox wagons, buckboards, sheep wagons, ambulances, a-foot, bicycles, and some even rode cattle . . . and still, there were more.

      
A few minutes before noon, the soldiers strung out along the line facing the anxious horde, squinted over their rifle barrels and fired the fateful shots. When the volley sounded, a straining line of humans and horses roared across the virgin Oklahoma land raising a cloud of choking dust.

      
During the first few minutes, the weak and the strong, the fortunate and unfortunate, were on equal ground. Then, horses stumbled, wagons wrecked, buggies overturned, wheels broke . . . and still, they came.

      
The Santa Fe railroad traversed the territory and was allowed to run special trains at speeds not to exceed eight miles per hour, for those seeking previously selected town lots. The scramble of All these passengers attempting to disembark at the various stops was chaotic. Long before the train stopped they were fighting in the aisles to get out, climbing through the opened windows and leaping headlong from the railroad cars. After rolling down the dangerous embankments, those not injured sprinted to the choicest lots in the center of the townsite to drive their stakes in the red earth.

      
It was later said that as many as two thousand railroad tickets per hour were sold to those who suddenly found themselves without means of transportation.

      
Unlike Rome, the cities of Guthrie, and Oklahoma City were built in half of a day. From noon until nightfall on April 22, 1889, the population of Guthrie swelled from zero to ten thousand. Oklahoma City boasted a resident population of fifteen thousand. In the space of one afternoon, claims were
staked, streets were laid out, town lots were staked off, and steps taken toward the formation of municipal governments. By twilight, the camp-fires of the multitudes gleamed on the grassy slopes, where, the night before, the coyote, the gray wolf, and the deer had roamed undisturbed.

      
By nightfall on April 22, 1889, the white men had begun the closing chapter on the noble red man's ties to his past.

      
Chapter 28

      
Matthew pushed his way through the bat-wing doors of Shelton's Saloon and peered through the blue haze of heavy smoke that filled the crowded barroom. Men sat five and six to each table while others stood shoulder to shoulder at the long mahogany bar; from what he could hear their favorite topic was still the land rush that took place the previous day. One barman slid a mug foaming with beer along the bar and slapped down his polishing cloth. Another hurriedly dried shot glasses in order to fill them again for more customers.

      
Finally, he saw Adam bellied up to the far end of the bar, having a beer with the friendly proprietor. Threading his way through the crowd, Matthew was finally able to reach him. He tapped him on his shoulder and said quietly, not wanting the other patrons to overhear what he had to tell him, "Adam, I need to talk to you . . . outside."

      
Adam's smile froze, then disintegrated when he saw the expression on his brother's face. Something in Matthew's voice and manner sent a wave of apprehension over him. "Trouble?" he asked, pushing the mug away from him.