Читать книгу We Were There at the Oklahoma Land Run - Jim Kjelgaard - Страница 7

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Cindy always loved to visit Pete Brent, partly because she liked him, partly because she liked his horses, and partly because she liked Gramps and Granny Brent, his father and mother. Besides, Gramps knew the most wonderful stories, and Granny baked the most marvelous ginger cookies which she passed out with a very free hand. Cindy had looked forward to bringing Mindy to their wagon for a visit. Even though Gramps and Granny were asleep in the wagon and Mindy would not meet them until tomorrow, it was a lot of fun to be with Pete and to look at his horses.

"We'll have to be very quiet because Gramps and Granny Brent are sleeping now," Cindy whispered to her twin. "Let's go see the horses."

Two of Pete's four ponies were roan-colored, the third was sorrel, and the fourth was black and white. The two roans and the sorrel were very friendly and gentle, but the pinto trusted nobody and even tried to buck Pete off whenever Pete rode him.

Now the three gentle ponies and Pete's huge draft horses crowded as close together as they could and thrust their heads over the picket line, each horse trying to get as much attention as possible for himself. The pinto pulled as far back as his tie rope would let him go and snorted suspiciously. Though she had been on the point of warning her twin to be careful around the pinto, Cindy forgot to do so.

Alec, who had never wanted to be anything except a farmer, liked the heavy-footed draft horses best. Cindy and Mindy turned naturally to the fleet ponies. Suddenly the pinto snorted again, softly and gently this time, and came up to thrust a friendly muzzle at Mindy.

"Mindy!" exclaimed Cindy.

"What's the matter?" asked Mindy, who was happily stroking the pony's soft nose.

"That's Thunder, and he isn't supposed to like anyone!"

"He likes me," Mindy said. "Oh! Don't they remind you of birds?"

"Yes, they do! But Pete told me that, though they can start at a fast clip and keep it up long after a race horse would be winded, a race horse would beat any of them in a short sprint."

"I don't believe it," Mindy said. "I don't believe any other horse could even keep up with them."

"Except Daddy's Sunshine," Cindy said.

"Yes," Mindy agreed loyally, "Sunshine might."

Except for Thunder, who would let only Mindy touch him, they petted each pony in turn, stroked the draft horses, petted the ponies again, and Cindy asked Alec, "Wouldn't you just love to have one?"

"Sure would," Alec agreed, "but I'd rather have this work team. They could pull a plow for ten hours, then do it again the next day and the day after, and still come back for more."

"You have the team, and we'll take the ponies," Cindy said. "Let's go back and see Mr. Brent."

They stole back, remembering to be very quiet in order not to awaken Gramps and Granny, and sat on the wagon tongue. Pete lighted his pipe, and when the match flared it illumined his strong face. For the first time Cindy found herself thinking of it as a young face, even though Pete must be almost thirty. Cindy said eagerly, "Tell us about Oklahoma."

"There now, young lady," Pete's grin was felt rather than seen, "I've already told you at least six times."

"Please!" begged Cindy, who had an almost passionate interest in this new land that was to be her home. "Mindy hasn't heard the story."

"Do you want to hear it, honey?" Pete asked.

"I'd love to," Mindy said.

Pete sat down with his back against the wagon wheel, rested his head on his hands, puffed solemnly on his pipe, and after a moment said, "Shall we begin with the Indians?"

"Yes."

"Well, though there were some ancient peoples in Oklahoma, the first tribes which we ordinarily think of as Indians were the Kiowas, Comanches, Arapahoes, and such. They were all warlike and for the most part depended on hunting. There was very little of any kind of farming. But there were never so many of these tribes that Oklahoma was what you might call crowded. It was a vacant land."

The youngsters remained silent, waiting for Pete to go on. After a moment, he did.

"Oklahoma came to us with the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. But in those days, to anyone east of the Mississippi, Oklahoma seemed as far away as the moon seems now. Few people imagined that it would ever be any good, and almost nobody wanted to go there. In fact, very few people even knew it existed."

"What's 'Oklahoma' mean, Mr. Brent?" Alec broke in.

"It's a Choctaw Indian word meaning 'red people.' Now there weren't so many white men west of the Mississippi, but there were a lot of them east of it. There were also a lot of Indians there. What happened is what usually happened when red men crowded white; the white men wanted the land."

"Wasn't that selfish?" Mindy asked.

"Depends on how you look at it, Cindy—or Mindy." Pete grinned. "I don't know which is who, because I can't see the catsup any more. But if you mean, was it selfish for white people to grab Indian lands, it certainly was. On the other hand, it might have been selfish for a few Indians to think they could stand forever in the path of so many white men. Still depending on how you look at it, and whether you're white or red, it was either 'the march of civilization,' or 'conquest.' Anyhow, the five 'civilized' tribes, the Cherokees, Creeks, Chickasaws, Choctaws, and Seminoles, were told that if they'd give their eastern lands to white men, the territory later to be known as Oklahoma would be theirs forever. In the words of the treaty, they were to have it 'for as long as grass shall grow and waters run.' Moving these tribes took almost twenty years, from 1828 to 1846, and it wasn't a nice thing, because some of the uprooted Indians suffered terribly, but finally they were here."

Alec interrupted again. "If the land was given to the Indians, how can we take it?" he asked.

"I was coming to that, Alec. The 'civilized' tribes were different. They knew white men. They saw that white men had a better way of living, and so they copied it. They had their farms, their schools, their churches, their stores. They lived much as we do and even owned slaves. Then came the Civil War, and almost all of them lined up with the South. The government claimed that by this 'rebellion,' the tribes had violated their treaty rights. That began it. There were a lot of people west of the Mississippi by that time, and they wanted to know why they weren't allowed to have land that no longer belonged to the Indians anyway."

"Be sure to tell about the cattlemen," Cindy murmured.

"Sure thing. Great herds of cattle, gathered in Texas for delivery to Kansas railheads, were driven across the territory. At first the cattlemen asked only that their herds be allowed to graze while passing through. Then they wanted grazing land to fatten cattle, and one way or another they got a lot of it. So there was something else to fight about. If homesteaders could have no part of Oklahoma, why were wealthy cattlemen allowed to take so much of it? Then came the 'Boomers.'"

Alec smiled. Cindy clasped her hands excitedly.

"Somebody," Pete continued, "found out that part of Oklahoma, the section soon to be opened, had been given up by the Creeks and Seminoles at the end of the Civil War and had never been assigned to any other tribe. They became the 'unassigned lands,' and the boom was on. At first it was unimportant, because only a few people trickled in. Then, just about ten years ago, a very great man, Captain David L. Payne, saw the possibilities in Oklahoma and he organized the Boomers. Captain Payne personally led several expeditions of colonists into the unassigned lands. Each time the soldiers forced them to leave."

"Is he here now?" Mindy asked.

"No," said Pete. "He died about five years ago, but Captain William Couch, and I'm sure he's on the border, took over. He made another attempt to establish a colony in 1885. When that colony was disbanded by soldiers, the Boomers decided that no one can fly in the face of the law. So they tried to have the unassigned lands legally declared open to homesteaders. There was plenty of opposition. Most of it came from the cattlemen who did not want to lose their free range, but the Indian tribes worked against it too. However, the Boomers won, and here we are."

"Were you a Boomer?" Mindy asked breathlessly.

"I was a Boomer," Pete said. "I've been in there three times, and three times I've been marched out by soldiers. But though the soldiers did hold Captain Payne and a few others prisoners for a while, about all they ever did to the rest was escort us back over the border. Because I know the country, I know where your dad and I can get ourselves two of the prettiest claims in Oklahoma if someone doesn't already have them."

"How can anyone already have them?" Alec questioned. "The border isn't supposed to be opened before high noon on the 22nd of April."

Pete sounded a little grim. "That's right, Alec, and nobody who crosses before that time is supposed to have legal title to any land he may stake. But a lot of people have gone in anyhow. They're hiding in the thickets and along the creek bottoms. They'll stake land, and some of them will get away with it. There aren't enough soldiers to find all of them and bring them back."

"What will you do if some of them are on the claims you and Dad want?" Cindy asked.

"Then there could be an argument," Pete said. "If we lose to somebody who crosses when he should, well and good. But we won't lose to anyone who has sneaked across before he should."

"Do you think there'll be trouble?" Alec sounded worried.

"I doubt it, Alec, but we must be ready if it comes."

Mindy knitted puzzled brows. "There is much I do not understand."

"If you have any questions," Pete said, "I'll try to answer them."

"Thank you, Mr. Brent. Please tell me how close we are to Oklahoma."

"We could almost throw a stone into it from this wagon," Pete said.

"Then why," Mindy asked, "can't the first people across simply stake the first claims they find?"

"They can do just that, and some of them will," Pete said. "But a great many people here on the border know where the best claims are. They're old-time Boomers, or they've been in before, or in some cases, a group of people have banded together to send a scout on ahead to find them a place. The really hot race will be for the best land."

"I see," said Mindy, "but you speak of claims. How are people to know where their claim ends and another begins?"

"All the homesteads have been surveyed and marked," Pete said. "They are, of course, a hundred and sixty acres each. Many of the town sites—they're three hundred and twenty acres—have been decided in advance too. But they haven't been measured into lots, and there's going to be trouble. People will stake anything, I believe, then find out they've located in a street, or on school property, or something like that."

"How will all these people get the things they need?" Mindy pursued.

"The railroad you came in on, the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe, runs through the territory. Freight wagons can take supplies from their depots."

"Will everyone get land?" Mindy questioned.

Pete said, "They can't, because there isn't that much. With just under two million acres being opened up, most of which will be 160-acre homesteads, that makes something less than fifteen thousand claims. At a rough guess, even if you include all the town lots, there are three times as many people lined up on the border as there are claims. Who's going to get the land?"

"The strong and fast," Cindy said.

"And the smart and lucky," Pete added. "That's pretty much the way it always has been and always will be. In the advance of progress, and this is progress, somebody usually gets left behind. No doubt, many of the people who are able to stake no claim will feel cheated. No doubt the Indians will think they've been cheated, when cities and towns spring up. Especially the Seminoles. They used to own this area—didn't actually give it up till a few months ago. But with farmers who know the right farming methods, that land will go a long way toward helping feed a hungry world. The Indians couldn't develop it the way the white men are going to do—there aren't enough of them."

Cindy gave herself over to dreams. Thousands of land-hungry people poised on the border awaiting the signal that would send them across! Wild riding! A mad scramble! Possibly danger. Certainly adventure. It was an entrancing picture that she conjured up for herself.

"I'd love to go along!" she said impulsively.

"Me too!" Alec seconded. "But Dad says I must stay here and look after mother and you twins until the claim is ready. I'll look after Gramps and Granny too, Mr. Brent."

Pete said gently, "Thanks a lot, Alec." He turned to Mindy, "How about you?"

"I'll wait," Mindy said quietly.

"You're right," said Pete. "Alec, you and Cindy, and I know it's Cindy now because Mindy's been asking most of the questions, mustn't feel badly. You're better off here. Oklahoma will be no place for youngsters, or old people, until the claims are staked and everything is straightened out."

"I'd still love to go!" Cindy said defiantly.

"Now forget it!" Pete laughed. "You can't go."

"Somebody else," Cindy was half in tears, "always has all the fun!"

"Oh, Cindy!" Pete was hurt because he had hurt her, and he wanted to make up for it. "I was hoping you'd do a very important job for me here. Can you ride?"

"Can she ride!" Alec answered for his sister. "The horse hasn't been born that can throw Cindy! Mindy's a good rider too."

"Good!" Pete said. "Now, of my two roan ponies, one is about as fast as the other. I'm going to saddle both and leave one here for you. As soon as your dad and I have gone, you take the one I leave, ride to the telegraph station, and send this message to John Brent, care of Dasher and Brent, 816 Fourth Street, New York City. Say: 'The Run is on. Pete gone. All is well.' Will you do that?"

"If you want me to." Cindy suspected that Pete just wanted to give her something to do, but she felt a little better anyhow.

"I'd go," the conscientious Alec stared into the darkness, "but I'm not supposed to leave Mother. Why'd you ask Dad to ride with you, Mr. Brent?"

"Because I'd hoped to be able to pick at least one of my neighbors, and I picked the Simpsons."

"Children," their mother called softly. "Time for bed."

"See you tomorrow," Pete said as they rose to go. "And you mark my words. April 22, 1889, the day of this Oklahoma Run, will be a great day for the nation. Why, you three will see history made!"