Chapter twelve

What had she expected? That he’d graciously thank her for taking all his possessions from him? It was unlucky that things had turned out the way they did, but she knew no remedy. This was the first time in two years that she’d felt hope for her future. The first time she’d seen a challenge that would mature her into the woman she could be. He couldn’t ask her to give up on something that important.

“Why are you here?” Frisco asked. “Did you come just to bring my law books back?”

“Since you asked so kindly,” she said, “I’m on my way to the land office in Kingfisher to file.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Frisco said. “You’ll get a number and then wait for days before it’s your turn.”

“Are you trying to keep me from finalizing the process?”

“The process won’t be finalized for five years—five very long years.”

She straightened the cuff on her riding habit. “If the land office isn’t expedient, I could do some shopping today to supplement the supplies we bought in Darlington. Would you happen to know where the mercantile is?”

“What do you need to shop for?” he asked. “Don’t you have everything of mine?”

“I need a better lamp. Yours smokes something frightful. And the dishes? I nearly cut my lip on that chipped mug.”

It was the first time she’d seen him smile since the run. He smiled until his eyes wandered to her lips, and then he growled.

“Toughen up, buttercup.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you can’t take a scratch from a mug . . . Besides, I don’t want you filling my house with superfluous junk. You’re going to have to cart it all out when I get an official decision from the land office.”

He’d have better luck appealing to her sympathy, because if he thought he could intimidate her, she was disappointed in his intellect. Compared with the task of proving her claim, Caroline didn’t lack confidence in her ability to win an argument.

“And who would be making that decision? Oh yes, it’s Mr. Robberts and Mr. Admires. I’ve been meaning to invite them over for dinner.”

“You mean you’ll ask your pa to invite them to dinner? Of course. When you don’t get what you want, all you have to do is—”

“I did this on my own.” Caroline jabbed him in the chest. “My father didn’t even know.”

“You jumped in on your own, but you can’t swim. If someone doesn’t come to your rescue soon, you’re going under.” The last words were said in a tantalizing whisper. His eyebrows bounced once for emphasis.

Caroline stepped backward. There were two things she really enjoyed. She liked getting her way, and she liked to claim that she was independent and didn’t need her family. What if she had to choose? Was it possible that Frisco was right? Could she succeed without falling back on her father’s influence?

The conversation in her head was even worse than the one before her.

“Which way to the mercantile?” she asked. She didn’t mean to sound cross, but she was tired of the guilt.

Frisco watched her with dark eyes. It was the longest she’d ever seen him stand still. Finally, he dipped his head toward the road. “There aren’t any established stores yet, but if you see something you like, make an offer. For the right amount, everything is for sale.”

She looked at the piles of home goods next to wagons and jumbles of belongings next to cook fires. It didn’t seem right, walking up to a man and offering to buy his lantern off him.

“If that’s what I have to do.” Caroline tugged on her glove, tightening it against her fingers. “Thank you for your help, such as it was.”

“You aren’t going without me,” Frisco said. “You have my land, and I’m not going to let you wander among the greatest collection of swindlers and confidence men ever assembled until it’s safely in my name.”

“I’m not going to lose your land.”

“Yes, you are. Sooner or later, and it better be to me.” His mouth twitched. Annoying how easily he amused himself. “Tie up your horse with mine while I get my traveling case.”

She didn’t comment on the short reins on Frisco’s horse. She figured there’d be stories aplenty from what they’d been through, and she’d be blamed for all of his. But he caught her puzzled gaze when he returned.

“When the race started, I was occupied with collecting the names of moonlighters. Some didn’t appreciate my attempt at enforcing fair play. They decided to teach me a lesson.”

“What lesson did you learn?” she asked.

“Not to trust a woman when there’s a prize at stake.”

He could stand there and glare all day, but she had errands to run. She tethered Hardtack and started forward, but Frisco pulled her back.

“We can’t cut across everyone’s property,” he said. “We have to walk on the street. Civilization has arrived.”

Caroline looked at the green field dotted with lumber, tents, and animals. “How can you tell where the streets are? It all looks the same to me.”

“The streets are marked by those little stakes. See them? They all look alike.”

“Who put them there? The first person to arrive?”

“I don’t know who the first person was here,” he said. “It does seem like a lot of work to get done before everyone else came thrashing through the town.”

“Maybe they started early,” Caroline said. “Maybe they were boomers, and they came in weeks ago and prepared the town site.”

But her jab seemed only to pique his curiosity. “That’s probably what happened,” he said. “As long as they were back on the line by noon and ran with everyone else . . . but this close to my homestead? It seems I would’ve seen them here in the days before the run.”

“Where does the road go from here?” Caroline asked, because the way was blocked by a group of men settled around a campfire.

“What are y’all doing?” Frisco asked them. “This here is a right-of-way. You can’t set up camp in the road.”

“Sure, governor.” The man slurred his words as his head bobbled. “Just waiting around in case somebody decides to pull up stakes and go back where they came from.”

Caroline watched as Frisco weighed his response. He seemed, like her, to want to run them off, but for some reason he escorted her around them.

“Why didn’t you tell them to leave?” she asked. “They’re going to cause trouble for someone.”

“It’s not my town, and I have my doubts as to the legality of its founding,” he said. “Now, if those men had squatted on my place by the river . . .”

“Right is right and rules are rules,” Caroline responded. “You don’t need a title to remind people of the law.”

“Miss Righteousness herself. I hope you sleep easy at night, in a house you didn’t build, on a bed you didn’t buy.”

The sun was gathering its strength. The wind blew constantly, and the people moved restlessly, as if driven by its gusts. They passed one lot crowded with men in lines, with a few women and children sprinkled in. Caroline craned her neck to see what the draw was. All she could see were three hastily constructed shacks and a sign that said 5 cents per visit.

“What are they doing?” she asked. “This is the most popular spot in town.”

Frisco pulled her along. “Don’t linger. It’s the privy.”

Then the smell hit her. Caroline wrinkled her nose. “People are paying to use the privy? That’s nonsense.”

“No, that’s enterprise. The owner of that lot saw a need, and he filled it. Dig three holes, put up some walls, and he has a business.”

“But who would want to build a house on a lot full of cesspools?”

“By the time everyone has their own privy built, he’ll have enough money to build himself a nice house. Just shovel dirt over the holes—”

“And don’t ever drink from his well.”

Frisco grunted. “Good advice. But by then, you’ll have left my land, and I won’t have to worry about whose water I’m drinking.”

His jabs might be justified, but they were tiresome. She’d thought that returning some of his belongings might help him forgive her, but it seemed that her presence only increased her offense.

They were reaching the center of the town. A bricklayer slapped mortar on a brick and splatted it on a wall about knee-high.

Frisco slowed. “What have we got here?”

The bricklayer pulled a kerchief out of his pocket. “First National Bank of Plainview, already taking deposits. Do you have any funds you’d like us to protect for you?”

“What makes you a national bank?” Frisco asked.

“There are people from a lot of different nations here, and I’m holding money from several of them.”

“A bricklayer and banker?” Caroline didn’t like the tilt of the man’s mouth. “That strikes me as questionable.”

“The name’s Sorenson. I’ll work hard for your trust, and I’ll work hard for your money,” the bricklayer said. “Don’t hold it against a man that he’s willing to work with his hands. If you’re going to make something of yourself here, you’d better be willing to do the same.”

“I’ll consider my options,” Frisco said, “but thanks for the information.”

Caroline lifted an eyebrow. “You have money that’s weighing you down?”

He swung his traveling case high. “And it’s cumbersome to haul around. I won’t have it for long if we can’t reach an agreement. Still, if Mr. Sorenson has a safe place . . .”

“Yes, sir.” Sorenson cleaned his hands on a work apron hanging around his waist. “See that wagon there? It’s reinforced with iron bars and locked at all times.”

“Mr. Smith!”

Caroline turned to see a man approaching. He was nicely dressed but rumpled, like everyone else in the territory that morning. His eyebrows had a strong curve to them that made him look like he was expecting you to say something astonishing. It was a pleasant expression. He removed his derby hat to show thick blond hair, freshly cut.

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t realize you were accompanied by a lady,” he said to Frisco.

Did Frisco notice how impressed this man seemed to be with her? Did he feel a tad foolish for the way he’d treated her since her return to Oklahoma Territory?

“This is Deputy McFarland,” Frisco said, “and this is Miss Adams, the daughter of Major Adams at the fort.” For once it was Frisco dropping her father’s name. Maybe he wasn’t immune to jealousy after all.

“Pleased to meet you,” Deputy McFarland said. “Does this mean that our fair city can claim you as a resident?”

“Not exactly. I live just outside of town, but I suspect this is my nearest municipality.” If she was putting more warmth into her answers than normal, it was for Frisco’s benefit.

“You certainly seem to associate with the right sort of people. Mr. Smith has already made a smashing impression here in town.”

“Already? He said nothing about it to me.”

“We have more pleasant things to talk about,” Frisco said. The way he smiled at her, you would have thought they’d just finished a very private conversation.

Caroline blinked up at the man who minutes ago had been haranguing her. This was more like the dashing renegade she remembered. For some reason, he’d decided to be charming in front of Deputy McFarland. What did it mean?

“I’m glad you came along,” Frisco said to the deputy. “I was considering using the services of our First National Bank. Do you have any previous dealings with them?”

“Deputy Sorenson? He’s of the finest character and has my trust. We’ve served as deputies together since the beginning of this affair.”

“You mean since President Harrison signed the bill? One month ago?” Frisco’s eyebrow raised.

“Was it only a month? Seems like an eternity,” said Deputy McFarland. “All the same, I had some business I wanted to talk over with you. We’re going to have elections for mayor at noon, and we’re trying to get the word out. Three candidates have been chosen by the council. I know your objections to the council deciding that, but the council was duly elected by the populace. Things will be easier to manage once we’re all settled in, but until then, we need some sort of order established.”

“Where does one go to vote?” Frisco asked.

“See those three wagons lined up over there? One candidate will stand in each wagon, and you get in line for the one who has secured your vote. Put your tally mark down, and the man with the most tallies wins. Simple enough for a first election. Once that’s settled, we’ll hold a celebration to install our new mayor. It’ll be a dance later this week.” He smiled at Caroline. “We’d be honored if you’d attend. Having the major’s daughter here for our first official town celebration would lend it an air of legitimacy.”

A dance? Despite her objections to being displayed like an ornament, that sounded better than sketching house and garden plans in her underground room with the goat. While Caroline could wish they desired her company for her own attributes instead of her father’s, celebrating the establishment of a local government was a worthy cause. Her father had often stressed the importance of the girls attending official ceremonies to show their support for the troops. This was no different.

“Certainly,” she said. “I’d be delighted.”

“And you too, Mr. Smith. You should become more involved in our municipal business. Plainview would benefit from your skills. Can we count on seeing you at the dance?”

Frisco’s teeth flashed in that hair-trigger smile. “Absolutely. I can’t allow Miss Adams to attend unescorted. We’ll both be . . . where exactly is the dance?”

“On the lot to the east of the First National Bank. By then we’ll have some lanterns hung. It’ll look quite festive. Don’t forget to vote today!”

Frisco bid the deputy farewell under Caroline’s bemused scrutiny.

“They aren’t wasting any time getting themselves entrenched,” Frisco said as the deputy moved on to another settler. “What are the chances that all these deputies happened to have the fastest horses in the race?”

“The horses’ speed wasn’t the only consideration,” she said.

“Someone had to have seen them before the race. They must have been lined up by the fort. Where are the witnesses?”

“What I just witnessed was you intimating that our relationship is of a closer nature than I’ve ever acknowledged. Besides, I remember accepting Deputy McFarland’s invitation to the dance, not yours,” Caroline said.

Frisco scratched his cheek. “I’ll meet you at the dugout that evening, if you’re still residing there by then.”

“Dancing with a man who has sworn to take my property doesn’t appeal to me.”

“Do you mind walking, or should I borrow a buggy?” His eyes darted down her form. “Unless you’ve procured a sidesaddle, going on horseback won’t be optimal in a ball gown.”

“On the other hand, perhaps dancing with my opponent might be the easiest way to convince him to end this harassment.”

“You’re not that good of a dancer, Miss Adams.” His rakish grin gave Caroline a chill that reminded her of her infatuation with him back before she knew better.

“I expect my time will be precious at this dance, with so few women in town.”

“It’s likely to be lopsided for some time,” Frisco said, “but I suspect every day there’ll be more and more women showing up to join their menfolk. Not every lady is brazen enough to compete in this men’s contest.”

“Men’s contest? It’s a contest, that’s all. Some people won and some lost.”

“But the contest isn’t over, Miss Adams. We’ll see who wins in the end.”

She only needed a lamp, and then she headed back to await the arrival of her supplies from Darlington. When Frisco thought of how crowded the little dugout would be with her loot, and how empty his tent was, he was tempted to utter unchivalrous statements again, but look where that had gotten him last time. Perhaps if he had not been so free with his opinion before the race, she would’ve felt more charitable toward him afterward.

His fault for speaking his mind, but she had disappointed him. There were few women like Caroline Adams in the world. Purposely deconstructing the very things that made her unique was an outrage, and he felt honor bound to protest. But perhaps he could’ve done it in a less offensive manner.

After Miss Adams had retrieved her horse, Frisco decided he might as well send his to the livery. He had no protection for it at his plot, but stabling a horse cost money, even when there wasn’t a stable built yet. He couldn’t spend freely—not when most of the money he had was being held in trust for his townspeople. He had one month before he had to produce the land or return their money, and until then he needed it kept in a safe place.

After leaving his horse in the green pasture of the livery, Frisco returned to Mr. Sorenson and handed over the pile of bills that represented the future of sixty-four men and their families. He was astute enough to request a deposit slip, which the thorough Mr. Sorenson had already commissioned and had professionally printed. Frisco stared at the address printed on the paper. East Main Street, Plainview, Oklahoma Territory. Either the printer had worked quickly or Mr. Sorenson had predicted the exact plot of land he’d win. Frisco slipped the deposit receipt into his traveling case.

Mr. Sorenson had been a deputy with McFarland. He would have known the address if they had conspired together to form a town before the race, just as Frisco had attempted. There was no rule against that, as long as they were at the line when the cannon fired, but as deputies, the temptation to go early would have been great.

Frisco checked himself. He couldn’t let his failure sprout jealousy against those who’d been successful. Unless it was Miss Adams. Then he felt no guilt in his coveting.

He went to find some food for himself. Even though his grumbling stomach reminded him that breakfast had been hours ago, everything in this place came by standing in a line. But if Frisco had to judge from the wooden frames going up all around him, things would change in a hurry.

In the meantime, he had to figure out the best way to persuade Miss Caroline Adams. For years Frisco had frequented the fort as a prisoner, but for the most part, Major Adams understood the dance. He and his troopers treated the boomers with respect, and in return the boomers didn’t resist arrest. Doing so would have been unethical and would have created negative coverage from the press. Instead, Frisco tried to be as helpful as he could to the troopers by giving them information on the real criminals he’d spotted in the territory or rumors of unrest he’d heard. It made for an interesting relationship with Major Adams, and because Frisco couldn’t help but win over a crowd, Miss Adams somehow got caught up in it.

Five years older than she and decades wiser from his life on the street, he couldn’t miss the adoration in her young eyes. He also couldn’t miss the warning in her father’s. So Frisco did what he did best. He charmed while walking a tightrope. He couldn’t have pretended that the young lady wasn’t beautiful. He abhorred dishonesty. And she’d been at just the age to begin appreciating attention from beaux, although no trooper on the fort could express his admiration while under her father’s command. That was why Frisco thought it his duty. Every young lady should know that she was beautiful. He didn’t want it to go unremarked. So he told her frequently, or at least he told her father frequently in her hearing. If it made Major Adams uneasy, then so much the better.

But a few years had changed everything. No longer was she an undiscovered beauty. She was out in the world and had learned to wield her charms, which in his eyes was a disaster. While the willful child of the prairies had intrigued him, her time in Galveston had smoothed out all of her interesting merits. They had nothing in common now. She certainly didn’t need him to bolster her confidence. The thought was laughable. But what did she need? What could he offer her in exchange for his land?

He took a cold sandwich from Mr. Wilton and handed over an inordinate amount of coin for something so paltry. Surprisingly, it was even better than the sandwich the day before, probably on account of his hunger more than the quality.

Chewing, Frisco headed to the center of town, where the election was being held. True to McFarland’s word, the three candidates sat on stools in the wagons. Frisco had missed the speeches, but when he recognized two as being part of the founders’ group, he went to join the line behind the wagon of Bill Matthews, the man from Sedalia he’d helped get placed as a candidate.

What would it take to get Caroline off his property? Once upon a time, he could have tempted her. Now she claimed that she was impervious to his charms, but was she? What would it take to convince Miss Adams that he was a serious suitor?

Living on the streets with easy relationships and scant regrets, Frisco had never seriously considered what courtship of a lady like Caroline would entail. For the most part, he’d avoided the hoity-toity set, preferring to spend his time with practical women, strong women, women who rode in the rain, women who spoke their minds, and women who’d call you down from across the street just to say howdy.

Like Caroline used to.

But if he needed to swallow his ire to sway her, then that was what he’d do. And it wouldn’t hurt to listen more closely to her plans. While he couldn’t bring a railroad through Plainview, he could try to create her dream on his town lot. It would make his offer of a trade more attractive. And in the meantime, he needed to keep her away from the likes of Deputy McFarland and any other man who might be tempted by the combination of a beautiful woman and a promising homestead.

“Are you in the line for Matthews?” a young man asked.

“Yes, I think this is the end,” Frisco replied.

“My name’s Ernest Pickens. My brother is in the next line.” He waved, and a similarly dressed man at the back of the other line waved back. “We can’t agree on anything. Can’t imagine how we’re going to run a bakery together.”

Frisco looked from the man standing next to him to the man in the other line. They were more than similarly dressed. They had to be twins. “A bakery? Please fire your ovens up immediately. The restaurateurs need the competition,” Frisco said.

“Yes, sir! We’ve got our brick oven about completed. Needs seasoning, but then we’re running. Come by, and I’ll give you your first dinner roll free.”

He took his place behind Frisco. Wait in line to be counted, and then they’d see who won. Sounded simple enough. Frisco looked ahead, and his was easily the longest line. It’d take longer to go through, but that was the cost of democracy.

After some instructions, the line started moving. A scribe in the wagon made a tally mark as each man went by. A handful of men joined Frisco’s line, but he was surprised to see the baker’s brother with more people behind him than in front.

“Mr. Bledsoe’s supporters must live on the outskirts,” said Frisco. “They are tardy about getting in line.”

The baker looked behind them. “Now they have more folks. If Evan’s fella wins, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Bledsoe clearly was going to win. While the other lines were almost through, his line kept growing. Frisco watched as the voters were counted at the front. Was that register going slower than the others? Then he noticed something. After they’d voted, a couple of men meandered toward the back of the line. For a second they stood, as if only in the vicinity, but then after a furtive look around, they stepped one behind the other and rejoined the line.

Frisco grabbed the sleeve of the baker and spun him to face the other line. “Did you see that? Those fellas just got in line to vote twice.” And they weren’t the only ones. About half the men going through worked their way around for a second time . . . or was it a third or fourth?

“Well, I’ll be. You’re right. That fella was in front of Evan, and now he’s in line behind. I wonder—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Frisco hollered as he stepped out of line and waved his hands over his head. The vote counters in the wagons strained to see him over the crowd. “We have an irregularity occurring.”

Deputy McFarland and another deputy came busting through the lines to get to him. A few of the other town fathers had gathered next to the third group. It looked like a reunion of all the men who’d gotten involved with the last election trouble. Maybe Frisco should be happy that he wasn’t responsible for messes like this.

“I’m Deputy Juarez,” the man said. He had a black, flat-brimmed Spanish-style hat with a pull string that hugged his chin. “Is there a reason you’re interrupting our residents just as they are exercising their civil rights?”

Frisco took a step back to size him up. He recognized back-alley bullies, but he also knew that some of them grew up and continued their ways beneath the safety of a badge. Frisco had won a fight or two, but his strength had always been in persuasion. He scanned the crowd, drawing every eye as witness. “I watched that line and saw men getting back in line after casting their vote. Some are voting twice.”

Evan Pickens stretched his long torso out to look behind him. “Well, I’ll be.” The two brothers shared expressions, even if they didn’t share political views. “Those fellas were in front of me. I saw them both go through and vote. And y’all too.” He gestured at another handful of men who were trying to leave the line without being noticed.

“Don’t look at me!” Sitting in the wagon, Mr. Bledsoe lifted his hands in surrender. “I didn’t tell them to do that.”

McFarland and Juarez exchanged glances. McFarland didn’t let it take any wind out of his sails. “Then we’ll have to start over. Throw away your tally marks, and in an hour we’ll vote again. This time sign your name next to your vote, and each wagon will have a deputy in it to watch that the same man doesn’t go through twice.”

“We’re twins,” Evan Pickens called out. He pointed across the way at his brother and then at himself. “Just ’cause we favor each other doesn’t mean we don’t each get to vote.”

“Duly noted,” McFarland said. “Thank you for the clarification.”

“Excuse me.” The first candidate, known to Frisco only as Mr. Feldstein, stood in the back of his wagon. “I’ve had some time to think it over, and I’m withdrawing my name from the race. I’m throwing my support to Mr. Bledsoe. He’ll do a fine job, so go on and vote for him.”

Frisco studied the lines. That meant that Mr. Bledsoe would win even without the cheating. Not surprising. Bill Matthews was a Johnny-come-lately, supported only by some of the common people and none of the deputies. By banding together, the deputies had managed to get their man in position.

“Once again you have proven yourself invaluable to Plainview, young man.” McFarland motioned Frisco away from the wagons as people began to rearrange themselves into two lines. “We’re lucky to have you here. When will you be ready to start reading law?”

The question surprised Frisco. What did McFarland know about that?

“I’ve already started. Saw my first client today.” If he was wary, he had good reason. So far, every bit of official business done in Plainview had been tainted.

“Excellent. Once we’re up and running, the city would like to utilize your skills. I have the feeling we’ll need someone who has an eye for the law looking over our ordinances. That’s not to mention getting all the property disputes settled.”

Frisco nodded. That sounded promising. Perhaps the irregularities were only disorganization. “For something as straightforward as a race, there was a lot of corruption,” he said. “It’ll take years to get it all straightened out.”

“Nothing like a guaranteed income,” McFarland laughed. “Not that you would wish conflict on people,” he hastily amended, “but you might as well profit when it’s there.”

It was the profession Frisco had chosen, but he didn’t like McFarland’s assumption. And yet he was the deputy in town and was looking for honest men to help him in a difficult situation. Frisco would be a fool not to offer his services.

“Don’t forget the dance on Friday night.” McFarland slapped him on the back. “And be sure you bring that feisty redhead.”

Frisco ran a finger under his collar. Dancing with Miss Adams when everything was at stake? Who would blink first? But if he was going to see clients in earnest, he needed somewhere better than a tent to store his records. One good Oklahoma Territory thunderstorm and his files would be carried by the wind, page by page, all the way to Arkansas. He might ask around and see if more shipments of sawn lumber were coming in from the Chickasaw. Or maybe Sophie would have a strongbox for sale that would hold records until he could build something more permanent.

Forgetting where the roads were, he cut across a lot to return to her wagon but stopped when he came across a furniture builder. The man had a row of chairs sitting alongside his wagon. Chairs? That was definitely something Frisco would need for customers.

Three rockers, two ladder-backs, and one spinning office chair were displayed. He sat in the office chair and swung back and forth, testing the spring.

“That’ll be a dime.” A copper-topped man had appeared from behind the wagon.

“A dime for this chair? Sold.” Frisco reached for his pocket.

“No, you dolt. Not for the chair. It’s a dime to sit in the chair for an hour.” He brushed sawdust off his sleeve.

“Why would I pay you to sit in a chair? That’s ridiculous.” The chair’s spring squawked as Frisco leaned back in it.

“Someone got tired of having nowhere to sit besides the grass and asked if I’d lease it to him. These chairs have already paid more than I was ever going to sell them for.”

Of all the tomfoolery . . . “But are they for sale?” Frisco asked. “I don’t have any interest in leasing one, but—”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Frisco turned to see Patrick Smith, dirty and dusty but none the worse for wear. Frisco grinned, but then his smile hardened when he remembered why his friend would be searching him out.

“So this is Redhawk?” Patrick said. “You really did it? If I remember the map correctly, my plot is going to be on the north side.”

“This isn’t—” Frisco rocked forward in the chair. “Did you get your farm, Patrick?”

Patrick dropped his traveling bag and took a rocking chair next to Frisco. “The train was a bad idea. The one I was on was the fourth one to leave the station. By the time it set out, three other trains and all the horsemen had already had their pick. We did pass through one section that looked unclaimed, but the train didn’t slow down. People started jumping out the doors. I couldn’t because I was stuck in the middle of the car, but I did get to a window. Scared me to death thinking about what would happen to Millie and Jonathan if I didn’t clear the tracks, but I did it anyway. Hit the ground, rolled, and then ran.”

“By the tracks? How far did you have to go?”

“Till right here. Never did find land that didn’t already have someone on it telling me to keep moving. But I didn’t despair. That deal I struck with you was the best investment I’ve ever made.”

Frisco looked at his shoes, dirt still resting on the tops of them. “This isn’t Redhawk, Patrick. I didn’t get my land either.”

“What do you mean? I thought you had it all figured out.”

“I made a mistake. Several mistakes. When I got there, someone had beat me to it, but I haven’t given up. I’m going to get it.”

“So you have nothing? We have nothing?” His rocking chair stilled. His head drooped.

Frisco’s throat tightened. He didn’t have what he wanted, but he had something, which was more than Patrick and his family had.

“I have one city lot,” he said. “One. I have hopes of regaining my town site. I don’t think the current homesteader can prove out.”

“How long will that take?”

Frisco drew in a long breath. “It’s a particularly stubborn person. I couldn’t say.”

Patrick might have been brave on the train, but the fear was starting to show on his face. “We sold out of Kansas. We sold everything, loaded up, and came this way. How can I go back and tell Millie that we have nothing?”

“You can stay on my lot,” he said. “Be right here in town. There’s good money to be had for a saddlemaker and laundress. You can start by fixing me up with new reins. And while every lot may be claimed right now, once the dust settles, a lot of people will pack up and go home. With my position in the city, I’ll be the first to know when someone quits a claim.”

“What do you mean, ‘position in the city’? I thought you were going to get your Redhawk land back.”

“Keep your options open,” Frisco said, while trying not to wince. “Didn’t you teach me that?”

“Show me where this place of yours is,” Patrick said. “Maybe I can get Millie and Jonathan back before dark.”

“Let’s go.”

“Excuse me.” The chair owner stepped between them. “That’s rentals of two chairs that you owe me for. Twenty cents, please.”

Patrick turned on the man, ready to make him answer for his insolence just as he’d done for many of Frisco’s foes.

Frisco sighed and put his hand in his pocket. “Twenty cents,” he said as he dropped the coins into the man’s hand and started back to his property.

It was only a square of empty field. Not much to offer a family, but it was everything to those who sought it. And at this rate, it might be all he ever had.