The United States was slightly more than fifty years old at the time the treaty with the Kiwota Indians was signed, making it an infant among the other nations of the world. Unfortunately, its capital city, being even younger, was an ill planned, worse built, and poorly located community.
Rather than establish their seat of government in an existing city, the squabbling politicians of early America compromised by decreeing that the seat of government should be newly built. Thus, Washington, D.C.—known as Washington City in those days—had been laid out in the wilderness along the Potomac River.
The final selection of the site had been made by the first president, George Washington. He’d liked the location because the waterway was navigable to Georgetown, a community that was an important tobacco market at the time. Also, a canal had been planned that would go from the new city across the Cumberland Gap to give access to the wide-open frontier in the West.
What resulted, unfortunately, was a crude settlement with a swamp in the middle, numerous huts and other rustic buildings, and a reputation as a “mud hole” among the people living and serving their government in the area. The road to becoming a beautiful, thriving metropolis would prove to be a long and bumpy one. Needless to say, foreign diplomats were not pleased with their postings to the locale. They considered such an assignment an exile to hell itself.
When the surveyor DeWitt Planter arrived in the capital on a fall mid-morning a couple of weeks following the signing of the treaty with War Heart of the Kiwotas, Washington City could boast many unfinished public works with great promise and damned little else. But Planter scarcely took notice of his surroundings as he hurried across dirt and cobblestone streets and past unattractive buildings on his way to visit Senator Osmond Torrance’s office in the Willard Hotel.
His arrival at the senator’s chambers was not unexpected because of a telegram he’d sent at the first opportunity when he reached Minneapolis after leaving the wilds of Dakota Territory. The politico’s secretary, a rather effeminate, well-dressed young man named Harvey Puffer, responded quickly when Planter presented himself.
“The senator said to notify him immediately when you arrived, Mr. Planter,” the secretary said. “Please have a seat while I inform him you are here.”
Planter didn’t bother to make himself comfortable. He was too agitated. He paced back and forth, glancing toward the office door during the ten minutes he waited.
Finally, Puffer reappeared, saying, “The senator asks you to step inside, Mr. Planter.”
Planter rushed past the startled young man, slamming the door shut to ensure privacy. He found the senator seated at a writing desk facing the window.
“Damn, Senator!” Planter exclaimed. “I got news!”
Osmond Torrance turned and looked at his guest. The politician was a portly man, with mutton whiskers growing thickly from his heavy jowls. Bald, with thick eyebrows and a scowl on his face that would only disappear through conscious effort, Torrance was not a man to be trifled with. He found excited constituents a source of irritation and threats to his political career.
“I received your telegram, DeWitt,” Torrance said. He reached in his pocket and retrieved the crumpled missive. “I’ll be damned and double-damned if I can understand what you’re trying to tell me in it. As far as I can see, you’ve said practically nothing here.”
“Well, sir—”
“You got to speak up plain and loud, son,” Torrance said. “Or, in this case, write it out plain and simple. I have a lot on my mind. If you’re upset about something, you’ll have to come right to the point.”
“Senator—”
“A plain and simple approach gets things done, son,” Torrance said. “You can’t do a thing if folks don’t know what sort of information you’re trying to send on to them. I’m a busy man, DeWitt, and I don’t have the time to spare trying to solve an enigmatic telegram sent by you.”
“Yes, sir,” Planter said. “I’m—”
“Now simmer down and tell me what this is all about,” Torrance said. “I can tell from looking at you that you’re still flustered as hell. Choose your words carefully, DeWitt, and enlighten me as to what you wish me to know.”
Planter took a deep breath, then forced himself to speak as deliberately as he could. “There’s gold in the hills where them Kiwota Injuns got land in that treaty and I know ’cause I seen it and I couldn’t say nothing about it in the telegram because I didn’t want nobody else to find out about it.”
Torrance smiled, now speaking even slower than his normal drawl. “Well, sit down, DeWitt! Take a load off your dawgs. Gold is a hell of a subject to talk about, DeWitt. That’s a precious mineral that can make fortunes for folks that handle the situation right.”
“Goddamn! I know that, Senator!” Planter exclaimed.
“Do you understand that talk about new gold—the kind that nobody else knows about—is something that calls for the strongest regard to secrecy?” the senator asked.
“I do, I do!” Planter said. “Oh, indeed, I do!” He rushed to a chair across the room and dragged it over in front of the senator. He plopped down on it and said again, “There’s gold in the hills that them Kiwotas got in the treaty.”
“I understood you to say that,” Torrance said. When he sensed something important, he always became most attentive and careful. “You’re talking about the agency where I got ol’ Wheeler Coburn a job, are you not?”
“Yes, sir,” Planter said. “And where you had me sent to survey the place to mark out the boundaries for the treaty.”
“I understand, DeWitt,” Torrance said. “Now get on with what you want to tell me.”
“Well, sir, I had just set up my crew to take sightings and note azimuths and was able to step back and watch the work progress. The geologist—”
“Geologist? What geologist?” Torrance interrupted.
“The one that came along to write up his own report for the Department of the Interior,” Planter explained. “When he saw I was pretty much caught up and didn’t have much to do at the time, he invited me to go along with him while he did some exploring and note taking.”
“I didn’t send a geologist,” Torrance said.
“Listen to me, Senator,” Planter pleaded. “I just told you he was assigned to the job by the Department of the Interior. He was supposed to write out a report on the type of rocks and dirt in the area, and all that sort of stuff. Him and me become sort o’ friendly over the course of the job.”
“It’s not good to have an outsider in on something like this,” Torrance said. “It can complicate matters.”
“I knew that from the start, Senator,” Planter assured him.
“That’s good to hear, DeWitt,” Torrance said. “Get on with what happened, please.”
Planter related how he and the geologist tramped around most of the morning while the fellow gathered rock samples and bits of earth to take back to Washington City for his report. Things were pretty uneventful up to the time they took a rest to eat the food they’d brought with them. After sitting around a bit and smoking their pipes, they went back to exploring the terrain.
“Toward the end of the afternoon, he found a rock formation that really caught his attention,” Planter said. “He took that li’l ol’ hammer o’ his and started chipping away at the side of a hill near the edge of a cliff.”
“Did he make any particular remarks?” Torrance asked.
“Not for a few minutes, but he was getting agitated as hell,” Planter said. “Then he held some of the stuff in his hand and turned to me and said, ‘By God, Planter! This is gold!’ I walked over and he showed me. I asked him if there was much.”
Torrance slowly rubbed his hands together. “Just what did he answer, DeWitt?”
“He said it appeared to him that the yield in that mountain was enough to make ten thousand men rich beyond their wildest dreams,” Planter said. “That’s when I thought o’ you.”
“How’s that?” Torrance asked.
“Well, Senator, there wouldn’t be no way I could swing getting that gold out on my own,” Planter said. “Especially since it was on Injun land give ’em by treaty. I knowed if there was one feller that could work out the details to make him and me rich, it would be you.”
“That was real intelligent of you, DeWitt,” Torrance said in a tone of approval. “But don’t forget that geologist friend of yours.”
“He died,” Planter said. He hesitated, searching for words, finally saying, “He kind o’ slipped and fell off’n that cliff right after he told me about the gold.”
“I see, DeWitt,” Torrance said in a calm manner. “I take it you didn’t tell anyone else about the lucky find.”
“I sure didn’t, Senator,” Planter assured him. “Not even Wheeler Coburn. You and me’re the onliest people that know about it.”
Torrance smiled. “You did good, DeWitt.” Then he was silent for a few moments as he mulled over the information just relayed to him. “Could you find the place again?”
“I can do better’n that, Senator,” Planter said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I went back up there with surveying instruments and laid out the exact location by latitude and longitude, and wrote her down on one o’ them government land claim forms we got to carry around with us.”
Torrance took the document and studied it. “In order to claim this land, we must simply file this form at the proper government land office, true?”
“It’d prob’ly work out better if it was in your name, Senator,” Planter said. “If my name is on it, somebody would figger out something wasn’t quite the way it should be.”
“That’s good thinking on your part because eventually, after a while and the news of the gold got out, someone might even get suspicious about the geologist’s death, DeWitt,” Torrance said.
“Yeah, that’s another reason for it to be in your name,” Planter said. “O’ course, it might not do us any good anyhow since that land is part o’ the Buffalo Steppes treaty.”
“Yes it is, but I don’t believe the government ever meant any agreement with savages to be permanently binding,” Torrance said. “So action can still be taken.” He reached over and tinkled the bell on his desk.
The door opened, and the secretary stepped inside. “Yes, sir?”
“Harvey, I wish to file a claim on some land out west,” Torrance said. “Bring me a pen and ink so I might sign the proper government form.”
“Right away, Senator,” the secretary said. He went back outside and returned with the writing instruments.
“Use that fancy handwriting of yours to put my name at the top in the proper place, Harvey; then I’ll sign the document,” Torrance instructed.
The politician and the surveyor watched as the secretary tended to the chore. When he finished, the senator signed the document with a flourish.
“Now take this down to Frederick Mullhouse’s office in the Department of the Interior, Harvey,” Torrance said. “Tell him it is a claim that I wish to file on land in the Dakota Territory. Tell Mr. Mullhouse that we would appreciate it if the job was done quickly, quietly, and with the utmost discretion. Do you understand, Harvey?”
“I understand perfectly, Senator,” Harvey replied. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll see to it immediately.”
The young man made a hurried exit. Planter watched him leave, then turned to the senator. “Just how’re you planning on working this?”
“Well, the claim will go through in spite of the fact that the land is on Indian territory,” Torrance explained. “There would be no trouble there unless we went out to the place and started to occupy it.”
“Then, how in the hell are we gonna be able to get that gold outta there without the Injuns and ever’body else finding out what we’re doing?” Planter asked.
“The answer is obvious, DeWitt,” Torrance said. “We must take the land away from the Indians, mustn’t we?”
“I don’t see how you’re gonna get them hills away from the Kiwota tribe, Senator,” Planter said.
“Quite simply, DeWitt, by getting those redskin rascals to break the treaty,” Torrance said.
Planter smiled as the idea slowly began to dawn on him. “You aim to stir them Injuns up, don’t you, Senator?”
“Stir them up? That is an understatement, DeWitt,” Torrance said.
“If they go on the warpath, the dragoons’ll move in and wipe ’em out,” Planter said. “That Major Devlin whipped War Heart once, and he can sure as hell do it again.”
“Of course. Remember, however, we must drive those Indians into raiding outside their territory, too,” Torrance said. “There’re plenty of farms and little towns in Minnesota and Kansas Territory that would prove tempting to enraged savages.”
“A lot o’ folks might die,” Planter said.
“A lot of folks will die, DeWitt,” Torrance said. “I believe a certain geologist already has.”
“I reckon it’ll be worth it to be rich and be able to have anything you want, huh?” Planter said.
“I believe you are right,” Torrance said.
“I’d like to buy me a cotton plantation and have carriages and slaves and a real beautiful wife,” Planter said.
“Oh, why bother with a plantation when you can have a mansion and lots of land without worrying about crops and weather and all that, DeWitt?” Torrance said.
“By God, Senator!” Planter said. “I believe you’re right. I ain’t gonna have to work at nothing, will I?”
“That’s right, DeWitt,” Torrance assured him. “The money is just going to be rolling in. Why, it’ll come so fast you won’t be able to count it.”
“Oh, Lord!” Planter happily exclaimed.
“Now, let’s get down to some more business,” Torrance said. “We’re going to have to pull in someone else to help us out, but he’s not to know of the gold.”
Planter continued to grin. “I know who—Ned Wheatfall, right?”
“Right!” Torrance answered. “He has plenty of experience out west, and I know he’s growing restless down there in Georgia since his return after that unpleasantness with the farmers in Missouri.”
“I reckon some folks just don’t believe in keeping slaves,” Planter remarked.
“That’s something that’s going to come to a head real quick with those damned Yankees,” Torrance said. “But that’s another problem. Right now, I want to get ahold of Ned as quickly as possible.”
“He knows the Buffalo Steppes, Senator,” Planter said. “He used to deal with French trappers outta Canada up there.”
“I remember that as well,” Torrance said. “I think our old friend Ned has just the talents we’re looking for when it comes to stirring up Indians. I’ll have Harvey telegraph him right away.”
“Do you need anything else from me today, Senator?” Planter asked. “All of a sudden, I’m powerful tired. I got to tell you that I been agitated as hell from holding this news inside. What I really got a hankering for is a room and to get some sleep for a while.”
“There’s a boardinghouse over on North Capitol Street,” Torrance said. “It’s run by a lady named Mrs. Murphy.”
Planter frowned. “North Capitol Street? That ain’t a good part o’ town, Senator!”
“We can’t have you staying on here at the Willard or the National,” Torrance said. “We got to keep you outta sight. Don’t worry. I know the landlady real well. Just tell her that I sent you over, and everything will be fine. Another thing, DeWitt, I don’t want you coming back here ’til I send Harvey over to fetch you, understand?”
“I sure do, Senator,” Planter said. He stood up, saying, “I’m going now. I’ll wait for you to send for me.”
The men shook hands, and Torrance again complimented the surveyor on his wise handling of the gold he’d learned about on Kiwota land. Planter left the office and hailed a hansom cab. The driver wouldn’t take him all the way to his destination for fear of being robbed. When Planter stepped out of the vehicle, he walked as fast as he could down North Capitol Street in the rough neighborhood until he reached the boardinghouse.
At first the landlady was suspicious of him. Most of her clientele were not the sort who wore decent clothes and carried a fine leather suitcase. But when he mentioned Senator Torrance’s name, Mrs. Murphy beamed.
“Why, sure then and it’s welcome y’are, sir!” she said, holding the door open for him. “And I’ll be giving ye the best room in the rear o’ the house. The fights on the street won’t bother ye near as much back there.”
“Thank you kindly, I’m sure,” Planter said.
The surveyor found the room small, dingy, and with dirty windows. But, out of respect for the senator, he settled in as best he could. He spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening lying on the lumpy bed, biding his time. In spite of his fatigue, he could only sleep in short, fitful naps.
Mrs. Murphy called him down for a supper of stew and corn bread. The rest of the boarders looked at him with sullen suspicion, then went back to slurping up their food. Planter finished as quickly as he could and retreated back to his room.
The evening passed, and darkness descended on the city. Noise increased on the streets as drunken shouts and other disturbances ranged up and down the avenue. With no lantern in his room, Planter sat in the gloom feeling miserable until he drifted off to a restless sleep.
The knock on the door startled him to wakefulness. He looked around and noted where he was. It was quieter now, so Planter knew the hour was late. Once more someone pounded on the door.
“Who is it?” Planter asked.
“The senator sent me,” a voice said.
Planter leaped out of bed and happily rushed over to answer the summons. He opened the flimsy portal and could see the shadowy figures of two men in the hall.
One moved quickly forward with a swing of his hand. Planter didn’t realize the icy sensation he felt in his belly was a knife thrust, but by the time the second man sliced him across the throat, he knew it was an attack.
The assailants stabbed and cut numerous times until the surveyor was dead on the floor, his blood flowing slowly across the room to drip down through a crack in the boards.
“That’s that, then,” one of the men said in a husky voice. “An easy fifty dollars, Tim.”
“I wonder what this was all about,” the second man remarked.
“Sure now and I don’t know any more than the skinny runt paid me the money and told me where this bucko was,” the first said. “All we had to say was that the senator sent us and he’d open the door.”
Then, thinking of all the whiskey they could buy along with bedding a decent-looking whore, the two killers eased the door shut and snuck through the house back to North Capitol Street.