Chapter Thirty-Eight
One interesting week of continuous train travel later, the shanghied Marshal found himself standing in the middle of a mansion on Pennsylvania Avenue--in the very heart of Washington, D.C..
Agents West and Gordon had accompanied him into the large, elegantly furnished waiting room. The three of them had become close friends. (When you're forced to spend a lot of time with someone in cramped quarters, either you become close friends--or you kill one another! Amazingly, the Marshal had even managed to befriend Special Agent Croxley!)
"Do you suppose that punchin' out the President is a 'Capital' offense?" the cooped-up peace officer--who'd been passing the time by pacing--paused to ponder.
His companions did not deign to answer, but merely smiled at his pun.
At long last, the door flew open, and Misters Foster and Kingsley preceded the President of the United States into the room.
Agents West and Gordon rose to their feet--out of respect.
"When I tol' you Abilene would be my last assignment--I MEANT IT!" the Marshal screamed in the opened door's direction.
All four of the Secret Service men in the room were aghast at this sudden outburst. In lieu of the lawman's recent inquiry, James and Arty looked especially concerned... until they realized that the Marshal's angry tirade was aimed at the person standing--er, hiding directly behind their boss--Congressman David Samuel Fisher...from Texas.
"Just hear us out, James," the cowering Congressman pleaded, "This is too important for you to just pass on!"
The Marshal wanted desperately to deck David Samuel Fisher. And he would have, too! If he didn't have to go through Foster and Kingsley to do it.
"The...situation in the Cimarron Strip is becoming explosive! There's a war brewing between the ranchers and the farmers over who gets the Cherokee Outlet when it finally opens!"
Crown, who had turned his back on both of the politicians, just stood there--silently fuming--clenching and unclenching his jaw and fists.
"Mister Crown," President Cleveland suddenly spoke up, "I 'called' you to Washington because the Congressman, here, is convinced that you would be able to defuse the...situation that is rapidly developing down there. He also tells me that you are an ex-cowboy. That being the case, I have my doubts as to whether you could truly be impartial in this assignment. Who would you like to see get the land? The farmers...or the ranchers?"
"NEITHER!" the livid lawman shouted, "The land already belongs ta the Seven Tribes! Hence the name--INDIAN TERRITORY!" he sarcastically summed up. Then he spun around to face his questioner--er, kidnapper, "I haven't been in the Outlet in quite a while! But the las' time I did pass through there, the rivers were still flowin' an' the grass was still growin'! An' it mus' still be so, or both the farmers an' the ranchers would be lettin' it remain in the hands of its rightful owners! You wanna stop a war?! Then don' open that Outlet ta ANYBODY!"
"And what do you suggest we do about all those farmers and ranchers?" Mister Cleveland curiously inquired.
"Tell 'em ta go someplace else! There's plenty a' other stolen property in the Strip for them ta plant themselves down on! The Seven Tribes cain't jes' up an' leave! There's no place left for THEM ta go! We've broken every treaty! Their backs are to the wall! The Outlet is ALL they got left!"
There followed a long, solemn silence.
Which the country's Commander-in-Chief chose to break first. "It's too late..." he said in a sad, hollow voice, whose volume was barely above that of a whisper, "...I can't stop it. Congress--and it's greedy constituents--have already secured passage of the Land Bill. And David has just informed me that they now have enough votes--in both Houses--to override my veto. It is--as they say--a 'done' dea-eal..."
'A 'raw' dea-eal!' Crown thought bitterly and shot the Congressman an accusing glare.
"Don' look at me-e!" David defensively declared, "I voted against it!"
The Marshal turned his back on the two politicians again and resumed his silent raging.
"You were right, David," Mister Cleveland conceded, "The Marshal, here, is the perfect man for this assignment! Here are the latest intelligence reports on the activities in the Strip. After you've had a chance to read them, perhaps we could--"
"I'm NOT gonna be readin' any reports!" the still livid lawman answered--by way of interruption, "An' I'm NOT gonna be takin' any more assignments! That's ri-ight," he shouted, anticipatin' the Congressman's question, "I RESIGNED!"
"You don't really mean that, Ja-ames," David Samuel Fisher said, albeit a bit uncertainly, "You're jes' tired..."
"Tired? Ti-ired?! You bet I'm TI-IRED!" the ti-ired, reti-ired Marshal angrily agreed and turned in Dave's direction, "I'm tired a' my nerves always bein' on edge--and a' always havin' ta watch my back! I'm tired a' gettin busted up bustin' up bra-awls! I'm tired a' pickin' up after a bunch a pukin' drunks! I'm tired a' liquored-up cowboys usin' me an' my badge for target practice! I'm tired a' orderin' people around all day! But, mos'ly, I'm sick an' tired a' bein SHOT AT! Do you realize how much lead I've had dug out a' me in the las' five years?! I'm tired all right--an' I'm gettin' out! Before I die a' lead poisonin'! I jes' wanna leave here an' settle down somewheres where I won't have ta keep lookin' back over my shoulder all the time!" Crown felt he was entitled to a little of that peace he'd been keepin' for half a decade. And there was no way in the world that Dave--or anybody--was gonna get him to put his badge back on! And he shot his old friend--and his ex-boss--looks which said as much.
"All right..." the Congressman calmly said, "But before you go, jes' let me show you ONE thing in these reports..."
Dave Fisher's surprisingly calm acceptance of his resignation caught Jim Crown off guard and he found himself staring down at the politician's proffered report--a report he'd swore he would NOT read! He scanned over the page to the place Congressman Fisher's finger was pointing at. And--under the sub-heading: 'Leaders of the Insurrection'--his dark green eyes found--and then focused upon--a very familiar name--Sylvester L. Bearsten. He stared disbelievingly down at said name for a few moments and then redirected his vision towards Dave, "There's no 'mistake'?!" he cautiously inquired.
"There's no 'mistake'..." Dave assured him.
And--jes' like that--someone the lawman had thought was dead--for seven years-- was, suddenly, RESURRECTED! "Bear is...ali-ive?" the Marshal muttered to himself, his voice a mixture of amazement and uncertainty.
"An' well," Dave added, "an' hazin' trains full a' settlers in the Indian Territory! Bearsten--an' his boys--have been ruffling folk's feathers for the past few weeks now..." Dave droned on and on about the extreme degree of damage which had been inflicted upon the poor dirt farmers.
But Jim was only half-listening. The other half of his mind was bein' flooded with memories--most of them bad. But some of them were good...like the ones he had of him an' his ol' buddy, Bear. He an' Bear had worked together once, scouting for the Army. Major Daniel Lee Fisher--in charge of the 5th Cavalry, stationed out of Fort McKinley--had ordered them to lead a routine supply mission. They had accomplished their mission and were headin' back through Wyoming Territory when the patrol they were scouting for was ambushed by a group of renegade Cheyenne warriors. They heard the shooting and rode back to find that the entire platoon had been wiped out. He an' Bear were the sole survivors of an all out massacre! The renegades spotted them and they split up. Jim was captured--an' nearly killed! Bear got away. But he came back for him! A' course--when Bear saw the half a dozen arrows stickin' out a' his hide an' that he was about ta be 'burned at the stake'--Jim guessed his ol' buddy must a' given 'im up for dead, 'cuz Bear lit off out a' that Cheyenne camp like his britches was on fire! Then he went tearin' up a canyon with ten rifle totin' Injuns right on his tail! There was a great deal of gunfire, and Jim jes' naturally figured his ol' buddy was a goner, 'cuz it was a box canyon Bear had disappeared into�an' there was no other way out. Bear had lost his life comin' back ta save him--at least, that's what Jim had always thought--up 'til no-ow! Bear had risked his life, but not lost it! Either way, his ol' buddy had come back for him. And Jim reckoned he owed him--big time--for THAT! "Save yore breath!" Jim interrupted Dave, right in mid-drone, "There's nothin' that you could ever 'say' that would get me ta go down there an' arrest Bear!"
"We're not askin' you ta arrest 'im," the Congressman clarified, "We're askin' you ta try an' reason with him. If you kin talk him out a' hazin' trains an' harassin' farmers, the Government will dismiss all 'charges' against them!"
The ex-lawman looked to the leader of the Government for varification of that particular statement.
"It's true," Mister Cleveland confessed, "If you can convince them to stop their...insurrection...and if Mr. Miller pays for all the damages...I will see to it that they are all issued full Presidential pardons!"
"Mister Payne has petitioned the Congress," the Congressman continued, "He's demanding that the Government provide its citizens with some protection. If you don't go, the Army will have ta be called in. Even if he doesn't stop an Army bullet, the Army will see to it that Bearsten is stopped. Then he--an' what's left of his boys'--will be settin' in some Federal Prison for a long, lo-ong time..."
"Bear ain' exactly what you'd call a reasonable man..." the ex-Marshal gloomily announced.
"Well, if he would listen ta anybody," Dave determined, "it'd be YOU! At least with YOU he'd stand a chance..."
Bear did come back for him...and the ex-Marshal did owe him. Sti-ill, stoppin' a 'war' was a pretty tall order...even for him.
"There are six sheriffs in the Strip," Dave declared as though he were reading the ex-Marshal's mind, "And they all have deputies..."
"And I will personally see to it," the Commander-in-Chief of the Army said, "that you have every soldier in Fort Cimarron at your disposal..."
"Assumin' I lived," the ex-lawman said, following several more minutes of thoughtful silence, "How long would this little 'assignment' last?"
"Just until the Outlet opens," the President promptly promised.
"Which is...?!" Crown cautiously inquired.
"Congress hasn't even decided yet, who gets the land," the Country's Chief Executive complained, "let alone when they'll get it!"
"We'll be votin' on the who, shortly," the Congressman announced.
"How shortly?" the recruited 'war' stopper wanted--NEEDED to know.
"Very shortly!" Dave vowed, "A couple a' weeks," he further replied--er, half-lied, "A month at the most!"
"And the-en we'll find out whe-en!" Mister Cleveland logically, but erroneously, concluded.
"How 'bout it?" Dave said, seeing that Jim Crown was on the verge of capitulating, "We'll write it right across the top a' yore resignation: 'EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY UPON THE OPENIN' OF THE CHEROKEE OUTLET'..."
Jim Crown's response--following several more minutes of thoughtful silence--was ta shoot Dave Fisher an angry glare an' then snatch the rather thick stack of reports from him.
The Congressman and Mr. Cleveland shot each other victorious glances, but did not dare to gloat over the Marshal's change of mind--er, heart.
"Those reports can wait! You'll have plenty of time to read them on the train," his host decided. "Tonight, I'm going to treat you to some Presidential hospitality! Mr. Foster, inform Shefield that the Marshal, here, is to be our Guest-of-Honor at dinner this evening! And the-en, we're going to have a Ba-all!" the big man gleefully boomed. (The Head of State was HU-UGE! Why, Mister Cleveland made his bodyguards look small--by comparison!) The President proffered his palm to the peace officer.
Crown reluctantly accepted it. And there followed the heartiest handshake the Marshal had ever experienced!
"See you at dinner!" his robust--and apparently very busy--host said as he was escorted from the room.
His old friend, Dave Fisher, wisely disappeared along with the President--and his protection.
"Bearsten did come back for you..." James West conceded as he and Arty came stepping up to their extremely glum--unresigned--chum. "We read your report," the agent added upon seeing the lawman's look of utter astonishment.
"You were ou-our last 'assignment', remember?" Arty added as that look turned to one of confusion, "We've read everything that's ever been written by or about you."
"And Congressman Fisher kindly offered to fill in all the blanks," Agent West finished explaining, but needn't have bothered.
James Crown had already figured that out way back in Abilene.
"Wish we could help you out," Arty solemnly said, "But James and I have a little 'insurrection' of our own to deal with. We leave tomorrow for the Yukatan Province of Mexico."
"The United States deals with other countries insurrections?" the amazed Marshal asked.
"All the time," James West wearily responded, "I guess the State Department figures what's bad for our neighbors is bad for us."
"But you didn't hear that from us," Arty quickly admonished with a glint of mischief in his weary eyes.
"You can ride with us," Agent West offered, "Our train passes right through Cimarron. We'll drop you off on our way."
"Thanks...but I believe the best way ta stop a bunch a' cowboys from hazin' a train full a' farmers would be for me ta be on that train," Jim told them.
"Then ride with us as far as Missouri," Arty suggested, "You can always catch a South bound out of St. Louie'..."
The two agents grinned as their invited guest acknowledged the travel arrangements with a grateful nod and smile.
And so James Rolland Crown dined...and drank...and danced...and dreamed that night in the White House. (The condemned are customarily granted a las' meal.)
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The recruited 'war' stopper arrived, safe and sound, in Cimarron six days later. And, immediately upon his arrival, anything that could go wrong did go wrong! At first, Bear was drunk--and unreasonable. Then, the 'leader of the insurrection' was hungover--and unreasonable. As long as the 'sod busters' stayed on their side of the Cimarron, there would be no 'blood-bath'. However, Bear--and his boys--vowed to kill every farmer foolish enough to set foot in the river.
Speakin' a' which...
Mr. Payne--and his fellow foolish farmers--refused to wait around for Congress' permission to enter the Outlet.
All six of his sheriffs--and their deputies--resigned!
As for the Army, Major Covington completely disregarded the 'Presidential Directive'. He--and every single one of his soldiers remained in Fort Cimarron.
Yes-sir! Things went very wro-ong indeed! And--through it all--that crazy Scotsman with the 'still' and that cocky kid with the 'camera' had backed him!
And Francis had kept right on backing him--from that morning at the river, when he faced forty cowboys armed with rifles--to that morning in his Office, when Francis faced Mareck and his men for him...for Dulcey.
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The hunched over lawman's ribs were killing him--and his light-headedness had long since passed--so he s-l-o-w-l-y, and painfully, straightened back up in his seat. Jim Crown did not, however, release the tight hold that he had on his young friend's hand. He figured it was his turn no-ow--to back Francis.