one. Then you get it together in one piece and give it to the government.”
It reminded him, this getting money for something somebody’s got, of what he had learned from the Hot Creeks. They got money from ‘rent.’ Fairchild gave it to them, for doing nothing. For letting him run his cattle where the Hot Creeks had always lived. They used it for saddles and traps and stuff, or for other things from Yreka. Even for drinking, if they wanted.
“Ask them, if we bring some rent and some taxes to the government, can we get to be on those land lists and get our land from the government.”
“They say that’s funny: Miller was just in here doing business a bit ago. About some more land he wants. He asked Steele and Rosborough the same thing for us.”
“And what did they tell him?
“They said they didn’t think so, but maybe,” Scarfaced said.
“How come not?” he insisted.
“They say because we’re Indians. We’d have to stop having a tribe, pay these taxes, and fix up the land.”
“Then tell Tyee Steele he can write papers for us, like he does to give me this pass.” Keintpoos held the paper on which Steele had written the words in front of him. “He can write to the Big Tyee in Washington about how we can be ‘settlers.’ The Big Tyee can have our money for our land, these taxes. Then we can do the same as the ‘squatters.’” He listened to be sure Scarfaced used that word. “Tell these men they’ve been my friends now for a long time; tell them this writing is how they can help me.”
He watched the men sigh. Rosborough got up and went over to pour himself some water. Steele squinted at them and shook his head; then he blew his breath out between his lips and said something.
“He said he doesn’t guess so, but maybe it would work. Said he’ll think about trying it.”
#55
“I don’t know what he’s up to. Danged if I can tell. He sends Bogus Charley -- my Indian, mind you, one of my Hot Creeks -- with this letter. And the stupid Indian stands there like he expects me to do something!”
John Fairchild sank down in the chair facing Elijah Steele. He leaned forward and moved a stack of official-looking papers off the corner of the desk, then stretched out his long legs and lifted his feet there. Hunkered down in the seat, his hand cradling his chin, he was the picture of sullen dejection. Elijah let the rancher sit, knowing more was coming.
“I’m supposed to call off the soldiers? That’s what Bogus thinks! But then I’m also supposed to help sic the soldiers on the Modocs? That’s what Ivan thinks! His letter says he would appreciate … ! Appreciate me telling the army to come collect my Hot Creeks and return them to the reservation. And all the while I’m reading it, the dumb Indian stands there holding his hat, interrupting me to say how Ivan’s the Indian’s friend. How Ivan’s this and that.”
“And that surprises you, I guess.”
“Well, yes. It does, as a matter of fact!”
“Maybe you just don’t like getting caught in the middle.”
“It isn’t just me who’s caught,” Fairchild insisted. “You can count yourself in on it. Bogus -- and all the other Modocs, too, no doubt -- think you and Rosborough and Dorris could get it fixed for them to stay at their old homes. They’re as bad as Ivan, but in a different direction. They think we could make it all right by explaining things to the army for them, too.”
“Did you see them since they got back?” Fairchild asked. “They look like hell.” He got up from his chair and crossed to window. “Come have a look.”
The two men stood peering down into the packed dirt of Miner street, dry now, in winter a river of mud. Flat-front buildings lined the roadway, every other one a saloon. There was the dry goods shop, the butcher’s, the hardware, the feed store. Opposite the Bella Union Hotel, a barber pole of sorts, really nothing but a barked log, painted and set nearly upright, staked Yreka’s claim to sartorial leadership for Siskiyou County, California. It announced the shaving saloon and bathhouse. All the things one could need for mining or hunting or setting up housekeeping of a rudimentary type were here on the main street. Tall flagpoles kept watch, some from the second stories of buildings, three -- the tallest ones -- planted firmly in the roadbed itself, ready to receive the holiday banners when the time came and they were needed.
“See there?” Fairchild said.
Across the street, out from under the tin overhang that protected the boardwalk, stood a couple of ragged Indians. Another one, a youngish woman, sat on the edge of the walkway, her feet in the street, her hand extended fawningly whenever someone came toward her. Her baby, evidently asleep, was strapped onto its cradle-board, the whole rig tilted to lean against her and aimed so any passerby would have to step carefully to get past it.
“They look worse now, don’t you think? Or is it just that I forgot what they looked like while they were gone?”
Worse, Steele thought. Skinny. Dirty. Clothes more patches than anything else. “I guess their little sojourn cost them. I thought that when I saw Jack yesterday.”
“Yesterday? Here? For what?”
“The usual thing. Same as before. Safe passage. He wanted the slip of paper so he could head home and move around the country some. Said they were going out to do some gathering. ‘I, Elijah Steele, Esquire, of Yreka, know this man to be a good Indian. He means no harm to white people. He is going back to his home near Lost River when he is finished.’ Etcetera. Tough for them when they can’t speak English if some one stops them.”
“I’m not sure what good the passes will do if the settlers he shows them to can’t read either.”
“He said he was worried about the new people who came in since he left. The ones who wouldn’t know him,” said Steele. “So what are you going to tell Ivan?”
The rancher sank back down in his chair. “What you said: that I don’t want to be caught in the middle. I’d pitch in for a peaceful removal from my land, I guess, if I had to. But if Applegate has his way and gets the army down here to try to round them up, I’m done for. I hear some people have been telling the Indians that me and Dorris and others -- I suppose that means you and Rosborough -- have been telling the officers at the fort to come on and round them up. That’s a plain lie. But if the army does come, with the Modocs thinking that, the whole affair could wreck me. I’m right up against their range. Hell, I’m in the middle of it.”
“Yes. I guess you could wish you were some other place. You wouldn’t be the only one.” Steele thought of the scattering of ranches, the new farms being scratched out on both sides of the border. Many of the new arrivals showed up at his door wanting legal work done to get their claims squared away. He knew how fragile their arrangements with solvency generally were. With no resources to fall back on except themselves, an uprising would be the end of them, too. They wouldn’t be able to start again.
Fairchild hitched forward to hand over a folded paper. “I want Ivan to be the one to make it plain to the Indians that they’re subject to the military. I want him to do the
