The Conquest Part 11

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SACRIFICE--RACE LOYALTY

Getting back to the affair of the Scotch girl, I hated to give up her kindness and friendship. I would have given half my life to have had her possess just a least bit of negro blood in her veins, but since she did not and could not help it any more than I could help being a negro, I tried to forget it, straightened out my business and took a trip east, bent on finding a wife among my own.

As the early morning train carried me down the road from Megory, I hoped with all the hope of early manhood, I would find a sensible girl and not like many I knew in Chicago, who talked nothing but clothes, jewelry, and a good time. I had no doubt there were many good colored girls in the east, who, if they understood my life, ambition and morality, would make a good wife and a.s.sist me in building a little empire on the Dakota plains, not only as a profit to ourselves, but a credit to the negro race as well. I wanted to succeed, but hold the respect and good will of the community, and there are few communities that will sanction a marriage with a white girl, hence, the sacrifice.

I spent about six weeks visiting in Chicago and New York, finally returning west to southern Illinois to visit a family in C--dale, near M--boro, who were the most prosperous colored people in the town. They owned a farm near town, nine houses and lots in the city, and were practical people who understood business and what it took to succeed.

They had a daughter whom I had known as a child back in the home town M--plis, where she had cousins that she used to visit. She had by this time grown into a woman of five and twenty. Her name was Daisy Hinshaw.

Now Miss Hinshaw was not very good-looking but had spent years in school and in many ways was unlike the average colored girl. She was attentive and did not have her mind full of cheap, showy ideals. I had written to her at times from South Dakota and she had answered with many inviting letters. Therefore, when I wrote her from New York that I intended paying her a visit, she answered in a very inviting letter, but boldly told me not to forget to bring her a nice present, that she would like a large purse. I did not like such boldness. I should have preferred a little more modesty, but I found the purse, however, a large seal one in a Fifth Avenue shop, for six dollars, which Miss Hinshaw displayed with much show when I came to town.

The town had a colored population of about one thousand and the many girls who led in the local society looked enviously upon Miss Hinshaw's catch--and the large seal purse--and I became the "Man of the Hour" in C--dale.

The only marriageable man in the town who did not gamble, get drunk and carouse in a way that made him ineligible to decent society, was the professor of the colored school. He was a college graduate and received sixty dollars a month. He had been spoiled by too much attention, however, and was not an agreeable person.

Miss Hinshaw was dignified and desired to marry, and to marry somebody that amounted to something, but she was so bold and selfish. She took a delight in the reports, that were going the rounds, that we were engaged, and I was going to have her come to South Dakota and file on a Tipp County homestead relinquishment that I would buy, and we would then get married.

The only objector to this plan was myself. I had not fallen in love with Miss Hinshaw and did not feel that I could. Daisy was a nice girl, however, a little odd in appearance, having a light brown complexion, without color or blood visible in the cheeks; was small and bony; padded with so many clothes that no idea of form could be drawn. I guessed her weight at about ninety pounds. She had very good hair but grey eyes, that gave her a cattish appearance.

She had me walking with her alone and permitted no one to interfere. She would not introduce me to other girls while out, keeping me right by her side and taking me home and into her parlor, with her and her alone, as company.

One day I went up town and while there took a notion to go to the little mining town, to see the relatives who had got me the job there seven years before. But it was ten miles, with no train before the following morning. Just then the colored caller called out a train to M--boro and St. Louis, and all of a sudden it occurred to me that I had almost forgotten Miss Rooks. Why not go to M--boro? I had not expected to pay her a visit but suddenly decided that I would just run over quietly and come back on the train to C--dale at five o'clock that afternoon. I jumped aboard and as M--boro was only eight miles, I was soon in the town, and inquiring where she lived.

I found their house presently--they were always moving--and just a trifle nervously rang the bell. The door was opened in a few minutes and before me stood Jessie. She had changed quite a bit in the three years and now with long skirts and the eyes looked so tired and dream-like.

She was quite fascinating, this I took in at a glance. She stammered out, "Oh! Oscar Devereaux", extending her hand timidly and looking into my eyes as though afraid. She looked so lonely, and I had thought a great deal of her a few years ago--and perhaps it was not all dead--and the next moment she was in my arms and I was kissing her.

I did not go back to C--dale on the five nor on the eight o'clock--and I did not want to on the last train that night. I was having the most carefree time of my life. They were hours of sweetest bliss. With Jessie snugly held in the angle of my left arm, we poured out the pent-up feelings of the past years. I had a proposition to make, and had reasons to feel it would be accepted.

The family had a hard time making ends meet. Her father had lost the mail carrier's job and had run a restaurant later and then a saloon.

Failing in both he had gone to another town, starting another restaurant and had there been a.s.saulted by a former admirer of Jessie's, who had struck him with a heavy stick, fracturing the skull and injuring him so that for weeks he had not been able to remember anything. Although he was then convalescing, he was unable to earn anything. Her mother had always been helpless, and the support fell on her and a younger brother, who acted as special delivery letter carrier and received twenty dollars a month, while Jessie taught a country school a mile from town, receiving twenty-five dollars per month. This she turned over to the support of the household, and made what she earned sewing after school hours, supply her own needs. It was a long and pitiful tale she related as we walked together along a dark street, with her clinging to my arm and speaking at times in a half sob. My heart went out to her, and I wanted to help and said: "Why did you not write to me, didn't you know that I would have done something?"

"Well," she answered slowly, "I started to several times, but was so afraid that you would not understand." She seemed so weak and forlorn in her distress. She had never been that way when I knew her before, and I felt sure she had suffered, and I was a brute, not to have realized it.

Twelve o'clock found me as reluctant to go as five o'clock had, but as we kissed lingeringly at the door, I promised when I left C--dale two evenings later I would stop off at M--boro and we would discuss the matter pro and con. This was Sat.u.r.day night.

The next morning I called to see Daisy. I was unusually cheerful, and taking her face in my hands, blew a kiss. She looked up at me with her grey eyes alert and with an air of suspicion, said: "You've been kissing somebody else since you left here." Then leading me into the parlor in her commanding way, ordered me to sit down and to wait there until she returned. She had just completed cleaning and dusting the parlor and it was in perfect order. She seemed to me to be more forward than ever that morning, and I felt a suspicion that I was going to get a curtain lecture. However, I escaped the lecture but got stunned instead.

Daisy returned in about an hour, dressed in a rustling black silk dress, with powdered face and her hair done up elegantly and without ceremony or hesitation planted herself on the settee and requested, or rather ordered me to take a seat beside her. She opened the conversation by inquiring of South Dakota, and took my hand and pretended to pare my finger nails. I answered in nonchalant tones but after a little she turned her head a little slantingly, looked down, began just the least hesitant, but firmly: "Now what arrangements do you wish me to make in regard to my coming to South Dakota next fall?"

For the love of Jesus, I said to myself, if she hasn't proposed. Now one advantage of a dark skin is that one does not show his inner feeling as noticeably as those of the lighter shade, and I do not know whether Miss Hinshaw noticed the look of embarra.s.sment that overspread my countenance. I finally found words to break the deadly suspense following her bold action.

"Oh!" I stammered more than spoke, "I would really rather not make any arrangements, Daisy."

"Well," she said, not in the least taken back, "a person likes to know just how they stand."

"Yes, of course," I added hastily. "You see," I was just starting in on a lengthy discourse trying to avoid the issue, when the door bell rang and a relative of mine by the name of Menloe Robinson, who had attended the university the same time Miss Hinshaw had, but had been expelled for gambling and other bad habits, came in. He was a bore most of the time with so much of his college talk, but I could have hugged him then, I felt so relieved, but Miss Hinshaw put in before he got started to talking, wickedly, that of course if I did not want her she could not force it.

The next day at noon I left for St. Louis but did not mention that I was scheduled to stop off at M--boro. Miss Hinshaw had grown sad in appearance and looked so lonely I felt sorry for her and kissed her good-bye at the station, which seemed to cheer her a little. She was married to a cla.s.smate about a year later and I have not seen her since.

Jessie was glad to see me when I called that evening in M--boro, and we went walking again and had another long talk. When we got back, I sang the old story to which she answered with, "Do you really want me?"

"Sure, Jessie, why not." I looked into her eyes that seemed just about to shed tears but she closed them and snuggled up closely, and whispered, "I just wanted to hear you say you wanted me."

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BREEDS

Here the story may have ended, that is, had I taken her to the minister, but as everybody had gone land crazy in Dakota and I had determined to own more land myself, I told her how I could buy a relinquishment and she could file on it and then we would marry at once. Now when a young man and a girl are in love and feel each other to be the world and all that's in it, it is quite easy to plan, and Miss Rooks and I were no exception. Had we been in South Dakota instead of Southern Illinois, and had it been the month of October instead of January, nine months before, we would have carried out our plans, but since it was January we mutually agreed to wait until the nine months had elapsed, but something happened during that time which will be told in due time.

I enjoyed feeling that I was at last engaged. It was positively delightful, and when I left the next morning to visit my parents in Kansas, I was a very happy person. While visiting there, shooting jack-rabbits by day and boosting Dakota to the Jayhawkers half the night, I'd write to Miss Rooks sometime during each twenty-four hours, and for a time received a letter as often. Two sisters were to be graduated from the high school the following June, and wanted to come to Dakota in the fall and take up claims, but had no money to purchase relinquishments. I agreed to mortgage my land and loan the money, but when all was arranged it was found one of them would not be old enough in time, so my grandmother, who had always possessed a roving spirit, wanted to come and so it was settled.

When I got back to Dakota and jumped into my spring work it was with unusual vigor and contemplation, and all went well for a while. Soon, however, I failed to hear from Jessie and began to feel a bit uneasy.

When three weeks had pa.s.sed and still no letter, I wrote again asking why she did not answer my letters. In due time I heard from her stating that she had been afraid I didn't love her and that she had been told I was engaged to Daisy, and as Daisy would be the heir to the money and property of her parents she felt sure my marriage to Miss Hinshaw would be more agreeable to me than would a marriage with her, who had only a kind heart and willing mind to offer, so she had on the first day of April married one whom she felt was better suited to her impoverished condition.

Now, what she had done was, in her effort to break off the prolonged courtship of the little fellow referred to in the early part of this story (and who was still working for three dollars a week), she had commenced going with another--a cook forty-two years of age, and had thought herself desperately in love with him at the time. I had not even written to Miss Hinshaw and knew nothing whatever of any engagement. I was much downcast for a time, and like some others who have been jilted, I grew the least bit wicked in my thoughts, and felt she would not find life all sunshine and roses with her forty-two-year-old groom. Lots of excitement was on around Megory and Calias, and as I liked excitement, I soon forgot the matter.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Had put 280 acres under cultivation. (Page 153.)]

With the location of the land office in Megory and its subsequent removal from east of the Missouri, it was found there was only one building in the town, outside of the banks, that contained a vault, and a vault being necessary, it became expedient for the commercial club to provide an office that contained one. Two prosperous real-estate dealers, whose office contained a vault, readily turned over their building to the register and receiver until the land office building, then under construction, should be completed. A building twenty-five by sixty feet was built in the street just in front of the office, to be used as a temporary map room, and to be moved away as soon as the filing was over.

The holders of lucky numbers had been requested to appear at a given hour on a certain day to offer filings on Tipp county claims. By the time the filing had commenced, the hotels of both towns were filled, and tents covered all the vacant lots, while one hundred and fifty or more autos, to be hired at twenty-five dollars per day, did a rushing business. The settlers seemed to be possessed of abundant capital, and deposits in the local banks increased out of all proportion to those of previous times.

Besides the holders of numbers, hundreds of other settlers, who had purchased land in Megory county, were moving in at the same time, bringing stock, machinery, household goods and plenty of money. Those were bountiful days for the locators and land sharks.

When Megory county opened for settlement a few years previous, it was found that the Indians had taken practically all their allotments along the streams, where wood and water were to be had. The most of these allotments were on the Monca bottom below Old Calias. In fact, they had taken the entire valley that far up. The timber along the creek was very small, being stunted from many fires, and consisted mostly of cottonwood, elm, box-elder, oak and ash. All but the oak and ash being easily susceptible to dry rot, were unfit for posts or anything except for shade and firewood. This made the valley lands cheaper than the uplands.

The Indians were always selling and are yet, what is furnished them by the government, for all they can get. When given the money spends it as quickly as he possibly can, buying fine horses, buggies, whiskey, and what-not. Their only idea being that it is to spend. The Sioux Indians, in my opinion, are the wealthiest tribe. They owned at one time the larger part of southern South Dakota and northern Nebraska, and own a lot of it yet. Be it said, however, it is simply because the government will not allow them to sell.

The breeds near Old Calias were easily flattered, and when the white people invited them to anything they always came dressed in great regalia, but after the settlers came there was not much inter-marrying, such as there had been before. A family of mixed-bloods by the name of Cutschall, owned all the land just south of Old Calias, in fact the site where Calias had stood, was formerly the allotment of a deceased son. The father, known as old Tom Cutschall, was for years a landmark on the creek.

Now and then Nicholson Brothers had invited the Cutschalls to some of their social doings, which made the Cutschalls feel exalted, and higher still, when Ernest suggested he could get them a patent for their land and then would buy it. This suited Cutschalls dandy. Ernest offered seven thousand dollars for the section, and they accepted. At that time, by recommending the Indian to be a competent citizen and able to care for himself, a patent would be granted on proper recommendation, and Nicholson Brothers attended to that and got Mrs. Cutschall the patent.

Tom, her husband, being a white man, could not be allotted, and she had been given the section as the head of the family. It is said they spent the seven thousand dollars in one year. The company of which the father of the Nicholson Brothers was president made a loan of eight thousand dollars on the land, and shortly afterward they sold it for twenty-three thousand dollars. The lots had brought more than one hundred thousand dollars in Calias and were still selling, so this placed the "Windy Nicholsons," as they had been called by jealous Megoryites, in a position of much importance, and they were by this time recognized as men of no small ability.

Years before Megory county was opened to settlement, many white men had drifted onto the reservation and had engaged in ranching, and had in the meantime married squaws. This appears to have been done more by the French than any other nationality, judging by the many French names among the mixed-bloods. Among these were a family by the name of Amoureaux, consisting of four boys and several girls. The girls had all married white men, and the little while Old Calias was in existence, two of the boys, William and George, used to go there often and were entertained by the Nicholson Brothers with as much splendor as Calias could afford. The Amoureaux were high moguls in Little Crow society during the first two years and everybody took off their hats to them.

They were called the "rich mixed-bloods," and were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in Tipp county. When they shipped it was by the trainloads. The Amoureaux and the Colones, another family of wealthy breeds, were married to white women, and the husbands, as heads of families, held a section of land and the children each held one hundred and sixty acres.

Before the Nicholson Brothers had left Old Calias and before they had reached the position they now occupied, as I stated, they had shown the Amoureaux a "good time." They did not have much Indian blood in their veins, being what are called quarter-breeds, having a French father and a half-blood Indian mother, and were all fine looking. George had seven children and the family altogether had eleven quarter sections of land and two thousand head of cattle, so there was no reason why he should not have been the "big chief," but so much society and paid-for notoriety had brought about a change to him and his brother. William, who had always been a money-maker and a still bigger spender, with the fine looks thrown in, had shown like a skyrocket before bursting.

A rich Indian is something worth a.s.sociating with, but a poor one is of small note. The Amoureaux spent so freely that in a few years they were all in, down and out--had nothing but their allotments left, and these the government would not give patents to, the Colones had done likewise, and together they had all moved into Tipp county.

Now there was another Amoureaux, the oldest one of the boys, who like the others had "blowed his roll," but happened to have an allotment in the very picturesque valley of the Dog Ear, in Tipp county, near the center of the county, and when a bunch of promoters decided to lay out a town they made a deal with Oliver, taking him into the company, he furnishing the land and they the brains. They laid out the site and began the town, naming it "Amoureaux" in honor of the breed, which made Oliver feel very big, indeed.