Nothing Zeb could have done would have stopped the building of the railroad, nor even the changing of the route. All he could do was protest, and report to headquarters, and it was all too easy for some desk soldier, far from the place itself, to overrule him.
Mike King stood on the platform as the patrol rode up. “Not in your lifetime, you said.” Zeb Rawlings rested his palms on the saddle horn and looked down at King.
King grinned his tantalizing grin. “You can’t stop the march of progress, Lieutenant. Anybody should have known people would come west if the railroad gave them a chance. Hell, that was why we were building the road!” “You lied.” Zeb’s jaw had set hard. “You made a liar out of me. You said this could not happen in your lifetime.”
“Who expected to live so long? Get down, Lieutenant, and let’s have a drink.
It’s no skin off your nose.”
“I gave them my word.”
“You shame too easy, Rawlings. Did an Indian ever build a railroad? Those tracks are worth more than you, me, or all those Arapahoes put together, and they will be here when all of us are gone.
“The government gave us land along the right-of-way to sell to make the road pay; but to make it pay we need settlers—ranchers, farmers, businessmen. And there they are.
“See them? More than half came all the way from Europe, and they’ll have a rough time of it, but they’re tough and they will come through because they are willing to change their ways in order to survive and grow. The Arapahoes will have to change, too. If they don’t, they’re finished.” “That doesn’t get me off the hook.”
“Aw, forget it! So you gave them your word. They’re just naked savages, so who cares?”
“It may surprise you, King, but I care. Walks-His-Horses is a gentleman, and in his way, a statesman. He has lived up to his agreement. The railroad hasn’t lost a man or a horse since the day I talked to him.” Zeb Rawlings reined his horse around. “A few minutes ago, King, you were talking of these people who have come out from Europe and the East. Before the month is out some of them will die, and some of your men too. By now Walks-His-Horses knows they are coming, and we’ll have a full moon the first of the week. You’d better have your men armed for trouble.”
King’s expression hardened. “Don’t blame me for what happens! It’s your job to protect them.”
“You changed the route of the railroad and violated an agreement. You changed it on your own authority, without consulting anyone. In your crazy drive to get the road through, you changed the route through Arapahoe country and you had influence enough to get backing for your change, even though it was unnecessary. Furthermore”—Rawlings tone was filled with contempt—“you failed in your object.” He wheeled his horse and led the troop away, and Mike King stared after him, his eyes ugly with anger.
“Lieutenant!” King shouted, stepping down off the platform. Rawlings drew up. “Sergeant, take the troop on in. Get them fed and see to the horses. Get some sleep if you can, but be ready for trouble. I think all hell’s going to break loose.”
As Rawlings turned he loosened the flap on his holster. King saw the movement and grew wary. Rawlings walked his horse back to him, and King’s eyes lifted to meet Rawlings’ eyes. Mike King was nothing if not a wise man in his own way. He was wise now.
“Sorry, Lieutenant. I truly am sorry. Besides”—he held up a message—“this came for you. Came through my private wire. You’re promoted to major … as of two weeks ago.”
There was no softening in Rawlings. “You did that, King. You know and I know how hard promotions are to come by in peacetime. There’s no honorable way I could get that promotion now. I know there are some officers who use political influence, even to getting special acts of Congress to put through their promotion when it won’t come through the proper channels. I am not one of them. I am going to resign my commission.”
“Don’t be a fool!”
“You made a liar out of me, King. Oh, I know—a good deal of it was my own fault, but your road could have refused tickets to anybody for a stop between Omaha and Salt Lake. At least for a few months.
“So Walks-His-Horses will think the Army lied to him. The only honorable thing I can do is resign, take the blame on my own shoulders, and then whoever replaces me can negotiate with him. It will be Lieutenant Rawlings who lied to him, not the Army.”
“What do you care?”
“Unless the chief thinks it was my word that was broken and not the Army’s, there will be a lot of people killed. I made the promise, so the blame is mine. You assured me there would be no passenger service into this area, and I believed you.”
Mike King shrugged. “If you want to be foolish, go ahead. But take that uniform off and you’re nothing.
“Look,” King went on. “Take your promotion. Believe me, after this Indian outbreak you could even become a colonel. If you attract enough attention to yourself people are always ready to believe you have done something important, whether you have or not. One of the best friends I’ve got is a friend of General Sherman.”
“King, the Army in this country, except for a few individuals in it, has always stayed out of politics, and it should. Whenever an army is allowed to get into politics there is soon a dictatorship. We’re an instrument of the government—of Congress and the executive arm. I would accept no promotion that came to me through political channels.”
“You talk like a child. Be realistic!”
“I’ve noticed,” Zeb replied, “that whenever a man is asked to be realistic he is being asked to betray something in which he believes. It is the favorite argument of those who believe that only the end matters, not the means.” The railroad supply dump at Willow Springs served building crews to the west. The settlers had made headquarters there, a few tent stores floored with split logs had been set up, and there was the usual scattering of honky-tonks and gambling houses.
It was there that Mike King now kept his office car and living quarters. Attached to it was the cook car, and several cars for the various sections of the crew and the straw-bosses. On either side, a little back from the cars and the station platform, were long piles of ties. These formed an excellent breastwork. Several wagons, when not in use, were drawn up to fill open spaces in this breastwork.
Zeb Rawlings’ troop was camped just inside this wall of ties. Within the company area noon fires were burning and there was the low murmur of idle talk and the rattle of pans.
A quarter of a mile from the railroad were the low hills, broken in many places by gullies. Restlessly, Zeb Rawlings stirred around the troop area. His every instinct told him an attack could come at any time. Overhead the blue sky was innocent of clouds … a faint breeze stirred off the hills. Zeb glanced at the horses, but they were feeding quietly. In the noon stillness he heard the occasional ring of dish on dish, or a bit of laughter. If only Julie were not here! Why, in God’s name, had Jethro gone off without her? For a moment he debated rushing to her tent to bring her here, where the army was, but he had no idea what his reception would be. After that night when he had started out to call on her, planning to ask her to marry him, he had not talked with her. And weeks had gone by. He saw her occasionally, but he avoided her, and as he was usually on patrol that had not been difficult. Bitterly, he thought back to that evening after his talk with Jethro, when he had bathed, changed his uniform, and started for Julie’s tent. He had been as excited as a boy, half scared, but determined … and then he had met Mike King. “Going somewhere?” King had glanced over his dress uniform with a taunting grin. “Seems to me, Rawlings, that you’re all dressed up for nothing. I am calling on her tonight—and I’ve been invited.”
Something turned cold in the pit of Zeb’s stomach. “What’s that mean?”
“Why, if you’re callin’ on Julie, you’re too late. She’s promised to me.” For an instant they stared at each other, and then Zeb said, “Is that the truth?”
“Gospel.”
Suddenly he felt very silly in his dress blues. What must he look like to King? To the others standing around who must have guessed where he was going? Without another word, he had turned on his heel and walked away. Now he looked toward the hills again, and saw no movement … nothing. “Sergeant,” he said suddenly, “get eight men with rifles to the barrier right away. Issue fifty rounds per man. Let them eat as they stand, but they’re not to take their eyes off those hills.