. It then ricocheted off the train track and sped off into oblivion. With the noise of the crowd, no one took notice.
Someone stepped on her hand, and a woman dragging a small child turned and mumbled a surprising curse word as she scooted around her. So there are some women here.
She eased up, marveling at the throng of bodies running in every direction. With a jolt of determination, she hiked her belt tight around her waist, repositioned her gun, and joined the crowd.
The walk soon changed to a trot as swarms of men coming from the train spread out and raced toward lots. The noise and confusion overwhelmed her as she dodged horses and people. Red dust blew everywhere, clogging her nose and lungs. Her throat was so dry, she couldn’t swallow.
It took a while to figure out where the lots were. As she scanned the neat rows, tiny flags waved in the small breeze marking each plot. It was curious so many parcels were taken with tents set up, the owners seeming to have been there a while.
Not discouraged, she ran up and down several rows of occupied spots. In the distance, the whistle of the next arriving train sounded, urging her to speed up. She found an empty lot and, not caring where it lay in relation to the rest of the town, drove her wooden stake into the ground. Then she grabbed the marker rock the surveyors had left. Each rock had been inscribed to let the homesteaders know the size of the lot and its number.
She collapsed to her knees, then grasped her middle as she bent and fought nausea.
I did it! Lord have mercy, I actually did it! She wiped the tears from her face and smiled with satisfaction.
As soon as her breathing steadied, she took a small tent out of the backpack and set it up. Taking large gulps of water, she surveyed the plots around her. Tents and other signs of possessions on various lots gave the area a sense of ordered chaos. She sat on her own claimed land!
Heated conversations between men shouting they’d claimed a lot first erupted. Her jubilation at getting a lot turned to fear at the idea of someone deciding they could overpower her and take her parcel. Down the row, two men were nose to nose when one of them returned from a trip to the river to find the second man had claimed his lot, even though the first man’s possessions were already there. She patted the gun, securely fastened in her belt. I imagine it’s more difficult to shoot a man than a rabbit, though.
Jesse Cochran stood in the lengthy line at the Land Office. The race from Arkansas City to Guthrie had been grueling. When the bugle sounded, thousands of horses and wagons charged into Indian Territory. Tight at the beginning, the riders began to fan out and soon scattered over the immense land.
As he’d ridden on, groups of people, who he suspected had entered the area illegally before the approved time, appeared in the woods and along streams.
The sun had beat down as he rode. Sweat beaded his face and dampened his shirt. He took gulps of water from his canteen while still riding, but paused at one point to give a short rest and water to his horse. Then he continued the race.
There were times he rode alone for miles. But on and on he galloped, never losing sight of his goal.
The thundering of his horse’s hoofs had almost drowned out the whistle to his left. Still a fair distance to Guthrie, a train came into view over the flat plains. It appeared people dropped off the top. At the speed the train took, he would arrive well before it did. Good. Trees and bushes whizzed past. Poor horse. I’ll owe you a good rubdown and some fine oats when this is over, buddy.
Eventually, he neared the station, no more than a water tower and small building. Satisfied, he grinned. He’d left the train quite a ways back.
Numerous lots had already been claimed. Some of the parcels had wagons on them, which, if fast enough, could have arrived before him, but several lots had the appearance of being set up for days. Maybe illegal claims would bring him some business. All his worries before he’d set out for his new life seemed moot. He should have no trouble finding work and practicing law.
He inspected the area, and not far from the train station an acceptable parcel stood unclaimed. It could be a good location for a law office. Jesse made his way to the plot and stood in the center, surveying the area around him. He glanced back and forth, picturing in his mind the buildings and businesses that would soon be erected. Yes, this spot would be perfect.
As he worked setting up his tent, an older couple in a new looking wagon claimed a spot two lots over. They didn’t speak, but waved and smiled as they worked.
His tent set up, he wandered over to their lot. After introducing himself and chatting with them for a few minutes, he asked if they would keep an eye on things so he could get to the Federal Land Office.
“You go right ahead, young man,” the man who’d introduced himself as Charles Bonner said, slapping him on the back. “I’m not about to fight those crowds today. I’ll do mine tomorrow, or the next day.” He pointed to his wagon with pride. “With this here wagon, no one’s going to try to take our lot.”
Jesse was jolted from his musings by a shove to his shoulder. “Your turn, friend. Get your land registered.” The tall gangly man behind him pointed to the empty space at the registration table. Jesse walked to the clerk and slapped down his paperwork.
After sitting for a while, Tori’s gaze wandered over to the right side of her lot, where an older couple with a wagon had several possessions already set up. The woman stirred something over a campfire, and the familiar smells brought tears to her eyes and a growl to her stomach. With the tension of the run this morning, she’d missed breakfast, and hadn’t had much supper the night before.
On her left side, a tent had been set up, but no one stirred. Might as well introduce herself to the older couple. She stood and moved to greet her neighbors, brushing her hands down her pant leg and adjusting her shirt in hopes of making herself presentable.
“Hello, I guess we’re gonna be neighbors,” she said as she approached the couple.
“Yes, it seems that way.” The rosy-cheeked woman turned toward her with a gapped tooth smile. “I’m Frances Bonner, and over there, my husband Charles.” A rotund man waved in her direction as he pulled more supplies from the wagon.
“I’m Tori Henderson. Well, actually, it’s Victoria, but everyone calls me Tori. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Victoria?” The older woman chuckled. “I thought you were a young man.”
Tori grinned. “I dressed this way to discourage any unwelcome attention, if you know what I mean.”
Mrs. Bonner nodded. “Well you had me fooled, dear. Do you have family?”