Indian Territory by Matt Braun

Author:Matt Braun
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2011-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

The water appeared dark against the washed blue of a plains sky. A massive ferryboat stood docked on the north bank of the river. Above it, dotting the shoreline, were the outbuildings of Colbert’s Ferry.

Ryan, with Otis Gunn at his side, rode into the compound about midafternoon. Their trip had consumed four days, traversing the lands of the Creeks, Choctaws, and Chickasaws. The Texas Road, which angled southwestward through the Nations, brought them directly to the ferry landing. On the opposite side the Texas shoreline provided a backdrop for the Red River.

Grimy with trail dust, Ryan and Gunn passed themselves off as butt-sore travelers. They found Ben Colbert on the porch of the main house. He was a grizzled character, with a broad, good-humored face and a shock of white hair. His jaw was stuffed with tobacco and a quart of whiskey rested beside his chair. He informed them that he was now a man of leisure and the overseer of the operation. A gaggle of relatives attended to running the ferry.

Gunn engaged the old man in conversation. With little prompting, Colbert drifted off into a recollection of days past. In 1858, with hardly a nickel to his name, he’d obtained a tribal license to operate a ferry. At the same time he had claimed a Chickasaw head right of several hundred acres. The land included a wide stretch of river frontage and fanned out northward from his homestead.

The venture had prospered from the outset. Wagon trains loaded with heavy freight were ferried back and forth. The Butterfield Stage Line, with coaches operating between Missouri and Texas, used the ferry on a regular basis. Before long a small town appeared on the Texas side directly above the ferry landing. The inhabitants grandly named it Red River City, even though its principal commerce was the sale of rotgut whiskey. And through it all, like a link in a chain, the ferry remained the connecting tie between Texas and Indian Territory.

“Bad times or good,” Colbert concluded, “everybody needs a way across the river. I’ve done right well for myself over the years.”

“You surely have,” Gunn beamed. “Tell you the truth, I’m surprised you don’t have competition. How come another ferry never got started?”

Colbert squirted a jet of tobacco juice over the edge of the porch. He wiped his mouth and let go a wheezy chuckle. “Only one license ever gonna be granted, and that’s mine. I got blood kin on the Chickasaw council.”

“Just the same, you have a real moneymaker here. I’d imagine lots of people have tried to buy you out.”

“Not so many. Even then, most of ’em tried to steal it. Figgered me for one of them ignorant Injuns.”

“Their mistake,” Gunn said, his voice bland as butter. “If you’d been offered a fair price—who knows? You might very well have been tempted.”

Colbert cocked his head, appraising the other man with a crafty look. “You talk like you got somethin’ on your mind. Whyn’t you toss ’er out and let’s have a look-see?”

Gunn gave him a slow nod.

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