“You taibo speak a lot without saying much.”
“I’m just trying to do right by you here, Isa-tai. Catching me a murderer is one thing; protecting your land from trespass by outsiders with no call to be on it is another. Right now, John D. Rockefeller is commanding the bulk of my attention when it comes to the latter.”
“Then do what you have to do to keep him off our land, Ranger, but once he crosses it, he’s our problem.”
Steeldust Jack looked about at the Comanche braves who’d gathered during the course of their conversation. “In the meantime,” he said, “if you could lend me a few of these boys, I just might be able to stop that from happening.”
*
Jack Strong sat on his horse at the head of the only road big enough to handle the kind of equipment John D. Rockefeller would be toting along to the reservation.
His position in the relative clear, looking down over a pass snaking through the grasslands and trees, allowed Steeldust Jack to spot an endless procession of the biggest wagons he’d ever seen. They were hauling pipes, tubing, drums of water and sand, and the disassembled parts of massive steam engines to power the actual drilling apparatus, which would be erected utilizing the lead wagons’ load of lumber. The wagons carrying the heavy steel were outfitted with double-thick wooden wheels, their extra-large cargo beds boasting three sets, with an extra pair riding the center. Lugging these required four horses—and in some cases, unless the Ranger’s vision was deceiving him, six horses—instead of two.
John D. Rockefeller led the way himself, on horseback, centered between two groups of the gunmen Jack Strong recognized from the hotel restaurant. He gave no quarter, just held his ground as the convoy ground to a halt on Rockefeller’s signal, when they saw the Ranger blocking their way. To Steeldust Jack, it looked like a staged military march. The line of wagons and men was so vast that he could barely see the end.
“I knew I’d be seeing you again, Ranger,” Rockefeller said from thirty feet away, his voice booming as if he were giving a speech. “I just didn’t think it’d be this soon.”
“You’re in Texas now, sir. Biggest little state you ever did see.”
“Speaking of which, I’ve got a letter here from Governor Richard Coke himself, granting me permission to drill for oil on Comanche land and—”
“That’s all well and good,” Steeldust Jack interrupted, “except the actual authority, as far as the treaty goes, is the nation’s capital, not Austin. That would be Washington, last time I checked.”
“You didn’t let me finish, Ranger. I was going to say my men have all been appointed deputy U.S. marshals, under the command of Marshal Brocius here.”
“Congratulations, Curly Bill,” Jack Strong said, tipping his hat, before stealing a glance at young Jimmy Miller, the one rider not wearing a big silver badge, since he was too young to be officially deputized.
“So I would ask that you respect the wishes of the governor of your state, and the authority vested in these marshals by the United States government, and stand aside, Ranger.”
“Why don’t you ride up here and show me that letter first, Mr. Rockefeller.”
Steeldust Jack had enjoyed issuing the challenge, and was only half surprised when John D. Rockefeller accepted it. He stretched his mustache straight to both sides, signaled his newly appointed lawmen to hold in place, and then rode forward to Jack Strong’s position in the road.
“It does seem to be in order,” the Ranger said, handing the letter back to the man, who smelled freshly shaved and barbered, in spite of what must have been an arduous ride from Austin for the convoy. “How much it cost you?”
“I don’t think I follow you.”
“I believe you do, sir. I was just wondering what you had to promise Governor Coke for him to take a stand against what I know him to believe. I was just wondering the price a man’s conscience is going for these days. You cut him in on the deal, give him a percentage of the oil you expect to find, or was it strictly cash?”
Rockefeller sat straight in his saddle, his expression not changing in the least. “Everywhere else in this country, you Texas Rangers are considered a joke.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Your time’s coming to an end. There’s not even going to be a frontier anymore, before you know it. The transcontinental railroad’s going to finish it for good, because where there’s open land there’s opportunity for people like me to make something out of it. Industry’s coming, business is coming, the future is coming. Only place you and the Rangers will exist soon will be in a museum.”
“But I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“And I expect you to do your duty and stand aside, to yield the road, Ranger.”