THE CLAIM of Jean Baptiste, containing 160 acres
of land, adjoined the little town of Dallas on the
north, and it was one of the surprises that Agnes
Stewart had not wandered into it when she found the sod
house and had later found Jean Baptiste in the snow.
The town had been started the winter before. A creek
of considerable depth, and plenty of water ran to the south
of it a half mile, and up this valley the promoters of the
town contended that the railroad would build. It came up
the same valley many miles below where at a way station it
suddenly lifted out of it and sought the higher land to Bone-
steel. Now the promoters, because the Railroad Company
owned considerable land where the tracks left the valley to
ascend to the highland, contended that it was the purpose
of the railroad to split the trade country by coming up the
valley, and that was why the town had been located where
it was, on a piece of land that had once belonged to an
Indian.
There were three other towns, platted by the government
along a route that did not strike Dallas, and if the railroad
should continue the route it was following where its tracks
stopped west of Bonesteel, it was a foregone conclusion that
it must hit the three government townsites.
This had ever been, and was, the great contention in the
early days of the country of our story. But to get back
to the characters in question, we must come back to the lit-
tle town near the creek valley.
The winter preceding, when the town had been started,
men had chosen to cast their lot with it, and by the time
spring arrived, there was a half dozen or more business
places represented. From Des Moines a man had come and
started a lumber yard; while from elsewhere a man had
cooperated with the promoters in establishing a bank. Two
men, whose reputations were rather notorious, but who,
nevertheless, were well fitted for what they chose, started
a saloon. From a town that had no railroad in the state
on the south, a man came with a great stock of merchandise.
A weazened creature had been made postmaster; while a
doctor, beliquored until he was uncertain, had come hither
with a hope of redemption and had hung out his shingle.
He was succeeding in the game of reform (?) as the best
customer the saloon had. A tired man was conducting a
business in a building that had been hauled many miles and
was being used as a hotel. Many other lines of business
were expected, but at this time the interest was largely in
who the settlers were that had come, and those who were
to come.
A beautiful quarter section of land joined the town on
the east, and the man who had drawn it had already estab-
lished his residence thereupon, so that he was known. On
the south the land was the allotment of an Indian; while
the same was true on the west. Naturally, when it was
reported that a Negro held the place on the north, con-
siderable curiosity prevailed to meet this lone Ethiopian.
But Jean Baptiste was a mixer, a jolly good fellow of the
best type and by this time such was well known. As to
where he had come from, we know; but his name had oc-
casioned much comment because it was odd. To make it
more illustrious, the settlers had added "Saint," so he was
now commonly know as St. Jean Baptiste. The doctor,
whose name was Slater, had improved even upon this. He
called him "St. John the Baptist." But nobody took Doc
very seriously. So full was he of red liquor most of the
time, that he was regarded as a joke except in his profes-
sion. Here he was considered one of the best, his re-
deeming feature.
The coal The Homesteader had hauled from Bonesteel
was not all for himself, but for the lumber yard which sold
it at fifteen dollars the ton, and the quality was soft, and
not of the best grade at that.
He hauled it into town the morning following the episode
of our story, and after unloading it and taking his check
for the hauling, returned home, took care of his stock, and
upon returning to town, forgot to relate anything concern-
ing his experiences. . . . Perhaps he forgot. . . . Jean
Baptiste could be depended upon to forget some things.
. . . Especially the things that were best forgotten.
He walked across the quarter mile that lay between his
claim and the town, and up to the saloon. Inside he en-
countered the usual crowd, Doc among them.
"Hello, there, St. John the Baptist," cried that one in
beliquored delight. "Did you crawl through all that
storm?"
"I'm here," laughed Baptiste. "How's Doc?"
"Finer'n a fiddle, both ends in the middle," and called
for another drink. Just one. It is said that saloons would
not be so bad if it was not for the treating nuisance, Well,
Doc could be regarded here then, as practical, for he never
bought others a drink.
"See you got your nose freezed, Baptiste," Doc laughed.
Baptiste went toward the bar, took a look at himself, and
laughed amusedly upon seeing the telltale darkness at the
point of his nose, his cheeks and his forehead.
"T' hell, I didn't know that," he muttered. The crowd
laughed.
"Play you a game of Casino?" suggested Doc.
"You're on!" cried Baptiste.
After they had played awhile a Swede who lived across
the creek entered, took a seat and drawing his chair near,
watched the game. Presently he spoke. "The Indians are
coming in today, so I guess there will be a shooting up the
town."
The players paused and regarded each other apprehen-
sively. Others overheard the remark, and now exchanged
significant glances. This had been the one diversion of the
long winter. Indians who lived on the creek, coming into
town, getting drunk, and then as a sally ride up and down
the main street and shoot up the town. The last time this
had taken place, the bartender's wife had been frightened
into hysterics. And thereupon the bartender had sworn
that the next time this was attempted, they would have to
reckon with him.
The few people about became serious. They knew the
bartender was dangerous, and they feared the Indians,
breeds, mostly, who made this act their pastime. They
were annoyed with such doings; but were inclined to lay the
blame at the saloon door, for, although the law decreed that
Indians should not be sold liquor they were always allowed
to purchase all that they could possibly carry away with
them inside and out. So upon this announcement, those
about prepared themselves for excitement. The news
quickly spread and to augment the excitement, a few minutes
later the breeds in full regalia dashed into town. They tied
their horses at the front, and proceeded at once to the bar.
"Whiskey," they cried, shifting their spurred boots on
the barroom floor.
"Sorry, boys, but I can't serve you," advised the bar-
tender carelessly.
"What!" they cried.
"Can't serve you. It's agin' the law, yu' know."
"T' hell with the law!" exclaimed one.
“I didn't make it," muttered the bartender.
"You've been playing hell enforcing it," retorted another.
"Now, don't get rough, my worthy," cautioned the bar-
tender.
"Give us what we called for, and none of this damn
slush then," cried one, toying with the gun at his holster.
The bartender observed this and got closer to the bar for a
purpose. Those about, being of the peaceful kind, began
shifting toward the door.
"We've been breakin' the law to serve you," said the bar-
tender "and you've been breaking the law after we done it.
Now the last time you were here you pulled off a 'stunt'
that caused trouble. So I'll not serve you whiskey, and
advise you that if you try shooting up the town again,
there'll be trouble."
"Oh, is that so?" cried the bunch. "Well," sniffed one,
who was more forward than the rest, "we'll just show you
a trick or two. And, remember, when we've shot your little
chicken coops full of holes, we are going to return and be
served." With a hilarious laugh, they went outside, got
into the saddles and had their fun. The population took
refuge in the cellars in awed silence.
It was over in a few minutes and the breeds, true to their
statement, returned to the saloon, and stood before the
bar.
"Whiskey," they cried, and couldn't repress a grin.
Ordinarily they were cowards, and their boldness had sur-
prised even themselves.
"Whiskey?" said the bartender, nodding toward the
speaker.
"That's my order!" the other cried uproariously. The
bartender arranged several bottles in a row. This they did
not understand at first. They did, however, a moment
later.
"Very well," he cried of a sudden as his eyes narrowed,
whereupon, with deliberation he caught the bottles one by
one by the neck and as fast -as he could let go, threw the
same into the faces before him with all the force he could
concentrate quickly. So quickly was it all done that those
before him had not time to duck below the bar before many
had been the recipients of the deluge. Within the minute
there was a wild scramble for the door all but three.
For while the others disappeared over the hill toward the
creek, Dr. Slater took thirty stitches or thereabouts in the
faces of the recalcitrants.