“Of course I do. How are you, Asa?” Frank Bulfert greeted him with a kind of back-slapping gusto.
Benteen turned his glance on the brutish-faced man in the chair, who hadn’t appeared to age since the last time he’d seen him. Theirs was a longtime acquaintance, dating back to his Texas days and those early years in Montana. Benteen didn’t regard Bull Giles as a rival anymore, but neither did he call him friend, yet he trusted Bull Giles as he trusted few men. The man had saved his life once, crippling his knee as a result. It was something Benteen had never forgotten.
Despite an appearance that suggested all brawn, Bull Giles was shrewdly intelligent. During the long years he’d spent in Washington as companion and associate to Lady Elaine Dunshill, he had enlarged upon her connections in political circles and exercised considerable influence behind the scenes.
“Hello, Bull.” There was a glint of respect as Benteen greeted him. “Don’t bother to get up.” He motioned him to stay in the chair. “How’s the leg?”
“Stiff, but I’ve still got it,” Bull Giles replied with a twisting smile. “How’s Lorna?”
“Fine.” He nodded briefly.
Then Bull turned his head to look at Webb. “It’s been a long time, Webb. I’d forgotten how long it had been until you walked through that door to remind me. You’re not a fresh-faced boy anymore.”
“No, sir.” Webb leaned down to shake the man’s hand, stirring vague memories of his childhood, of the way he used to trail after this bear of a man.
Frank Bulfert’s voice broke into their exchange. “Everybody, make yourselves comfortable. Percy”—he addressed the black servant—“pour these gentlemen a drink.”
There was a lull in the conversation as they settled into the chairs grouped around the brass-appointed heating stove. After the servant, Percy, had passed around the drinks, Frank Bulfert opened a box of cigars and offered them around. Smoke from the aromatic tobacco collected in the air above the select group.
An unwilling participant, Webb was impatient for the talk to get around to the purpose of the meeting, but he seemed to be the only one. He took a sip of imported whiskey and wished he’d kept silent ten days ago. He’d be back at the ranch instead of here in this private car, involved in a meeting that he didn’t think was necessary.
“The senator asked me to be sure to extend his regards to you, Benteen.” Frank Bulfert leaned back in the cowhide chair and hitched the waistband of his suit pants higher around his middle. “My instructions are to lend you any assistance I can. The senator knows the value of your support.” After this formal assurance was made, his serious expression took on a wry amusement. “I’ve heard stories about the way you ranchers get out the votes in this part of the country. It’s been reported that sometimes your cowboys vote twice to make sure the right candidate is elected.”
“They’ve been known to get too enthusiastic in their support,” Benteen admitted with a faint smile.
“Seems to me you have men who follow orders,” Frank Bulfert concluded.
“They’re loyal to the brand” was the only reply to that. “What about this new Homestead Bill?”
“I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to say,” the aide warned and closely watched Benteen’s reaction. “It’s getting strong support from several quarters.”
“The railroads being the most vigorous?” Benteen sought confirmation of his own opinion.
“Certainly they are looking at the substantial benefits to be derived from increased freight and passenger usage to bring new settlers out west. And I’m sure they are hoping to sell off their extensive landholdings. Yes.” Frank nodded. “They have a vested interest in the passage of this bill.”
“But it isn’t only the railroads that want it,” Bull Giles inserted. “You have to understand the situation in the East. The cities are filling with immigrants. The West has always been a safety valve to siphon these so-called dregs of other nations out of populated areas and prevent any social or political unrest. The slums are overcrowded; there’s complaints about cheap wages in factories and talk of unions and strikes for better working conditions. So all the big businesses are behind this bill to keep order by sending as many as they can to the frontier.”
Benteen grimly expelled a heavy breath, recognizing he was opposing a formidable group. “But this isn’t Kansas. They’ll starve out here the same way they’re starving in the cities.”
“Do you think any of the big companies care?” Bull scoffed. “If they die, it makes room for more.” He paused briefly. “The big-money men in the East aren’t interested in settling the West. They just want to get rid of a lot of poor, unwanted immigrants. They don’t give a damn where they go. The Indians were forced onto reservations on the poorest lands. If the immigrants wind up on the same, no one in the East is going to give a damn.”
“So far,” Asa Morgan spoke up, adding more gloom to the subject, “that new dryland method of farming has shown some impressive results. It’s difficult to argue against the kind of success they’ve been having with it.”
“Successful now, yes,” Benteen agreed. “With their method, they can raise a crop with only fifteen inches of rainfall a year. What happens if there’s successive dry years with less than that, like what happened twenty years ago?”
“Twenty years ago isn’t today.” Frank Bulfert dismissed that argument.
“It sounds like sour grapes coming from a cattleman.” Bull eased his stiff leg into a less cramped position. “You big ranchers are highly unpopular. Public opinion is against you. Most of the Europeans coming into the country look on ranchers as feudal lords. They came here to escape that system of large, single landholders. There you sit on a million-plus acres. They want to bust it up so everybody can have a chunk of it. They come to America filled with dreams about owning their own land.”
“In other words, you are saying that we don’t have a chance of defeating this bill,” Benteen challenged.
“We can keep it in committee for a while,” Frank Bulfert said. “But it’s bound to pass once it gets out of there. It’s what the majority wants.”
There was a brief lull as everyone waited for Benteen to respond. He stared into his whiskey glass, idly swirling the liquor around the sides.
“They want it because they see it as a way of taking the land out of the hands of the rancher and putting it with a bunch of immigrants,” he stated finally. “But what if they become convinced that the bill won’t accomplish that objective?”
“How?” Frank Bulfert drew his head back to study Benteen with a curious but skeptical eye.