The oldest of the three men who remained in the room cleared his throat.
“He was here before us. We can wait.”
Without looking up, Charlie gestured to his father to take care of his customers. “I am in no hurry.”
Owen moved around the counter and joined the men in the center of the room. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
The oldest spoke. “We need a few supplies, but mostly we need some information, if you can help us. We’ve heard there is good farm land in Kansas Territory. We’re looking to find some acreage to claim until we can get a surveyor out to plot the ground so we can buy it. But we want good land for both crops and livestock. Do you have any idea what kind of ground lies to the west of here?”
Charlie rose to his feet and studied the men. The two youngest appeared to be in their thirties and looked to be related. The oldest, he couldn’t tell. What he did know was they were among the many Americans intent on moving onto the hunting grounds of the Kansa. Their animals would graze the grasses needed by the buffalo, and their plows would tear up the earth for their crops, making the land useless for the great bison herds that had roamed the prairies for millennia.
The oldest man stepped forward with his hand extended. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I’m Edward Palmer.” He gestured to the man on his right. “This is my son-in-law, Sidney Atwell and his brother, Jefferson Atwell.”
“Owen Jones. Please to make your acquaintance.”
Charlie watched his father return the handshake and glance his way before he continued. Charlie looked away. He would not embarrass his father by expressing his opinion on the topic.
“I don’t know much about the land west of here. I know there are several small towns started along the Kansas River that are surrounded by fairly good ground for farming plus there is Fort Riley.”
Charlie clenched his teeth. One of the towns his father referred to was Manhattan which was located near the former main camp of the Kansa once they moved across the Missouri River and settled along the Kansas River.
“I probably wouldn’t try to go too far west or you will run into hostile tribes. Perhaps you should look around Leavenworth or Lawrence.”
The man named Sidney threw up his arms. “Oh, don’t get me started on that. Nothing but trouble up that way.”
Jefferson Atwell shook his head. “I’m not sure we want to go north. We live in Missouri although our families originally came from the north. Even if we could afford slaves, we don’t hold with slavery. Besides us not having enough land to support our families well, the slavery question has made it uncomfortable to stay where we are. We hoped to go where slavery is not an issue to find good land.”
His arms folded, Edward Palmer bounced on the soles of his feet. “Unfortunately, ever since they passed this Kansas-Nebraska Act, there is talk about Missourians moving to the Kansas towns along the river so they can vote to make it a slave-holding state. We’ll vote against it, but we don’t want to live in the powder keg communities where there is open hostility over the issue. That’s why we’re hoping to find a place farther west where we can live in peace and take care of our families.”
The hint of a smirk on his face, Charlie looked over at the trio and caught the glance his father gave him. Although barely able to control his feelings of resentment, he chose to warn these foolish white men. “You will find no peace to the west. You will not travel many days before you will be on the traditional hunting grounds of the Cheyenne. They do not tolerate other tribes, let alone white men, coming onto the land they consider theirs. Not far beyond them is the Arapaho and Comanche. You may be safer living where you only must fight those who wish to make slaves of others.”
Charlie held his ground as the three men studied him. The old man spoke next. “Are you from this Cheyenne tribe you spoke of?”
Charlie shook his head. “No. I am Kansa. Our people have made treaties with the Americans, treaties many Americans do not follow.” Charlie swept his outstretched arm in a wide arc. “All the land you see outside of here once belonged to the Kansa. The Americans named the river and the territory for us, but took our land. They even steal the land we bought so our women do not have the land they need to farm. Every year, to find the buffalo we must hunt to survive, we must travel farther west. Unlike the Kansa, not all tribes have given up their land to go to reservations where the white men continue take what they want. You will put your families at risk if you build your farms too far to the west. Even the Kansa must watch for attacks by the Cheyenne when we hunt for buffalo.”
