Pffft. The flash powder ignited, sending a puff of smoke into the air and bringing more cheers.
“Nobel citizens of northwestern Wisconsin,” he began, quieting the audience, “as your duly elected leader, I welcome this opportunity to inform you that your futures, as well as the very futures of your children and grandchildren, are in the safest of hands under my new administration. Your wishes and needs will always receive the highest priority in my office as I make decisions that will …”
On and on he spoke, illuminating every corner of his long career in government. An aide, seeing the governor had lost the crowd’s attention, gave him a nudge, prompting him to finish his long talk with, “… and, good citizens, every attempt will be made to make the future of this part of Wisconsin as bright as these two, newly minted, medals of honor.” His aide held two shiny gold medals high in the air, re-capturing the onlookers’ attention.
“And now,” shouted the governor, “just where might I find these two heroes of the people of the great State of Wisconsin?”
“They’re standin’ right in front of you, Governor,” came a shout.
“Well now, so they are. Come up and be recognized!”
Namakagon and Tor stepped forward. Examining the chief’s bearskin robe, the governor exclaimed, “So, you must be Chief Namakagon, the man who single-handedly brought the murderous villain to his just reward?”
“Let us just say I attempted to bring him in,” replied Namakagon. “It seems he chose his own reward.”
“Well, Chief,” he bellowed, waving a single finger in the air, “I hereby declare that you are a marvelous, brave, and courageous man, you are.”
He turned to Tor. “And you, young man, you must be Tor Loken, the young champion who disarmed the despicable desperado who would have taken your lives if not your money.”
“Well, sir, I just hit him with my knapsack, sir. I don’t know that he was so bound and determined to shoot, but I wasn’t willing to wait around to see.”
Governor Rusk laughed along with the crowd, Olaf, Ingman, and Rose looking on with pride. Nonetheless,” shouted the statesman, “I am here today to decree and declare,” he said, raising his index finger high in the air again, “that this day will be forever known to all who bear witness as that day when Governor Jeremiah McCain Rusk, Chief Executive and Pilot of the great State of Wisconsin, came to the pinery to honor Ogimaa Mikwam-migwan, also called Chief Namakagon, and Master Tor Loken as two courageous heroes who did, between them, upset the plans of two dastardly criminals to rob the Chicago, St. Paul, Minneapolis, Omaha, and Northwestern Railroad train near this fine metropolitan community. Furthermore, I do declare that these medals I now proudly bestow upon you do hereby and forever designate you as being officially regarded and respected by all who look upon you as trustworthy, upstanding representatives of our citizenry and genuine—bona fide—heroes!”
Pffft. The flash powder ignited as the Governor placed the ribbon and polished brass medal over Tor’s head. The crowd cheered. Tor’s father looked on from his chair, eyes moist with pride. No one cheered louder than Rosie.
The governor turned to Namakagon to hang a medal around his neck. Instead, the old Indian held out his hand. Governor Rusk shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and dropped the award in Namakagon’s palm. He turned back to the crowd, smiling and waving again.
Another tray of flash powder went off, bringing more cheers.
Following the ceremony, the steam locomotive pulled out of the Hayward station, leaving a long black plume of coal smoke in the icy air. The train carried twenty-three passengers including six in the plush, private car used by the governor on his tours of the State of Wisconsin.
Accompanying Governor Rusk were the two heroes of the day, Tor Loken and Chief Namakagon, along with Olaf, Ingman, and Rose, all invited to attend the seventeen-mile journey north to Cable. There, the Cable rail yard turntable would direct the engine back toward Madison for the Governor’s return.
The six passengers sat around a mahogany table in comfortable parlor chairs upholstered in red velvet. A porter brought tea and an assortment of fresh pastries.
“This is some fancy outfit you have here, Governor,” said Tor, taking a bite out of a doughnut.
“Yes,” the governor replied, “this is a fine car. It is made available by the railroad company so I can visit our Wisconsin towns and cities. It is not altogether different from an Indian chief riding from village to village on a beautiful white horse. Wouldn’t you agree, Chief Namakagon?”
“Perhaps, Governor,” he replied, “it is better to walk a hundred miles than to ride a borrowed horse.”
The statesman bristled. “Chief Namakagon, I am not now, nor have I ever been, inclined to exchange favors for political advantage. It’s true, I admit we barter on the floor of the legislature, but, I can say with pride, no railroad car could ever sway me, no matter how comfortable.”
“Well I think it’s simply wonderful,” said Rose. “Why, I would ride around and around the world if I had such a luxurious carriage.” She pointed out the large window. “Look, we’re coming to the railroad trestle.”
“So this is where the criminal met his just fate?” asked the governor.
“Yes,” answered Namakagon. “But justice had little to do with it. Had Wilkins given himself up, I believe then we would have seen justice done.”
“He chose his own trail,” said Olaf, “as do we all. He had no way of knowing the outcome of his journey any more than do we.”
As the train crossed the trestle, Governor Rusk slid open a window, removed his beaver skin top hat and poked his head out, inspecting the river below. His bushy hair and long beard waved wildly in the wind.
Tracks left in the snow from the previous week’s incident were faint but visible. The governor pulled in his head, pushed back his ruffled hair, and popped his hat back on. “I must declare! That is quite a drop to the river below,” he said to Namakagon. “Now where was it you captured this devil?”
“Beyond that ridge,” said the chief, pointing.
“Quite a hike without snowshoes in this deep snow,” said Tor. “And you can see another ridge behind it. That’s where the outlaw bushwhacked the chief. Right up here is where the train was stopped and the holdup took place.”
Olaf, Ingman, Rose, and Governor Rusk heard the tale as told by the heroes of the day. As the train passed over the Pac-wa-wong Springs, smoke from the Indian lodges drifted high into the sky. The train later crossed another large trestle and began the final, uphill climb to the next lumber town. They soon pulled up to the Cable depot where Blackie, Charlie Martin, and the rest of the Loken camp workers disembarked.
The governor and his guests remained in his private coach while other cars were switched for the return run. The gigantic turntable rotated until the engine faced south again. The cars were coupled again and the train was soon rolling back toward Hayward.
“Governor,” said Olaf, “I wonder if you could help us with a legal matter.”
“Well, now, I don’t know … I don’t deal with legal advice any more. You would be better off hiring …”
“Governor,” interrupted Ingman, “this is a matter of great importance to yust about every lumberyack in the north. Thousands upon thousands of men and yust as many votes, sir.” The governor’s bushy eyebrows rose.
“Governor Rusk,” Olaf explained, “this has to do with using our rivers and lakes to carry the logs to the mills. It affects every citizen from the northern corners of the pinery all the way to the Mississippi River.”
The politician leaned back in his chair. “Tell me more, Loken.”
“There’s a fella up here by the name of Phineas Muldoon who bought up the Lake Namakagon dam. He now claims the right to charge half-a-dollar for any log that crosses his dam. I say the water belongs to the people and he has no right to lay a tariff on logs run downriver.”
“This must be King Muldoon you speak of.”
“Then you know him?
”
“No, but I know of him. He has influence among the legislators.”
“Does he have enough influence to stop us from using the river?” Ingman demanded. “Can this single man decide which lumber outfit goes bust, which lumberyack gets paid for his winter’s work? Does Muldoon have influence over what is right and what is wrong?”
The governor paused, looked at Namakagon, then Tor and Rose. “Mister Loken …”
“Ingman, sir.”
“Ingman, it is true the people own the waters of Wisconsin. But the state also gives permits to operate dams, and some of the dam owners have sought financial contributions from others to help offset their investments in the dams, investments that benefit all who drive logs to the mills.”
Ingman spoke deliberately now. “Governor Rusk, the small lumber outfits, the ones who employ most of the lumberyacks in the pinery, make very little profit from each stick of pine. A big operator, a fella like King Muldoon, could easily buy up the dams, and then, by charging for the right to use the rivers, quickly force the small outfits into bankruptcy. That would mean the men in the camps, all eligible to vote, mind you, might not get their pay in the spring. The State of Wisconsin needs to stand tall for these small camps and the many lumberyacks who work there. It’s only right, Governor.”
The train rumbled over the Mosquito Brook Bridge. Its whistle echoed down the valley.
“Ingman, Olaf, I am not in a position to give you my answer here and now. Let me have my office look into this question. I promise you I will have an answer for you soon. For the time being, let me leave you with this. The Northwest Ordinance, created almost a century ago, clearly states ‘the waters of Wisconsin will be forever free,’” he said, slamming his fist on the red velvet arm of the chair. “And, by God, our state constitution uses the very same language to give the citizens of Wisconsin the undeniable right to use our lakes and streams without tariff, tax, toll or duty. I believe King Muldoon would not win his argument in a court of law.
“The challenge,” he went on, “might be getting this into the courts before your company runs out of time. It would appear Muldoon knows well that if he stops your timber from reaching the mills, he wins. His next step would be to purchase your holdings and those of all the neighboring camps. He would buy them for pennies on the dollar, if that. All the timber, whether on the ice or still on the stump, would be his and his alone.”
“Governor,” asked Tor, “shouldn’t it be up to the State of Wisconsin to arrest Muldoon if he doesn’t let our pine go over the dam?”
“Well, Tor, the law says until he actually commits a crime, there is nothing that can be done.”
“Does the same go for my men?” asked Olaf. “Do we have any laws protecting us like the laws that protect King Muldoon?”
Governor Rusk considered this. “The same goes for you and your men, Loken. The problem, my friend, is, the moment you run that first log across the dam, Muldoon will claim you are guilty of trespass. Muldoon could have you arrested easier than the other way around.”
“That just doesn’t seem fair, Governor,” said Rosie.
The train crossed the last trestle before Hayward, sounding another double whistle.
“Fair?” he replied. “Young lady, we try hard to make laws that best serve the citizens of this state. It is not always easy, miss, and the laws we create, although fair to most, are not always seen as fair to all.”
Chief Namakagon stood. “There is deep wisdom in your words ‘the waters of Wisconsin will be forever free’, Governor. These words should be the first spoken whenever your legislators meet. You see, Governor, the waters of Wisconsin are the blood in the veins of this land. Our waters must always be protected for the benefit of all those who come after we are gone.”
The train began to slow as it approached the Hayward yard. The smell of freshly cut white pine filled the air again. With a rush of steam and the squeal of steel brakes, the train pulled up to the Hayward station.
The governor shook the hands of everyone on the platform. “I shall return, good citizens. Your kindness has made this enchanting metropolis my paramount favorite of all the cities and towns in the great State of Wisconsin!”
Governor Jeremiah M. Rusk departed. The whistle blew, the engine’s bell rang, and soon the train thundered toward Madison with stops at the Governor’s many other paramount favorite Wisconsin cities and towns.
The Lokens, Rosie, and Namakagon crossed the tracks, and headed for downtown Hayward. Ingman and Olaf stopped at Pete Foster’s Saloon while the others continued down the sidewalk, crossed Second Street, and headed up the hill toward the boarding house.
“Chief Namakagon, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” said Tor. “Last month, when Sam Rouschek had us pinned down before the muzzle of his revolver in that passenger car, his partner, Percy Wilkins, said something about you and some silver mine. Do you recollect that?”
“All too clearly, my friend. All too clearly.”
“So, is there silver to be found around here?”
“Far more than most people realize, Tor. There are several mines in the area that are producing copper and silver, and I am aware of one that may yield a fair amount of gold.”
“I’ve heard the men in camp talk about the iron mines up near Hurley,” Tor said, “but I didn’t know there was silver. What did Wilkins mean when he said you had a silver mine?”
Namakagon stopped, considering the question. “Many years ago, when I came here, I was given a great, great responsibility,” he explained. “I was shown to a cave where there are outcroppings of silver, ready for the taking.” He pulled up his left sleeve and showed his silver wristband. “This is from that cave. I have shown no one the way, and I have removed only a small amount of the silver to purchase supplies for those in need.”
“Why, Chief,” declared Rose, “you could be rich! You could be as wealthy as a king.”
“Young lady, I may not have a private rail car with velvet curtains, but I am already rich, as you say. I have the trees and the sky, the rivers and the lakes. I have the birds, the fish, the deer. I have a warm lodge, dogs who love me, friends who tolerate me. There is food on my table. I have my freedom and no amount of money could inspire me to trade places with another.”
“Rosie,” said Tor, “Look at King Muldoon. For all the money and lumber camps and mills he owns, he is still not satisfied. He won’t be until he owns it all, and even then he will want more.”
“But, still, wouldn’t it be better to take the silver from the mine and put it to good use—just like the pine in the forests is being put to good use?”
“The silver is far safer where it lies now than in any bank vault,” said the chief. “When my people need it, it will be there for them. But if I were to turn it into dollars, it would soon be spent. When it is gone, then what? No, Rose, it is a treasure now. Once spent, it is no longer a treasure. It is nothing more than a memory. But you are right, it is like the pine. Few lumber camp owners care about the future of the land. They do nothing to plan for the future of our forests. They cut, cut, cut. This is a disgraceful way to serve our Mother Earth. No, Rose, the silver is better left where it lies.”
“What if someone else finds it?” asked Tor.
“Young woodsman, only a few forest animals and this old Indian know the way. It is safe. Now I must count on you both to help me keep it forever safe by never speaking of it again.”
Rose, Tor, and Namakagon climbed the steps of the boarding house, greeted by the aromas of the balsam Christmas tree and freshly baked bread.
Ingman and Olaf arrived just as the others were sitting down at the supper table. Adeline carried out two large platters, each bearing a roasted Canada goose. She placed them on the table with mashed potatoes and gravy, squash, cornbread muffins, cranberry relish, baked beans, and mincemeat pie.
After supper, the guests all met in the parlor to sing while Rosie played Christmas carols on her mother’s upright piano. They sang and
danced, on and on, celebrating well into the night.