part of the same nation.”
“They’d bring their niggers, too.” One more expectoration gave Philander Snow’s opinion of that. “Far as I’m concerned, the Rebs are welcome to ’em. This here’s a white man’s country, nothin’ else but.”
“I agree with you once again,” Roosevelt said. “The United States are better off without any great presence of the dusky race in our midst. Were it not for the Negro, I doubt we and our former compatriots should ever have come to blows.”
“Likely tell, us and the Rebs wouldn’t have fought a war, neither,” Snow observed. Roosevelt’s metal framed spectacles and the mustache he was assiduously cultivating helped keep his facefrom showing what he thought. After a moment, the ranch hand went on, “And now it looks like we’re goin’ to fight them sons of bitches again.”
“And bully for Blaine, I say!” Roosevelt clenched his fists. “Lord knows I have no use for the Republican Party except in that it wants us to take a strong line with our neighbors, but that, these days, is an enormous exception.”
“You damn straight it is, boss,” Philander Snow said with a vehement nod. “Them Rebs, they been rubbin’ our noses in the dirt since we lost the war, and them Easterners, they just smile and take it and say
thank you
meek and mild as you please. Hope to Jesus they get around to lettin’ Montana into the Union one day soon, so as I can vote for people who’ll show a little backbone. Not even a lot, mind you—a little’d be plenty to make the Rebels climb down off their high horse, you ask me.”
“I think you’re dead right, Phil, but the Confederates aren’t the only ones we have to worry about, not here in Montana they’re not.” Where Theodore Roosevelt had looked south toward Texas, he now turned north. “Here near Helena, we’re only a couple of hundred miles away from the Canadian border.”
“I’ve met me some Canucks,” Snow said. “They ain’t the worst people you’d ever want to know. But Canada ain’t free and independent, not all the way it ain’t. The limeys, they do whatever they please there.”
“They certainly do,” Roosevelt agreed, “and they’re able to do it, too, since their transcontinental railroad went through about the time I came to Montana. The only reason they had for building that railroad—the
only
reason, I say, Phil—is to shuttle British soldiers along the frontier to those places where they might prove most advantageous.”
“And where they’ll do the most good, too,” Snow said.
Roosevelt smiled. His hired hand had no idea what was funny. He didn’t explain he had no desire to make the older man feel foolish. Instead, he came round to the other subject uppermost on his mind: “And now the Confederates, not content with battening on our weakness these past twenty years, have sunk their fangs into the Empire of Mexico as well.”
“By what the papers were saying last time you went into town, President Blaine ain’t gonna take that layin’ down,” Snow said.
“He’d better not. If he does, the whole country lies down with him. He wasn’t elected to play the coward, which is what I’vebeen saying.” Resolution crystallized in Roosevelt. When he made up his mind, he made it up in a hurry, and all the way. “Harness the team to the Handbasket, Phil. I’m going into town to find out what the latest news is. If there’s war, sure as the sun comes up tomorrow we’ll have hordes of redcoats pouring over the border. By jingo, I wish the telegraph line reached all the way out here. I want to know what’s going on out in the bigger world.”
If Philander Snow cared about the wider world, he concealed it very well. He might have been—he probably had been—a rough character once, but work on the farm and the occasional spree in Helena satisfied him now. “Give me just a few minutes, boss, and I’ll take care of it.” He spat and chuckled and spat again. “You’re a hell of a
“They’d bring their niggers, too.” One more expectoration gave Philander Snow’s opinion of that. “Far as I’m concerned, the Rebs are welcome to ’em. This here’s a white man’s country, nothin’ else but.”
“I agree with you once again,” Roosevelt said. “The United States are better off without any great presence of the dusky race in our midst. Were it not for the Negro, I doubt we and our former compatriots should ever have come to blows.”
“Likely tell, us and the Rebs wouldn’t have fought a war, neither,” Snow observed. Roosevelt’s metal framed spectacles and the mustache he was assiduously cultivating helped keep his facefrom showing what he thought. After a moment, the ranch hand went on, “And now it looks like we’re goin’ to fight them sons of bitches again.”
“And bully for Blaine, I say!” Roosevelt clenched his fists. “Lord knows I have no use for the Republican Party except in that it wants us to take a strong line with our neighbors, but that, these days, is an enormous exception.”
“You damn straight it is, boss,” Philander Snow said with a vehement nod. “Them Rebs, they been rubbin’ our noses in the dirt since we lost the war, and them Easterners, they just smile and take it and say
thank you
meek and mild as you please. Hope to Jesus they get around to lettin’ Montana into the Union one day soon, so as I can vote for people who’ll show a little backbone. Not even a lot, mind you—a little’d be plenty to make the Rebels climb down off their high horse, you ask me.”
“I think you’re dead right, Phil, but the Confederates aren’t the only ones we have to worry about, not here in Montana they’re not.” Where Theodore Roosevelt had looked south toward Texas, he now turned north. “Here near Helena, we’re only a couple of hundred miles away from the Canadian border.”
“I’ve met me some Canucks,” Snow said. “They ain’t the worst people you’d ever want to know. But Canada ain’t free and independent, not all the way it ain’t. The limeys, they do whatever they please there.”
“They certainly do,” Roosevelt agreed, “and they’re able to do it, too, since their transcontinental railroad went through about the time I came to Montana. The only reason they had for building that railroad—the
only
reason, I say, Phil—is to shuttle British soldiers along the frontier to those places where they might prove most advantageous.”
“And where they’ll do the most good, too,” Snow said.
Roosevelt smiled. His hired hand had no idea what was funny. He didn’t explain he had no desire to make the older man feel foolish. Instead, he came round to the other subject uppermost on his mind: “And now the Confederates, not content with battening on our weakness these past twenty years, have sunk their fangs into the Empire of Mexico as well.”
“By what the papers were saying last time you went into town, President Blaine ain’t gonna take that layin’ down,” Snow said.
“He’d better not. If he does, the whole country lies down with him. He wasn’t elected to play the coward, which is what I’vebeen saying.” Resolution crystallized in Roosevelt. When he made up his mind, he made it up in a hurry, and all the way. “Harness the team to the Handbasket, Phil. I’m going into town to find out what the latest news is. If there’s war, sure as the sun comes up tomorrow we’ll have hordes of redcoats pouring over the border. By jingo, I wish the telegraph line reached all the way out here. I want to know what’s going on out in the bigger world.”
If Philander Snow cared about the wider world, he concealed it very well. He might have been—he probably had been—a rough character once, but work on the farm and the occasional spree in Helena satisfied him now. “Give me just a few minutes, boss, and I’ll take care of it.” He spat and chuckled and spat again. “You’re a hell of a
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