Note: the following is a piece of fiction

James Whitcomb may have been the first person murdered in the town of Jasper, but he was not the last.

Jasper was only a year and five months old when Mr. Whitcomb paid the price for some forces outside of his control. Those forces had started years before, but had picked up steam on June 24th, 1886, when the first train load of white settlers and immigrants had tumbled out of the newly erected Fargo and Northwestern Railroad station, finished just the week before. The Fargo and Northwestern had decided on a fairly ambitious program of track laying and station building throughout the entire James River valley of the Dakota Territory in response to similar activities by its main competitors, the Milwaukee and the Northern Pacific Railroads, and the area soon to be known as Jasper had been selected as a stop.

The James River valley is located in the upper portion of what was then still the Dakota Territory. The lower, southwest portion of the Territory had seen a fantastic boom in the decade preceding 1886, primarily due to a westward expansion of homesteaders and settlers out of Iowa and Minnesota and the powerful influence of railroading. By 1879, there was scarcely any desirable land left in the Big Sioux Valley that was not occupied, and the southwest corner of the territory, along the Big Sioux and Missouri Rivers, had been completely incorporated into counties and defined boundaries as early as 1870. While the lands along the Missouri Plateau and the Red Rivers had gone wanting for new arrivals, towns and settlements in the Big Sioux popped up with almost ferocious regularity.

In 1870, the total population of the entire territory was 14,181. By 1880, however, 135,000 people were known to be in the territories, and fully 74,000 of them upper half of the territories alone.

Clearly, as settlers continued to pour in, there needed to be space for them to go. At first glance, the Dakota Territories hardly seemed likely candidates for such explosive growth, the upper half even more so. While mining, cattle raising and shepherding were staple industries all through the remaining territories of the Great Plains, Dakotans were primarily farmers, and farming, to any new arrival, would seem to be a hard go there. First off, rainfall was a factor of primary importance. The territory was dry and arid, with irregular precipitation and scarce or insufficient water tables. In addition, the severity of winters in the territory was well known, giving the area a bad reputation among prospective settlers willing to forgo some hardships but not looking to challenge the wrath of Nature unnecessarily. The land, in many parts, was long and flat, lacking timber and firewood, which hindered not only the supply of building and fence material, but allowed the winds to roam free across the plains during the cold winter months in a way unknown to those settlers coming from more hilly and forested states back east. And, it was said, the further north one went, the harder life became. The “hard winter” of 1876-77 did little to change this perception.

But still, they came. By 1886, 330,000 people were known to be in the territory, and the number in those four counties alone had increased to 120,000. The forces were ripe for other areas in the territory to grow. The earlier occupation of much of the more desirable land back east caused its general rise in price, and, in most cases, as towns and governments grew along with the farming populations, there came corresponding increases in taxes. By 1870 there was little free land in eastern states seen as desirable for farming as that of Dakota. It was said in the town halls and general stores back east that the land in Dakota was ready for the plow, and a man didn’t have to waste any time once he got there with clearing it of trees, stumps, brush or stones. Word had filtered back from those who had gone before of the successes they had found, and newspapers of the day turned these stories into figures any man could understand. On October 22nd, 1870, the Chicago Tribune reported 170,460 bushels of wheat had been produced in the territory, at an average price of 74 cents a bushel. What hadn’t been reported was the simple fact that 220,000 bushels had been expected, the missing crops devastated as a result of a grasshopper plague that left more than one farmer destitute and completely unprepared for the winter ahead.

Another factor in the rush into the Dakotas were the railroads. Having seen the power of newly laid track to develop communities and, by default, customers for their trains, railroads came into the territory by the score. Rail lines and companies competed with each other to see who could build the most track in the shortest amount of time, and often laid claim to whole sections of the territory as their own. There was a direct relationship between the railroads and the land, not only in the space provided for them to grow, but in the railroad’s desire to publicize and exaggerate the advantages of their new, yet unfulfilled, markets. Railroads printed pamphlets by the thousands for free distribution back east, and published advertisements in newspapers extolling the virtues of the new, unsettled territories. Special fares were offered from departures in the east, up to and including the granting of credit for those poor souls who, not having the wherewithal to make it where they were, saw no reason not to take a little chance with such a kind and thoughtful railroad who might just allow them to see if they could start it all over again.

But more important to this boom in immigration to the Dakotas in the years 1878 to 1886 was the promise of free land. In the decades after the Civil War, land was, in many respects, simply there for the taking. A vast, sparsely populated plain, white settlers felt free to move into the Dakotas with nothing more than their possessions to stake a claim. By 1880, land offices had opened in each of the counties of the Dakotas, granting title to new arrivals for plots of up to 150 acres under the jurisdiction of the Federal government. Railroads, having already claimed much of the land around the expansion lines, sold plots to farmers for fees much lower than land costs in the east, and a boom in real estate speculation escalated as “free” grant-holders immediately looked to sell land to slightly later arrivals at inflated prices that were still hard to turn down by those who had just stepped off a train with everything they owned and an expectant family.

In the end, however, none of these forces would have amounted to much had there not been one more missing piece fitted into the puzzle. Unable to fathom that any part of the country would not be able to turn a profit as much as all of the other already settled areas had, bad climate or not, the newly arrived settlers went looking for signs that the dangers to be found in the Dakotas could be brushed aside as relics of the past. And, much to their satisfaction, they found them.

For ten straight years, from 1877 to 1886, the farmers in Dakota had the benefits of abnormally generous rainfalls. In the eight years preceding 1877, the climate had proved true to form: little or no rainfall along with unusually harsh winters. However, the spring of 1877 opened to what was seen as a “new” day; even the “hard winter” the year before had helped. When the early spring came, the ground was practically unfrozen because of the great depth of the snow, said to have averaged more than ten feet in some areas. When the snow melted in March and April, it saturated the subsoil with water, and many of the undrained depressions of the prairies more or less held the moisture for some years after. As a result of ten years of heavy rainfall, the water-table was higher for several seasons, which contributed to above average crops during those years and the belief that farming was, as a whole, a much easier proposition that it may have first appeared.

Word got out that the previous beliefs about the Dakotas and its weather patterns was unfounded. Many an older settler was insisting that the climate had changed, and many a newer one was ready to believe it. Many theories were put forth for such a phenomenon, but most of them were based on one simple premise: the arrival of the settlers had changed the weather patterns and climate of the Dakotas.

Old and new arrivals alike were comforted with the philosophy that rainfall would (and did) follow settlement, and that breaking the sod would hold the moisture. The growing of crops, the burning of the prairies, and even the smoke from the homes of settlers were believed to somehow cause rain to fall. It was said that the construction of railroad and telegraph lines across the plains would produce rain by means of electrical currents running through the wires. One professed authority on the subject claimed that the planting of trees would increase rainfall, although he could not explain how soil that could not produce grass could be made to grow trees.

These ideas naturally led to the conclusion that humans, particularly these white settlers, could in various ways cause rainfall. Ideas of this sort were everywhere in the 1870’s and 1880’s. A civil engineer as early as 1871 had published a thesis that there was a close relationship between rainfall and battlefield activity. In 1880, a patent was taken out on a device whereby rain might be produced by a series of explosions among the clouds caused by balloons. When severe drought struck the great plains in the early nineties, Congress made appropriations of nineteen thousand dollars, of which fourteen thousand was for a series of experiments conducted by a Major in the Cavalry under the direction of the Department of Agriculture. Most of these experiments involved blowing things up.

The town of Jasper was a direct result of these beliefs. The Fargo and Northwestern would have never claimed the James River valley if it didn’t believe people would be arriving by the thousands. In fact, all over the rest of the territory the same scenario was being played out. On June 16th, 1886, the wooden platform alongside the tracks that served as a “station” was completed, and a week later, the first run of two-a-day service stopped alongside. Officials of the Fargo and Northwestern were, in fact, worried. This branch was seen as getting a late start; other towns along other routes were already booming, plus, the summer was half over and fading fast. Settlers had to be brought and brought quickly. Consequently, 110 of them stood on the platform in the afternoon sun of June 24th, looking into the eyes of real estate agents, wagon drivers, and farm merchants, ready and waiting to “help” the new arrivals in any way they could.

Jasper grew exceedingly fast. By October, the town’s population had grown to 750, not counting the numerous settlers who had staked claims or bought land and built homes before settling in for the winter. One and two-story buildings had gone up along a main street running perpendicular to the station, and by October there were two general stores, a saloon, a land office, three real estate firms, a bank representative, a hotel and a boarding house. Even a scaffold for hanging criminals, should it ever come to that, was erected on the outskirts of town, at the very end of the street. Nevertheless, a palpable air of expectation surrounded the town and could be seen in the eyes of it’s inhabitants. To a man, they couldn’t wait for the winter to pass and a new batch of settlers to come, complete with more money and more needs to satisfy.

However, the first signs of trouble came before spring even arrived. Most of the town had, by the new year, found itself deeply disappointed even before the first crops had a chance to be planted. The townsfolk had been promised by the railroad that more settlers would be brought throughout the winter, people who, lured by the promise of humid summers and a chance at cheap land, would want to come early and get ready for the spring, even if it meant staying in town until then. But the winter broke hard and mean; by January the town had experienced 15 days in a row of below zero temperatures. The trains carrying the promised new arrivals had stopped running by then, and no new dollars flowed to those who anxiously awaited them. Still, they held out hope; the future still seemed possible. All they had to do, they told themselves, was wait until spring.

The spring of 1887 opened dry and hot. It did not rain in Jasper or in any area within 125 miles until August 10th, but by July, it was apparent there would be almost no crops that year. Wheat had developed into little more than dry buds on a stalk, and corn, for the most part, hadn’t even shown tassels by the first rains. New arrivals in the first months of the summer waited for the weather to break, out of fear that it might never, before giving up and getting back on the train. Others, still ready to believe that the laws of nature could, in fact, be repealed, went in search of land, only to find it was going to take a little bit more money to find some than they had planned. Nevertheless, these hardy believers pressed on, and by June, the town had grown to over a thousand people, and almost all of the land within one days wagon ride of Jasper had been claimed.

The hot weather and lack of rainfall that year might not have been such a disaster had most of the farmers, and almost all of the townsfolk, not financed their futures with loans of one type or another. Farmers who were able to secure free land had, in many cases, bought farm implements and home materials on credit. Others, unable to grab the lands set aside for grants from the government, took out loans from real estate agencies or land speculators to snatch up the remaining low rates offered by the railroads for the lands alongside the tracks they held title to. Others, who had brought enough of their own cash to survive, saw an opportunity to make more of it almost as soon as they arrived: searching out prospective borrowers, they often had little trouble finding them, nor in getting them to agree to 10% interest rates or above just for the privilege of accessing hard cash.

James Whitcomb was a combination of many things in the town of Jasper. A real estate agent with the firm of Doremus, Jessup, Sinclair and Lewis, he also acted as a loan agent and field inspector for a number of banks back east. As loan agent, his responsibilities included authorizing loans to farmers and business men, as field inspector, he was responsible for collecting payments and keeping tabs on his customers’ general business conditions. As real estate agent, he was able to put all aspects of the newly arrived settler’s needs into play: finding the plot of land easily led into approving the loan. And it didn’t hurt that he was close with some railroad officials as well.

Whitcomb received a fee from the sale of land, from the successful granting of a loan, and, if appropriate, a “finder’s fee” from the railroad. Consequently, many of the transactions he was responsible for might not have been in the best interest of any of the parties involved – outside of himself. He had thought about this a few times in the past – in fact, he was thinking about it at his desk in the back of the real estate office when a tall, bearded man, complete with soiled and torn denim pants and an oily buckskin shirt, strode through the door.

The terms of a mortgage on a plot of land sold for farming near Jasper was usually ten percent on a principal of up to $500.00. Farm implements were often sold at similar interest rates, for those who were lucky enough to not need a mortgage, and business loans for buildings and supplies inside Jasper were sometimes higher. Very few balked at paying these amounts, confident as they were. Knowing that people who simply arrived one day could simply leave the next, most of the loans in question defined default as a case of as few as two months without payment on principal alone, and very few loans were willing to forgive interest. Had the wheat been shoulder high in the fields, and ears of corn showing signs of splitting their husks, these terms might have been staved off for a while, or at least until the fall. As it were, however, no such hope could be had in Jasper as summer waned in 1887.

The narrow eyes below the faded hat that walked into the real estate office had seen James Whitcomb before, most recently when Whitcomb had arrived in a wagon on his farm ten miles outside of town. Those same eyes had watched Mr. Whitcomb as he told him that the bank was calling for his farm to be turned over, as there had been three straight months without payment on the mortgage. The farmer under the hat had listened silently, thinking back to the smile that had registered across Whitcomb’s face on the day he promised him there would never be a problem with the bank as long as he signed the mortgage right away.

“The bank wants to help you…” he recalled Whitcomb as saying on that winter’s day, months ago, when they signed “…and it wants to help you right away”. He thought about those words again while he stood in the dry, dusty sunlight, listening to him now offer only ten more days to come up with the amount owed.

James Whitcomb didn’t survive the rest of the day after the farmer turned on his heel and strode out of the office just as calmly as he had walked in. The bullet in his neck saw to that. The farmer was gone the next day, his family taking one last look over their shoulders at the scraggly wheat and lopsided house they were leaving behind. But even though very few had known his name, more and more residents of the lands around Jasper ended up remembering what he did when their own time came to have a talk with someone from a bank. By November, there had been fourteen more killings in the town; bank representatives and merchants, land office clerks and, on one occasion, a dancing girl from another town looking for a new life. The scaffolding by the jail became the preferred method, as the town, in a kind of madness, played out the forces of supply and demand in a most brutal way. The farmers, faced with foreclosure, often rode into town in bunches to find someone else who they felt deserved to “stretch the hemp” in what grew into the bloodiest episode of the Great Dakota Bust of 1887. The town of Jasper became synonymous with murderous revenge to some, utter lawlessness to others. For entire days townsfolk stayed indoors lest they be caught by the eyes of some maurauding farmer come to exact revenge as the body count of the unfortunates rose steadily. Entire weeks went by when there was hardly a soul to be found on the streets of the town save the occasional drunken farmer astride a horse, guns drawn, slowly riding through as he looked for someone to take his feelings of shame and degradation out on. Every other night, it seemed, a building burned, leaving only charred ruins for the townsfolk to wake up to. Some people, back east, held the farmers up as heroes, striking out against the forces gathered together to exploit them in the ruthless West. Very few remembered that it was the farmers who, wanting to believe in riches bad enough that they could even forget how Nature worked, allowed themselves to hop on that train.

The next five years saw drought in the summer and hardship in the winter across the entire Dakota Territory. By 1889, the calls for statehood to relieve the suffering grew loud enough to be successful. The Federal government had been called into Jasper by 1889, and by 1890, it had almost ceased to exist. The population afterwards was a mere 150, and the Fargo and Northwestern, now the Fargo, Milwaukee and Northern Pacific, didn’t even bother to stop anymore. Settlement continued across the territory, now two separate states, albeit at much slower rates, and the territory as a whole experienced a drop in population throughout the next decade as settlers, disappointed in their dreams of an agricultural paradise, left by the thousands.

In 1910, a tract of lignite coal was discovered a mile from the town of Jasper. By 1911, new railroad tracks, owned by the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad, were laid to the town. By 1912, Jasper had a population of 1,110, along with a new jail and courthouse, financed completely through the sale of public debt bonds.

Just in case any criminals happened to appear.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 23rd, 2003 at 3:22 pm and is filed under On Writing.