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civilization. He’d heard the Lord’s Prayer had been translated into Sioux, which he also took for a good sign.
    The
Gazette
had a copy of the front page of the day’s edition displayed under glass in front of the office. A small crowd of people stared at it. Roosevelt worked his way through the crowd till he could read the headlines. REBEL INTRANSIGENCE , shouted One. BLAINE TAKES FIRM LINE ON CONFEDERATE LAND GRAB , Said another. ENGLAND WARNS USA NOT TO MEDDLE , declared a third.
    “England, she has no right to make such a warning,” said one of the men in front of Roosevelt. He had a guttural accent;
warning
came out
varning
. Roosevelt’s big head nodded vehemently—even a German immigrant could see the nose in front of his face.
    He wondered if Blaine would see it or back down, spineless as the Democrats who’d run the country since Lincoln was so unceremoniously shown the door after the war against secession turned out to be the War of Secession. By that second headline, the president seemed to be doing what the people had elected him to do, for which Roosevelt thanked God.
    Behind Roosevelt, the crowd parted as if it were the Red Sea and Moses had come. But it wasn’t Moses, it was a fierce-looking fellow with a bushy white mustache and chin beard who wore a banker’s somber black suit.
    “Mornin’, Mr. Cruse,” a grocer said respectfully. “Good day, sir,” one of the men who worked at the livery stable added, tipping his straw hat. “How’s the boy, Tommy?” said a miner who matched Cruse in years but not in affluence.
    “Mornin’ to you all,” Cruse said, affable enough and to spare. A few years earlier, he’d been poorer than the miner who’d greeted him. Roosevelt doubted whether any bank in Montana Territory would have lent him more than fifty dollars. But he’d made his strike, which was rare, and he’d sold it for every penny it was worth, which was rarer. These days, he didn’t need to borrow money from a bank, for he owned one. He was one of the handful of men throughout the West who’d gone at a single bound from prospector to capitalist.
    He’d dealt squarely with people when he was poor, and he kept on dealing squarely with them now that he was rich. Had he wanted to be territorial governor, he could have been. He’d never given any sign of being interested in the job.
    Like everyone else, Roosevelt gave way for him. It was a gesture of respect for the man’s achievement, not one of servility. Roosevelt had money of his own, New York money, infinitelyolder and infinitely more stable than that grubbed from the ground here in the wild territories.
    “Good morning, Mr. Roosevelt,” Cruse said, nodding to him. The self-made millionaire respected those who gave him his due and no more.
    “Good morning to you, Mr. Cruse,” Roosevelt answered, hoping he would be as vigorous as the ex-miner when he got old. He pointed toward the front page of the
Helena Gazette
. “What do you think we ought to do, sir, about the Confederates’ land grab?”
    “Let me see the latest before I answer.” Unlike so many of his comrades, Thomas Cruse would not leap blind. He stood well back from the newspaper under glass, studying the headlines. The crowd of men who had also been reading them waited, silent, for his considered opinion. Once he was done, he spoke with due deliberation: “I think we ought to continue on the course we’ve taken up till now. I see no other we can choose.”
    “My exact thought, Mr. Cruse,” Roosevelt agreed enthusiastically. “But if the Confederates and the British—and the French who prop up Maximilian—also continue on their course …”
    “Then we lick ’em,” Tom Cruse said in a loud, harsh voice. The crowd in front of the newspaper office erupted in cheers. Theodore Roosevelt joined them. Cruse could speak for all of Montana Territory. The miner turned banker had certainly spoken for him.
        General James Ewell Brown Stuart’s way had always