VERONA, N.Y. -- The turning point in Ray Halbritter's life -- and possibly the life of central New York State -- came in 1975, when a fire engulfed the bingo hall on the tiny Indian Reservation where he lived. The city's fire department refused to answer a call for help. His uncle and aunt died in the blaze.

"It was a real awakening experience," Halbritter, who was 25 at the time, recalled. "I realized we had to find a way to take care of ourselves."

He decided to go to college, then to Harvard Law School. Now, at age 48, Halbritter is CEO of the Oneida Indian Nation, which owns not merely a bingo hall but the Turning Stone Casino Resort, a multimillion-dollar enterprise that has transformed the once-impoverished tribe into a political and economic powerhouse.

Halbritter has also mounted the largest Indian land claim in the United States -- one that could affect similar claims in New York and all along the East Coast.

He is demanding the return of all the land taken from his tribe over the past 200 years -- a total of 250,000 acres. And he is suing not just Oneida and Madison Counties but also the 20,000 private landowners who currently hold title to the territory.

This is no idle challenge: The Justice Department is backing the land claim, and has publicly declared that one way to settle the dispute might be to evict the present occupants, who number about 80,000. The Oneida Indians in the area, by contrast, number fewer than 1,000.

The counties, in angry legal counterclaims, have laid siege to the entire notion of tribal sovereignty -- at least to the degree it exempts tribal holdings from local laws, regulations and taxes.

"There's a lot of tension here, and the tension is growing dramatically," said Ralph Eannes, the Oneida County executive, sitting in his 10th floor office, overlooking the vast green meadows of the Mohawk Valley.

"I've heard people talk about guns," Eannes went on. "There's been a lot of protest rallies against the Indians -- so far peaceful, but some have threatened not to stay peaceful."

Every weekend, a few hundred members of a group called the Upstate Citizens for Equality picket the casino and the Indians other enterprises -- five gas stations, a deluxe RV park, an inn, and a textile printing shop.

One homeowner has hung a poster on his porch, a cartoon of a man holding a rifle and saying, Ray Halbritter, come collect your rent!

Bernie Conklin, co-founder of Upstate Citizens, whose family ties to the area go back three generations, said he does not condone violence, but does call for a boycott of the Indian businesses. He tells his fellow townspeople who patronize the Oneida businesses, All you're doing is giving them more money to sue you with.

The Oneida tribe filed its lawsuit against the landowners last December. Since then, Upstate Citizens membership rolls have skyrocketed from 600 to 3,500.

"We welcomed the fact that landowners are named in the suit," Conklin said. "It woke a lot of people up."

No shocker

To Halbritter, though, the suit should not have shocked anybody.

"People who live here all knew we have a land claim on this property," he said. "It says so on the titles and deeds of their homes. Nobody can claim ignorance. What nobody counted on was that, one day, we'd assert our claim."

Halbritter bases the claim on the Treaty of Canandaigua, signed by the US government in 1794, which promised never to disturb the Oneidas right to 250,000 acres of central New York.

Of the six Iroquois tribes in the state, the Oneida were alone in supporting the colonists during the Revolutionary War. They helped fight off the British in a few key battles and, in a famous bit of lore, supplied corn to George Washington's hungry troops at Valley Forge.

The 1794 treaty was the American governments token of gratitude.

Then, between 1795 and 1846, New York State imposed 26 land-treaties on the Oneida that, eventually, reduced the tribes holdings to a mere 32 acres -- barely enough to live on, much less develop or seriously farm.

The Oneida have long claimed that the state treaties violated the Trade and Intercourse Act, passed by the US Congress in 1790 and still in force today, which forbids states from buying Indian lands without the approval of the federal government.

"This is what's at issue in the current controversy," said Tony Wonderley, the tribes official historian. "All the New York land treaties are illegal because they were done without federal consent."

Supreme Court ruling

In 1970, the Oneida sued the State for damages. State judges rejected their claim. But then in 1985, the US Supreme Court ruled the Indians claim had merit.

"That 1985 decision changed the landscape," said Robert Witmer, the lawyer who represents the county. "Nobody ever had to take the land claims seriously till then. Once they did, so much land and money was involved, nobody knew quite how to address it."

For 14 years, the state government stalled. Then last December the tribe upped the legal ante. Until then, the Oneida, like many other Indian tribes pushing land claims, had sought financial compensation for their loss of land. But since its casino opened in 1993, money hasn't been the prime need of the Oneida.

Respect is. And so, seeking to prod the state into action, Halbritter modified the suit in December to name the landowners as defendants and to declare the tribe wanted its land back a rare and brazen step in such cases.

"People say were being adversarial, but that's what the American court system is," Halbritter said. "In the courts, that's what you do in a real-estate claim -- you sue the current occupants. It's like that anywhere in America. Then, in a negotiation, you work it out."

Special negotiator

Shortly after the suit was modified, the state finally appointed a special negotiator to mediate a compromise, which may be unveiled later this month.

Eannes, the Oneida County Executive, is bewildered at the federal governments support for the claim support that was softened somewhat after state political leaders voiced outrage at the possibility of evictions.

"Think about this," he said. "Two hundred years ago, New York State purchased land from Oneida Indians. The federal government was aware this was going on, and said it shouldn't happen. Still, the federal government purchased land in Wisconsin that many Oneidas were moved to. Federal and State governments encouraged white people to settle in the Mohawk Valley. Now they say, 'Oh, April Fools! Its not really your land!'"

With the wealth gained from the casino, the Oneida Indian Nation has already been buying up as much land as it can -- 10,500 acres in the past three years, spread out in eight of the 10 towns that cover the 250,000 acres under dispute. And they have declared each new parcel of land to be part of their sovereign nation.

This expansion has boosted more than just Indian fortunes. The Oneida are the county's largest employer, providing jobs to 3,000 people, 90 percent of them non-Indian. The economic boost has also compelled Moody's and Standard & Poor's to upgrade the county's municipal bond rating, saving taxpayers $3.2 million in borrowing costs.

However, their new wealth has also triggered resentments, especially since Indian nations pay no state or local taxes and are not obliged to observe state or local laws. Eannes acknowledges what many of the Indians critics do not that, in lieu of property taxes, the Oneidas have paid more than $1 million in a so-called silver covenant, which goes to the local school districts.

Still, he has other concerns.

"If they buy back 250,000 acres, they rip the community of central New York apart," Eannes said. "If this guy pays taxes but that guy doesn't -- this guy lives by zoning laws, that guy doesn't -- what does that do to a sense of community?"