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The Frontier and The Frontier and Midland Literary Magazines, 1920-1939 University of Montana Publications

5-1929

The Frontier, May 1929

Harold G. Merriam

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Recommended Citation Merriam, Harold G., "The Frontier, May 1929" (1929). The Frontier and The Frontier and Midland Literary Magazines, 1920-1939. 28. https://scholarworks.umt.edu/frontier/28

This Journal is brought to you for free and open access by the University of Montana Publications at ScholarWorks at University of Montana. It has been accepted for inclusion in The Frontier and The Frontier and Midland Literary Magazines, 1920-1939 by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks at University of Montana. For more information, please contact [email protected]. MAY T h e FRONTIER A Magazine o f the Northwest rOL. IX, NO. 4 m a y , 1929 CONTENTS The Recorders— verse— illustration by Evan Reynolds.------Joe Hare Windfalls— verse______Raymond Kresensky Potatoes— a story o f salesmanship------Merle Haines The Machine Shop— verse— how the worker feels------Joan Prosper Greer's Road— a story o f defeat------.English Roland Hartley Full Tide at Sunset— a poem______Howard McKinley Corning Out o f Life— sketches Kristina______Isabel Orchard Death in Summer______— ------Nina Craw Silence______May Vontver God and the Rabbit______7------B. Dixon In Connaught______Elizabeth McKenzie Late Victorian, Notes from a Professor’s Diary— a story------______Brassil Fitzgerald Lilac— a fantasy______Borghild Lee Trees o f Heaven— a story______Grace Stone Coates On War Literature— an essay------Edmund L. Freeman Prayer for the New-Born— a poem, illustrated------______^.Lilian White Spencer Glory o f the Seas— a poem o f a clipper ship— .------Bill Adams The One Big Union— a story o f an I. W . W .------Harry G. Huse Going to School— a story of young loye------D ’Arcy Dahlberg OPEN RANGE Laying the Iron Trail______Luke D. Sweetman Burnt, but not Stewed------Pat T . Tucker HISTORICAL SECTION . ., Reminiscence o f John Bozeman------James Kirkpatrick POEMS by Arthur T . Merrill, Mary Brennan Clapp, Violet Crain, J. Corson Miller, Norman Macleod, John Richard Moreland, Helen Maring, Queene B. Lister, Israel Newman, Ethel Romig Fuller, Walter Evans Kidd. BOOKSHELF— books by Harvey Fergusson, Vachel Lindsay, Lucy Robinson, Sigrid Undset, Ted Olson, James Walsh.

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VOL IX, No. 4. Copyright, 1928, by H. G. Merriam „ . _ Published in November, January, MAY, 1929 March, and May. under the Act ^ /^ ^ ch ^ f^ l g7{f'*'*'er 'M'ay 4’ *928, at the postoffice at Missoula, Montana,

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Pine and Higgins, Missoula At the Wilma—Montana’s Finest Theatre. Aboard The Covered Wagon. Brassil Fitzgerald, assistant edtor The Frontier, contributes his first Fr Evan Reynolds, formerly of Missoula, tier story. He has published many stor is now doing art work in New York City. and essays in other magazines. Gn Joe Hare, who lives at Evergreen, Col­ Stone Coates, also an assistant edit orado ; Helen Maring, editor of Muse and needs no introduction. Edmund L. Fr Mirror, Seattle; John Richard Moreland, man is a professor at the State Univers of Norfolk, Virginia; Joan Prosper, Kirk­ of Montana. Mary Brennan Clapp I land, Washington, are new to The Fron­ published much verse. tier, but their verse is well known among Lilian White Spencer, Denver po lovers of poetry. Howard Corning, Ethel writes of the Indian picture, “Copy of Fuller, Walter Kidd, Queene Lister, and picture in water color, painted by a Na> Borghild Lee are Oregon writers whose jo artist, from the sand-painting of 1 writing is welcomed by Frontier readers. uncle, a famous shamen of the Navaji Raymond Kresensky, Newburgh, Indi­ which the shamen makes at the time ana, writes for many magazines. the birth of a Navajo child.” Merle Haines is a student at the State Israel Newman, Augusta, Maine, is University of Montana, as are also Betty alienist, psycho-analyst and poet. J. C« Dixon, Eizabeth McKenzie, and Isabel son Miller, Buffalo, New York, and Arth Orchard. This is the first appearance in T. Merrill, Glendale, California, both f« print of all except Merle Haines, whose mer contributors, have published volum story, Mike, won recognition in Best Short of verse. Norman Macleod is editor Stories of 1928, Violet Crain teaches at Palo Verde, Holbrook, Arizona. Roslyn, Washington. Both Bill Adams and Harry G. Hu It is with pleasure that the distinctive are established writers, especially amoi writing of Roland English Hartley, San readers of Adventure. D’Arcy Dahlber Francisco, is presented to Frontier readers. formerly a Montanan, sends his symp May VontveFs The Kiskis, in the March thetic study of young life from New Yoi issue, brought many appreciative letters City. Luke Sweetman, Billings, Montan to the editor’s desk. Nina Craw teaches and Pat Tucker, Livingston, are bot at Sixteen, Montana. “old timers.”

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Agents for Whitman’s Fine Meals in the City Candies Our Fountain Peterson Drug Co. Bwcelt All Other $ A Good Place to Trade Two Stores Open from 7 a. m. to 12 p. m. Illustration for THE RECORDERS by Evan Reynolds THE FRONTIER A MAGAZINE OF THE NORTHWEST “The frontiers are not east or west, north or south, hut wherever a man fronts a fact."—T horeau.

The Recorders By Joe Hare Some are black and some are gray, and all Are dead. They line the ridges, erect or bent Above successors unaware that seed Of pines, mislaid in soil that’s rich enough To germinate and nourish, will start young trees Susceptible to three— the sun, the rain And air. Three which, combining, will inveigle Them to growths the soil cannot support.

All are dead, but death is versatile. As fire in fall will scorch a sapless bark And leave black stumps of pitch. And these outlast The gray ones killed in spring when fire dries out The sap, to leave one peeling in the sun And rain and air— three which, combining, start Disintegration to enrich the soil— Soil rich enough to germinate new seed.

North'Qoing Qeese By Arthur T. Merrill

Do you know what the wild geese, north-going, cry As they, instinct-driven, fly In starry duskings over leafing trees? Greening, the grain spears hear in fertile fields And the yearly whitening of the pear yields A gift of drifting pollen to the enterprising breeze.

Do you know what the wild geese, north-going, cry As they, instinct-driven, fly In crisp-edged dawnings over up-sprung pasturelands ? The Hereford heifer, lowing, understands, And where the wild grouse berries grow The feathered groundlings.hear and know.

271 THE FRONTIi

W in d falls By Raymond Kresensky

The wind blows East and West. From day to day the apple trees Are bent. The limbs reach down And touch the grass.

The rain beats down upon them And hail cuts deep. Afterwards there are windfalls.

What is that idiot boy of the Hopkinses, And the useless son of the Russells? Windfalls.

Old lady Poesy’s son left home years ago And has not been heard from since. (How the wind blows the apples down!) Those young men sunning themselves Before the barber shop And the old maids peering from behind The parlor curtains, gossiping About the passers-by, the giddy girls— (The wind blows East and West And the rotten apples fall.)

What is the girl keeping house on the Booneville Road, And beckoning the miners in? And the nervous wreck of a Doctor? And the holy minister of God—perverted? Windfalls, windfalls.

It seems the wind blew hard this year. It seems the rain beat down. THE FRONTIER

Potatoes By Merle Haines

RS. BELTON was driving the littered with boots, socks, Dick’s milk cows to pasture in the clothing and an ax handle Dan had Mearly morning. They walked been shaping. With a last look out­ up the trail in single file, the three side she began the housework. cowbells flooding the air with their At eleven o ’clock she went to the clatter; to the woman on the white root house after meat for dinner. horse it was singing music, as pleas­ Groping thru the darkness for the ant as the spring sunshine. pork barrel, she found it and stuck The trail sloped up from the barn, her hand into the cold brine. Her thru a patch of timber and out onto fingers touched bottom and she slid the flats. Along the trail-edge her hand around, weaving it back young grass stood in scattered and forth. The brine slopped emp­ bunches and the cows made hasty tily. reaches for the green blades, licking “ Oh, goodness,” she exclaimed. them in with long tongues. The salt pork was gone and only “ Hiya, there, Crescent. Nig! yesterday Dick had said there was Move along,” Mrs. Belton shouted, more. But she had told Dan to kill to keep them moving, then sat easy a pig a week ago. in the saddle, looking over the backs Angrily kicking a potato from of her milkers or searching the trail- underfoot, she went outside. A clear, side for early flowers. sweet whistle quivered thru the air. She drove the cows thru the pas­ She stopped there, biting her lip, ture fence, shut the bars and let and glared at Dan. If it were the Bess run back to the corrals. At the middle of July he would still whistle barn Bess slid to a halt as Mrs. “ Annie Laurie” and still believe he Belton swung off. could raise crops before winter. Between the house and the creek As she went to the wood place Dan, her husband, and Pete, the Mrs. Belton noticed the pile of logs hired man, were plowing. The smell Dan had got out two winters ago for of damp, fresh earth filled the atmos­ a new barn. They were rotting. Dan phere. She breathed deeply of it, was that way—start something with stopping a moment to watch the sod great energy, work himself out in a twist over and lie in shiny black few days, and drop it. Disgusting. ribbons, and then went on to the She picked up the ax and chopped house. viciously at a cottonwood log. Dan In the kitchen it was different. always kept a sharp ax, but that was Egg-smeared breakfast dishes were because a woman couldn’t do any­ piled on the table and the floor was thing with a dull one. When out of

273 THE FRONTIER breath she gathered a bucket of ground: best in Montana. We ’ll keep chips, picked up the wood and went Dick home tomorrow.” in to renew the fire. She knocked his hand away. “ Yes, Dick would be home from school that’s the way. You should have for dinner, so she would have to have planted Saturday so he wouldn’t it on time. When it was ready she miss school. You never plan things. went to the door and sent a long who- Y ou’re planting too many potatoes. o-we-e-e echoing across the field. She Everybody is putting in acres of looked up the road and saw Dick com­ them. . . . I don’t see why you ing. He left his pony at the barn and didn’t kill that pig when I told you ran to the house— a husky youngster to.” of thirteen, quiet. Mrs. Belton poured the tea. “ Dan, “ Ma, is dinner ready? I got to be I want those raisins!” back.” Dan filled his hand and set the, “ Yes. Hurry and wash before the raisins back in the pantry. “ Now men get here.” you keep still. You don’t know any­ Pete took the team to the barn; thing about it. You always run Dan came in, his face damp and dirty. everything I do into the ground.” “ Well, my love, have you got lots “ I f you ’d take my advice once in to eat ? ” he shouted boisterously. a while. . . I told you to kill a pig. “ I ’m ravenous.’’ Dinner’s cold. Dinner’s getting cold, “ Dan! Quit— your dirty hands. I said.” How can I when I haven’t anything to cook?” “ Oh, damn the pig.” What? Pork, chickens, eggs, Dan slammed the raisins to the beef! Woman, talk sense.” floor and started out kicking a chair “ I told you to kill a pig.” She out of the way. It crashed against slapped a big spoonful of potatoes the table, narrowly missing his wife. into a serving dish. “ The salt pork’s Almost running, he dashed thru the gone.” She slid the dish onto the door, grabbed the ax as he went by table. “ Next winter you’ll want eggs the wood place and headed for the — don’t wash your face on that towel pig pen. He leapt inside and Mrs. —where would we be without egg Belton saw the ax flash up and down. money ? You talk sense! ’ ’ A pig squealed. Dan threw the ax “ Oh, that’s all right.” Dan held out and a young shoat after it. up the towel. “ It ’s dirty anyway. ’ ’ Dick had been eating but laid down ‘ ‘ I told you to kill a pig. ’ ’ his fork. “ Ma— I— I ain’t hungry.” ‘ ‘ Ho, never mind, ’ ’ he squeezed her “ Now, Dick, eat your dinner and arm. “ Next fall w e’ll be well fixed. run to school. D on’t say a word and Bushels and bushels of potatoes. We he’ll be all right.” have rich ground, woman, rich Dick took a piece of pie in his fists 274 THE FRONTIER and went out to his pony. Mrs. “ Just as you say, my love, just as Belton swept up the raisins. you say.” Pete came from the barn and Pete washed and began eating. Dan helped Dan butcher the pig. They absently trimmed his finger-nails hung it up. with a jackknife. He smiled. “ Aren’t you going to scrape it?” “ I thot of a little jingle,” he said, Pete asked. reaching on the shelf for a pencil and Dan jerked up the ax and started paper. He sat down to write. for the house. “ Let her skin it her­ Pete finished his supper and went self, or feed it to the chickens—I out. don’t give a rap.” Mrs. Belton stood by the stove, one Dan came in. “ There’s your hand grasping the lifter. Her face darned old pig, ’ ’ he said gruffly, and was red. He was impossible!— writ­ without looking at his wife washed ing silly jingles and keeping the work the blood from his hands. He rapidly back. consumed eggs, potatoes and pie and “ Y ou’re the most aggravatin’ per­ when filled snatched his hat off the son ! ’ ’ she exploded, and slammed the hook and left. Pete followed his ex­ door as she went out on the back ample. porch. Leaning against the corner Mrs. Belton did the baking and post she let her eyes follow the milk went out to cut seed potatoes. Dan cows as they came down the pasture would never get thru if she didn’t trail. help. The knife slipped rapidly, Seven years ago Dan had quit steadily thru the potatoes, one live school teaching to file on the home­ eye in each piece. stead. “ In a few years we ’ll be well At four-thirty Dick came home enough off to send Dick to college, from school. then he can run the ranch while we “ Ma, can I have a cookie?” he said, enjoy ourselves,” he had said enthus­ sniffing the odor of fresh baking. iastically. “ Dear, this is tiresome,” Mrs. Bel­ She had entered the plan with high ton straightened up and scratched hopes, too, but things hadn’t worked her back. “ Yes, just one, and then out right. Somehow their small herd get the cows.” of cattle didn’t grow much; their Dick ran to the pantry. cayuses were poor work horses; and An hour later the two men came in Dan wouldn’t do things right. for supper. Dan was humming to The cows filed into the corral. Mrs. himself as his wife hurried supper. Belton took the milk pans from the “ You and Pete eat and then cut porch table and went back to the seed potatoes. Dick and I will do the kitchen. Dan was still lingering over chores. I did two sacks. ” his supper.

275 THE FRONTIER

Mrs. Belton started clearing off the of the pail and bulged up in the table. middle. “ Here, one little piece of bread ‘ ‘ Yeah, ’ ’ said Dick. * * I can turn it, yet.” Ma. It’s fun. I turned Tony’s.” ‘ ‘ Dan! How do you expect me to His tiny streams of milk didn’t make get my work done! You won’t be foam. ready to plant tomorrow.” Eight o’clock the next morning Dan swallowed his tea and jumped they were in the field. Dan and up. “ I ’m going now. Darn fool that Dick plowed, Mrs. Belton and Pete I am. Here I sit, wasting time. Now planted. At ten o’clock Mrs. Belton I ’ll have to work by lantern light.” went to the house and got a jug of “ And get up late in the morning,” buttermilk and a bucket of cookies she retorted. They lunched in the field, a happy “ Never mind, Duckie, we’ll be rich bunch. Dick threw rocks at gophers. someday,” he encouraged her, grab­ When no one was looking and he ran bing his hat and rushing out. out of rocks he used seed potatoes. Mrs. Belton picked up the piece of Dan sat on the plow handles, one paper he left on the table. hand and his mouth full of cookies, You may ride, shoot or sing a song, the other holding a glass of butter­ And if you’ll only come along, milk to wash them down. Y ou’ll grow both well and strong, “ That ground,” he said— “ Here. In this life so wild and free. I ’ll whip you, Dick, if you don’t stop Over the prairie, this life’s so free throwing potatoes— ” and merry “ Aw.” Dick protested but quick­ The only place I care to be is riding ly dropped the potatoes from his on the range.” hand. There was only the one verse. Mrs. “ —Black and damp. There’s no Belton smiled pridefully, everybody end to what it’ll raise.” didn’t have a husband who could “ Yes, but I wish they had been in write like that. After reading it a week ago,” said his wife. “ If we again she laid it on the shelf and have a dry spring they won’t get picked up the milk buckets. started.” The milk hissed against the bottom “ Ho, they’ll grow in that ground,” of the pail. Dan laughed at her. “ Well, this will “ We need a separator the worst never do. Come on, Dick.” way. W e’re losing money every day When the first crop of alfalfa was so-o-o Nig— I could sell enough stacked and the potatoes were culti­ cream to pay for it in no time. Dan’s vated for the second time, Dan got so stubborn. It would be easy, tak­ restless. He had been working pretty ing care of the milk. ’ ’ steady. Thick foam crawled along the sides “ The timothy isn’t quite ripe.

276 THE FRONTIER

We’ve been working too hard, Duckie. before long. You see, my love, I ’ve Hmm—trout ! Say, Pete, let’s knock got business sense: that’s where you off and run up to the beaver dams for fall down. You can’t see far enough a couple days fishing.” ahead.” Pete smiled. “ Now, that’s what ‘ * Dan! ’ ’ Mrs. Belton’s hands [ bin hankerin’ for—a big mess of dropped to her side. “ Y ou’d better trout.” sell those in the shed. The price is Mrs. Belton didn’t say anything. good and we’ve got to have money. Hunting and fishing were irresistible A hard frost—.” to Dan. A mess of trout would go Dan lounged to the doorway. ?ood. She baked fresh bread and ‘ ‘ Great weather— Indian summer. ’ ’ raisin cookies: they were Dan’s fav He whistled. “ Oh, I ’ll cover them. )rite kind. Charge what we have to have.” With a wistful face she watched He looked up at the McClellan them go, their horses loping steadily range, wondering how many shells he up the road toward the canyon and had for the rifle. the beaver dams. It was a long time “ You better get our winter’s wood, [since she had gone. She sighed, think­ then. ’ ’ ing of the work to be done. Dan He counted the shells in the belt should be getting ready for haying. under the rifle. Mow he would be behind all fall. “ Eight’s enough,” said Dan. He was— late with the haying and ‘ ‘ What ?— oh, yes, I ’ll get some wood. ■ ate with the potato digging, but they Looks like w e’ll have a late fall. had a fine crop. The seed potatoes [and enough for their own use were Guess I ’ll take a little hunt. I can’t resist the call of the hills, woman. I n the root-house. The rest were I stacked in the corner of the cowshed, When the days of bright September ■ ready to haul. Dan threw a layer of Rest upon the mountains bold, I straw on them for protection. And the sun in regal splendor, Turns the aspen leaves to gold: I “ Now, woman, you see? I was Then my heart is in the mountains, fright. That was foresight. Pretty And that’s where I long to be, I soon you can buy all those things Where the blacktail herd together, I you’ve been wanting, like Fords and And the blue grouse wait for me.” Iseparators,” he announced gaily. I Mrs. Belton was happy, too. “ I ’ll As Dan sang his jingle he took liave breakfast early. You can haul Betsy Jane off the hooks and looked la load and be back before dark. I ’ll thru the barrel. lise the separator the next morning.” * Betsy Jane and I will get you Dan sobered. “ What? Will you some venison, my love. ’ ’ liever learn? I ’d be foolish to sell “ Y ou’d better get some wood to laow. They’ll be five dollars a sack cook it with first.” THE FRONTIEB

“ Oh, I ’ll let you do that. There’s day was still threatening. She stood the ax.” outside, looking at the low hung “ Pa, can I go?” Dick quivered clouds, feeling the chilly wind from like an anxious hound. the northwest. “ Not this time. We might get “ Dick,” she suddenly said, “ you snowed in.” Dick blinked and turned stay home today.” away. Dan hastened on. “ I ’m only Dick looked at her in surprise. going for a hurry-up trip. I ’ll take “ I ’m going to sell the potatoes be­ you next year.” fore it ’s too late. Go over to Tony’s “ I want to go now.” and see if you can borrow a team and Dan was delighted. “ H e’s just wagon. Get the hired man, too.” like I was when I was a kid,” he Mrs. Belton harnessed their own told his wife, with a hearty laugh, team, hitched it to the wagon and “ crazy to hunt.” drove up to the cow-shed. Dick ar­ He began cleaning the rifle. “ You rived with Tony’s hired man and a stay home and help your mother, this four-horse team. They made one trip time, Dick.” that day and another the next, haul­ Mrs. Belton worried after Dan was ing all but forty sacks of the potatoes. gone. She was afraid something The weather was still raw but no would happen to the potatoes. The worse. price might go down or they might “ If it will hold off another day,” freeze and then she wouldn’t get the Mrs. Belton said, “ I ’ll take the rest separator. in tomorrow and bring out the sep­ The second day after Dan went arator. ’ ’ hunting it clouded up and the wind “ Maybe it won’t get cold,” said grew cold. Mrs. Belton watched the Dick. weather all day. In the evening she “ Oh, don’t you think so?” His and Dick piled more straw on the mother swallowed. She looked out­ potatoes. side. “ It will. I did best. Dan “ I’m so afraid we’ll get a bad won’t get more than three dollars a storm that’ll freeze them,” she said sack if he keeps them forever.” to Dick. Mrs. Belton went to bed and “ Aw, they won’t freeze, Ma. Look’t dropped into a restful sleep. She was all the straw on them. ” He stuck his humming through her nose when she arm into the covering. opened the door on the grey morning. “ I hope not,” she answered wor­ The humming stopped. Her eyes were riedly. wide open as she took a quick breath, Mrs. Belton didn’t sleep much that raised one hand and put it against the night. She got up several times to door jamb. A warm, southwest wind look at the thermometer, but it went pressed against her face. down only three degrees. The next For several minutes she stood in

278 THE FRONTIER

the doorway, then slowly went out to She obeyed without a word. Dan the cow-shed. Dick followed. cocked his eye at her, then thumped She threw the straw off the po­ the horse in the ribs. “ Cut her off tatoes. that time,” he said to the horse and “ W hat’ll we d o?” she said, looking began whistling loudly as he unsad­ at them. dled. Dick only shook his head. Mrs. Belton was rolling biscuits and “ Here— I know. Drag them out as Dick was sitting by the stove drying far as they were.” She marked the his shoes. Dan came in, hung up his point with her toe. rifle and began unbuttoning his coat. They piled them in two rows across It was half off. “ Did you put more the empty corner, covering them and straw on the spuds?” filling the corner with straw. The rolling pin stopped. “ Dan can’t tell. You keep still, Dick spoke quickly. “ We put Dick. W e’ll wait and when the price about two feet on. ’ ’ He bent over to drops it will be all right.” see if his shoes were dry. “ Now we can’t get the separator, “ Good enough.” The coat came I darn it, Ma.” off. An inch of wet snow fell during the The rolling pin revolved again. night. ‘ ‘ That will cover my tracks, ’ ’ Dan picked up the latest paper. ; thought Mrs. Belton. “ Ho, Duckie, did you see this? Late that afternoon Dan came in. Spuds went up two-bits. Now we’ll [ He had two blue grouse tied to his see what we see. I knew it, I knew saddle. it all the time. They’ll go up more, “ I ’m soaked to the skin,” he said too. Wait and see.” when his wife came out. ‘ ‘ Poor luck. “ I noticed that,” she said weakly. The deer are too high up yet. I ’ll By the first of December potatoes get one later.” were four dollars. “ Pshaw, and I ’m hungry for “ Too bad they didn’t get to five,” steak.” Her voice wasn’t quite nat­ Dan said, “ so we could have a good ural. Christmas. I ’d like to buy Dick a There was something wrong. Dan rifle. But we’ll make it up. I tell I felt it. He looked at the wood place. you, woman, w e’re on the road to The ax, sawbuck and one crooked cot­ riches. If I can do this once I can tonwood log showed him where it was. do it again.” I He hunched his shoulders as though Mrs. Belton did not look up from I suddenly chilled. the socks she was darning, yet she “ Here, woman,” he said quickly. stuck her finger with the needle. She “ Don’t stand gapping. Take these sucked the pain out. “ Dan, I wish grouse in and cook them for supper. you wouldn’t bother me when I ’m I ’m starved.” busy. ’ ’ THE FRONTIEI

Laying down his pencil, Dan looked “ Well, that doesn’t get any wood anc] long at his wife. the box is empty.” “ Bother you? Say, what’s the “ Wood? What do you do with iii matter? Y ou ’re nervous as an old all? I ’ve brought in at least a core settin’ hen. Been drinking too much today. I never saw such a woman tc coffee ? ’ ’ bum w ood!” “ Oh, hush up.” Mrs. Belton didn’t “ And I never saw such a man tc look at him ; her hand was shaking. get i t !” “ Huh,” he grunted, and started Dan went out and got a load. writing again. “ I t ’s turning cold. Looks like a Slower and slower Mrs. Belton bad spell,” he said. pushed the darning needle thru the Before long Dick came home from sock heel until she stopped altogether. school, bringing the paper with him. Suddenly scooping the articles from “ Tony was to town and got it,” he her lap, she got up and went into the said. “ I ’m hungry, Ma.” bedroom. Far back in the corner of Mrs. Belton gave him a doughnut. the clothes closet, in a little box under “ I ’ll have to get my baking done a pile of rubbish, was the potato ahead. Mrs. Tony will be needing me money. Pulling it out she looked at any day now. She wants a boy. ” the roll of bills, clenching it in her Dan took the paper and settled hand. A noise from the front room back in his chair. startled her and quickly throwing the “ Women are always wanting some­ money back in the box she hurried to thing. She’ll take what she gets, I the kitchen, unconsciously wiping her guess. Dick, fix the fire.” hand on her apron. Mrs. Belton stood gripping the back of a chair as Dan looked at By the middle of January the price the price quotations. Her back was of potatoes had crawled to four-sev­ to him. Suddenly the paper rattled. enty-five. Dan sang as he chopped Dan’s feet slapped the floor. wood and fed the cattle. Then he sat “ Whoopee!” he leapt up. “ Ho, by the stove, chair tipped back, and ho. I knew i t ! I knew i t ! Five dol­ dreamed of a rich future. His wife lars. They’re up to five dollars.” wasn’t happy. She grew more ner­ vous and reticent. O h! ’ ’ His wife sank into the chair. ‘You’ve spent that money a mil­ Dan didn’t see her. He jumped in lion times, and you haven’t got it the air and clapped his heels twice be­ yet.” She glanced toward the bed­ room. fore landing. The house shook under the impact of his capers. “ I t ’s lying out in the shed in Big-eyed and pale-faced, Dick stood sacks, was his cheerful answer. by the stove and watched his mother. Mrs. Belton caught her breath. She was trying to smile.

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“ Gosh, it’s awful cold,” Dick said, she was very busy. He slowly put on and pushed the draft open. his overshoes, coat and cap. ‘ ‘ We ’ll have to quit this foolishness Mrs. Belton scraped the frost off a and do the chores.” Dan was out of part of the window and watched them breath. “ Tomorrow, if it isn’t too go. One hundred feet from the house bad, I ’ll start hauling.” He kissed they were covered by the blizzard, but his wife on the back of her neck and she still looked out. Only forty sacks, hurried out. but that was two hundred dollars! Mrs. Belton went to bed early be­ She wished she had told Dan before. cause of a headache and Dick studied If they were froze— She got the hard. Dan pranced around the house money, tucking it in her dress front, all evening, whistling and singing. and tried to steady herself. That night the thermometer trav­ Dick watched Dan dig into the po­ eled till it hit bottom. It was the tatoes with one hand. He shifted coldest Dan had ever seen in Mon­ from left foot to right foot and back, tana : fifty-four below and the wind as he saw Dan’s face set and whiten. knifing in from the east. The snow Dan remained on his knees, quiet, whirled and drove thru cracks in the looking at the straw. Dick imagined windows and doors. The cattle he could hear Dan’s watch ticking the crowded against the buildings, backs seconds off. He turned away, blink­ humped to the storm, tails curved be­ ing. Gosh, it was cold! A cow tween their legs. bawled. “ Say, my love, do you think the Dan felt of the potatoes again. “ I spuds will stand it ? I never dreamed — I guess we can’t get you a gun this it would get so cold. They’re well year.” protected except on the inside.” He got up, brushing the straw from ‘ |Oh, I don’t know. Go see. ’ ’ his coat. It was soon after dinner when Dan “ Froze, P a?” Dick’s teeth chat­ started putting on his coat. tered. “ Come on, Dick, dress warm and “ I hate like the very devil to tell we’ll go out and take a look.” your mother. I ’ll never hear the last “ What do you want me for, Pa? of it.” It’s too cold. I don’t want to go out Dan beat his hands together to keep there.” Dick didn’t look at Dan; he them warm. was busily whittling a match to tooth­ “ Never mind, Dick, we’ll do better pick size. next time. Blast the weather!” ‘ ‘ Come, come. Put on your coat. ’ ’ With his chin pulled deep in his Dan was impatient. “ I might need coat collar, Dick stood and shivered. you. ’ ’ “ Hey, you’re getting cold. Run Dick looked beseechingly at his along.” Dan got down again and mother, but her back was turned and began to dig farther in.

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Hunching his shoulders higher, I sold them last fa ll!” She waited Dick remained where he was, wishing her eyes bright. he had been in school that day. lie ‘ ‘ What ? ’ ’ Dan shouted. kicked at the straw. The light began to fade from hei “ It wasn’t M a’s fault. I told her face. She fumbled for the money there was enough straw.” got it and pressed it into his hands. Dan jerked his head up, his tem­ Dan’s shoulders sagged as he gazed per flaring. “ You here yet? Get the stupidly at the bills. hell into the house. ” As he watched How many’s left, ’ ’ his voice was Dick go his face relaxed. Sticking up thick. for his mother— the rascal. He went “ Forty sacks, just two rows.” on with the inspection, feeling of the Dan licked his dry lips. Two rows ? second row of potatoes. He began Twenty sacks frozen, twenty not— his whistling as he got up and threw the mind struggled with figures— about a straw back in the hole. The frost three hundred dollar loss. He looked hadn’t got that far. up, smiling with one side of his Hurrying toward the house, he mouth. Suddenly he leaned forward caught up with Dick and together and kissed his wife on the right they went into the kitchen. Dan cheek. closed the door and kicked the rag “ Woman, you do show a little sense against the crack at the bottom. He at times, ’ ’ he said. slowly peeled off his coat. She looked away. “ Brrrrr,” he shivered. Dan edged thru the door to the Dick slipped into the front room front room. and sat quietly by the heater. ‘ ‘ Dick, ’ ’ he whispered, his lips close “ Well, my love.’’ Dan took a deep to the boy’s ear. “ We won’t tell breath. mother only the outside row was “ Froze?” Mrs. Belton stood rigid frozen. When she goes over to Tony’s before him. we’ll sneak them into town.” We lost the whole— . ” Dan was “ All right,” said Dick, with a going to say “ outside row” but she warm smile. didn’t let him finish. Her face broke In the kitchen Mrs. Belton hummed into a happy smile. “ Annie Laurie” as she drained the “ Oh, Dan, then it was a good thing potatoes for supper. The Banner of Truth By Mary Brennan Clapp To saints Truth was a banner They bore high, joyously. Who carries it like a burden It never will set free. 282 THE FRONTIER

The Machine Shop By Joan Dareth Prosper I. MORNING It’s a quarter to eight, and the alley is jammed with the Coming-In, And it’s H o! for a summer morning, and H o ! for the lifted chin. With a jostle and nudge for each other, and a lingering pull at the pipe . . . And Bill streaks by with a wicked eye, and lands me a friendly swipe. I Inside, the machines stand silent with faces blank as can be, [ But Bill is whistling jazztime, . . . ‘‘ I feel like a kid! ’ ’ says he.

■ Then it’s grind, grind, grind, With the morning left behind, And the greasy floor a-tremble underfoot; And it’s crash, bing, bang And it’s dash, crash, chang, In the rattling, in the shouting, in the soot. n. NOON Here’s an hour . . an hour for living; here’s the dinner pail and pipe, And noon hanging yellow and juicy like a pear just bursting ripe. I Prom a corner most choice and shady, we squint at the buildings’ glow, I And, warm and still on a window sill, see red geraniums grow. I Why, even the busted skyline I shows more of sun than smoke, And, “ Gosh, this is great!” grunts Bill, as he pulls me an ancient joke.

Now it’s sun, sun, sun, From twelve o ’clock till one, And the minutes racing on, most indiscreet;

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And it’s sandwiches and pie While a freight train screeches by, And the laundry girls pass giggling down the streel in. NIGHT Five o ’clock! The machines stop roaring. Steel jaws that have crashed all day, Self-glutted on zinc and iron, hang wide, in a startled way. There s the stench of oil and the whirling of dust in the checkered sun; As the gang files by with Bill and I at its tail, says Bill— 'uThat’s done!” Turned out on the wilted pavement, not one with a grin to spill, We slouch on, blackened and surly. ‘ ‘ Guess I ’m gettin’ old ” growls Bill.

So it’s grind, grind, grind, Another day behind, And the prospect of a million days ahead ; There s the sweating and the grime, There’s the smell of heat and slime, And it’s quite a while (says Bill)—until you’re dead.

Qone? By Violet Crane Gone? Well, that is all right. Your going was as gentle as your coming, As natural as the mild rains with which you came .... Then the door closed with a lingering smile All right...... I shall be glad you came at all; I did not ask to have you— Yet I am not sad to have known your gentle hands It is another edge of actuality ....

° i o o k ~ the °hair y ° U Sat ^ 7eSterday Seems today t0 have an empty THE FRONTIER

Qreer’s Road By Roland English Hartley

N ONE of my aimless jaunts house with an untidy array of out­ O through the countryside about buildings. I Fairlands, ’ I scrambled one I found myself unaccountably sad­ afternoon up the steep grassy slope dened. Among the hills I had seen of a cone-shaped hill, and was sur­ many roads that knew the contrary prised to find the top of it a leveled fate— roads that set out bravely from platform of rock from which a road the valley highways to climb into the descended. All about me was a wild­ hills, gradually lost heart when they ly beautiful expanse of country: a met the hindrances of rock and land­ tangle of wooded hills and yellowing slip and increasing steepness, and at valleys running down, toward the last crept furtively through the woods south, to the faint blue line of the to die in some bushy covert. But bay, and mounting, northward, to this road that I had discovered was . the dusky bulk of Loma Alta. different. It came down. It came Going down, I followed that un­ down from the heights. . . expected road. A t the top its angles “ Foolish fancy!” I told myself, were chiseled sharply into the hard and wondered more sensibly why the red rock. From each short stretch of road had been built—since clearly } zigzag the hill fell away almost sheer- there had never been a house on the ly to the stretch below. Further hilltop— and who had been its build­ down, where the hill had gathered er. I more meat upon its bony skeleton, the All questions of this sort concern­ I reaches were longer, with a gentler ing the Fairlands country, I took to I slope lying between them. And here Denny Shea. Indeed, I often invent­ I the road began to show deterioration: ed questions solely for the sake of I little slides of rock and earth had Denny’s answers. Denny combined I fallen in from above; the outer edges the past and the present in a rare I were crumbling. As it neared the degree. Working among the auto­ I valley, the road grew less and less mobiles in Rieber’s Garage, he talked I distinct in its outlines. The lower almost exclusively of horses. He ran I reaches were grass-grown. Finally I his drying-cloth over polished hoods | was following only a vague indication with the free sweep of the curry­ I of a “ grade ’ ’ across the lower billow- comb and brush; and when he stooped I ings of land. And at last even this to the spokes, you rather expected the ■ ghost of a road spent itself in a series “ Easy now, boy” of one who ap­ | of futile writhings through the grass proaches the sensitive fetlock. In the | of a pasture, beside a decrepit farm­ fumes of burnt gasoline and in the

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pulsing purr and roar of motors, could paint wonderful,” said Denny. Denny talked to me of different days. And I decided from the old man’s “ It’s Greer’s road you mean,” he account of a prize which Greer had told me. And he took his empty pipe won over there, bringing with it the from his mouth and with the stem privilege of study “ down in some I- traced zigzags in the heavy air. talian place,” that he must have “ And so you were up there?” he gained the Prix de Home at the Beaux mumbled then around the restored Arts; he must have been a painter of pipe-stem. definite ability. But Denny declared When I nodded, he said, “ She that it had all been a waste of time. wouldn’t have made the wife for him, “ For when I asked him, that day any way you look at it. ” when he came back and was looking I made no comment. Denny told around the stables . . when I says his tales in the Joseph Conrad man­ to him, ‘ What did you learn over ner, with an unscrupulous juggling there, Mr. W infield?’ . . he says, of the time elements. I sat on the ‘ I learned to see Fairlands, Denny. ’ ” running-board beside him, where he He wandered now with the joy of a plied the sponge measuredly along discoverer among his native hills. the fender. One day he called Denny out into the “ You never heard of the Greers?” stable yard and pointed to the conical he began again; and when I shook my hill that showed above the cypresses head, he shook his own protestinglv around the house. and muttered, “ Man, they owned half “ That’s where I ’m going to live, of the county!” Denny,” he said. “ And then you’ll Then I had to hear much of the see what pictures I paint!” celebrated Greer stables, where Denny Denny laughed at it as the fancy had worked . . and suddenly we of a mind somewhat unbalanced by were back to the subject again. “ It residence in foreign parts; but it was those two bays,” said Denny, wasn’t many weeks before men were “ that I drove up the hill that day.” to be seen moving along the steep “ So there was a house up there?” slopes of Rocky, surveying; and soon I broke in. after, the first blast sounded from “ Not at all,” said Denny. “ I ’m near the base of the hill and a wisp telling you.” of red dust rose above the tree-tops. And I followed him around the car “ They had the money then,” ex­ to the other fender. plained Denny, “ that they could have As I brought the story afterwards moved the whole hill away and built into an ordered form, it ran some- another one there.” thing like this: Winfield Greer, the A lonely place to live, the bare crest only son of the old pioneer family, of Rocky seemed to Denny Shea. But had gone abroad to study art. “ He when he saw Enid Melville among

280 THE FRONTIER the guests at the Greer home, and fing up the air that came blowing to learned from the servants that she them out of the clouds.” was to be Winfield Greer’s wife, then “ But the view when you get up he decided that wherever that young there?” I suggested. man chose to make his home, loneli­ “ You can see a long ways,” said ness would be remote. ‘ ‘ She was that Denny. merry and smiling she would melt the The bays grew more accustomed to North Pole,” said Denny. the strange adventure, and Denny’s And Denny remembered well how handling of them on the sharp turns on one later day, when they had became masterly. grown to be friends, the young man Winfield Greer said to him, “ I ’ll had said to him, ‘ ‘ I t ’s for her that I get my own hand in some day. But paint all my pictures, Denny. Men the first time we go up, there’ll be used to paint, in the far-off days, for so much to point out to her; and on love of their God. Their art was their that road a man can’t let his eyes go religion. And now my art is mine; roaming. ’ ’ and I too put into my pictures my “ And when I ’m driving on that reverence for what is the most sacred road,” Denny told him, “ I ’m deaf.” thing I know.” And Denny insisted that their talk To Denny soon came the general from the back seat of the surrey came request that was being circulated, to him only as a symphony of bass that no hint of the work on Rocky and treble murmurs. Only, when a should be let fall before Miss Enid’s loose rock slid down into the road and ears during her visits with the Greer the nervous bays shied sharply, W in­ girls. The young man wanted the field Greer called out, “ Stop a min­ secret kept until the work was com­ ute, Denny.” And when Denny plete. looked about for further orders, he And when at last the road was saw the girl’s face white, “ pinched- ready, so that Denny could see the like around her mouth. ’ ’ upper angles of it from the barn­ Then they went on to the top. Here, yard, and the ragged rocks that had with the stresses of the road overcome, made the crest were cut down to a Denny’s deafness left him. level platform, then came Denny’s “ With the wind blowing their share in the undertaking. Each morn­ words right into my ears,” he said. ing for several weeks he drove his “ And what was I to do but stand favorite bays up the narrow reaches there and listen ? I couldn’t leave the of the zigzag road. horses, and there was the two young “ And a ticklish job it was at first,” things standing not six paces from said Denny, “ with the creatures me, on the edge of the world.” pricking their ears, and staring red­ “ It is pretty up here,” the girl was eyed at every strange rock, and snif­ saying. “ But I can’t understand

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how there ever came to be a road.” again! I thought there would b< He laughed proudly and told her, some other way from the top.” “ I built the road.” “ There’s no other way,” he tolc She faced him silently and he her. reached out and caught both her “ And you want me to live here!’ hands. She laughed again, and started to “ Enid! Wouldn’t it be wonderful walk down the road. Young Greet to live up here?” turned to tell Denny, “ You can pick She gave a short high laugh. “ It us up at the bottom.” And he fol­ blew by me like a bird-call,” said lowed the girl down the steep slope. Denny. The man held to her hands They walked with the width of the and leaned forward a little. road between them. She held close “ You don’t really mean it?” she to the inner wall of rock. Denny says asked after a moment. that no sound came back from them “ Think what it would mean to but the grind of their tread on the waken here in the morning, ’ ’ he went loose stones. on in a low tense voice. “ To be here at night with the stars. Think what At the bottom of the grade they pictures a man could make that lived turned back to the carriage. Greer with this beauty. ’ ’ helped her in without a word. They “ But what of m e?” she cried out. were swinging in the avenue at home “ I ’d be imprisoned! I couldn’t get when he said, in a low flat voice, away from the mornings and the “ I ’m sorry the day has been such a stars. And who would ever come up disappointment.” The girl made no to see me . . up that terrible road?” answer. He released her hands and turned That same afternoon, Greer came slowly about to let the whole circle out to ask Denny to make ready again of hills pass under his gaze. for the trip ; but this time he was to “ I thought you’d love it here,” he hitch to the spring-wagon. Together said. they put on the load of tent, cot, bed­ “ I hate it already,” she answered. ding, simple utensils. On the bare He moved a little away from her. crest of Rocky, Denny helped him “ It was like a light,” said Denny, make camp. They kept up an ex­ went out in his face. . . But when change of forced chatter, as if it were you come to think of it, you can’t be a happy holiday commencing. When blaming her.” they unloaded the easel and the little The young man had turned to the case of paints, Greer stood a moment surrey. “ We might as well go down regarding them. now. ’ ’ “ I ’ll get some splendid work done But she held her hands before her up here, ’ ’ he said. eyes. “ I can’t go over that road * ‘ But he talked, ’ ’ added Denny,

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“ like he was listening to somebody essary to sacrifice one part after an­ inside of him saying No.” other. Within ten years there was When he got back, Denny could see nothing left to him but the tract that from the barn-yard the fleck of white included Rocky and the land lying on the red crest of the hill. Many of between the hill and the highway. the others came out from the house This piece of property, the least valu­ to see. Enid Melville came with the able of all, he had clung to. younger Greer girl. They fluttered “ And what finally became of their handkerchiefs up toward the him ?” I demanded of Denny, as he lofty cone. The next day Miss Mel­ moved on toward another car, drag­ ville went away. ging the hose. “ Did he give up his Greer stayed on the hilltop until painting ? ’ ’ the rains set in. Twice a week Denny “ The poor man,” said Denny, took supplies up to him. On the easel “ and what could he do with colors he found always the same scant be­ when his thoughts was black?” ginnings that had been thrown onto I was sifting the philosophy of this the canvas during the first days. when Denny called over to me, above On the day when Denny was help­ the splash of water, “ Did you see ing him break camp, for the move that shack at the bottom of the hill? down from the hilltop, the young man That’s where he lives, alone, Winfield said to him, “ I don’t suppose it mat­ Greer.” ters much where a man lives, to do I made my way back in that di­ his work. But it matters very great­ rection at the very next opportunity. ly why. And sometimes he loses the This time, I approached the hill from answer to that. ’ ’ the opposite side. I had the road be­ Next spring the news came that fore me as I came near; and I seemed Miss Melville had married. Also that to see the black surrey moving cauti­ spring, Mr. Greer died, W infield’s ously up the grade, and the two silent father. In the breaking-up of the young people marching down. On estate, Denny’s connection with the the top, if I looked long enough, I family came to an end. But his inter­ could see Denny at the horses’ heads, est continued, and he heard within the two young figures at the wind­ . the next year or two that the girls swept edge, and, in the same instant, , were married and that Winfield was Winfield Greer’s lonely tent. I rapidly disposing of his share of the I wanted to look at the man. I i inheritance. swung open the sagging gate and The Greer wealth had consisted al- knocked at the door to ask the way. | most wholly of land, and when young He came into the yard. He was a Winfield Greer made no attempts at much older man than his years should farming or stock-raising on his in­ have made him. There was a dignity herited portion, he soon found it nec­ about him despite his neglected

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clothing. He answered my inquiries that I allowed myself to point to the courteously, but his faded eyes were red zigzags of the road up the hill. always moving past me, losing them­ “ And that road . . does it lead selves in vagueness, and then coming anywhere?” back slowly and unwillingly to what He straightened himself slightly. was near. “ I built that road,” he said slowly. He held a battered book in his “ It hasn’t been used for thirty hand, one finger between the pages. years.” I apologized for interrupting his I expressed wonder at its state of reading. There was ample time for preservation, looking up to the sharp- that, he said. And to some casual cut higher angles, away from the un­ remark of mine about the pleasures of tidy decay of the lower stretches. reading, he answered, “ The time “ The road,” said Winfield Greer comes for a man when he wants to “ was well made.” He smiled, look­ forget himself and live only in the ing past me. “ It will last. It isn’t life of the race.” every man who can stand and see be­ He seemed so remote from realitv fore him his whole life’s work.”

Dawn Over the Valley By J. Corson Miller

Swift, while the beards of the patriarchs are blowing, And the dawn-messenger loosens his wings from sleep, The naked crag recedes from an eagle going In windy spirals for prey; the whirling sweep

Of saffron cloud in smoky purple churning, Heats eyes of fox and weasel to festal flame; My Spanish game-cock crows the hour, and, turning, My half-wild wolf-hound sniffs the air for game.

No hand of man contends with far commotion Now mingling concerts of color, like thunder, hurled Into lakes of molten emerald, till an ocean Apocalyptic, boils above the world.

Then, straight across a rocking sea of roses, The golden whales break through white barriers of foam; And after their stampede, the sheep-boy closes The mess-room doors; an eagle dips for home.

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Full Tide at Sunset Cannon Beach, Oregon By Howard McKinley Corning

I. Times over I have come here to this volleying silence Leaping against the breast of these murmurous cedars; Back of me the retreating ranks of the forest, Before me the furious crumbling of the sea’s waves. Here the questioning Red Man came at day’s end To be of the mystery of death a portion, And of all life the atom lost in rhythm. And here at the sea’s frustration of the West trail I am a pilgrim, overland . . . and brooding.

Too much are the waves the salt waves of my own blood; Too little is silence mine where the waves are boisterous. I listen . . . and out of the gulf of the waning glory The bouveries of sea birds lift and shatter. Their strange, uncertain wings curve back the sunset; They burst like arrows through the splintered silence.

My feet have now no way for going farther, But rooted in the unresisting sands here Anchor the urge they may not enter into. Rocks are for feet, and I shall take one quickly To watch the last sun-spears thrust upward, broken. n. . . . The color is going now in the ruin of distance. Immensity is a cave with the falling of darkness. I am a futile song in a lived-out story; A word on the manuscript of the ageless sky. No one will know that I turn away from this splendor; No one will question to know that I stood here and questioned.

I shall go back to the immemorial forests, To the bearded cedars wise in their shadowed seclusions To be at the end the echo of their anthem. Too soon the waves of another sea will reach me

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Reach me with granite waves that will cover me surely, And gather me back to the sands that dreamed and spawned me. Stone against stone they will come, and rending and building, They will plant their unyielding headlands into the sunset. Atom of atoms, I will be fused with their rhythm, Poured with their mortar, yielded up with their thunder. Ocean to ocean, I will be fused and forgotten; A futile song as this song of the cedars is futile— A patriarch in the memory song of the silence.

No more am I than this wave that drowns in its being, Yielding itself to the sunset dirge of its dying. No more am I than the atom or the tossed wave, Reaching to lose what it holds, subsiding in rhythm. in. A wave of the waves, I will draw away to the silence. I will listen along the East for the swelling of waters, Bearing a stranger tide than this of the ocean’s: Tides of thundering granite to shoulder it back and rebuff it, Shower and shift in its throes, hurtle itself toward the future •__ Defying the water of waters, this prismatic ruin of distance, ’ But yielding in turn with me to the answer of darkness,— Where here at the sea’s frustration of the West trail No one will question then that I stood and questioned.

Blind Alley By Norman Macleod.

The waterfalls split seven ways Down from Heaven Peaks, And I have climbed the summit to Find the source of creeks;

But following a mountain gulch, Avalanche and slide, I only found a dark ravine Where tall waters ride.

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OUT OF LIFE

I. Kristina By Isabel Orchard

THINK Kristina was the prettiest wanted Adolpf to marry Kristina. girl that I have ever seen. She Adolf had a big farm. I was tall and slim, with a coronet Kristina didn’t want to marry of sleek black braids wound around Adolf. I used to see her out walking her small head. Her skin was smooth with Schweibel’s young hired man, and dark with a slight flush on her Bill. They showed plainly enough cheeks that lay just beneath the sur­ that they were in love. Everyone face. Her people were German-Rus- (except Adolf and Kristina’s father) sians. Her mother was a great silent liked B ill; he was tall and had laugh­ woman who shuffled about her kitch­ ing blue eyes. He wasn’t at all like en, frying sausages or baking anise- Adolf, who was greasy-looking and seed bread. Kristina’s father was a always sulking about something. huge man with a coarse, dark face, One day Bill disappeared. No one usually mottled with anger. Most knew where he went and, as Schwei- people were afraid of him, and Kris­ bels said nothing, most people just tina and her mother more than any­ thought that Schweibel had fired one else. He had the biggest wheat him. The disappearance of a farm and stock farm in the country— the hand is not so important in a busy pasture alone covered several hun­ farming community. Only he had dred acres of hilly land. left no word for Kristina. After his He liked to brag about his big farm departure she looked paler every day to Adolf. Adolf was a young Rus­ and she became as silent about the sian who had a farm near theirs. He house as her mother. used to come over to play cards with Bill had been gone a year when Kristina’s father and they would Kristina married Adolf. They had a quarrel noisily over every hand. They real Russian wedding with a great drank home-brew and chewed sun­ deal to eat and to drink. Kristina’s flower seeds. The more home-brew mother was as quiet as usual, but her [they drank the noisier their argu­ father was unusually noisy— except ments became. But Kristina’s father that, at times, he would sink into sil­ never fell out with Adolph during ent spells of moroseness. I any of these quarrels, because he I think Kristina had been married THE FRONTIEB about three months when I heard her over in your dad’s pasture to look for one day questioning the oldest a calf that slipped thru the fence. It 1 Schweibel boy. They were standing was the day that big store in town] in the road which ran beside Schwei­ burned down; that’s how I remember bel’s orchard. I suppose she was it.” thinking of the times she and Bill I couldn’t understand Kristina at had walked by that orchard when it all, at the time— altho I think I un­ was a white mist of beauty. Anyway, derstand now the way she acted, as she stood for a long time looking at also why her father has “ No Tres-] the bare branches of the trees. Then passing” signs all over his pasture; I heard her ask the boy, when was fence. She stood for a long time as j the last time that he had seen Bill ? tho she heard what the Schweibel | boy said as coming from a distance. He looked around furtively before When he mentioned the day of the answering, as if he wanted to tell fire she gave a queer wild laugh. I something but was half-afraid. I think she must have suspected some­ couldn’t see that he had given her thing for a long time. very much information when he “ Yes,” she said, “ that was the day answered. Dad and Adolf went hunting in the ‘ ‘ The last time we saw him he went pasture. ’ ’

II. Death in Summer By Nina Craw.

ATURE was dormant in the baby’s illness were usual and simple enervating heat of August. —a sick and undernourished mother, N The little prairie town lay like a bottle-fed baby, days of intolerable a withered leaf on the flat of glaring heat, unfit milk, no doctor for a hun­ yellow gumbo. dred miles, inadequate remedies. At the window of a log house, a There were lacking here the common­ woman’s face looked out, haggard. est facilities for care of the dead: At the door, flies buzzed. Neighbors the little body had been packed in came and went on silent errands; ice. Faint drops stood on the smooth, little was spoken, for the baby had fair skin, and the silky hair lay in died. fragile curls about the delicate ears. There was nothing peculiar about The wretched mother looked on that death; hundreds of children dumbly, unable to realize. have died in similar circumstances The coffin had been made by the throughout the West; this baby’s village carpenter in his shop; he had father had died of pneumonia the slipped into the darkened room to previous spring; the details of the ask the mother if she would like a 294 THE FRONTIER glass in the lid; yes, of course, didn’t The service was simple and brief; all coffins have windows? It must be a few fitting words were spoken by dreadful to be shut up inside without the town druggist; a woman struck a window. The women had found a softly a chord on the square piano, bolt of white outing at the general and two young mothers sang. A dis­ store, for covering, and, with bows of tressed sob was hastily smothered. white ribbon, had made the casket This music and the quiet gloom beautiful. soothed the sorrowful scene. The In the kitchen, a stalwart ranch procession climbed slowly to the cem­ woman thrust the stems of prairie etery on a hilltop overlooking the flowers through the meshes of a river, where a huge reservoir kept it, square of common screen; and the in spite of burning sun and cloudless make-shift pillow grew into a work days, always green and vital, with a of beauty under her rough, capable scattering of flowers. Here the last fingers. There were other flowers, rites were performed. A cluster of gathered into ordinary bouquets. fresh pink rosebuds was laid atop.

III. Silence By May Vontver

HE THIN wail of the week-old babe without any aid of doctor, with­ infant pierced the darkness of out even the usual kindly ministra­ T the homestead cabin again, but tions of a neighbor-woman. The Mrs. Yanki dared not move. The last nearest neighbor was fourteen miles time she had attempted to leave her away and Ivan had not seen fit to go bed to hush that fretful cry her hus­ for help. It was their fourth child: band had leaned over and pinned they ought to be able to manage alone. down her arms brutally. Mrs. Yanki was certain that some­ “ Let the damned brat yell. I ain’t thing ailed the infant, for he cried going to have you spoiling him. ’ ’ all the time. It wasn’t so hard for Ivan was still grasping one of her her in the daytime; her husband was arms. Silent tears of abject weakness out of the house then, but at night dampened the bare ticking of the pil­ the crying made Ivan furious. The low. The moon, coming from behind last two nights, weak as she was, she a cloud, stared through the curtain­ had been up with the baby nearly all less window, and shone on the rough the time, hushing him before Ivan pine-board crib against the opposite could get fully awakened. wall. Exhausted for a moment the baby Mrs. Yanki had given birth to this ceased its insistent wailing. Mrs.

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Yanki lay breathless, praying that he She caught at him with numbec might fall asleep. In vain. In a arms. minute or two the call for the mother “ Don’t, don’t,” she begged fear came with renewed vigor and shriller fully. than before. But he was already out of bed. An agonized wrench twisted Mrs. rushing across the floor to the crib. Yanki’s body. Ivan’s grip tightened. The wailing stopped suddenly. Bereft of all reason she writhed in his Nameless terror lent strength to the hold; but she could not free herself, mother. She slid down from the bed and fell back panting. Sobs racked and lurched toward her husband. her body and Ivan’s curses could not With his one free hand he easily held check them. Then his hard fingers her off. The other hand was in the dug into her thin frame and the phys­ cradle, motionless. No further ical pain at length forced her to a sound came from there. Mrs. Yanki’s trembling silence. Ivan’s cruel hands spent body sank in a heap on the relaxed, but they did not leave her. floor. The crying went on and on. The When she came to, the lamp was steady rise and fall of it tore at the lit; Ivan had been pouring water over mother’s heart. It sawed, too, at the her head. She lay in the puddle it jagged edges of Ivan’s temper. Mo­ had made. He stood close, looking notonous, piercing, compelling, the down at her in the horrible stillness. wailing continued. They both lay She glanced wildly at the crib; but tense and endured it. her husband’s rough jerk stopped her Then in the attic, directly above wobbly scramble towards it. them, a bedspring creaked under the You get back to bed. I stopped stirring of one of the children. Ivan him for good. A nd,” one sinewy sat up with an oath. hand closed about her throat, “ that’s what will happen to you, too, unless “ I am going to put a stop to that you keep your mouth shut, see!” damned howling. You’ll see.” He Nine years later on the day of Ivan laughed harshly. Yanki’s funeral his wife told.

IV, Qod and the Rabbit By B. Dixon We sat on the rabbit cage in the I beat, ’ ’ I announce triumphantly back yard, and hurriedly crammed as I lick the vestiges of frosting from the chocolate cake that we had my fingers. grabbed from the kitchen table when “ I wasn’t trying to,” says Theo­ the cook wasn’t looking, down our dore loftily, “ 1 always like to go slow. mouths. It lasts longer.”

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Deliberately he places the last bit throat is quite dry, I gulp. I cannot in his mouth, searches in his trouser say a thing. I have said The Word. pocket, and drawing forth an immac- Nibs, the rabbit, scuttles m the pen i ulate handkerchief wipes his fingers below us. A wan hope lightens me. I on it. I gaze at him a trifle con­ I turn to Theodore. temptuously. Theodore is such a “ I wasn’t talking to you,” I ex­ sissy. His chubby face, in spite of plain lamely, “ I was talking to Nibs. our arduous play of the afternoon, is We call him Fibber for short.” still shiningly clean. His yellow I could bite my tongue off as soon curls are not in the least ruffled. His as the words are out. Theodore’s pink white blouse has not the sign of a face stiffens into scorn, and I sud­ spot on it. I wiggle uncomfortably. denly loathe him with a deadly hate. My dress has a long rent in the back. “ You told a lie,” he slides ma­ My socks have wormed their way jestically from the top of the pen. down into my sandals. My hands are “ Y ou’ll go to Hell.” He stalks grimy, and my face, where I wasn’t across the yard. He turns at the gate. able to reach it with my tongue, is “ My mother says you’re a dirty lit­ sticky from cake. Quite unreason- tle tomboy, and I shouldn’t play with , ably, I have a sudden desire to smack you.” Theodore, hard. I have been paralyzed with rage, Theodore looks at me calmly. but now energy suddenly floods ; “ Your face is dirty,” he remarks through me. “ Don’t want you to,” coolly, “ and you’ve got crumbs all I shriek at the top of my lungs, and over it.” grabbing a stick, charge for the gate. “ I have not,” I deny vigorously, But Theodore has fled. I swagger | and furtively try to rub them off with back to the pen, and crawl up on it. I the back of my hand. For a few minutes I gloat over Theo­ “ You have too. You just tried to dore’s ignominious flight down the | wipe them o ff.” alley. “ Baby,” I mutter, “ he’s just “ I did not.” I am growing a big baby.” Then the memory of | angry. Theodore’s damning words comes I “ You did too.” back. I squirm at the thought. A I clench my hands. I feel sticky sudden terror settles over me. I won­ 1 and hot all over. My face is burn- der if God will be awfully mad about I ing. my telling that lie. I wonder what | “ Theodore Williams,” I shout, He will do about it. I don’t want to f “ you’re a f-i-b-b-e-r!” go to Hell a bit. I look up at the There is dead silence. Theodore sky. “ God, oh God,” I call softly. I stares at me, horror-stricken. The There is no response. I wriggle from I stillness is appalling. I experience my position and walk slowly across I a horrible sinking sensation. My the yard to the cellar steps. I ’ve got

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to go talk to Him about it. I hope last didn’t count, God,” I add. I sit that Theodore hasn’t got there first. meditating for a few minutes more. I steal carefully down the stairs and I really have said all I could. I won­ make my way to the coal bin. I der what time it is. It must be near­ clamber over the massed coal to the ly dinner time. As if in answer to farthest and darkest corner. I hud­ my thought comes the cook’s voice dle quietly there. Now I can talk. bellowing outside. ‘ ‘ God,’ ’ I fold my hands, “ I ’m aw­ fully sorry. I really didn’t mean to. “ Mary-e-e-e; Dinn-nur!” But Theodore makes me so mad.” I “ I beg your pardon, God,” I say get more confidential. ‘ ‘ Honest, God, politely, “ but I ’ve got to go to din­ I bet you would have got mad too.” ner. I won’t do it again.” I scram­ I consider this last speech. Maybe ble hastily off the coal pile, and dash it isn’t respectful enough. “ That eagerly up the steps. V. In Connaught By Elizabeth A. McKenzie

NEVER knew my great grand­ dressed in white, the color she always mother, but she has always been wore. The road was lined with tall I very real to me. I have been told hawthorne hedges that bloomed into that she was tall and slender, and had snow in the spring; under the hedges red brown hair and green eyes such grew the tiny, brilliant primroses that as my own. When she died she was she loved. over ninety; she never would tell her Her mother was descended from exact age. She must have had a Brian Boroimhe (‘Boru’, the English strong personality— the story of her say it) who died at Clontarf. A tall life is told among us in the same woman of great dignity. Her dowry phrases that she used. was her weight in silver, the coins She was bom in Roscommon, a poured out upon one pan of the scale pleasant place on the plains of Boyle and she standing in the other. in Connaught. Her father belonged Bedelia went to the Madame’s to the landed gentry, descendants of school in Dublin with her sisters. the five bloods of Elizabeth’s time. There she learned the sweet French, A spare stern man, proud of his name and the making of fine laces. When and race, he owned five great bands she returned from the convent she of sheep that fed on the plains of stayed at home, making her debut in Boyle and the slopes of the Braulieve the county society. mountains by Lough Boderg. He In the season everyone in Roscom­ used to ride up the lush valley of the mon went to the races. Bedelia’s Shannon every two weeks to see his family went in the coach with a foot­ flocks, and Bedelia went with him, man riding in back to impress the THE FRONTIER neighbors. This footman, James Con­ Between James and Bedelia a bond nelly, was the son of the steward. The of some sort was tacitly admitted. other servants had nicknamed him She was willing to be in love with “ Stand Behind” when he first be­ him but being ambitious she would came a footman; he hated the name not admit her love to the world. and the work. Bedelia’s mother could Her family went every Sunday to never make him wear the green and the small church of the Sacred Heart. gold livery, but on grand occasions he James, a primrose in his lapel, rode played a certain part in the drawing­ to church behind the coach, but dur­ room. ing mass he knelt in his father’s pew, just behind Bedelia. As the people He loved Bedelia, tolerating his rose to go to communion it chanced position only to be near her. She was that he followed her up the aisle and flattered by his admiration and be­ knelt beside her, directly before the came infatuated. His grandfather tabernacle. They were the last to re­ herded the sheep in the meadow and ceive the sacrament. They rose from Bedelia used to slip out of the house, the altar railing together and walked leaving the linen chests and lace pil­ slowly down the aisle, hands folded, lows, to talk to the old man. He told heads bent, the eyes of the church her long wandering stories about the upon them. old Ireland, when the high king and his Brehons held court at Emain So life drifted on in the old home. Macha. The way they tried murder To see him every day became a pleas­ was this— men laid their hands upon ure, then a need. Her sisters noticed the corpse, and when the murderer it and twitted her about it. In tiny touched it blood flowed out of the ways he showed his love to her. Ev­ dead lips, marking his guilt with the ery morning he gathered the prim­ brand of Cain. Sometimes romanc­ roses that her maid placed before the ing, he talked about the old heroes, shrine in Bedelia’s bedroom. Every rolling their names with unction fall the wagons loaded with wool went There was Conchobar Mac Nessa and to Dublin and returned with supplies. Lewy Mac Nessa, his kinsman, who Once James went up with his father rebelled and led the hordes of Maeve, and in Prafton street he bought a the queen of Ulster, into Connaught, pair of tiny slippers of scarlet brocad­ until they were stopped at the ford ed velvet with jeweled heels. He of the Shannon by Cuchulain of never gave them to her but hid them. Muirthemne. As he talked the old One day Bedelia asked her mother shepherd sipped the heady golden if she and her sisters might go to pucheen that Bedelia brought him in Roscommon to pay several calls. an empty goose egg. Bedelia, though James went with them as usual. On respectful, was there with another in­ the way home it rained. The tops of terest in her heart. the mountains that surround the

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plains of Boyle were lost in the clouds. There was a great keening as the old James rode behind the lumbering women in the house wept for one so coach, unsheltered, with his eyes on young who had died. The priest was Bedelia through the windows. Sud­ there praying. His grandfather knelt denly a band of sheep appeared from in a corner, forgotten, saying the Be the gray mist like creatures sprung Profundis over and over, like a child from the heather. “ — Thy hair is as flocks of goats which come up from frightened in the dark. After the Mount Gilead—thy lips are as scar­ prayers were said his mother lifted let lace— sweet as honeycombs drip­ the lid of the coffin. Bedelia bent ping.” The canticle flowed through over the white face with a faint smile his mind in sensuous phrases. “ Arise, just stirring the end of the lips. As oh north wind, and come, oh South she touched his hair bright red blood Wind; blow through my garden— ” suddenly flowed out upon his skin. The mist had settled on the road. It Her white sleeve was stained by a clung about him. In a few days he red blot that spread quickly. She was ill. turned, took the bit of branch dipped Bedelia went every day to the lower in holy water and blessed him, ful­ meadow to ask his grandfather about filling the old custom. him. The old man told her stories A t his funeral she watched the cof­ of his own valliant youth while she fin, not thinking of grief, only seeing thought of James. Gracious phrases him here and there, riding back of for him kept occurring to her as she the coach, in the drawing-room, com­ worked with her lace bobbins. ing down the aisle of the church with One night when the coach came to a scarlet primrose in his lapel. As take them home from a ball the coach­ the coffin went into the grave, slowly man said that “ Stand Behind” was descending, it seemed to her that the dead. world’s finest beauty was lost. Later she eloped with a student The next day Ellen, her maid, told from Rheims who had returned to her that Stand Behind’s mother had Ireland for a last visit before taking found a pair of slippers in a little orders. He had curly hair, blue eyes, box with her name on it. They gave a swagger that would not have become them to her. She never wore them a priest. Bedelia told her grandchil­ but she brought them to America with dren how she had first seen him at her and had them to the end of her the races, handsome and dashing, a days. Bedelia and her sisters went sprig of hawthorne in his tall beaver to his father’s home to say the rosary hat, his trousers white and straight for the dead. His big body dressed from the mangle. Her husband never in his best suit was in the front room. knew that for her he was but a fig­ Six tall candles burned around him. ure of James, called “ Stand Behind.”

300 THE FRONTIER Late Victorian Notes from a Professor’s Diary By Brassil Fitzgerald

UNE 4th. A day of sunshine and June 7th. A letter from Jane this fragrant wind. I gave my last morning. The Winged Buffoon is J examination this morning, suf­ receiving favorable attention. fered blue books until four and then H ugh’s father is visiting them. It went out the Post Road for an hour. was seven months ago yesterday that Three new roadside stands. The Jane wired her marriage. I haven’t farmers are all turning shopkeepers; recovered yet from the abruptness of only teachers walk, and they warily. it all. The telegram, a rhapsodic This evening I have been reading letter and then at the term end Jane my son-in-law’s novel. The Winged herself, shiny eyed and incoherent, Buffoon he calls it. I feel as if he exhibiting a lean, cropped haired had been calling on me in his under­ M. A., who told me that Shakespeare wear. Happily Jane isn’t in it. was largely overrated. He did con­ Reticence rode away on a bicycle be­ descend to Chaucer, perhaps out of fore the war. A warm rain tonight deference to me. Behind his amaz­ whispering against the library win­ ing brusqueness one was aware of dows. something sensitive and very young. Jane took for granted the quality of June 5th. Ellen came down this my approval and I did my best. morning and found the hall light still burning. She served breakfast June 8th. The exodus has begun. in oppressive silence. Since Jane Crude young St. Michaels whooping has left us, righteousness grows upon off to slay the dragon. One pities her. and envies them. Dinner at the Judkins’ tonight. June 9th. I sent my grades to the They had seen a review of The registrar today. All the dull young Winged Buffoon. In the drawing men are staying on for graduate room a large lady with rings talked work. This will be my first summer at me. “ It must be so exciting to be without Jane. The Winged Buffoon the father-in-law of genius.” And is frank, biting, splendidly sincere. didn’t I adore Huysmans and didn’t People who never even heard of my I think words, like jewels, more Concordance stop me on the street precious than meanings? “ More fre­ to tell me it is. quent than meanings,” I suggested, The town is quiet tonight. I can and presently she glittered else­ hear the rustle of the plane tree in where. I must be getting old— the yard and every half hour the people irritate me so. metallic clang of a street car climb­

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ing the campus hill. I have been I hope the novel hasn’t jeopardized reading again Jane’s last letter. It the boy’s position in his department. does contain a note of forced gaiety. I seem to remember that his father I wish I knew into that young man. has, or has had, a shoe factory in St. June 10th. Departmental meeting Louis. There is no reason in this this afternoon. Young Mr. Thurber visit of mine. If she’s not happy I ’ll was agitated about Freshman Com­ be aware of it—that’s all. I suppose position. He is “ increasingly aware traveling men do sleep on these of frustration ’ ’ and doubts the value trains. of it all. I suggested one try teach­ June 23rd. Boston. I arrived this ing sentence structure. He seemed morning with a violent headache, annoyed. after a night of pigeon-holed bump­ June 14th. Another letter from ing and rattling. I went to the------Jane and again that intangible im­ House and toward noon, feeling bet­ pression of restlessness. She recalled ter, wandered restlessly about. They the one grievous sin of her childhood. are putting up new hotels and the I can see her now; the guilty droop traffic is dreadful. Boylston Street of her little mouth, the blue fright­ windows full of Americana. Our ened eyes and the betraying library best people are turning to clipper shears. These prohibiting people ships and green bottles. It used to might get up a law against the mar­ be Madonnas and Russian copper. riage of only daughters. I have been In the Art Club a hanging of local trying to get my notes on Caedmon work; after Sargent so much deft in shape for a paper. An unsatis­ impotence. factory day. On the brink of Copley Square’s June 21st. No letter for a week. magnificence, I came face to face I am going to Cambridge to see Jane. with Henry Delfields and he took me She is on my mind constantly. If off to his club. After luncheon we that young—I never wished her a sat a while in a window overlooking boy until now. When I tell Ellen the green tranquility of the common. where I ’m going she will load me The older I get the more I thank God down with things. for trees. There wasn’t much to say. June 22nd. I have just left the H e’s a member of his firm now and recurring old grad. He pretended I ’m trying not to think of retiring. to remember my course in the Eliza­ I did ask him if he knew Jane’s hus­ bethan Lyric. We discussed foot­ band. He spoke generously of The ball, Coolidge and prohibition. He Winged Buffoon, and then somehow was very patient with me. we were talking of something else. I haven’t warned Jane of my com­ Tomorrow I must shake off this curi­ ing* If s odd that she hasn’t men­ ous reluctance. I have grown un­ tioned their plans for the summer. accustomed to hotels; the stale clean- 302 THE FRONTIER liness of the room, the impersonal right along; Hugh and Jane will be chairs and the muted noise. tickled to death.” We went. My June 24th. Cambridge. Jane has Jane, he told me in confidence, was just gone and I am to turn off my in every way worthy to be his son’s light in a half hour. I shall have wife. Hugh had always been differ­ something to say to her tomorrow. ent; a problem at times, but a fine I think it may have been a happy boy—a fine boy. thought— my coming. One grows They were having tea when we addicted to this habit of putting came in. It was good to see Jane’s things down. It’s a discreet form of eyes. We kissed shamelessly, with talking to oneself. Hugh grinning awkwardly over her The square was dozing when I shoulder, and Mr. Caulkins in a fever came up from the subway. In the of amiability, telling them all how green emptiness of the Yard a few he met the professor. There were summer students hurrying to class, some colleagues of Hugh’s and a grim in the pursuit of knowledge. graduate student or two. A long The new educational courses I sup­ windowed room with the inevitable pose ; methods and measurements, books; spiraea in the fireplace; cig­ classroom technique, the teaching arettes and the stir of tea things; psychology. A few of us still be­ waning sunlight and young voices. lieve in subject matter. Now and again Jane’s low laughter. A bookstore window compelled After disposing of my cup and the my attention; flaming placards an­ usual amenities, I diminished to an nouncing the season’s sensation; alcove window, content to be there pyramids and pyramids of Hugh’s to watch the bright flow of the river, book. I became conscious of move­ and beyond the stadium’s bulk the ment at my elbow. A portly little urbane Brighton hills. man of fifty, fanning a red face with Suddenly the talk came over to a bright ribboned panama. Sur­ me. Mr. Caulkins was explaining prisingly, he beamed at me. “ Have The Winged Buffoon. In the listen­ you read The Winged Buffoon, sir ? ing silence one sensed inhibited If not— you must. The book of the amusement. In a moment Jane very year, sir.” “ Indeed!” I said weak­ gently turned the page and I crossed ly. There was conviction in his over to them. There was an odd smile. “ And the work, sir, of my look in her eyes; the look of an son, Hugh.” I rose to the occasion. orchestra leader tense for discord­ “ But it’s the work of my son-in- ance. Hugh slouched smoking nerv­ law, ” I protested smiling. We shook ously. I wondered then if the ques­ hands with exceeding vigor. “ And tion of my visit were answered, if to think I spoke to you, Professor! I had glimpsed the third point of a By George, that’s one on me. Come triangle. I am convinced of it now.

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There were guests at dinner and Mr. alone?” Color touched her cheek. Caulkins told them about Hugh’s “ Did you see it then, father—that early promise. The boy tries to be Hugh isn’t quite happy?” “ I t ’s his natural. These young people ought father of course?” She nodded to be alone. Such little things may frowning. “ He’s really a dear, too, be seeds of ill. We are going to have but he does gloat over Hugh so. It a long walk tomorrow—Jane and I. distresses Hugh. He’s so afraid of June 28th. Home again. Ellen, being ashamed—and he watches to taking advantage of my absence, ran see if I am.” “ W ell,” I said blunt­ riot in the library. There’s a new ly, “ when is he going back to St. pad on my desk and the windows Louis?” We had come down to shine. The room is oppressed with the parkway and a breeze was rip­ the virtue Darwin has left first. I ping up the Charles, remembering expressed annoyance and Ellen said the.salt marsh. It blew a fair tend­ something that sounded like “ bother ril of hair across the pallor of her your old books.” The tyranny of cheek. “ That’s just it, father. I’ve dependents on whom one has grown been putting off vacation plans and dependent! I ’m beginning to think he isn’t at I have been poking about the all. Now that he has sold the factory garden all the afternoon. The azal­ he has no interest but Hugh.” Ex­ eas are here, jubilant maidens after asperation grew on me. “ Hugh their aunts, the lilacs. No one has ought to tell him that you two want caught in words the smell of spaded to be alone.” She gave me a quick earth and northern sun. smile. “ If Hugh could do that, fath­ Jane and I had our walk. We left er, he wouldn’t be Hugh. Come.” Mr. Caulkins listening respectfully As we sauntered down toward the to the staccato of Hugh’s typewriter, boathouses, the lamps began to bloom and getting away from the square, through the dusk, and in the fading wandered down Brattle Street, past light the river took on sadness. We the square old houses, aloof under stopped on the bridge to look across their serene trees. Jane a little wist­ at the city rising from the basin’s fully, I thought, made me talk of edge. Jane quoted softly from Ellen and of my work. She cher­ Thompson: “ * * * glimmering ishes the illusion that in her absence tapers round the day’s dead sanc­ I toil endlessly and that unfailingly tities.” “ I think,” I said at last, I leave on the downstairs lights. “ that when sentiment and good And she wanted to know of faculty sense are at war someone has to be— babies. Fortunately I knew vaguely ungallant.” She gave me a long of two. thoughtful look and we turned back “ Jane,” I asked casually, “ don’t toward the square. you think you and Hugh ought to be In the morning she came in to

304 THE FRONTIER help me pack. “ Father,” she whisp­ July 6th. Well, they got here, the ered when my bag was strapped, three of them, late in the afternoon. “ one feels so— so sentimental getting They came blaring into the yard in ready to be brutal. ’ ’ Her thin young Mr. Caulkins car—a huge blue glit­ arms. I could only mumble some­ ter. In the first bag-encumbered thing stupid about courage and lares moment I saw that it was somehow et penates. all right. Jane was radiant. Mr. Caulkins followed me out to After supper people came over; the taxi to press into my hand an such a babble of voices on the ver­ envelope of clippings—Hugh’s pub­ anda. The Merton girls, young licity. Thurber and inevitably the Judkins. Somehow tonight I regret my ad­ After a while the conversation vice. This family diplomacy! Jane washed me ashore and I took my must be happy and I can only meddle pipe into the damp hush of the gard­ from the edge of things. If there en. Presently the glow of a ciga­ is anything in reincarnation I ’ll be rette emerged from the blur of the a monk the next time. vines. It was Hugh. He muttered July 1st. A letter from Jane. The something about fed up on novels child has gallantly waded her Rubi­ and we smoked comfortably, watch­ con. She told Mr. Caulkins very ing the moon rise. A remote young frankly that she wanted to have moon, moving sedately through Hugh to herself for a while. “ And clouds like bridal lace. I thought of Daddy he was so determined not to Keats and said nothing. The moon be hurt— so decent about it all. has become mid-Victorian. Hugh hasn’t said anything but I In the end my curiosity ran over think he knows.” in words. “ Your father is planning July 5th. An absurd telegram to make his home with you ?” I came before I was out of bed. I asked out of the silence. “ Jane is a woke to hear Ellen scolding the boy prince,” he remarked vigorously. for riding across the lawn. I ’m too As an answer it was somewhat old for this sort of thing. They will vague. ‘ ‘ I think, ’ ’ he said presently, be here tomorrow, en route for the “ I think I’ll tell you before Jane Maine coast, where they are to spend does.” For a second, as we walked, the summer— all three of them. I t ’s I felt the light pressure of his hand incomprehensible after Jane’s letter. on my arm. Words can be very Perhaps he refuses to go and so they banal. I knew that we were to be retreat to the wilderness. friends. “ You know,” Hugh said, I have been as nervous as a cat all “ I owe Dad a good deal. After the day. Ellen has been everywhere war when I seemed and was drift­ with a dustcloth, making the house ing, he didn’t understand but he echo with Killarney Lakes. stood by.” His voice hesitated.

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“ But he is— he is— well you see for again in ten minutes. But he sticks yourself—very proud of me.” “ And to it that this fall he must go back of course,” I murmured, “ it is a to St. Louis. He’ll be with us again little embarrassing.” “ Not to me, for Christmas.” sir, though I saw it must be to Jane. We strode back toward the house She’s so utterly unlike that. So re­ in a companionable silence. Our ticent. It was bothering me. Then callers had gone, leaving the veranda last week Jane asked him to go to leaf shadows and moonlight. As away. I couldn’t understand that. we drew near, Jane’s laughter came It wasn’t a thing Jane would do and out of the darkness, and then her yet there it was. Dad tried to be voice, low and distinct across the si­ vague about his going but of course lence. “ Ellen dear, you’re not to he couldn’t. He was darned decent say a word. We won’t let these men about it all. He told me in secrecy of ours know for a while yet. ” The that I didn’t understand Jane and screen door closed with a gentle he did. Jane, he said, wasn’t well, bang and the windows went sudden­ and at such times all women were a ly ruddy. Very quietly we moved little incomprehensible and to be on. Under the porch light we looked humored. He said Mother had been at each other sheepishly. He was like that. You see what he thought? groping for words. ‘ ‘ Say it, Hugh, ’ ’ It would be the obvious explana­ I urged, “ the obvious thing— ” tion.” “ Yes,” I said gently, “ it “ The joke’s on us,” he grinned— would be the obvious explanation.” and we found ourselves shaking The boy’s loyalty turned our laugh­ hands. Then guiltily we went in. ter inward. “ Finally,” he went on, the hurt of it drove me to speak. July 7th. After breakfast Jane I might have known. It was for me and I had an hour alone in the east that she had done it. She had seen arbor. It was very pleasant. The my distress and feared that Dad sunlight drowsed in the garden and would eventually.” He laughed a humming bird came at intervals to quietly. “ But it was only on her pause delicately poised over the account that I was distressed. Anri slender chalices of the honeysuckle. she, not minding, tried to protect me We talked of Jane’s mother. — and him. It makes a fellow feel July 8th. I am going with them humble. . . . Well after we talked for the summer. Jane and Hugh it out she went down to Dad, and I both insist. Ellen is packing my don’t know how, made him happy things.

306 THE FRONTIER Lilac By Borghild Lee

ATHILDE walked to the win­ came to an open place. The house dow and looked out. The was white with a red roof and green M snow fell soft and white. A shutters. There were small holes in wind came and whirled the flakes in each shutter, like surprised eyes peek­ the air. The light on the lamp post ing at the world. A wisp of smoke was like a yellow eye winking. The rose from the chimney, straight up hand on the curtain trembled. Fifty into the air, then, as if suddenly real­ years old today—John’s day. The izing it was free, turned a somersault. snow came thicker, veiling the yellow A white fence, a gate with ten points eye. Mathilde drew the shade down, and a climbing rose-branch twining stood looking at the green cloth a around it. Lilacs everywhere. Spring, moment, and with a shudder snapped and lilacs shedding perfume. it up. She turned and walked over Mathilde sat on the steps watching to the fire-place. Virginia Lee was the path. stretched out on the oval rug, purring “ John, John— ” She ran down to faintly, contentedly. The table be­ meet him. side the fireplace was set for two, and She held his hand to her cheek and the flame from the burning log threw rubbed her soft face against the rough golden splotches on the silver service. tweed of his coat. A slender vase held a sprig of lilac. “ Darling—your lips are like roses The scent hovered in the air, a breath — I love you !” of spring. The moon came like a silver dream Mathilde heard the clock strike five. through the clouds. “ John,” she whispered, “ John— ” “ One more month,” he whispered, “ Mathilde— ” “ and I need not leave you !” He held her close, kissing her eyes “ I wish it was today, my birth­ and hair. Then releasing herself, she d ay!” motioned him to sit down. The fire, “ — Never, never leave you !” flickering, diffused a faint light “ The lilacs—John! Our flower— ” through the room; outside the heavy “ Every birthday, dearest, all our snow continued to fall. lives, a sprig of lilac for you wher­ “ Lilacs!” he whispered, “ let us ever we are. Our flower, dear, and go back— ” this is our lilac night.” * • * The lilac bush drenched with silver, The path went up and up, climbing shivered in the night breeze— the hill joyously. It was a daring * * • path, winding in and out until it —“ Come, John, our tea!”

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She poured the water into the pot, “ Our lilac night, Mathilde!” and measured the black leaves in the “ Yes—I know, John—another cup tea-ball. of tea, dear?” “ John, you are so young—you will She poured the thick cream and never grow old!” added the three lumps of sugar. She Her hands shook as she lifted the played with the spoon. tea-cups. “ John— I am old— fifty years— The log crackled and fell apart. and you are so young— ” Outside the snow fell steadily, inevit­ “ The feel of your lips is like able as time, covering the tracks made roses— ! ’ ’ by many feet. Covering—covering “ D on’t, John !” — the yellow eye winked— She drew her hands across her thin Mathilde cut the bread in thin lips. slices; her wrinkled hands carefully “ Your eyes are like heaven— ” brushed the crumbs from the table. The burning log snapped. The clear jelly in the dish quivered She walked again to the window. slightly. The moon was sailing high, breaking ‘ ‘ Oh, John, I have been waiting for triumphantly through a cloud. The you to come! It has been years and yellow eye of the lamp was winking— years— ” A gray strand of hair had come loose; She poured the golden fluid, hot she smoothed it back. and steaming, and laid the brown ‘ ‘ Dearest, ’ ’ he held her in his arms. toast on his plate. The butter made How tender he was and strong. John pools of liquid in the center. —her lover. “ I know you like lots of butter, “ John, finish your tea!” John! I haven’t forgotten— ” “ No one can make as good tea— ” ‘ ‘ Darling— your lips are like roses. ’ ’ Virginia Lee jumped up on the She drew the table closer to the chair opposite Mathilde and meowed, fire. looking at her with inscrutable eyes. ‘ * I believe another log, don’t you ? ’ ’ Mathilde started; a long heaving sob She saw him kneeling by the fire. shook her body; she dropped her head The dear sweep of his hair, the tall on the table. slender body! She knew every fea­ Virginia Lee’s eyes became points ture, every movement. She turned of green as she watched the shaking away from the fire, and walked over table. to the window. The yellow light was The cold tea in the other cup spilled like a clear star, now. It had stopped slowly, filling the saucer. The toast, snowing. The moon made a long on the plate beside the cup, had streak across the floor. shrunk and the butter had congealed Moonlight and the scent of lilacs— with a yellow spot in the center.

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Trees of Heaven By Grace Stone Coates

ATHER seldom sat on the porch smooth and grey, but I didn’t know to rest, where the others sat. how it felt. F I f he came outdoors in the eve­ The trees were strangers. They ning after the chores were done, he were like foreigners. Both were thin went farther down the walk where he and tall, with branches only at the could look at the ailanthus trees. top. One was crooked. The leaves Father called them ailanthus trees, were dark, not like other tree leaves. and mother, ailantus. I called them They were fancier, and had red on ailanthus. them. I thought of ailanthus trees and castor beans together. Both There were two of them. They made me feel the same way, except stood beyond the west pantry window. that castor beans were not nice. Mrs. The pantry was long, and had a Clarington had castor beans, and kitchen table in it. It had a sink father did not like her. with two pumps, one from the well The wind broke a tip from the and one from the cistern; and a crooked tree, and blew it along the trough for cold water, where mother path. I took it to mother. She said, set crocks of milk. Mother did most ‘ ‘ Take the thing outside. ’ ’ She didn’t of her work in the pantry, so she saw like the smell. It did smell queer. the ailanthus trees all day. She hat­ Father liked to look at the ailan­ ed them. They were the only trees thus trees against the sunset. He held in the yard that she did not like. my hand while we walked around the She said they should have been yard and talked about them. He used planted where she would not have to words that I said over and over in look at them. my mind. The trees were exotic, he The pantry sink drained into a pool said, and quite palm-like in aspect. beside the ailanthus trees. The water He showed me why their leaves looked was supposed to run off along the like palm leaves. They had leaflets gooseberry bushes, but it didn’t. up and down a broad stem. The There was a hollow where water al­ ailanthus was an East Indian tree, ways stood. Mother would not let us father said. The Indians called it the play there. That was why I was not Tree of Heaven. acquainted with the ailanthus trees. One of the trees worried father. I had never taken hold of them. Their He walked around it, looking up into trunks were small. I wondered its branches. The next spring it was whether I could reach around one dead. Father said he would uproot with both hands. The bark looked both trees. Mother thought it foolish

309 THE FRONTIER to ruin the other’s life because one The trees were not behind the shed, happened to die; but father said it nor in the ditch beyond. After a were kinder to consign it, also, to while I knew father had burned them oblivion. in the forge where he heated plow The day father took away the shares. ailanthus trees he did nothing else. I asked mother why father took He brought other tools from the shed away both ailanthus trees. She told besides an ax. He brought a grub me not to question her. I asked fath­ hoe and a spade. I was waiting for er, and he said, “ It lies beyond your him to chop down the first tree, so comprehension, my child.” I asked I could look at the top, and gather Teressa, when she was holding me on leaves to press. Before he started to her lap. Teressa’s lap wasn’t big work father told me to play on the enough to hold me very well. She other side of the house. It was the kept saying, ‘ ‘ I know, I know! ’ ’ and first time he had ever sent me away. wouldn’t tell me. Then she whisp­ The pantry window was open, and ered, “ Father and somebody planted mother called me. She put me in the an ailanthus tree on each side of their front room, to sew. I sewed two gate.” square pieces of cloth together for a quilt. When I was ready to play, she I wondered what gate. We hadn’t unlocked the front door, and told me any gate but the corral gates, and to go down the front path to the horses would trample them there. orchard; and to come back up the Teressa said, “ Little Id iot!” and front path, and in at the front door. pushed me from her lap. She said When mother told us exactly how to she would tell mother I was asking do things we did them that way. questions about things that did not The next time I saw the place where concern me. the ailanthus trees had been, they It bothered me to know something were gone. The ground was smooth, and not to know why it was so. It and covered with sand and little kept me from wanting to play with stones left over from making cement my dolls. There was no one else to for the cellar. It looked neat and ask. It was dusk. I went into the quiet. The trees were not in sight, yard, and looked where the trees had and we were not burning their wood been. I could imagine them against in the kitchen stove. I saw scratches the sky, but they were blacker and on the ground where they had been flatter than when I could look at dragged away. I walked in the marks them with my eyes, and I could not to the blacksmith shop. make their leaves stir in my mind.

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C h ild -W ife By Helen Maring

They caged her in With jet black shoon And a hat that was never Made for June,— A hat that was made For rain and frown. She walked sedately Through the town, No colored garb, No glow of grace, And nothing but silence On her face.

What the town would think Was the only reason That she wore black For a weary season.

They caged her in With a shuttered room, A parlor that lived In dust and gloom. How could they know Her dress was red; And that she danced With her man dead? .... Danced in her dreams, Wore beads and silk,— And sang in her thoughts While skimming milk.

What the town would think Was the only reason That she wore black For a weary season.

311 THE FRONTIER On W ar Literature By Edmund L. Freeman.

AN Y books have come out of titude saw chiefly glory. The terms the World War. The most of are not sufficient. Inevitability and M them have been spoiled by stupidity might be used too. The mod­ succumbing to some sorry fashion ern mind finds war neither inevitable like forced gaiety, or to some propa­ nor glorious. It is horrible beyond gandists end, or to the fear of chal­ all beauty, and stupid beyond all jus­ lenging the pious assurances of people tification. It is “ a wild beast rush,” who would be angered by the realities “ a solemn and approved dementia,” of war. Also, it is not accident alone “ human disease,” “ a reversion to that a story like The Dynasts was barbarism,” “ a testimony of our im­ written one hundred years after the becility and imperfection.” Napoleonic wars. Time and medita­ The modem mind seems to be be­ tion and a great mind are required to coming pacifistic. Mark Twain. reveal the meaning of a great event. Whitman, Emerson, William James. For all that, there is a number of Bertrand Russell, A. E., Havelock El­ books already written out of the lis, Thomas Hardy, Shelley, Croce, World War which I would expect Tolstoi, Rolland, Voltaire, Anatole might be memorable. Among them France, and Montaigne are pacifists. are Montague’s Disenchantment, von They cannot accept war, as did Mil- Unruh’s Way of Sacrifice, D o s ton, Shakespeare, Saint Augustine, passos’ Three Soldiers, B oyd’s Plato, Homer. Through the Wheat, Barbusse’s John Milton saw in warfare the tri­ Under Fire, Cummings’ The Enor­ umph in human affairs of the al­ mous Boom, Mottram’s Spanish Farm mighty will, bestial as he knew war Trilogy, and Zweig’s The Case of Ser­ to be. He had full faith that the geant Grischa. consciousness of a righteous cause was Greatly different in essential re­ the source of victory. Before him, spects, these books still seem to have Saint Augustine was in no doubt that something in the way of common at­ the originals and conclusions of wars titude toward war which can lead one are all at God’s disposal. Before who believes art is the conscience of him, Homer drew a glorious picture mankind to hope. of war in the Iliad. The horrors of To put the matter simply, it seems war and the roots of war in the love that war has always had in it two of booty and vainglory are not so things, glory and ignominy; and the much covered over as they are by modern attitude differs essentially many modern apologists for war. But from the ancient attitude by seeing still Homer’s war is noble. I f his chiefly ignominy where the older at­ soldiers suffered, they fought willing­

312 THE FRONTIER ly, with no sickness in their hearts The same cause that makes us bandy about their cause and “ above their words with a neighbor will stir up a heads, half-seen through the clouds of war between kings; for the same rea­ dust and pain, flew the winged char­ son that we flog a lackey a prince iots of the gods.” will lay waste a province.” Could a modern author make any­ So, knowing something about the thing out of the angels at Mons com­ real nature of war is no new thing. parable to the winged chariots of the What seems to be new in our con­ gods? For good or bad a stronger temporary writers is the conviction realism is on us, and the angels at that the thing can be uprooted from Mons for us are the hallucinations of the earth. Montaigne seems not to pitiful men. have felt that. He does little more The great authors who more nearly about it than now and then casually represent the modem mind on war show that he understands. The mod­ are Michel Montaigne and Thomas ern writers no longer see man as the Hardy. The Iliad for Montaigne special creature of a God’s apprehen­ meant “ The whole of Asia ruined and sion. Man is in charge of his own destroyed in war for Paris’ bawdry! ’ ’ destiny, and it is only his own un­ Montaigne might almost be Hardy critical acceptance of heroic notions on many matters of war. Consider about war that keeps him butchering Hardy’s soldiers killing each other in and offering up his own flesh to the “ dynasts’ discords not our own,” and tribal gods. then Montaigne’s observation that ‘ ‘ of Out of the conviction that war must our customary actions there is not one go, there has come a new way of un­ in a thousand that concerns ourself. compromising realism in writing The man that you see sealing that about war, a way of scientific dryness wall in mins, furious and beside him­ that may eventually discourage man self ,exposed to so many musket-shots; from war. Stendhal was perhaps the and that other, all scarred, pale and first in modern times to use it. Thom­ half dead with hunger, determined to as Hardy is the great exponent of the perish rather than open the gates to way in our time. Though in his own him, do you think they are there on Dynasts, the greatest piece of modern their own account? For one, per- war literature— War and Peace ex­ adventure, whom they have never set cepted— Hardy holds much to the pes­ eyes on, and who is quite unconcerned simistic idea that mind is not the about their fate, and is all the time cause of human actions but only a wallowing in idleness and pleasure.” collateral effect, still Hardy’s most Montaigne was under no illusions fundamental of all ideas about life about the nobility of the makers of and literature is “ that if way to the war. “ The souls of emperors and Better there be, it exacts a full look cobblers are cast in the same mould. at the Worst.” THE FRONTIE1

A full look at the Worst is the new ideas and dictates all kind of crime | thing in war literature— the worst on but they remembered how it had en 1 the battlefield, in the military office, larged in them and about them everjl in the soldier’s consciousness, in the evil instinct save none, mischief de I nationalists, sentimentalists a n d veloped into lustful cruelty, selfish ] maudlin moralists at home, in the ness into ferocity, the hunger for en-1 economic and social systems which joyment into a mania.” find This same detached and prosaic I It pays to bluster about peace treatment of the Worst is in all ofl And keep their ships and guns on the Montague’s war books. Chivalrous] increase. man that he was, his faith in ugly ] For quite a while the psychologists realism makes him look at those neu- ] have been dethroning reason in man. rotic women, for whom war is an op-1 Now the war novelists are making it portunity to release their cravings for ] clear that when we all start off hot sensational reality. It is the ilium -1 pace after the patriots into war more mating way of R. H. Mottram, who often than not it is not reason we are has undertaken “ to set down what ] responding to but dark tribal pas­ can be remembered before it becomes 1 sions, strange fear and pride, or per­ too dim— to set it down with the least haps only the being told something official, personal, or imaginative loudly many hundred times. bias.” This passion for analysis is in The Calm detachment is not the spirit Case of Sergeant Grischa, where it is of all the good war literature. In finely discovered how very humane Sassoon, Unruh and Latzko, most not­ men are consumed in a very inhumane ably, there is terrific expression of system. It is in Three Soldiers where despair and madness in the authors potentially decent characters are themselves. But every one of these ruined by the nightmare oppression books “ exacts a full look at the of the army. It is in Boyd’s Through Worst” and is sufficient to stop all the Wheat which reveals to the good prattle about the glamor of war. critic Edmund Wilson that “ the sol­ E. E. Cummings is no enemy of the dier’s endurance is half helpless ex­ French, yet his Enormous Room— a haustion, his obedience is deeply tinc­ French prison— is the most scathing tured with bitterness, and his bravery revelation of the war mentality that becomes finally an utter numbness be­ it is possible to wish for. Edmund yond horror and beyond pain.” Blunden is an ordinarily reticent Eng­ It is the way of thinking that pos­ lishman, yet the first words in his sesses Barbusse’s soldiers who ‘ ‘ began Undertone of War are, “ I was not not only to see dimly how war, as anxious to go. ’ ’ And how frank about hideous morally as physically, out­ the going: * ‘ My mother went to the rages common sense, debases noble station with me, between pride and

314 THE FRONTIER revolt— but the war must be attended hand. Emily Dickinson years ago to.” Siegfried Sassoon in his recent knew of battle: Memoirs of a Fox Hunting Man, says ’Tis populous with bone and stain, “ The intimate mental history of any And men too straight to bend again, man who went to the war would make And piles of solid moan, unheroic reading.” And chips of blank in boyish eyes, If this honesty of seeing and telling And shreds of prayer goes on, there is still a hope that man And death’s surprise may some day live by his disciplined Stamped visible in stone. soul. But it is Mary Austin of our day Women are in these modern war who asks: books, too. A student has recently Why should we weep told me he thinks that “ war literature Who taught them to follow the music; satisfies the warlike instincts of dames We who attuned them and infants.” It may be there are To feints, pursuits, and surprisesf still novelists satisfying the unspent Have we ever denied them the game impulses of reclused women who get that we should wonder something like a sensuous pleasure When they go roaring forth to hunt from thinking of the unseen suffer­ one anotherf ings of their heroes, and feeling noble • * # and enduring. But it is from books Was it you or I, son, like the ones I have named that we Made this war, I wonder! are learning what to think of women And what shall we expect from that who get excitement out of war. solid Medaleine whom Mottram has Women like Rose Burbage in Right drawn in The Spanish Farm f Does O ff the Map “ waiting for some great she not betoken a day when it will not lift of the heart to befall her . . . be written: Woman has only her any mood that might be passionate, choice in self-sacrifice, and sometimes any escape from her own vapid short­ not even the choosing. age of relish for the contents of life. ’ ’ Most of us believe that all reason To our time women have felt they is against war, but reason alone can­ have free part in neither the cause nor not drive out of us our passion for the cure of war. Philosophies of war war. For that, reason needs to be have been man-made, and because she “ carried alive into the heart by pas­ could not offer her own body to mu­ sion.” Literature of war today is tilation on the battlefield, woman has giving us a new set of symbols, in­ conceived it her duty to offer the sons formed, terrible, ugly and distressing. of her body with grim silence, to bind If literature can shape the soul of a the wounded, and to reward the brave people there is still hope that “ war with her love. But there are signs in and all its deeds of carnage must in literature that changes may be at time be utterly lost.”

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Painted by a Navajo artist, from the sand-painting of a Shamen, made at the birth of a Navajo child. It is symbolic of the child’s life.

Prayer for the New-Born By Lilian White Spencer Ye-bi-chai, the thanks for harvest, Navajos had danced but once since In the dusk of spring, a bridegroom brought the shamen to his hogan That he might bestow a blessing on new wife, new loom and new home. All were gay with strands and laughter .... Time has also woven, woven Since that hour. Now, a husband brings the priest again beside her. She lies low : the wind is moaning like her lips: the loom is idle.

New life comes but it is waiting till a picture of the Birth-Prayer Shines in sands of many colors: sands dyed from Degin Now Hosun, Mother Earth, the dear and holy. Then, it shall be born in gladness. Swiftly, sacerdotal fingers strew and shape the ancient symbols. In the shadows; rising, falling, by the dim light of the fire; On the floor beside the prone one, see the sacred image forming! See the arrow, star and rainbow, black and red and blue and yellow! This is medicine and magic. See the wonder growing .... growing .... Till its maker shouts to heaven: “ It is done and done, her labor! ’ ’

Hark! A little cry! The fire leaps into a flame, rejoicing, As the shamen speaks: “ 0 mother of a chief, our gods smile on you!”

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Quickly blending all the colors, he blots out the Birth-Prayer, scooping In his palms the vivid showers, raining them round babe and woman. Then, his last commands are uttered: “ Father of a chief, tomorrow Gather all these sands and bear them far from Halguit, this brown desert, Up and up to Zilth, the mountains! There, beneath young pine trees, lay them! To Degin Now Hosun, where our Mother is most holy, take them! High on Earth’s pure breast, untainted by the touch of man or evil Shall this praying rest forever! ’ ’ Out he goes into the darkness. Once, the flame leaps up behind him; once, a small voice follows after; Then, the wind dies and the fire sinks to ashes . . . and three slumber.

Willow Weaver By Queene B. Lister Willows over windy water— Mirrored low in green white laughter. Myrtle warbler, oriole; Scarves of breeze On beryl bole. Catch their silver satin cadence. Match a syllable, a tremour; Single—double—double treble . . . Thoughts for pauper, God or—pebble.

Willows over windy water— Weaving music in a mirror. Robe for mind of any hearer . .. Strip your soul! And listen—nearer.

Windy water,—blowing willow,— Willows over shuttled water. Scarves of singing silence, woven For a hag or—monarch’s daughter . . .

Willows over windy water— Mirrored low in green white laughter. Myrtle warbler, oriole; Scarves of breeze On beryl bole.

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The Forge By Israel Newman

I see them still: the blacksmith sleeves uprolled; The shack lit up with every hammer-thrust— The iron lay a bar of burnished gold; Down came the hammer shattering its crust.

But under it, it bared the glowing core Of hotter gold. But this too turned dark red. Down came the blow revealing as before A heart of brighter metal in its stead.

Thus over and again the hammer tolled, The iron dimmed and brightened with each blow, Until that metal, growing gray and cold, Became a shapely implement—a hoe.

I know hoes well; yet useful though they are, Rather than feel that cold gray crust advance Slowly around me, I would stay a bar Of white-hot steel beneath the strokes of chance.

So come, big hammer, if come down you must, Pile blow on blow no matter what the hurt. Let not one speck remain of that gray crust; Nor let the glowing metal stay inert.

And when but one small scrap be left of me, Nor cease, nor hesitate but strike, old friend, And with a vengeance! Let that moment be One blaze of sparks whose lightning is its end.

The Mansions of the Mind By John Richard Moreland

The mansions of the mind are stored with loot Of vanished years. Age plays a miser’s part, Guarding this wealth, and starts when memory’s foot Treads on some board that creaks within his heart.

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Lemuel Lane By Ethel Romig Fuller

Lemuel Lane could hold up a wet thumb Saying which way the wind blows from.

By twirling a wand from a willow tree Could spot the place a well should be.

And by sowing nails at their roots, he grew His pink hydrangea bushes, blue.

He wished warts off his little daughter, Hatched snakes from horsehairs in rain water;

Carried a chestnut in his vest pocket; Wore asafetida in a locket.

He talked to himself and could whistle a bird Right to his shoulder, or so I have heard.

Some thought he was simple. Some said, Lemuel Was Solomon-wise. I never could tell.

The Ranch Mother By Walter Evans Kidd

From dawn to night, while buoyantly resigned To circumstance, she breasts the tide Of work, and for the glowing sake of life, She sings to give her motive pride.

In her you see the graciousness of soil From planting through to harvestings, The radiant urge of summer that reveals Significance in common things.

Incarnate poetry of earth she is Who knows that every year of breath, Which helps to make her life complete, is worth The hushed relinquishment to death.

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Qlory of the Seas (Burned for her copper at Seattle in 1 9 2 2 ) By Bill Adams

She lay all lonely on the harbor mud. The ferry steamers passed her, to and fro. I ’ve seen her when the skies were colored blood At evening ere there came a fall of snow. I ’ve seen her beautiful on sunny seas With all her white wings spread, and her long rail Scooping blue water. Aye, she’d often throw Sprays to the high leech of her great mainsail. She flew, light-footed. Sentient, she’d rise To meet swift surging rollers with a leaping keel, And her tall mastheads seemed to scrape the clouds. In trade wind nights the stars would swing and reel About her mastheads, and her twanging shrouds Would give the merry wind its merry music back, With every rope astrain. When wintry skies hung black, And thunder rumbled, and the sea was wan, She was a glorious thing to look upon. A fearless creature calling the sea home; At home upon her sea as were the whales, Or porpoises that sported in the foam, Or albatross that hovered o ’er her rails. Her seamen loved her, and her master trod Her poop with prideful feet. The grace of God Gave hand of man the power to give her birth. Donald McKay’s hand. God’s good artist he. His swift creations were the queens of the earth. She was the last of them. In from her sea She lay all lonely. No one knew nor cared. The torch was lighted and her hot pyre flared. Burned for her copper! Low the questing breeze Moaned o ’er her torture.—Glory of the Seas! Donald McKay’s last clipper. Yankee pride A heap of embers at the water’s side.

320 THE FRONTIER The One Big Union By Harry G. Huse ( ( A ND WHEN you git to town, ’most any time you was a mind to. / A you damn W obbly,” shout­ ’Tain’t too late yit if you’re a mind ed Culp, through cupped to hurry.” hands, “ if you know what’s good for He nodded toward the road where you you’ll grab a freight and keep the discharged harvest-hand had right on a-goin’ !” slowed to a walk, turning now and The shambling figure at the fence again to shout his maledictions at the turned and shook a fist back toward lanky Culp, who had halted and stood the threshing crew, then clambered leaning upon his fork handle. hastily between the strands of barbed “ If I ’d of been Culp,” insisted wire as Culp snatched up a bundle- Loomis, “ if it’d been me firin’ fork and started forward. him— ” ‘ ‘ Haw-haw! ’ ’ roared the man from “ S ay!” interrupted young Speers, the Goosebill, capering with pleasant a header-driver, “ Old Culp didn’t excitement, “ Haw-haw! Lookit him need no monkey-wrench nor neckyoke hit the road and ramble! Haw-haw! neither! Damn! Did you see the lookit him g o ! That’s the last I guess old boy sock him ! Zowie! Right in we’ll hear of that feller!” that big mouth that done so much big “ Maybe it is and maybe it ain’t,” talking— ” said Loomis, the separator-man, “ I ’d of flattened him for keeps,” gloomily. He came out from his stubbornly reasserted Loomis. ‘ ‘ That’s lounging place under a bundle-rack the way to cure Bolshevikis. Wipe where he had remained during the ’em off the earth like the oldtimers late altercation. done the rattlesnakes and Injuns!” “ Maybe it is and maybe it ain’t. He glared about fiercely and en­ It don’t do to take no chances with countered the mild blue eyes of ‘ Dry- them Bolsheviks and I. W. W .’s. Like Land ’ Dawson fixed reflectively upon as not he’ll be sneakin’ back after it him. “ Stomp ’em into the ground,” gits dark to do some mischief. If it’d he blustered, fidgetting slightly under I been me firin’ him ’stead of Culp the old homesteader’s continued gaze I ’d of used a monkey-wrench to knock him down with. Yes sir! Flattened “ Hmmm,” said Dry-land Dawson. him out with a wrench and he’d of He laid aside the mail order cata­ stayed flat! ’ ’ log whose glamourous, dog-eared “ There was a neckyoke was layin’ pages he had been perusing. ■ right beside you,” suggested Fife, the “ Hmmm,” he repeated, and con­ I water-wagon flunkey. “ You could templated the distant Culp who re­ of come out and hit him with that mained near the fence, watching the

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dusk envelope the plodding figure of dulgent-like and tellin’ him he hadn’i the outfit’s late spike-pitcher. ought to be so naughty!” “ Stomp ’em— ” reiterated Loomis, “ Well, partly that,” conceded Dry with sullen defiance. Land, “ though not entire. Kind The old homesteader spat tenuously words and gentlin’ and chocolate cake and wiped his moustaches with a large and ’long towards the last— for jest red handkerchief. a minute— a potato masher.” “ There wasn’t no need,’’ he said “ Huh!” said Loomis. mildly, “ for Culp or nobody else to hit the feller.” “ W e was threshing at the time,” “ I s’pose,” said Loomis, “ you’d explained the old homesteader, “ over of let him git away with all them Bol- on Turkey Butte bench that lays off sheviki things he was a-preachin’ !” there at the east end of the moun­ Dry-Land spat again and nodded. tains, and things was runnin’ Tong “ And woke up,” sneered Loomis, smooth as grease. * ‘ ’bout midnight to find the whole “ We was jest about the same kind outfit maybe blowed to Kingdom of outfit this is, a bunch of dry-land­ Come with dynamite!” ers that’d got their own harvest out The old homesteader stroked his of the way and had throwed in to­ leathery throat dispassionately. gether and was movin’ along thresh- * ‘ ’Twasn’t likely. ’ ’ in’ from place to place. We’d got “ I guess,” said Loomis scornfully, our own cook-car same as now and “ you ain’t never lived in Oregon like Otto Schmidt’s widder was doin’ the I done and got real well acquainted cookin ’. with the reptiles!” “ Ed Masters, who was runnin’ the Dry-Land again massaged his outfit, was a good feeder hisself and throat. “ I ain’t had no chance to free-handed ’bout pervidin ’ groceries, study no great number of them. and the meals we was a-settin’ down Maybe the problem’s different when to in that cook-car was somethin’ to you got a big bunch of them together remember. to kind of prop each other up and ‘ ‘ Everybody’d felt downright sorry keep each other going. Maybe then fer Mrs. Schmidt the year before you got to put them in jail or shoot when Otto up and died of the Spanish ’em. But there’s other ways to cure influenzer and left her with a mort­ the individual Wobbly. I ’ve seen it gaged homestead and a couple of done.” real small younguns. I t ’s tough on “ Huh!” sneered Loomis, “ Kind a woman being left with a farm and words and gentlin’, I s’pose! Payin’ no one to run it and havin’ to turn no ’tention when he puts gopher pois­ her kids over to the neighbors and go on in the horses’ oats and phosphorus work out. Everybody’d sympathized in the hay bams. Jest smilin’ in­ with her then, but after the first two,

322 THE FRONTIER three days she’s cooked fer us w e’re town to see who he can pick up along really feeling sorrier fer Otto fer the street. He comes back ’bout sup­ havin’ to quit this vale of tears, as per time with his car full of groceries the feller says, and the elegant vic­ and a husky enough lookin’ feller tuals his wife must of fed him. with a homely face and sandy hair “ Mrs. Schmidt wasn’t what you’d settin’ in the seat ’longside him. This call at first glance purty, bein’ a feller’s got a kind of surly, hunched- mite heavier built than the gen’ral down, dissatisfied look about him and run that’ll take a man’s eye and kind Ed ain’t lookin’ any too cheerful of plain featured. But time you’d neither. see her standin’ over the cook stove “ Supper’s ’most ready time Ed with her brown hair all curlin’ up in and the new feller pull in. E d ’s got little rings ’bout her temples where down out of the flivver and is com­ it’s damp with perspiration, and’d mencin’ to load up with groceries to et two three of her meals and seen the carry ’em into the cook-car. The new slow, kind way she smiled when you feller’s still settin’ in the seat, sullen- asked fer a third or fourth helpin’ like, not offerin’ to help none when you’d git to wonderin’ why there Mrs. Schmidt comes out on the little hadn’t been more poetry wrote to platform at the back end of the cook- slow-movin’, slow-smilin’ two hund­ car and gives the triangle that’s hang- red pound women that understood in ’ there a couple of licks with a ham­ men’s failin’s and knew how to cook. mer. The new feller’s down out of “ W e’re a outfit, as I say, of dry- that seat and inside sittin’ down at landers and near neighbors, and the table shovellin’ meat and potatoes things is workin’ ’long nice as they onto his plate ’fore any of the rest can be. W e’re havin’ a lot of argoo- of us has even had time to git rid of ments evenins on assorted subjects— our tobacco. politics and religion and automobiles “ Well, he don’t talk none at the and the weather and women and mar­ supper table. H e’s too busy forkin’ ried life, the way you will when you Mrs. Schmidt’s first class cookin ’ into got a bunch of fellers together. But his face. They’s apple pie I ’member they’s jest friendly argooments and that night fer supper. Gen ’rally everybody’s good-natured. you take apple pie like we got to “ Then Tom Gentry gits a couple make it here out of dried apples and of fingers smashed bad while he’s it ain’t nothin’ to git excited about. helpin’ tinker up the engine, and he Y ou’ll eat it more fer its name than has to knock off and go back home. fer any real pleasure that’s in it. Ed tries ’round the neighborhood to “ But this here apple pie of Mrs. pick up someone to drive a bundle- Schmidt’s was somethin’ different rack in Tom’s place but everybody’s She’ll take the dried apples and soak busy with his own work so Ed goes in ’em and cook ’em up fer a long time

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with lemon and spices and other him—that he’s been kicked off a train things to make ’em tasty. Then she’ll by a brakeman and was loungin’ load ’em into pies that’ll scale a good ’round in town, holdin’ out fer top inch thick when they come out of the wages and no work on Sunday. Ed oven, and the crust all light and flaky ain’t liked his looks and wouldn’t of and a kind of golden colored syrup took him if he could of got any other. oozin’ out through the holes she’s “ We don’t learn nothin’ more made in fancy patterns in the top ’bout him at supper. Nor he don’t coverin’. She’ll always cut her pie open up none after we git outside and into quarters and seems like she’ll are loungin’ round on the wheat make two three extra in case anybody bundles we’ve got throwed down wants a second helpin’. ’longside one of the bundle wagons. “ The new feller, as I ’m sayin’, He jest sprawls hisself out on the don’t do no talkin’ at supper, jest ground slow and sluggish like a bull sets there with his two elbows planted snake that’s swallered a whole burrow good and solid on the table and stows of field mice, and lets the talk go on it in like he was pitchin’ hay into a ’round him like he wasn’t takin’ no big haymow. Seems like it does Mrs. notice. Schmidt good to see him eat so hearty. “ ’Tain’t ’til long ’bout nine o ’clock She’s looked kind of tired and almost that he commences to kind of rouse cross like when we first come in. hisself and git to fidgettin’. He’ll Spite of her seeming so strong and sneak a look now and ag’in over to­ capable she’s ’most tuckered out I ward the cook-car where Mrs. guess being on her feet since four Schmidt’s finishin’ up the dishes and o’clock in the mornin’ cookin’ for oth­ mixin’ up bread fer the next day’s er women’s men-f oiks. She’s looked bakin’ and though it aint hardly be­ kind of low-spirited and unhappy as lievable he acts like he’s gettin’ I say. But now her eyes are kind of hungry ag’in. shinin ’ as she watches the new feller. He’s finished up with a half a pie and “ The moon’s come up and is shin­ a couple of extra cups of coffee to in’ bright and purty on everythin’. wash it down with, and his eyes are Seems like you can see off ’cross coun­ bulgin’ out of his face so’s you could try fer ’most a hunderd miles with all knock them off with a scantlin’. H e’s the wheat shocks throwin’ dark shad­ et as much a g ’in as Matt Kimes, our ows ag’in the gleamin’ stubble and engineer, who’s a lean, lanky feller here and there, ’way off, a yellow with a big Adam’s apple and a na­ light in some rancher’s window. Off tural born eater. over in a coulee somewhere there’s “ We don’t git acquainted none the yip-yip and howl of a coyote. with the new feller at the table. E d ’s “ The wind’s died down and so has already told us all he knows ’bout most of the talk when the new feller

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I raises hisself on his elbow and then In that glor-ee-us land above the sky. sets up and starts a-singin’. Work and pra-ay—live on hay. “ Well sir, he’s got a real fine sing- You’ll have pie— in the sky— when in’ voice. Yes sir, he’s got a singin’ you die.” voice that’d s’prise you. He starts ‘ ‘ Haw-haw, ’ ’ laughed the man from kind of low and soft and mournful, the Goosebill, “ Haw-haw. Pie in the and the tune he’s singin’ is a good sky. That’s purty good. Pie in the oldfashioned hymn. Lyin’ there sky.” kind of dozin’ like a man will when The old homesteader fixed his in­ it’s gittin’ his bedtime you’d ’most terrupter with a sobering gaze. think you was in church somewheres “ I am willing to concede,” he said and the sermon’s over and the choir severely, “ that there are certain low . was startin’ in to sing. If you was elements of humor in the song as jest nat’rally musical you’d sort of rouse sung. On the occasion to which I am yourself and start a-gittin’ ready to ref errin’ the singer’s first renderin’ join in. was greeted on the part of several “ But I aint no more’n commenced with thoughtless laughter. But Ed feelin’ fer the notes when I realizes Masters got hot under the collar, the words he’s singin’ aint the right and my dander’s up too ’cause while words at all. The tune’s ‘In The the feller’s singin’ I ’ve looked up and Sweet Bye and Bye’ all right but see Mrs. Schmidt who’s left off her what he’s singin’ goes like this— ” dishwashin’ and is standin’ listenin’ Dry-Land cleared his throat dis­ in the window of the cook-car. She’s creetly, and lifted a quavering bari­ fond of music as I already learned. tone into the cool night air. Otto havin ’ played the fiddle. ’Sides “ Long-haired preachers come out she’s got a religious streak in her like every night, most women. After her long day, , Try to tell you what’s wrong and and the everlastin’ arguin’ and talk­ what’s right. in ’ she’s had to listen to night after When you ask how ’bout somethin’ night, I guess at first it must of been to eat real kind of nice and restful fer her They will answer in voices so to hear that old hymn comin ’ soft and ,sweet— ” kind of mournful from the dusk. But He paused to clear the huskiness now she’s made out the change in the j again from his throat. “ That’s the words and her face’s real troubled- way the verse went,’ ’ he explained, like studyin’ why a feller that’s et Iself-consciously. “ The chorus, where like this new feller done would be I it was the most different from the singin’ so bitter ’bout only gittin’ pie way it used to be printed in the in the sky. I Gospel Hymn book went like this— “ Well, Ed’s ’bout ready to blow “ You w ill eat— bye and bye, off, and I ’m some riled up myself at

325 THE FRONTIER the ongentlemanliness of any such re­ and see what happens! Let him take flections on Widder Schmidt’s cook­ some of the master’s gold and see how in ’ when right away the feller leaves quick they’ll clap him into jail and off singin’ and goes to preachin’. maybe hang him! “ Yes sir. That’s what it sounds ‘ ‘ Things is tum ble wrong, he says, like— preachin’. He drops the hymn and they’s only one thing to be done and gits up on his feet and starts off about it. They’s jest one way fer the a-lecturin’ us in a kind of sing-song slaves to git out from under the iron voice like he’s learned what he’s say- heels of the masters. That’s to join in’ by heart and don’t understand all theirselves together in the I. W. W., of it his own self. and fight the masters. Fight ’em “ Seems like ’cordin’ to what he’s and cripple ’em in the only place they sayin’ everythin’s all wrong in the can feel it—in their pocketbooks. world and aint goin’ to git no better Arise, slaves, he hollers, strike off ’til somethin’ violent is done about your shackles and join the One Big it. Seems like they’s two classes of Union. people in the world, what he calls the “ Well, they’s quite a lot more masters and the slaves. along that line includin’ most of the ‘ * The masters is the ones that’s got the stuff this feller Culp jest fired the money and they git all the gravy. was spoutin’. I guess he would have They got their fine women all dressed kept on all night if somebody’d give up in silks and satins and loaded him an argument or set up to listen. down with diamonds and other jew ’l- They was a lot of points a person ry, and their fine automobiles and could of took him up on and some their big houses that they don’t live things that needed explainin’ like in more ’n two three months a year. callin’ the five dollars a day and “ The slaves is the ones that does board a harvest hand was earnin’ a all the work and they don’t git no­ scurvy pittance, and the reference he thin’ but a scurvy pittance fer it. made to garbage. They live in hovels, he says, and eat “ But it’s gittin’ late and spite of food that aint no better’n garbage, his loud voice and inflammatory lan­ and wear poor clothes so’s the masters guage the fellers have been noddin’ can dress their women in them silks off a little on him and finally they and jew ’Is. If it wasn’t fer the work start rollin ’ in fer the night and some­ of the slaves, he says, the masters body tells him to shut up or if he’s would have nothin’. But do they got to holler to go over in the coulee give the slaves any credit fer it ? Do and yelp with the coyote. they show any gratitude fer the gold ‘ 1 Last I see of him when I drop off the slaves have coined fer them out of he’s settin’ there on the ground gaz­ their sweat and blood ? Not on your in ’ off over the wheat shocks kind of lousy life. Let a slave refuse to work bitter and onhappy, and sneakin’ a

326 THE FRONTIER hungry look now and ag’in at the “ Pudge Edwards that’s flunkev cook-car where Mrs. Schmidt’s still asks Ed Masters real serious-like if stirrin’ ’round settin’ her bread for he don’t think he’d better oncouple the next day’s bakin’. She’s singin’ the horses from the water-wagon and low to herself like she ’ll sometimes do git another team and hitch all four when she’s workin’ but I'm so sleepy onto a bundle rack and set to haulin’ and it sounds so soothin’ and restful out groceries from town steady. like when I ’m droppin’ off that I “ But the W ob don’t seem to pay don’t think nothin’ of it that she no ’tention to the joshin’ nor don’t should be singin’ that ‘ Sweet Bye and talk none ’bout the masters and the Bye’ hymn that’s been sung wrong slaves. He jest gits outside all the by the Wobbly feller. food he’s able and brings away a “ Well, come m om in’ we have to couple of doughnuts with him to eat pull the Wob, as the boys’ve already a little later. started callin’ him, out of his blank­ “ Well, we’re threshin’ from the ets. Tom Gentry’s left his horses shock, and my rack and the one the when he went home and sence the new W ob’s to drive is both loaded and feller’s drivin’ ’em he’s s’posed to git drawed up on each side of the sep up and git ’em fed and harnessed. arator. So when Matt Kimes starts He gits up harder ’n ’most any feller up the engine the Wob and me’s I ever knowed ’less’n it is this one pitchin’ opposite to one another. Culp’s jest got rid of. Seems like he “ Well sir, it’s quite a study to see wouldn’t never of rolled out if he that feller work. I t ’s one of these hadn’t smelt the breakfast cookin’. here clear Montana mornin’s ’thout “ W e’ve had elegant breakfasts be­ no wind and a little chill in the air. fore but never nothin’ so elegant as From up on the load seems like you that one. There was fried liver and can see the whole state of Montana bacon, I ’member, and fried potatoes, with blue mountains stickin ’ up from and hot sody biscuits that’d jest melt the horizon ’most anywhere you in your mouth, and wheat cakes and look. The air’s so fine it seems like doughnuts and apple sauce, and the it’s somethin’ you want to take a Wob does an even better job of eatin’ big gulp of and swaller and you got than he done at supper time. to hold yourself in to keep from “ Matt Kimes says kind of spiteful whoopin’ and a-yellin’. that he guesses it’s the night air give “ Well sir, the W ob’s feelin’ it and the new feller sech an appetite and the big breakfast he’s et and maybe that if jest thinkin’ ’bout goin’ to he’s noticed too where Mrs. work makes him eat thataway he Schmidt’s come out on the back plat­ wonders what’s goin ’ to happen after form to hang up her dish towels and he’s been pitchin’ bundles four five ain’t gone back in right away but hours. is kind of standin’ there watchin’

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him ’cause he’s plumb forgot the masters, and a change commences to iron heels of the masters and is come over him. His eyes git dull and standin’ astraddle up on that load s ’picious, and his chest kind of caves pitchin’ bundles into the separator in, and his mouth draws down, and ’most faster than the old girl’ll take he jest dawdles along with his pitch­ ’em. Yes sir! He’s standin’ up in’. I ’m plumb onloaded and half­ there with the bundle fork lookin’ way out to the first shocks ’fore he’s like some kind of plaything in them pulled away from the separator. big freckled hands of his, stabbin’ “ Well sir, that’s the way it goes the bundles two, three at a time and all mornin’. Seems like he’ll look heavin’ and swingin’ them like he over toward the cook-car and work was sashayin’ a purty gal in a schot- ’long like he’s havin ’ the time of his tische. life fer a few minutes. Then he’ll “ I got a chance to study him bet­ come to and mope down and slow up ter’n I been able to so far and now ’til he ain’t but barely crawlin’. He’s that I come to look at him he ain’t droppin ’ behind all the time with his a half-bad lookin’ feller. He ain’t loads and throwin’ things out of handsome by a whole lot and his schedule and ’taint long before Ed’s features ain’t what you’d call dis­ begun to yell at him to git a move tinguished, but he’s big and husky on. with a good broad pair of shoulders “ Come noon all the fellers have now that he’s got them throwed back noticed how he’s been playin’ off and not droopin’ like they was when and they’ve started to josh him. he was slouchin’ ’round before “ Somebody says while we’re goin’ breakfast and his mouth has kind of into the cook-car that it must be lost its peevish look and his eyes is tough not to have worked enough to kind of gentle and shinin’. of gotten up a appetite fer what the “ If ever they was a feller nat­ W idder’s got laid out fer us, and urally built fer the life out here with somebody else says so long’s the heavy outdoor work and big eatin’, W ob’s only hauled five rack-loads of seems to me it ’s him. I ’m studyin’ bundles he ought to be held down to my hardest to figger out what kind five helpin’s of meat and potatoes, of a kick a big husky like him’s got and later on Matt Kimes says that ag’in the world, and I ’ve ’most got to if the W ob’d only pitch bundles like where I ’m thinkin’ he was joshin’ he’s pitchin’ victuals into his mouth us all the night before, when Mrs. he’d have to git a ten-horse power Schmidt goes back in the car and it bigger engine to pull the separator. seems like he commences to ’member “ They’s a good deal more of this again the turrible way society’s or­ joshin’ and though the Wob don’t ganized with the slaves sweatin’ take no time off from his eatin’ to blood to be coined into gold by the answer you can see him gittin sul-

328 THE FRONTIER lener and sullener and soon’s he gits the outfit. Ed says w e’ll leave the through he commences to sneer real horses harnessed and move on over bitter ’bout wage slaves that don’t to the next place after we’ve et and know no better’n to sweat the meat be ready to start in come mornin’, off their bones to fatten capitalistic and right away the Wob starts purses. grumblin’ to the other fellers ’bout “ Mostly the fellers don’t take it’s bein’ after six o’clock and says what he’s sayin’ serious but jest keep he ain’t engaged to do no night on joshin’ him the way a man will work. when he’s et a good dinner and is “ Ed’s riled up when he hears feelin’ contented like and good- ’bout it, and talks to me of firin’ natured. But I can see Ed Masters the new feller on the spot. He asks' gittin ’ het up over all the cracks the me if I don’t think we’ll make as Wob’s makin’ ’bout gittin’ back at much headway workin’ short-handed the employers by layin’ down on as we will with a feller like that ’em. And Mrs. Schmidt’s onhappy, eatin’ his weight at every meal and too. I ketches her lookin’ at the new still kickin ’ and up-settin ’ the others feller with a kind of sorrowful look and spendin’ half his time leanin* in her eyes ’most like you’ll see a on his fork-handle. I ’m mostly in mother lookin’ at one of her young- favor of it myself only seems like 1 uns that she’s extra fond of when keep rememberin’ the feller like he he’s doin’ things he hadn’t ort to was early that mornin’ when he and she knows he needs a spankin’. wasn’t stewin’ ’bout the world’s “ Well, the new feller works poor­ troubles and was turnin’ his muscles er in the afternoon than he done in loose and gittin’ real pleasure out the mornin’. I guess he ain’t been of it. doin’ much fer quite a spell before “ Seems to me like he’s prob’bly Ed hired him— jest hoboin’ his way been cussed ’round a lot by railroad from place to place on freight trains police and brakemen, and has lis­ with other I. W. W .’s and he’s kind tened to a lot of other I. W. W.s of soft and out of condition. spoutin’ ’bout injustices and perse­ “ We’re figgerin’ on cleanin’ up cution, and not et very regular or the field w e’re workin’ on ’long very heavy, and got to feelin’ sorry ’bout four o ’clock in the afternoon fer hisself and makin’ out that the and movin ’ on over to the next ranch cards is stacked a g ’in him. Seems and gittin’ set before suppertime. to me now he’s gittin’ fed on good But the Wob loafs along so much it’s A number one victuals soon’s he gits ’most six o ’clock when we’ve forked over his first day’s lameness if the the last bundle into the separator boys’ll stop a-pickin’ on him and and Kimes has took down the belt payin’ so much ’tention to him he’ll and backed ’round and hooked onto straighten out gradual and git to

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be a good hearty worker. If he’ll another song that’s got a religious only git a-goin’ like he done first tune, too, only where he should be thing in the mornin’ when he was sayin’ to Take It to the Lord in enjoyin’ hisself, I tells Ed, he’ll Prayer he’s singin’ to Dump the pitch twice as much in a day as the Bosses Off Your Back. They’s some average feller. ornery things in the song like where “ Well, Ed’s willin’ to let him ride he calls the feller that works hard fer a little. Mostly Ed’s one of these fer day wages a big boob and later quiet fellers that don’t like a ruckus on a long-eared jack, and some of onless it’s plumb necessary. He the boys git to fidgettin’. I look up passes the word ’round among the and see Mrs. Schmidt listenin’ ag’in boys not to pay too much notice to in the cook-car window. the Wobbly and to treat him jest “ Well, the boys don’t pay no ’ten­ like he was a normal feller. Havin’ tion, like they been told, but keep stuck up fer the Wob I now set out right on talkin’ and the Wob leaves to study him real close and see what off singin’ and comes bustin’ into the is the matter of him. conversation. “ Well, it’s late in the evenin’ and “ He starts off bitter like he done ’most dark time we git moved and the night before tellin’ how the la­ settled. Mrs. Schmidt’s been held borin’ man is bound down in shack­ up in her work by the movin’. She les. I ’m payin ’ real close attention to ain’t been able to do no dishwashin’ him. Generally you can tell somethin’ nor nothin’ else while the old car’s ’bout what a man’s got drivin’ him a-trundlin’ and a-rattlin’ out of the in his mind if you’ll listen to him field and down the road to the next talkin’. But it ’s got me scratehin’ place. Once we ’re settled down my head to figger this one out. Here ag’in she’s hard at work makin’ up he is, a good big healthy feller that the time lost in movin’. ain’t got a thing wrong with him fur “ We got some bundles throwed as I can see. He can eat like a horse down fer our beds and are waitin’ and sleep like a log and if what I ’ve fer bedtime same as we are here now see that mornin’ is anythin’ to go when the W ob starts singin’ a g ’in. by, them big muscles of his enjoy He’s back on ‘Pie in the Sky’ and workin’ when he’ll let ’em. he’s singin’ it over and over in a “ He can go ’most any place and mean, spiteful kind of way. I’m git his four five dollars a day fer watchin’ him sharp and it seems like eight nine hours work, and be it kind of bothers him ’cause the healthy’s a mule and have a good fellers don’t seem to pay no ’tention time joshin’ ’long with a good bunch to him. of fellers. If he’s a mind to he can “ He gits to singin’ it louder and settle down right here and rent a more insultin’. Then he starts on piece of ground and be his own boss 330 THE FRONTIER and own the place after he’s got a ’bout the bloody revolution that’s few crops off it. He’s got hisself a-comin’. He makes out like the stuffed full as he’ll hold of elegant capitalistic class is scared to death food and a bed of soft wheat straw of the I. W. W.s and got ’em black­ to sleep on. He ort to be sprawled listed all over the United States and out kind of lazy-like on the ground the whole world maybe, and got their like the rest of us, soakin’ in the spies a-doggin’ them. starlight and the good-smellin’ air “ I ain’t findin’ out much, as I’m that’s cornin’ up off the stubble, and sayin’, ’cept that he’s doin’ his best listenin’ to the chomp-chomp of the to make hisself out a real important horses a-grindin’ hay where they’re feller. Watchin’ him wavin’ his arms tied to the bundle-racks, and be gin- there in the light from a lantern, and in’ to yawn a little and think how goin’ on there with all that racket nice and warm his blankets are goin ’ I git to thinkin’ somehow of one of to be, and lookin’ forward to the these younguns you ’ll run into some­ Widder’s breakfast in the mornin’. times that don’t like it when com­ “ But ’stead of that he’s r ’ared up pany comes ’cause they ain’t gittin’ on his feet snarlin’ ’bout chattel no ’tention and keep makin’ a fuss slaves, and breakin’ our chains, and and actin’ meaner and meaner ontil greedy capitalistic parasites, and they git so bad they have to be spoke class consciousness, and solidarity, to or took out and give a spankin’ whatever that means, and the only “ Well, I ain’t figgered him out remedy fer everythin’ that’s wrong and I guess I wouldn’t of figgered in the world bein’ the One Big him out no further’n this if it hadn’t Union.” been fer what come later. We start The old homesteader broke off to goin’ to bed on him ag’in and he’s delve for his package of fine-cut. left ’thout no one to talk to. He “ The One Big Union,” he mused, don’t turn in with the rest hisself his eyes fixed reminiscently upon the but stays settin’ there on the ground cook-car. “ The One Big Union. ” lookin’ lonely and kind of hungry He brushed the tobacco crumbs at the light in the cook-car. Most from his moustaches, spat meagrely, of the fellers drops off the minute and resumed his narrative. they hits the hay and you can hear “ I’m watchin’ the feller close as ’em snorin’ at a great rate. I lay I say, but I ain’t findin’ out nothin’. there on my side kind of watchin’ All I can make out is that the less the Wob and purty soon I see him ’tention is paid to him the fiercer git up forlorn-like and move over he talks. to the cook-car like he’s goin’ to git “ He gits to boastin’ ’bout crip­ hisself a drink out of the water bar­ plin’ machinery and floodin’ mines rel that stands on the back platform. and startin’ forest fires and talkin’ “ Mrs. Schmidt’s still up and

331 THE FRONTIER workin’ ’round inside the car and he self and tryin’ to make out he’s a takes longer’n he needs to git his hero that’s fightin ’ with all the other drink, and makes some noise with brave Wobblies fer the benefit of the the dipper gittin’ the water out of human race. the barrel. First thing I know Mrs. “ She don’t say a word, far as I Schmidt comes out on the platform can hear, only listens to him. But with a big plate of chocolate cake jest her settin’ there beside him, big and is talkin’ to him and tellin’ him and restful and kind-like and quiet to help hisself from it. seems to do somethin’ to the feller “ W ell sir, they’re talkin’ there fer ’cause little by little the bluster and quite a spell and it’s ’most all I can brag and big talkin’ all trickles out do to make out what they’re a-sayin’. of him and he’s begun tellin’ her the Mrs. Schmidt tells him he’s got a things that’s really the matter. real nice singin’ voice and that it “ Seems like he don’t think he’s sounded real nice to hear him singin ’ ever had a fair break sence he was there in the dusk ’cept that it’s too a youngun in a big orphan asylum. bad he ain’t learned the right words He’s jest one of several hunderd ’stead of those bitter ones he was there dressed all alike, and ain’t no­ a-singin’. body paid no ’tention to him ’less it “ I can’t hear what he says to this was to give him a jawin’. He ain’t ’cause he jest sort of mumbles and quick in the school work and the has another chunk of cake. teachers ain’t give him a square deal, “ She says this is a good bunch of he says, so he ain’t got much educa­ fellers in this threshin’ crew and Ed tion. He’s turned loose after he’s Masters is a fine man and reasonable old enough to work and they ain’t and nice to work fer. nothin’ he can do ’cept common la­ “ But ag’in he jest mumbles some­ bor. thin’ like he didn’t care to do no “ He starts out workin’ first at talkin’ or maybe was bashful. She this and then at that and it aint no goes right on easy and pleasant-like, different from the orphan asylum talkin’ ’bout the good harvest this only maybe more lonesome. He don’t year and the sociable times folks make friends easy and noboby pays have here winters and ’bout this be­ him no notice ’cept now and then to in’ a fine new country fer a strong give him a cussin’. H e’s always the ambitious man, and presently she’s first to be laid off and lots of times got him talkin’. he’s fired ’thout knowin’ the reason. “ They’re settin’ there side by side He ain’t got no ’special friends so on the edge of the platform and he’s one place’s as good as another and still bitter and hard but he ain’t purty soon he’s on the bum, driftin’ preachin’ like he done earlier in the west from place to place, workin’ evenin’. He’s tellin’ her ’bout his­ on gradin’ gangs and in lumber

332 THE FRONTIER camps and coal-minin ’ fer a spell happy and restless too, I reckon. It and stevedorin’ and diggin’ sewers. comes to me how natural it is fer a He don’t make no friends nowhere. lonesome feller like him to blame his Decent folks, he says, wont have troubles on the way the world’s or­ nothin’ to do with him ’cause he’s ganized, and to talk bitter about the dressed rough and talks rough, and folks that’s got their comfortable women folks turn up their noses at homes and their automobiles and him, all ’cept the kind that’s sweet their women. And it comes to me on him fer a little while when he real clear that it ’ll make a feller like pays them money fer it. him that nobody pays no attention “ Don’t nobody take no interest in to feel real important and like he him or care whether he’s sick or amounted to somethin’ to belong to hungry or dead even, until he meets the I. W. W. and be told by their up with a I. W. W. organizer in a speakers that he’s the cornin’ ruler box car one night down in Wyoming. of the world and the capitalists are This feller, he says, has studied ev­ scared of him and got him black­ erythin’ out and shows him how the listed and their detectives trailin’ whole of society’s organized to grind him. down the workingman and keep him “ And then purty soon I begin to homeless and broke and wanderin’. realize how slow and kind and un- He talks to him and two three other derstandin’ but steady-purposed a fellers there in the box car fer two woman that’s lonesome herself and three hours and then signs ’em up on needs a man to run her homestead red cards and takes their member­ can be when she’s found one that’s ship fees and pats ’em on the back fitted fer the job and only needs and calls ’em brother. straightenin’ out and bein’ made “ Well, listenin’ there in the dark, happy and contented. Mrs. Schmidt and studyin ’ what he’s a-sayin ’, and jest encourages him in some way I watchin’ Mrs. Schmidt say nothin’ ain’t aware of to tell all there is to but jest a word now and ag’in to tell about hisself, and is real inter­ keep him pouring out his troubles, ested, and don’t point out at all and reaching out her hand once to where he’s misjudged things or list­ put it soft-like on his arm when he’s ened to the wrong kind of preachin ’. telling about nobody ever carin’, it “ She jest lets him git it all off his comes to me all of a sudden how chest, and when he’s through has natural and easy a big, hard-work- him have one more piece of cake and in’, kind-hearted woman like her, finish up the plate, and says some­ that’s got younguns of her own, has thin’ ag’in ’bout his nice singin’ understood from the start what’s voice and enjoyin’ music herself and really wrong with the feller. And havin’ an organ to home that she with other homeless men that’s on- plays when she can find time to do 333 THE FRONTIER it, and says she guesses after he’s “ Yes sir. She was workin’ him. got over his first day’s stiffness a And she’d of kept right on workin’ big feller like him’ll probably pitch him and gentled him right out of all twice as many bundles as the next them notions of his that was keepin’ best man on the crew and the rest him upset and triflin ’ and onhappy if of them ’ll have to take off their hats things hadn’t happened and the oth­ to him.” ers hadn’t gone and spoiled it. The old homesteader paused to “ Come mornin’ he’s et a couple clear a growing huskiness from his dozen pancakes and four five fried throat. eggs and as many helpin’s of fried “ Huh,” said Loomis, who was sus­ potatoes fer breakfast and he’s start­ pected of being hen-pecked, “ she ed out workin’ like a workin’ fool. was tryin ’ to work him. ’ ’ ‘ ‘ H e’s got his rack loaded in ’most “ Not jest tryin’,” corrected Dry- no time and he’s pullin ’ in lively from Land, “ she was workin’ him. The the field when he busts a tug cornin’ way any strong woman like her’ll up out of a little coulee. I t ’s jest work a man she’s took a interest in a ordinary accident like ’ll happen when she finds him with his dobber ’most anytime ’specially with a old down and his pride gone, and not harness like Tom Gentry’s got on his usin’ his strength and blamin’ all his horses, and it don’t take the Wob troubles on things besides his own more’n five ten minutes to mend it. self. “ But cornin’ on top of what he’s “ She was workin’ him, and not in said ’bout cripplin’ the employers no little way neither. He come away and layin’ down on the job, Ed Mast­ from that cook-car to roll in fer the ers and the fellers start a-talkin’. night hummin’ them songs real light They hint like he could easy of cut and cheerful under his breath. He some of the sewin’ so the tug would stands in the moonlight with his bust thataway, and they don’t talk to chest throwed out and his head up fer him none the rest of the mornin’ but ’most five minutes, lookin’ at the keep their eyes on him distrustful- cook-car where Mrs. Schmidt’s blowed like and ’spicious. out the light to go to bed, and he ‘ ‘ Come noon seems like he’s slipped ain’t thinkin’ ’bout class conscious­ back a little from the way he felt in ness or shackles or solidarity neither. the mornin ’. But he tries to talk some If he’d kept on lookin’ two, three at the table ’bout places he’s been and minutes longer like I done, and’d see things he’s see and brags a little ’bout her come to the window where I guess jobs he’s been on, the way a feller she thought she was out of sight and will, and ’bout how many loads he’s stand there a long time lookin’ out hauled that mornin’. The others into the night, I guess he’d of felt don’t pay no ’tention to him. more stirred up and manly yet. ‘ ‘ Come afternoon he’s slowin ’ down

334 THE FRONTIER noticeable but it might be jest ’cause standin’ all worried and nervous jest he’s gittin’ tired when somethin’ else inside the screen door. happens. H e’s workin’ with a old “ The Wob is shoutin’ ’bout a bundle fork and while he’s pitchin’ bloody industrial revolution and the off his load the head of the fork stays boys are yellin’ back at him and tell- stuck in a bundle and pulls right in ’ him to shut up or they’ll shut o f f ’n the handle and goes a-shootin’ him up, and he’s hollerin’ louder’n into the separator. The Wob don’t ever and more insultin’, and the first see it quick as me where I ’m pitchin ’ thing we know Ed Masters’s got up across from him, and I ’m the one that real quiet but all white and shakin’ hollers out to stop the separator. We and busted the Wob with his fist right git her stopped in time but if w e’d square in the eye. While the feller’s waited fer the Wob to yell the fork’d staggerin’ Ed lets him have four, of been inside and tearin’ hell out of five more so fast you can’t count the separator. ’em, and before the Widow’s through “ Well, they made quite a to-do and the door and down off the platform seems like the Wob and me’s the only the W ob’s flat on the ground with Ed ones that thinks the thing was acci­ on top of him like he was goin’ to dental. Everybody’s got to come run- stomp his brains out. It takes me and nin ’ up and examine the fork and the Matt Kimes that I make help me to handle, and even though you can see pull Ed off. Even then I guess we where the bolts pulled out of the rotten couldn’t of held him quiet if the W id­ wood the most of them ain’t satisfied ow hadn’t come bustin’ through the at all and the Wob gets surlier and circle, with her eyes blazin’, and stood surlier. Come suppertime he’s down­ there over the Wob like a fierce old right sullen and don’t lift his eyes mother hen over a little chicken tell- from the plate and Mrs. Schmidt’s in ’ us all in a low, tight voice what a upset and onhappy over by the cook- fine bunch of cowards we was to be stove and has let the biscuits burn. all pickin’ on one man. “ dome evenin’ the W ob’s right “ Well, things calm down some, and back singin’ them old bitter songs, I guess everybody’s kind of ashamed and talkin’ wilder and more violent of himself fer gittin’ so excited. But all the time, and sneerin’ at farmers the Widow nor nobody else ain’t able like us that works our heads off to keep the boys from runnin’ the raisin’ wheat and lets the grain spec’ Wob right out of camp. It don’t lators take all the profit, and makin’ hardly seem right to me to start him threats, and goin’ on louder’n louder off on foot that time of night beat up every minute. like he is. Par as I can see the fight’s “ Everybody’s riled up and gittin’ all out of him. He don’t look danger­ madder’n madder. The W idow’s quit ous. H e’s plumb licked, I ’d say, and her dishwashin’, and I can see her jest settin’ there on the ground wip-

335 THE FRONTIER in ’ the blood o f f ’n his nose and lips ag’in feelin’ things ain’t right and with the back of his hand, and nursin ’ somethin’s goin ’ to happen. an eye that’s swellin’ bad and turnin’ “ But they won’t be nothin’ stir purple. rin’. After awhile the moon comes “ Knowin’ what I do the whole up and I can see all ’round and seems thing seems like a big mistake to me like that makes me more easy. Any­ but it don’t do no good talkin’ to the way I drop off fer quite a spell ’cause other fellers. They ain’t addressin’ when I next wake up the sky’s got no more remarks to the Wobbly but cloudy and it ’s jest about plumb dark. they’re kind of jeerin’ among them­ “ The wind’s come up the way it selves ’bout these fierce I. W. W .’s will in the night out here, and it ’s that’s goin’ to revolutionize the Unit­ makin’ a little hissin’ noise in the ed States but cave in the first time stubble and rattlin’ things here and anybody hits them. The Wob can’t there in the outfit. I t ’s bangin’ the help but hear it but he jest keeps washbasin that hangs on a nail ag’in suckin ’ at his cut lips. the side of the cook-car and I ’m think- “ I ain’t feelin’ happy at all. Mrs. in’ that’s what’s woke me up and Schmidt has kind of pulled herself to­ fixin’ to roll over and go back to gether when she’s seen nobody ain’t sawin’ wood when I hear somethin’ goin’ to do the Wobbly no more harm, up among the bundle-racks that ain’t and has got embarrassed and gone no wind a-blowin’. I t ’s a noise like back to the cook-car platform. I ’m someone prowlin ’ ’round in the dark feelin’ what a mess a bunch of men’ll has bumped into the danglin’ end of make of somethin’ a woman might of a singletree and set it clatterin’. straightened out in no time, and hop­ “ Well, it don’t take me longer’n in ’ the W ob’ll go by the car and say it’s talcin’ me to tell it to roll out of somethin’ to her anyway before he my bankets and work out through the leaves. But when Ed pays him what sleepin ’ fellers. I ’m plumb awake he’s got cornin’ and tells him to git he now and my head’s puttin’ things to­ jest gives the whole outfit a sneerin’, gether. I ’ve picked me up the pump- sour look, with somethin’ I don’t like handle o f f ’n the water wagon and at all glitterin’ in that one eye of his I ’m slidin ’ ’long up past the cook-car that’s still open, and stumbles away toward where the noise is come from into the dark. when I hear the screen door of the “ Well, they’s a lot of talk, mostly car squeak and open. I don’t no onreasonable, after he’s gone. Pres­ more ’n have time to pull up and slide ently we turn in fer the night. ’round a bundle rack when I can jest “ I ’m kind of tired out and low feel­ make out the Widder Schmidt on the in ’. But jest the same I don’t sleep platform. And then she’s down on very well. Seems like I won’t no the ground and movin’ quiet and fast more’n doze off and I ’ll come awake past me toward the noise which come

336 THE FRONTIER from up near the separator. She goes somethin’ fetches me a lick on the by so close I could of put out my chin and the nose and the middle of hand and touched her. the forehead that near knocks the “ I ’m plumb took with admirin’ the senses right out of me. It’s a fork courage of the woman. She’s heard some fool has stuck up in the ground the noise same as me and she’s got and that I ’ve run a-straddle. the same worry in the back of her ‘ ‘ There’s another flare of light that head, I guess. She understands the ain’t the stars I ’m seein ’. I t ’s fainter treacherous wild desp ’rateness that ’ll this time ’cause the W ob’s nursin’ the take hold of a harmless feller when flame in his hands ag’in the wind. he’s been plumb humiliated and I ’m up on my knees now with the laughed at. But she ain’t knowed fer blood a-hammerin ’ in my temples. certain what she was goin ’ to run into Then there’s a kind of a thud, and out there ’cause when she’s went by the match drops into the straw, and me I ’ve made out she’s got some kind the straw flares up fer jest one tur- of weapon in her hand. rible second, and then goes out sud­ “ She’s jest a shadow movin’ den like somethin’ heavy’s fell down straight fer the separator which kind on it. of nestles there ag’in the big loomin’ “ Well, far as my bein’ any use is straw-stack, and when I take after concerned, I might as well of gone her I ’m a good fifty feet behind. back to bed and got my night’s sleep. “ Then all of a sudden there’s a As is the case when matters is in the light low down ag’in the straw-stack hands of a capable woman the only where a match’s been struck and thing there is for a man to do is look flared up a second and been blowed knowin’ and give advice. out by the wind. I t ’s jest a quick ‘ ‘ When I come up to where the two flash of yellow light and then black is at, the W ob’s out cold where Mrs darkness, but it’s give me time to see Schmidt’s hit him with what she had a feller squattin’ down there at the in her hand which was one of these edge of that stack of tindery straw heavy wooden potato mashers. She’s that’s so dry it ’s like gunpowder, and hauled off and let him have it when Mrs. Schmidt cornin’ up on him. she see there wasn’t no time to argue. She’s callin’ him by name, and I Then she’s throwed herself down on ’member how funny it seemed to me the blaze and smothered it, and now fer the feller to have a real name she’s down in the chaff beside him, when all we been callin’ him is Wob­ fingering his head to see if he’s hurt. bly and the Wob. ‘Mr. Christianson!’ “ She only jumps a little when I she’s callin’ real low and desperate, come up and find them. She looks up ‘ Mr. Christianson! Wait! W ait!’ at me and says, kind of onhappy and “ Well, I ’m plumb alive now and happy at the same time, she says ‘ I movin’ fast’s I ’m able. And then jest had to hit him. The outfit’d

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been burned and he’d of been lynched a monkey wrench or a neckyoke! ’fore he could git out of the country. ’ ’ You don’t mean she turned him loose “ Well, we git him into the cook-car like that to maybe keep on doin’ dam­ between us, and git him stretched out age?” “ She didn’t hardly turn him on the table and some water on him. loose,” replied Dry-Land, sighing. He’s kind of a sorry sight what with “ I been tellin’ you she needs a feller the black eye and swole lip he got bad to work her homestead. She fixes earlier in the evenin ’ and now a lump him up a big lunch to carry with him, on his head the size of a hen’s egg and sends him over to her place to where the potato masher’s hit him. ketch up her work-horses and start Seem’s like Mrs. Schmidt’s real sor­ puttin’ in her winter wheat. rowful having to batter him up some “ Come noon she’s told Ed she’s more when he was already purty well ’bliged to quit soon’s he can git some­ battered. She bathes his head and one else to do the cookin ’. Come Sat ’- purty soon he comes to and lays there day evenin’ she’s fed us a last meal and looks at us with only a little of that you couldn’t equal nowhere, and the sullen left in his eye. left us stuffed but broken-hearted. “ I ’m standin’ ’round first on one Come Fall— ” foot and then the other not knowin’ “ S ay!” said the man from the what to do next, when Mrs. Schmidt Goosebill, eagerly, “ Speakin’ of Mrs. takes hold of things ag’in and Schmidt and the Wobbly, we got a straightens them out fer us. She says widower over our way that had a there ain’t no real meanness in Mr. Swede housekeeper— ” Christianson, that he jest ain’t been Dry-Land sighed again. understood. She sends me back to cov­ “ Come Fall— ” He broke off to er up the burned place in the straw- gesture impressively out across the pile and to git my sleep, and asks me gloomy expanse of prairie where the to say nothin’ of what’s happened. I scattered lights of snug ranch houses guess she must of stayed up all night glowed ruddily in the darkness. herself, ’cause she’s fixed up the “ Come Fall— the One Big Union! W ob’s head and rested him up some The remedy fer the W obbly’s sorrows, and talked him out of his troubles and trials and tribulations! The One Big sent him off while it’s still dark and Union! I drove the two of them in gives us our breakfast at the reg’lar town together. I drove them home time next mornin’ like nothin’s hap­ a little later. Me bein’ a bachelor pened.” she asked me to stay and eat the “ You don’t mean,” said Loomis, weddin’ supper with them. I stayed incredulously, “ she took it for grant­ ’most all the evenin’. She played the ed that one lick with a ’tater masher organ, and Christianson and me, we cured him ? I ’d of flattened him with done some first-rate Gospel singin’ !”

338 THE FRONTIER Qoing to School By D ’Arcy Dahlberg AWN had come but it was still “ Put these blankets around you dark. The lights from the good. It’s terribly cold.” The girl D houses shone almost as bright­ helped to wrap the blankets around ly as they would have in the middle his legs. of night. A stiff wind came up at “ That’s good enough,” he said be­ intervals and the sky over the east­ fore she had finished. ern mountains was unmistakably The scraggy team of mares was growing lighter every minute. Roost­ put at a trot and the buggy was on ers were crowing and occasionally a its way again. It was precarious door opened and a man came out to footing, however, and though they r spit and look at the sky. picked their feet up quickly and A young boy stood by the dirt made a motion of trotting they road and peered toward the fringe couldn’t manage anything better of timber that lay a quarter of a than a fast walk. mile eastward from the town. He The sky had turned a shade light­ could see or hear nothing and was er and the town could be made out munching an apple. In one hand more distinctly. It was a forlorn he carried a lunch bucket. place clinging to the edge of the Suddenly he heard horses snort­ timber. Not a house was painted; ing and blowing in the cold air. they were all shanties. And then he could hear buggy On the left the mountains were I wheels rattling over the frozen still black and heavy mist hid their ground. He finished his apple in wide bases. High up among the I several large bites and tossed the peaks a ray of light gleamed now core aside. He wiped his mouth and then on a snow bank. Off to 1 with the sleeve of his coat and put the right was the rolling prairie land I his mitten on the hand that had held and clumps of trees could be seen the apple. A moment later a team along some creek bank. There was of horses and a buggy materialized a mist over the prairie, too, and it out of the mist and gloom and a seemed dull and dead out that way. voice called out sharply: A chill breeze cut into the faces of “ Whoa, there, cayuses!” the three travelers in the buggy and A girl’s voice followed immediate­ made them keep their heads pulled ly after: “ Good morning, Joey! low on their shoulders. Are we late?” Gene, the driver, was a thin-faced “ Naw, you ’re not late. I just youth whose eyes watered constantly came from the house.” He put his in the cold wind. His jaws stood out lunch pail in the back of the rig and rigidly and his skin was smooth, for climbed onto the seat. he hadn’t yet put a razor to his face.

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He didn’t talk as much as the others; night and we may be moving away he sat and brooded and wore a long one of these days.” face. “ No! You don’t mean right away Ada sat in the middle and her blue —before school’s out?” Ada asked. eyes were always twinkling. She “ Well, no, not that soon.” had a clear, healthy complexion and “ What was they fighting about?” the stinging wind made her cheeks Gene asked. glow warmly. She was eighteen at “ Why, ma thinks that we made a most, yet she too looked older. bad move when we bought lots dur­ Joe, who had waited at the road­ ing the boom. She says we might as side, knew of nothing better in the well have thrown the money in the world than to be sitting where he river. But pa laughs about it. was, beside Ada. The buggy seat ‘Money’s no good if you don’t use was narrow and he was pressed it,’ he says. ‘ You just as well take closely against her; he could feel her a gambling chance once in a while; warmth up and down his right side. all you have is a gambling chance; Joe was younger than the others, and even then you’re bound to lose,’ four years younger than Ada, but he he says.” never thought of that. “ Were they angry?” Ada wanted When they came to the bridge to know. at the end of the first mile “ Oh yes, I suppose all the neigh­ the team slowed down and looked bors heard them.” cautiously from one side to the other “ Well,” Gene said, “ your ma’s as they went up the approach. The right. Nobody’s going to make any bridge planks were white with frost money out of that town! ’ ’ and after the buggy had passed over “ You don’t know anything about two neat tracks were left behind. it ! Y ou ’ve heard dad say that,” his When the bridge was crossed the sister reminded him. horses picked up their shambling “ We could have made a little trot again. The breath came out of money last fall. We were offered their nostrils in white clouds and three hundred dollars more for the formed a coating of frost on the hair shop than it cost us. But ma said it of their necks. They were an un­ wasn’t enough. She got mad last kempt team of little mares with their night when we reminded her of it.” long winter’s hair; bits of straw and Gene went off on a tangent. their night’s bedding still clung to “ Your folks don’t fight any more their sides. Gene forgot to curry than ours,” he said. “ There’s a them most of the time. wrangle at home every day.” A serious conversation was being “ We have dad to thank for that. carried on in the buggy. Joe had If it was mother alone it would be said: “ My folks had a fight last different.”

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But Gene couldn’t agree with that. most of the time though his father “ It takes two to make a quarrel ran a butcher shop. and she nags as much as he does. Joe lived in the midst of many She doesn’t do it outright, that’s the things that might have been thought difference. She goes around com­ unpleasant, yet he went through plaining until somebody has to get them unscathed. When he sat beside mad.” Ada he was content. He thought of “ She has something to complain finer things; it might even be imag­ about, I think! Not one of you kids ined that he saw them dancing by ever helps her and she’s had ten of like the fence posts on either side us to take care of.” that went flying past in an endless “ W ell,” said Gene, “ I ’ll tell you chain. For seven months, ever since one thing, Joe, don’t get married! school opened in September, he had A poor man’s got to work his fingers been riding with the Silverthorns, to the bone as it is, but if he gets and ever since Christmas when Ada married, he’s sunk!” kissed him at the School Entertain­ ment he had been engulfed in a great But Joe disagreed. No. It wasn’t world of mist and warm dew. that bad! It depended on yourself The sun had burst over the moun­ —and, of course, on whom you mar­ tains and the gloom that had lurked ried. in the hollows and over against the “ Do you think married people are timber all disappeared. The few never happy? Sure, lots of them scattered banks of snow that lay in are! But you ’ve got to be in love. the nearby fields sparkled and I don’t think my folks were ever in looked whiter. The frost disappeared love; they don’t act like it, and from the horses’ necks and they got that’s why they row.” over the road with a freer gait. “ You talk like a calf! What’s On and on the road led in a love? I ain’t seen any yet,” Gene straight line down the valley. The said. mountains were always parallel and What, no love! And Joe sat as one travelled along one could see there burning with it! He knew no ever new angles to the peaks and unhappiness. It was true that his canyons. father and mother made things un­ Gene sat on the driver’s side in his pleasant with their misunderstand­ peculiar hunched over fashion and ings and uncharitable accusations. be held the lines with listless hands. His sister was half an idiot and sat He hissed at the horses and cursed at home laughing and crying by them soundly when they slowed to turns and trying to draw pictures on catch a breath or when one of them the windowpane with her pencil. slipped on a patch of ice. He seemed There was no money in the home to dream, perhaps of the dreary 341 THE FRONTIER round of chores that awaited him couldn’t help herself. So she’s al­ when he returned at night, perhaps ways wanted me to study law and of his father with his savage temper, make up for it, though I don’t see or perhaps he dreamed of freedom what can be done now.” from these things. “ That will be fine! When I come Ada, as she sat there, wore a half to get my divorce I ’ll see you the smile and an eager expression as if first thing. I ’ll say: ‘Joey, my hus­ she expected every moment to come band’s mean to me. Please get me upon some marvelous discovery. No a divorce right away!’ And then one would think of calling her a what will you do?” girl, exactly; she held her head with Joe’s tongue failed him and he the studied grace of a woman; in a couldn’t think of a witty reply. He few years she would be a little too said: “ I ’ll go and kick the seat of his fleshy and then she would be a wom­ pants up between his shoulders!” an indeed. Ada was surprised and didn’t For Joe there could be no account­ know whether to laugh or not, but ing for her charm. He never re­ Gene roared aloud and the horses laxed in the seat beside her; he was threw up their heads and trotted in a continual flux of emotions. faster. Something happened almost every Now they were approaching town. day that brought him more deeply The seven mile ride was ending. The under her spell. It wasn’t much, a sun was an hour above the moun­ mere nothing, hut he came to regard tains and the frostiness had almost each new day with wistful expecta­ gone from the air. The sky was com­ tion. Anything might happen! In pletely free from cloud and mist and these past few months he had sud­ a golden effulgence poured down denly begun to feel like a matured upon the land. young man. He looked backward The school was the first building from the pinnacle of his fourteen on the left as they entered town. It years and saw his childhood lying stood by itself in the center of a somewhere in the indeterminate past. large yard. There were tall poles The conversation had gone to oth­ standing upright with cross bars er things. over the top, these were the swings “ I ’ve made up my mind to study where the children played. law when I get to college,” Joe said. The school building was long and “ Do you really plan to go to col­ narrow and built in two stories. The lege, then?” Ada asked him. lower half was covered with shingles “ Yes. Ma always wanted me to and painted brown; white clapboards be a lawyer. When she got her di­ covered the upper half. From all vorce they made her say a lot of directions one could see pupils com­ things that weren’t true but she ing towards the school in vehicles of

342 THE FRONTIER all descriptions— some were on horse­ cession and that Shakespeare had back, some had single horse rigs, written many plays and was no while others drove a team; and now doubt the greatest man in the world. a green and white school-wagon But when they went home they kept came lumbering down the lane. their discoveries under their hats. When Gene stopped his team of It would never do to let the old folks brown mares before the entrance feel that they didn’t know every­ gate there were fully a half-hundred thing ; they would have only one way youngsters jumping around; they to answer such a charge, and that laughed and shouted and banged one was with the stick. another with their dinner pails. Joe knew well enough how it was. Something as fluid as electricity and He sat in his classroom and swal­ as startling took possession of the lowed everything greedily. Ilis head three in the buggy. They looked at was full of things that had happened each other, at the crowd of pupils, thousands of miles away and hun­ and began to laugh. This was dreds of years ago. But he knew school! There was nothing else like better than to talk about them when it! he got home. There was no sense in Joe got down and helped Ada from being laughed at. the buggy; then he drove with Gene “ Wipe your nose!” his father to the stable to unhitch the horses. would say if Joe should tell him that It was a strange business, this go­ Rome had been a great Empire ruled ing to school. Out at home things over by Julius Caesar who talked went their humdrum way; the fath­ Latin. er would be stamping around the The morning’s ride had been a fields to see how near the frost was pleasant event in its way, and the to leaving the ground or he would school hours were themselves filled be in the granary fanning his seed with moments of ecstasy; but the wheat; the mother would be in the pleasantest time of all was when kitchen mixing her bread or else out they drove home at night. in the yard feeding the chickens. The air was warm then, so warm But in school it was different; they that coats were left unbuttoned and read about the capital of one State one could crane one’s neck around and the area of another; they and have a look at the scenery; and learned about Nigeria and Liberia there were heavy shadows lying and Abyssinia and Lake Titicaca across the land. At the big cattle high in the mountains; they used ranch along the foothills it was words like “ hypotenuse” and “ con­ feeding time and the steers could be gruent” in geometry; they found out heard blowing and bellowing. The that there had been a French Revo­ feeding wouldn’t last much longer; lution and a War of the Spanish Suc­ soon there would be a coating of

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green over the hills and prairie and all; she had mothered nine of the ten the stockman could leave off measur­ children; but it hadn’t proved too ing his haystacks with his eye. heavy a task for her. She was But there was no green grass yet. charming and sprightly for an elder­ Indeed, the frost had by no means ly woman of eighteen! left the ground. The first few inches The family of ten was gradually were free and soft with mud but becoming valuable as time went on. down below there was something Over half of them were working now hard. And when morning came and if the first ones had been put at around everything would be stiff it a little too early it was easier for with frost again. the late comers. Everyone felt the glory of those Ada had kissed Joe at Christmas first spring afternoons. Even Gene’s time and here it was March and he shabby mares held their heads with hadn’t awakened from the spell yet! a certain pride and they took to the He hadn’t enjoyed it at the time, it long road with renewed energy as is true. He had been too ashamed they swung around the corner and and confused to know just what had left the school house behind. And happened. Besides, the room had Gene himself was not the same. been full of people. Since then the Whatever sparkle of humor his sys­ event had revealed its proper signifi­ tem could muster then came to the cance. He would know how to act surface and played about for a mo­ the next time. ment like faint blue lightning on the His father and mother spent horizon. But he wasn’t at home all their time making life unpleasant when it came to playing with wit; for each other. Every night when he would stumble around for a while Joe came home they were at it. He and before long take to cursing lived his life on the road to school; something or other as a more effec­ the night was only spent in waiting tive way of getting over what he for another day. Sometimes he wanted to say. No, Gene didn’t fit couldn’t avoid being drawn into a into this world of youthful thoughts family melee; he went about looking and feelings. He had shrivelled al­ so dreamy and absent-minded that ready. He had been broken to the his parents must turn and attack plow when he was too young a colt him occasionally. And then he be­ and now he could never enjoy run­ came more pointedly aware of the ning wild. two worlds he was attempting to Ada was touched by the same sear­ straddle. But on the road to school ing process. If she escaped at all it much was left behind and he was something to marvel at. She dreamed astounding dreams. In was the eldest in the family of ten fact, it would be hard to say which and she had borne the brunt of it of Joe’s thoughts were real and 344 THE FRONTIER

which were but the froth and mist of of last year’s dead tumble weeds and some dream pot bubbling over. And just as the buggy came abreast of on this very day one dream, at least, them they ran into the road to sniff was to put on a cloak of reality and the air and decide which way to run. meet Joe face to face. They grunted and squealed and one For over seven months the two old sow grew confused and tried to brown mares had performed their run between the legs of Tricksey, the task in the most irreproachable man­ mare on the near side. ner possible. They had trotted mile Tricksey was patient enough but after mile without complaint,— she couldn’t be expected to allow a though it is true that a fast-legged pig to run between her legs. She sat man could have kept abreast of them back on her haunches for just a sec­ at any time; and as they went they ond and then she shot ahead like a looked neither on one side nor the cannon ball and it was a wonder that other but with bowed heads kept the the tug straps didn’t snap like cotton middle of the road. Viewing them twine. Tricksey’s mate caught the critically, they were commonplace panic too and it took only a moment and shabby and a whip lash falling to get their legs and harness un­ on their scrawny backs brought no tangled and then they were off! protest. Yet on this day they did a The buggy swayed from side to most unexpected and unreasonable side; it dashed into the gutter and thing. balanced for a moment on two They had been trotting along with wheels, then it straightened itself their eyes glued to the road and the and lurched to the other side of the three young people in the buggy be­ road. All the loose bolts and rods hind them had been engaged in a and wheel spokes were rattling as methodical discussion of the day’s they never had rattled before. events. The mares were shedding It was strange to see what hap­ heavily and it was really difficult to pened inside the buggy. At the first talk as one had to stop at every other unexpected move Gene straightened word and spit out a horse hair. Gene himself in the seat. When the horses sat with the lines held loosely in his took the bits into their teeth and hands and he seemed to be ponder­ began their mad gallop straight for ing things in his uninspired way. destruction—he lost no time in con­ And then three pigs appeared sud ­ templation. With one movement he denly. thrust the lines into Ada’s hands and They had escaped their pen and with a second motion he had vaulted were in the lane, looking for the out of the buggy and clear of the feast of green grass they had scented wheels. He landed in a lump on the on the wind, no doubt. They had roadside. been hidden from view behind a pile Joe sat there in a daze. If he had

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tried to talk he would have stuttered. Not much! I’ll die soon enough as The buggy swayed perilously, the it is !” slightest obstruction sent the wheels Ada scorned such premature wis­ bounding into the air. He probably dom. “ Look at little J o e !” she said. would have continued to sit in a “ He isn’t thinking of himself all the trance until they had smashed time ! He acts like a little man!— against a fence or telephone post if Why Joe!” She turned to him ec­ he hadn’t thrown his hand out in­ statically. “ You’re so brave!’’ voluntarily to balance himself. In With a swift movement she doing so he grasped the lines. The grasped his coat and pulled him next moment he had braced his feet close and kissed him, once on the against the dashboard and was cheek and once on the mouth. Then pulling for all he was worth. He she laughed gently and let him go. was thoroughly frightened by now Joe had anticipated her action. and he had the strength of despera­ He had braced himself to meet it— tion. to no avail. His courage gave way Joe stopped the mares by running and he turned red; after the second them into a sand bank at a corner of kiss he actually put up his hands to the lane where the road had been cut protect himself! And immediately through a low hill. The moment afterwards he felt miserable. He they stopped he scrambled out and pushed his shoulders up and drew in took them by the bridles. He was his head to hide his confusion. trembling. He led them around into “ You girls make me sick !” Gene the road again before they tried to said, ‘ ‘ always kissing people ! ’ ’ climb the hill. He kept saying over “ We don’t kiss everybody, do we, and over: Joe?” “ You damn mutts! You damn What could Joe say! mutts! Hold up now!” They started down the road again. Gene didn’t overtake them for half The mares had spent themselves and an hour. He came up the road with were content to go at an ordinary a limp in one leg. pace though they threw their heads Ada looked at him with amaze­ from side to side and blew through ment and contempt. “ Why on earth their nostrils with the pride of their did you jum p?” she asked. deed. He didn’t answer until he had ex­ Darkness was coming now and amined the buggy and harness to there was coolness in the air. After see that nothing was broken. He the buggy had disappeared in the climbed wearily onto the seat and he shadows and mist that arose from looked like quite an old man. the cooling earth the wheels could “ Why did I jump? What do you still be heard rattling over the grav­ suppose! Am I going to risk my elled road. One more day of school neck for a team of scrub cayuses? was ending. THE FRONTIER

THE OPEN RANGE Each issue will carry accounts of men’s personal outdoor experiences. Only accounts of actual experiences are solicited.

Laying the Iron Trail in the Northwest By Luke D. Sweetman

T was in late March of 1887 when the new enterprise and perhaps other ways first chinook came to start the huge of bettering my own present depleted Idrifts of snow melting that had been financial condition. So as soon as the piling up since early October. This has snow had gone sufficiently to allow trav­ ever since been known by old timers as the eling, we struck out with our driven stock “hard winter” of ’86 and ’87, and as the and despite our pack animals, laden with most disastrous winter Montana has ever provisions and bedding, made good time. known. Many cattlemen who were con­ Our last camp before crossing the Mis­ sidered rich in the fall were flat broke in souri river was made at Sioux pass, about the spring and were lucky if they had a fifteen miles from Fort Buford. Snow horse and outfit to hire out to some more fell on us while making camp, and as a fortunate owner with which to start all result the bacon and flapjacks we had over again. for supper were more filling than appetiz­ In those days no one owned land, the ing. cattle herds being ranged over the count­ The first gray dawn in the region of less acres of prairie that offered their rich the Missouri river found us driving feed free to the cow-man. This winter our little herd in a cold, drizzling sleet- snow covered what grass there was as storm toward the junction of the Missouri effectively as if it had been plowed under and Yellowstone rivers. There Tom and cattle starved and froze to death by Forbes put us across on the Government the thousands. Cattlemen’s estimate of ferry. their losses was from 60 to 65% of the After gaining the northern side of the native cattle and in many cases entire Missouri river, we drifted eastward to herds of southern stock were wiped out where Williston is now located. This new clean. It was a hard blow to the cattle country to me was a virginal paradise business, at this time in its infancy in and my thoughts again turned to vast Montana. herds of cattle growing fat on the rich Having temporarily laid aside my plans bluejoint grass which in sunlit places was for the cattle business, I bought a few beginning to show green. The untouched head of horses and with one man to help last year’s growth, though bent flat to drive them, headed north from Miles City the ground by the snow, had been knee- to the newly proposed line of railroad. high in the river bottoms. The low hills This road, which was to be built through sloping back from the river were treeless. the northern part of Montana and Da­ In fact, the only trees to be seen were the kota territories, was laid out under the cottonwood groves that lined the river name of the Saint Paul, Minneapolis and and a few straggling evergreens that Manitoba railway, and was later changed throve on the rocky acres and on the clay to the Great Northern. I believed there banks of the badlands. This first picture would be a big demand for horses in this of the untamed land remained imprinted 347 THE FRONTIEB

in my mind; and it was near here on the There was no hay to be had, but grass banks of the Missouri a few years later was plentiful everywhere, so the work­ that I staked my homestead rights. horses were turned loose at night under I left the Missouri at Williston and cut the care of the night-herder. Such a across country to the Mouse river. Except system was hard on the eastern horses for the soldiers stationed at the few forts that had always been cared for in stables and Indian agencies, the white men one with plenty of good feed handed to them. would encounter could be counted on the This shifting for themselves soon began fingers. For miles and miles in any di­ to take a death-toll from their numbers. rection a rider would not see a human Of course they had to be replaced. I sold being or a human habitation. Along the my entire band and wished for a nearer course of the river an occasional “wood- source for replenishing it. Not only were hawk” , who supplied fuel to the steam­ many horses sacrificed but many men boats, had his dug-out or log hut. No gave their lives as well. Human trage­ other white men had come to this region— dies were witnessed every day and shallow there had been nothing to bring them. graves marked at regular intervals the Later on, in this same year, small herd- progress of the Iron Trail. owners from the stricken western and Where the railroad survey joined and southern parts of Montana pushed north­ paralleled the Missouri river, the town of ward to this Missouri river country where Williston was taking on a semblance of their cattle might recuperate from the permanency. So far, owing to the ina­ severe winter. The next few years they bility to procure lumber, it was a village made good money. Hay could be put up of tents. Each steamboat from Saint Louis on the river bottom to insure against an­ brought entire families, some with their other hard winter and feed famine. stocks of merchandise, ready to give odds The railroad had been completed be­ for the progress of civilization. Building tween Devils lake and Minot, of Dakota material was steadily being shipped in territory, the previous year. Minot, at and the foundations were laid for many the western end of the line, was now a of Williston’s pioneer business blocks of flourishing young town. Here, the rail­ today. People, hearing of the new coun­ road company was daily unloading con­ try and sensing advantages of fortune, tractors with their grading equipment and were daily arriving in increasing numbers pushing them westward as rapidly as to swell the population and expand the possible to where their different stretches frontier. The Yellowstone and Missouri of grading work were to be done. In a rivers afforded the smoothest highway, short time the trail along the line of and each boat brought in its load of home survey was a moving array of men and and fortune seekers. teams doing their bit, and, when finished, In this growing village there were vari­ passing the others and beginning the next ous games of chance in session at all stretch out at the front. Soon they were hours of the day and night, and the usual moving earth over a surveyed line of more human parasites in the gathering-places than two hundred miles in length. A of men exacted their daily tolls. There steel gang followed close on the heels of were killings, of course, but I had been the contractors, laying the track at the in places that were better organized mun­ rate of four miles a day. icipally where there were more. These The contractors depended on the grain little tragedies of life went hand in hand for their horses to be brought to the rail’s with progress and civilization everywhere. end by freight and from here relayed to Soon there were structures of logs and their camps by four- and six-horse teams. rough timber which answered the demand 348 THE FRONTIER for stores, saloons and lodging-houses. I of this camp was a young fellow from the remember distinctly a neat little hotel, East, green and inexperienced in western built and operated by a Mrs. Leonhardy. ways. He was willing enough in his ef­ She prospered, and in later years the site forts to locate the missing bunch but was occupied by a substantial brick build­ ignorant to the first degree of common- ing which was operated as the Number sense in hunting for the runaway horses. One hotel for several years. He rode all night and returned in the fore­ The horse market which I found so good noon with only the horse he was riding encouraged me to bring in more bunches and that one nearly exhausted. After a of western stock to peddle along the line breathing-spell for lunch and a rest for to grading contractors. The demand was his mount, he set out again, and soon great and the prices were high. after noon he came back to the camp, I remember hearing one little pioneer empty-handed for the second time. The episode that had its tragic ending, in the crew were, of course, enjoying the vaca­ camp of Leech and Francis, two Iowa tion, but not so Mr. Leech. He was pay­ contractors, where I had put up for the ing his men for straight time. I vol­ night. One of their men had just re­ unteered the suggestion that the night turned from a thirty-mile trek to the river, wrangler was doing his hunting in circles where he had gone to bring back a load too close to the camp and that he would of wood. He related an account of the have to look farther away to find the death of Grinnell, a squaw-man, who had horses. Mr. Leech asked me if I thought got a supply of whiskey from an up-river I could find them and I answered that I boat and proceeded to get drunk. He was believed I could. He gave me the chance. at the height of his spree when his squaw, I figured out the direction the horses tiring of his actions, set about to pull him would naturally take, which was west­ off his horse and put him to bed. Grin­ ward with the storm. I shall never for­ nell, not wanting to be interrupted at this get the horse I was riding that day. He period of his fun, endeavored to ride the was one of a herd I had bought in south­ horse over his wife. He was prevented ern Montana. The big brown was un­ from this only by the sudden action of usually large for a saddle horse but the his mount, which, in rearing and pivoting, gamest fellow I have ever ridden. I was unseated its rider. The squaw, seizing able to follow a faint trail left by the this opportunity, made haste to benefit herd, and after about twenty miles of by it and in so doing, clung tightly to the riding, I saw fresh signs of it. The sun first hold she could find. Unfortunately had disappeared behind the hills when I for the man, he wore one of those then came upon the bunch, now quietly graz­ popular braided leather watch-guards ing. I counted them as I rode around which was suspended from his neck, and them, herding them together. They were this was the woman’s first hold. In the all there ,and I headed them back toward melee that followed, the knot was slipped camp. I allowed my horse a few swallows up tight around the fellow’s throat and of water as we crossed a little stream and held, thereby ending the career of one without any further halts, started the more old-timer. “You couldn’t blame the runaways at a good clip over the trail. A squaw,” the wood-hauler commented, “she horse trailer’s principal aid was a six- was only trying to protect herself.” shooter to turn back those that might It was on this same night that a severe chance to break out from the rest, and a storm came up and stampeded the crew’s long rope to snap at the heels of the lag­ entire bunch of Iowa workhorses, some gards. With these two I started the sixty head in number. The night-herder bunch at a swift pace, which I kept up 349 THE FRONTIER through the night. With the first sign fifteen miles was negotiated at a snail’s of morning, I hit the grade close to camp, pace. and it was only a short time until I had I stayed with the crew, renting out my the horses corralled and ready to harness. teams and freighting for the camp myself, Mr. Leech’s displeasure at having lost until the end of the grade reached the so much time over-shadowed his gener­ point on the Missouri river where W olf osity, so I did not net much of a reward Point was later built. There was an for my efforts. He did make up for it Indian agency here and that was all. afterwards, however, by offering me a The “boss” sent Pat O’Brien, a Montanan, good contract on another bit of work. and me back along the line to where Bain- The crew had also lost some time on ac­ ville is now located. This was the west­ count of bad weather and the “boss” ern extremity of the rails. Here we asked me to help by putting in my horses loaded our cargoes of oats and started to finish the stretch. This I did and he back to where we were to catch the out­ sent me out to the end of the line, then fit. By this time they would have fin­ at Lonetree, a few miles west of Minot, ished at W olf Point and passed the other to fetch a load of oats. He let me take graders, going on to the front line, which a new wagon. After loading to capacity, would be west of Fort Assiniboine. This I put in as a lead team a pair of saddle- made a haul for us of 300 miles, for which horses that had never been driven before. we were to receive a dollar per hundred This is where I had some fun—keeping weight for each hundred miles. the eveners off the heels of the leaders It was late summer now and the mos­ and from under the front feet of the pole quitoes along the Missouri river and the team. The team was strung out nicely numerous streams we had to cross were by the time I had been on the road a few so thick it was nearly impossible to get hours, and just when I believed I could any rest at night Our tarpaulin had to breathe safely we came to the long White be drawn over our heads, which kept the Earth hill. I set the brake and held in mosquitoes off all right, but nearly suf­ the wheelers and momentarily slackened focated us. We nearly wore ourselves out the lead lines; this evidently caused the trying to find which was the more pleas- lead team, together with the sudden relief ant, the mosquitoes or the heat. Our from the heavy load, to believe they were horses had to be closely hobbled, and even free to go to the hills; and that’s just so we would have to tramp long distances what they tried to do. When the leaders in the morning to find them. jackknifed, the wagon tongue snapped and One night one of Pat’s teams swam the the eveners broke, which loosened the river with the hobbles on. Lucky for us, team entirely. I had to sit and watch the two horses couldn’t find a place to them tear off across the prairie as I eased land on the other side and were just the loaded wagon to the foot of the hill swimming back when we found them. by gentle degrees. This is a difficult job At the Big Muddy creek just west of with the wagon tongue broken. I had to the present site of Culbertson, Jakey temporarily patch this so the team could Bowers, a squaw-man, had an improvised guide the load. Well, I mounted one of ferry and was literally coining money the wheelers and after much riding, with it. At the Milk river another ferry rounded up the trouble-makers and tied had been put in, but it was a poor excuse them behind the wagon. They had torn and we were delayed there a full day, get­ their harness to pieces and broken their ting it into a condition safe to cross on. eveners, so the entire load had to be During the day, many freighters had drawn by the wheelers. The remaining gathered there. We practically rebuilt

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the boat, and then helped each other I boarded the next boat downstream with across. the intention of buying more horses to We delivered our loads and fortunately selL At the mouth of the Judith river, for me it was the end of the trail, for I O’Brien left me to go to Miles City, where was taken sick. The Government doctor I would meet him later. at Fort Assiniboine gave me temporary The trip downstream was made without relief, but it was a case of fever and the any particular incident. We were ground­ next day after I became ill, I felt worse ed all of one night on a sand bar, but than ever. Leech and Francis wanted to escaped without mishap. We were very buy my stock, so I sold to them and rode fortunate in having only a single misfor­ on the sick-list in one of their wagons, tune of this kind, for the time of year making a trip to Fort Benton after sup­ and the prominence of the sand bars made plies. navigating hazardous. It was 300 miles Fort Benton was at the head of navi­ back to Fort Buford. About the only gation on the Missouri river and the dis­ “kick” I got out of the ride was watching tributing point for all incoming freight. and listening to the pilot as to stood on The town was full of every character pe­ the prow of the boat, sounding bottom culiar to a frontier settlement. Bull- and calling out to the man at the wheel. whackers and mule-skinners thronged the “ Four f-e-e-t; six f-e-e-t; eight f-e-e-t, N-0 streets. Marvelous tales and yarns could B-O-T-T-O-M.” In addition to this pas­ be listened to at nearly any hour of the time, there would be a woodyard to stop day from the boasting miners, cow-punch­ at, at various intervals, and the fast work ers, and skinners. The skinner’s accom­ of replenishing the exhausted supply of plishment was guiding as many as ten fuel. teams with a single line from his seat on At Fort Buford I disembarked and took the near wheel animal. The train was the stage to Glendive, and from there to made up of a succession of loaded wagons Miles City by train. Thirty-five miles and it was often operated over trails that out of Fort Buford we stopped at a relay took days and weeks to travel. The bull- station, known as the Kelsh ranch, the whackers drove as many or more oxen, present site of Sidney, Montana, to change and walking by their side kept them in teams. That which stood out most mem­ motion with the aid of a long bull-whip. orably in my mind was the dinner Mrs. This whip was in itself difficult to handle; Kelsh prepared for us. Here, I had the a novice might easily scalp himself with first vegetables fresh from the garden it at a single crack. These freighters that I had had in four summers. I met kept a saddle-pony with them to round Major Scobey on the stage on this trip. up their teams in the morning, and with He was afterwards appointed Indian the inevitable bed-roll, a coffee-pot and agent at Poplar. The town of Scobey, frying-pan were as independent as a near the Canadian line in northeastern porcupine in his skin. Montana, is his namesake. Up the river from Fort Benton, Paris And so, in three and a half months, the Gibson was planning and building a town railroad spanned a distance of six hund­ on a beautiful plain on the Missouri river red miles through new and wild land. banks. This is now Great Falls. With There a few years before, J. J. (Jim) keen foresight he was preparing for the Hill, afterwards known as the Empire advent of the railroad that was rapidly Builder, traveled in a buckboard, and approaching. chose the route from Devils lake, Dakota I still had some fever, but I was gain­ territory, to the Pacific Coast for his ing strength each day; so, with O’Brien, Iron Trail.

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Burnt, But Not Stewed, By Pat. T. Tucker.

Y boyhood days were spent in the woods. As beautiful a valley as the eye Lone Star State, called Texas, could wish to look upon. M where in the late sixties there was I liked the Judith Basin so well that nothing but cowboys, longhorn cattle and I never left it for years. It was a cat­ wild mustangs. I took to cowpunching tleman’s Paradise. There was about before I was twelve years old and later on eighty-five thousand head of cattle in this found out that I could make more silver valley, and about seventy-five cowboys by busting bronks for the big cattle outfits. rounded up these cattle twice a year, I became interested in the tales of Mon­ branded the calves and cut out the beef tana and the northern cow country that steers and trailed them to the railroad. the cowboys told when they returned On the roundup in 1884, Horace Brew­ from a trail drive, and decided to bid fare­ ster was our captain, and he sure knew well to the sunny ranges of Texas at the the cattle business. One particular morn­ first opportunity. I knew that if I wait­ ing on this round-up we was paired off ed a while I could hire out to an out­ by the captain, and given a certain fit driving cattle from Texas to Montana, stretch of country to ride on this circle. but thought that would be too slow, so I Jim Spurgen and I were told to trail up trailed north by my lonesome. on the bench land and away from the river. I rode up into the Indian Territory, punched cows there for two months, then We rode due north till noon that day, drifted up to Cheyenne, Wyoming. My then we came to the mouth of Wolf silver was going fast, so I hired out to Creek, got off our ponies, and let them peel bronks for a big cow outfit on the graze on the soft green grass. We ate Belle Fourche. After I had rode myself what lunch we had in our saddle-bags, out of a job, I bought myself a grub-stake took on a big smoke and caught up our and headed down the Powder River into horses. Then we separated, I trailed up Montana. the Judith River, and Jim rode up Wolf The range on the north side of the Yel­ Creek. lowstone River looked good to me and it The water in the Judith looked mighty wasn’t long before I was at work riding cooling and as it was so terribly hot I for a big cow outfit. Along about July, started to think of taking a dip. In 1883, I was pointing a large herd of Texas those days I used to take a bath once a longhorns to the famous Judith Basin year and so I decided that this was an country. I had never seen the Basin be­ opportunity I couldn’t afford to pass up. fore in my life and when I rode into the So I got down off Bunky, my cowhorse, Judith Gap I stopped my horse and gazed and throwed the reins over his head. spellbound at the country spread out be­ I climbed out of my clothes in a hurry fore me. and threw them on the ground, but on The Judith Basin is a huge rough-shaped taking a second look at the ground I saw basin, about eighty-five miles across and it was alive with ants and already the about the same in length. The Missouri little pests had taken possession of my River skirts its northern boundary and clothes. I snatched the garments from the Snowy and Moccasin mountains bound the ground, shook them off as best I could it on the east. To the south are the Belt and tied them on my saddle; then I Mountains and on the west are the High- turned my attention to swimming.

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The water was very cool and refresh­ blame but my own carelessness, and those ing, so as soon as my blood began to run miserable little ants. in the right channels again, I got out of Between the torture of the cactus spines the water, climbed up the bank and head­ and the broiling hot sun I was nearly ed for Bunky and my clothes. Bunky, my driven mad, but I managed to keep con­ good old cowhorse, did not know this nice trol of my senses and picked out a far clean cowboy in his birthday suit and re­ landmark which I knew would bring me fused to let me near him. He knew my to the cow camp. At regular intervals voice, but try as I could I couldn’t get I would stop and scan the horizon with hold of those bridle reins. I kept fol­ hopeful eyes and each time would turn lowing him around, but at last he snorted disgustedly to my painful task. and trotted away from me and up on the The sun began to affect my head, and Bench, then turned around and looked I staggered on through the cactus until back at me. I fell face downward in the stickers from The sun was burning hot, and there exhaustion. How long I laid there I don’t was only one thing for me to do, and that know, but it seemed like ages before I was to take the Squaw trot. I decided heard a wild war-hoop from some cow­ to camp on Bunky’s trail in the hope that boys. Soon these cowboys galloped up he would decide I was his master and and circled me where I lay with my head not some strange animal, after all. I ap­ propped on a rock. I could hardly talk, proached him several times, but each for the way I was suffering was some­ time he became more alarmed at sight of thing fierce; but finally the boys got me m e; and at last he broke into a run, hold­ into camp and laid me down gently where ing his head off to one side so that he the round-up cook could doctor me. wouldn’t step on the reins. When I came to life once more, I thought I was in Heaven, and felt pretty At last I came to the edge of a large good considering what I went through. field of prickly pears or in other words, This good old roundup cook had put under cactus, and although I searched carefully and over me, two hundred pounds of flour, for a way to get around, I found none. so my bed had been rather soft. My body was beginning to burn very pain­ The sun had blistered my body severely fully from the sun, so I blazed a barefoot and my feet were swollen into shapeless­ trail thru this prickly pear plantation. ness. Every move I made no matter how I hadn’t walked more than two dog slight was extremely painful. All I could lengths through this cactus before my feet do was to lay still and listen to the flies looked like two big pin-cushions, but I buzzing around my sunshade. Finally couldn’t turn back now. So I bowed my I heard someone lope up to the chuck short neck like a young buffalo and kept wagon and start talking with the cook in on making tracks, with my heart pound­ a hushed voice, which I recognized to be ing my ribs like a Salvation Army captain that of Jim Spurgen. pounds a drum. But there was nobody I didn’t catch all that was said be­ dropping any jingle in the tambourine and tween the two but I did hear Jim ask the here I had to fight my own Salvation, and cook: “Has Tuck made his last ride?” it sure was a sinful shame. Although I So I rose up out of the dough, and was a suffering cowboy, I had nothing to said: “Jim, old pard—no!”

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HISTORICAL SECTION Each issue will carry some authentic account, diary or journal or remini­ scence, preferably of early days in this region of the country.

A Reminiscence of John Bozeman B y James Kirkpatrick

Editor’s Note: James Kirkpatrick was born in Boston, March 9, 1849. When he was quite young the family moved to Wisconsin. In 1863 James and his older brother started for the recently discovered gold mines of Bannack in what was then eastern Idaho. They went west on the Oregon trail until they fell in with the party of Bozeman and Jacobs. Then they attempted to shorten their journey by following these two leaders across the country. The misforunes which overtook them are described by Kirkpatrick in the Reminiscence of John Bozeman. After the failure to get to Bannack by the shorter route the Kirkpatrick brothers went back to the Oregon trail and continued along it to Fort Hall j and thence north to Bannacs. At the Bannack mines they met with little success and after two years they turned to ranching. This did not bring enough fortune and James j began to peddle merchandise through southwestern Montana and southeastern Idaho. In 1880 the brothers established themselves as merchants in Dillon, Montana, where for many years they carried on an extensive business. This Reminiscence of John Bozeman tells the story of the first attempt of Bozeman and Jacobs to lead a party over what was later called the "Bozeman Trail” to the gold fields of Montana. John Bozeman had come from Georgia to Colorado to search for gold. Failing to find any he went to Bannack in 1862, when gold had just been discovered. In this country he met John M. Jacobs, who had been for years in the mountains, trapping, trading, and freighting. The development of this country was handicapped by the fact that there was no direct road to it. Emigrants had their choice of two routes. One was up the Missouri to Fort Benton, but from there to the mines there was no adequate transportation. The other one was over the Oregon trail to Fort Hall and then north along the route of the Oregon Short Line from Ogden to Butte, Montana. Both of these routes were unsatisfactory. In the winter of 1862-63 Bozeman and Jacobs decided to explore for a short route to the mines. They went from Bannack to the Three Forks of the Missouri, then up the Gallatin. This was the route followed by Clark on his return in 1806. They crossed over the pass to which Sacajawea had guided Clark, and which now bears the name of Bozeman pass. They followed the Yellowstone to the neighborhood of Powder river, where they turned south towards Fort Laramie. In spite of hostile Indians they got through successfully and determined to lead a party of emigrants back to Bannack. The adventures and failures of this expedition are recounted in the following narrative. Bozeman and Jacobs were not discouraged and in 1864 led a party over the road which was soon called the "Bozeman Cutoff.” For two years this road carried heavy traffic. Then came the Sioux wars and Bozeman himself was killed. In 1867 the govern­ ment abandoned all efforts to keep open the road and emigrants to Montana were forced to seek other and longer routes. A detailed account of the Bozeman Trail and events in its brief history may be found in Grace Raymond Hebard and E. A. Brininstool, The Boze­ man Trail, 2 vols. (Cleveland 1922). PAUL C. PHILLIPS. One day in the early autumn of 1863 a train of 44 canvas-covered wagons lay resting on the banks of the North Platte river opposite Deer Creek in what is now Wyoming.1 With this train was John Bozeman, for whom the city of Bozeman after­ ward was named, and John Jacobs, a red-bearded Italian from the valley of the Deer Lodge, at that time within the confines of the territory of Dakota, since in Idaho and now in Montana. Jacobs had with him his little eight-year-old half-breed daughter. The trio had been sent from Bannack City—nothing less than cities out west in those days—to open a new road between Bannack and some convenient point on the river Platte, by way of the Gallatin valley and east of the formidable Big Horn mountains. This train had been forming for several days from such westbound teams as wished to cut short the trip to Grasshopper creek1 the fame of which as a gold producer had reached far to the East. After our lone outfit had driven up and camped 1 Near Glenrock. 5 Bannack was located on Grasshopper creek. 354 THE FRONTIER for the night it was decided to await no more wagons but to strike out next day into the wilderness. Forty-five wagons, mostly ox-drawn, and ninety men prepared to shoot 425 rounds without re-loading strung out over a long, cactus infested slope toward the North. James Brady of Missouri, a most estimable man, who owned four teams of six oxen each, had been chosen captain. His four wagons contained supplies for the new mines. A number of men, since more or less concerned with Montana’s history, had with their teams cast their lot with our train, all eager to quickly reach the reputed rich gold diggings of Grasshopper creek. There were Sam Word,* who habitutally rode a grey saddle mule and employed a driver for his one yoke of oxen; at that early date Sam displayed unmistakable evidences of ambition and always took a leading part in the frequent conferences of the train. We also had Lieutenant Cole­ man, Ed. Waters, Charles Bliven, John Ensley, the three Wilson brothers, Gus Streitz, James M. Mann4 and family, John Powers and family, Wm. Grove and wife, Wm. Baker and wife, and many others then well known to the river, but whose names I have since forgotten, a braver or sturdier lot it would have been difficult to find. Several horse teams and a number of saddle animals lent variety. An old French­ man, nick-named Bouillon (soup) from his fondness for that excellent dish, rode first as local guide; booze was his besetting weakness. Next went Bozeman, followed by Jacobs and a troop of other horsemen of the train. Topping the slope we turned, after a farewell backward look at the pellucid Platte, down a dry ravine which showed signs of recent floods. A party of Indians had recently preceded us, their pony tracks and the marks of their trailing tepee poles still fresh in the sand. Although the signs indicated only a hunting party, Captain Brady now formed the train in two lines for possible quick corral formation, and organized both a front and rear guard of horsemen and directed all hunters and boys to keep close in. We soon reached a beautiful well-grassed and well-watered region abounding in fish, fowl, antelope and buffalo. Westwardly, to our left, loomed dis­ tantly the rugged Big Horn mountains, to the right stretched far the watershed of the forked Powder river and its tributaries, in front were the headwaters of the Big Horn. Captain Brady had in his employ a half-breed hunter who daily brought in pony loads of game, all the meat his men required and much to give away. Cross­ ing the Rosebud, Crazywoman’s Fork, the South Fork of Powder river and Lodgepole creek, we made a noonday camp on Clear creek, a stream abounding in fish. On one of the previous days the train had lain over to enable some of the horesmen to in­ vestigate a nook of the nearest mountains where Old Bouillon assurd us plenty of gold nuggets in sizes to suit were to be had; it turned out as Bozeman predicted, one of drunken Bouillon’s pipe dreams. One day two men and myself, then a lad of fifteen, killed a buffalo. The train was far ahead, and there being no way of carrying much meat, to say nothing of the hide, only a few pounds of choice steak were selected besides the tongue, and the rest of the animal was left to the coyotes while we hurried on to overtake the train. The evenings, like the days, were fine; campfires enlivened the nightly scene while accordion and violin, varied with song and story, whiled away the pleasant hours. Jacobs had always a fund of anecdote concerning Bannack and mining days for eager listeners. He told of squaw and Indian life in the wigwams of the Deer Lodge;

3 Sam Word became later one of the most prominent lawyers In the Northwest He Industrylnfluential Democrat and had much to do with developing the coal mining Blivens discovered Blivens Gulch. Mann was a miner for many years 355 THE FRONTIER

also he told of an adventure between Bozeman, himself and daughter, and a roving band of Crow Indians whom they had met while journeying to our place of ren­ dezvous on the Platte.* The Crows, at that time professedly on good terms with the whites, had a funny way, on meeting straggling parties of the latter in out-of-the-way places, of exchanging guns, horses and other contraptions with their white brothers, always taking the best and leaving the worst to the pale faces. Jacobs, from a distance, had, while passing some brush, spied the savages and, unseen by them had shied rifle in the bushes. A parley with the Indians ensued, during which the little half-breed girl received an impromptu ramrod castigation for being caught in such poor company as her white father and Bozeman and, the plundering completed, the two parties went their sev­ eral ways. The hidden rifle was recovered but no ammunition had been saved from the swap and no food, so the whites were obliged to subsist for days miserably until they reached the emigrant road on a portion of an old, blind buffalo bulL This they had | killed with a hunting knife attached to the end of a pole. Bozeman, not as voluble as Jacobs, was a tall, fine looking Georgian of somewhat light complexion, a tinge of red in his cheeks. He wore a fine suit of fringed buck­ skin, and had the looks and ways of a manly man. The writer cannot vouch for his being a peace officer of any sort, but there being a couple in the train who, accord­ ing to some of the matrons, should long since have been in wedlock’s bonds, Bozeman kindly consented to mitigate the scandal by tying the nuptial knot, one bright evening at the head of the corral. But to return to our noon camp at Clear creek. In a large clump of willows, flanked by a low bench close to camp, a bear showed up. All flew to the fray, against the admonition of Bozeman as well as of the other guides who, having known of bears in underbrush before, and having personally “lost no bear” repaired to the bench to watch developments. Most of our men were in the bushes. Bang! went the guns and pistols; a battle royal was on and soon a cry reached camp, “a man killed.” Some of the women screamed and one fainted. An old veteran with a half inch of stubble on his chin was led in with his whole under lip hanging at the corner of his mouth. The bear evidently understood the “noble art of self-defense.” A few stitches of black thread and the doughty old chap, with bandaged jaw and gun in hand was, a few days later, again trudging through the sage brush alongside the train. In the meantime, and while the surgical act was on, arose a cry from the willow swamp, another man killed.” Ed. Walters had surprised the bear crouching near a bush. He fired and missed; bruin came on with a rush. Ed. had somewhere read that bears eat only fresh meat, so dropping on his face, he tried very earnestly to play “dead man.” The bear was very suspicious, walked all over Ed., smelled of him, and bit into his scalp to make sure for himself. Ed.’s nerve was not equal to being eaten alive, if he knew it, and jumping to his feet, he let out a real Comanche yell that quickly brought the “boys” who stampeded Mr. Bear. And now a third man got “killed.” From an unsuspected ambush the bear rose right up in front of him, big as anybody, suggesting a friendly hug. Mr. Bruin sought to slap Baker’s face, but, gun in hand, he fended and got off with only a finger scratch. A volley always followed the appearance of the bear from each new hiding place, and he was finally laid low with forty bullets through his hide. Four

356 THE FRONTIER

men brought him into camp slung on a sapling, and presented the veteran with a claw, Walters with a tooth, and gave Baker the hide. After the bear fight the stock was being corraled preparatory to moving on. | Spying a long, dark, sinuous line on the slope of a distant ridge, I called Bozeman’s attention. He quickly pronounced it Indians, 125 of them, all mounted, and the I telescope revealed that they had only bows and arrows, with a few sawed-off shotguns. They trotted briskly down toward us and stopped a hundred yards away, making signs of peace. All was bustle and confusion in camp. We had previously become I familiar with Indians along the overland road, but this was such a crowd. The stock was hustled in, the corral ropes drawn, and everyone was out armed to the teeth. Baker’s wife hurriedly loaded her husband’s muzzle loader which he had previously loaded himself. Not seeing her act, and not feeling sure of what he had done, he again loaded the same gun, but discovery was later made in time to avoid a casualty. The guides, seeing that squaws were in the party, and assured that this indicated a peaceful attitude, allowed them to approach the camp for a parley, after which the whole crowd squatted about a wagon sheet spread nearby on the ground. Our women must offer a feast as an earnest of friendship, but Bozeman warned them that the Indians would take it as a sign of fear. No sooner were the dishes placed than a young buck, indignant and scornful, spurred his horse to ride over the grub. Bozeman, from the center of the corral among the oxen, having anticipated the possibility of such a demonstration, drew a bead on the reckless young savage and was just about to pull the trigger, when an old chief sprang to his feet and saved the day by grabbing the bridle, setting the horse back on his haunches, and, leading him out of the crowd with much cursing, sent the brave flying back to his tepee over the hills. Another moment and the whole pack would have been killed, and we would have had to fight all the Sioux and Cheyennes in Wyoming, as we went our way. Dinner being devoured, the spokesman of the Indians made known their errand. “That was the only extensive game country remaining in the West; the Cali­ fornia and Oregon Trails had driven most of the antelope and buffalo away from the wagon roads and the result would be the same here; the Indians were determined to prevent the opening of this new road, as it would mean starvation to their squaws and papooses; if we wished to return to the Platte, well and good; if not, all the Sioux and Cheyennes, already warned by nightly signal fires on the Big Horn moun­ tains, would collect and wear us out.” ■ course we could not consult each other In their presence, yet consult we must. I They were told to retire to their camp after which we would make a decision and [notify them. They mounted and left with a telescope and nine bridles concealed [under their blankets besides a square meal to the good. One young brave remained to [act as courier, and the situation was reviewed by several of our prominent men I , • JOlf Bozeman advised S°irig through, as he said we were well armed and pro- h ln h ? ^ ° “ T Way in a Splendld region’ could travel ^ a double line, keep I double guard night and day, and, having mostly oxen which were not easily to be .fcmpeaea or stolen, would have a groat advantago. Jacob, and the o t t o g l e s Im lusbteoum tP“ “ ° lB lt“ y’ had mnch to rUlt In his tour teams and I valuable outfit, urged going on—we all liked our noble captain. I § th® conclusion of his speech the young Indian came forward and shook his | land confirming the tradition that savages admire bravery even in an enemy. Most I I men favored giving up the expedition. The season was advanced, they said; 1 6 were 8tlu a i°ng way from the mines with the disadvantage of being in a hostile 357 THE FRONTIER country. We would be constantly harrassed, and would probably lose at least our horses. We had a number of women and children, and the savages would be pretty sure to keep their word. The Indian courier was sent away and told that we would take three days to decide what we would do. It was decided to dispatch a messenger back to the military posts along the Platte and request an escort to the Bannack mines. Lieutenant William Coleman, now residing, I believe, at Deer Lodge, a fine looking and spirited young man, admired by all, volunteered, with his splendid horse, to attempt the trip starting at nightfall to elude the savages. It was agreed to await his return three days and, failing that, to infer that he had been captured by the redskins and to start on the back track. The period of anxious waiting expired, and no horseman dotted the distant plain. On the fourth morning Bozeman offered to guide such as wished to proceed on the forward trip, providing there were no less than eight wagons. Only four, ours among the number, pulled out of the line, the other 41, with popping whips, turning back on a crosscut to strike the Platte opposite Scott’s Bluff, some distance upstream from Deer creek, from whence we had started. Bozeman advised the four venturesome ones to follow, and away we went. On the second or third day, to our great relief and joy, here came the gallant Coleman galloping fast and none the worse for wear. Red tape among the military people with vexatious delays through the necessity of telegraphing to Washington for instruction, permission and orders, had resulted in a company of soldiers with a cannon and supplies for such as might be in need being dispatched over our road to escort us through. Many of the eager soldier boys had refused offers of five dollars bonus from comrades at the posts for their places in the ranks, and the troop was already close to our late camp on Clear creek. Imagine our chagrin! However, once on the return, no one would stop, and reaching again the Overland Trail, the train disbanded and a race for the mines began. Before leaving Clear creek, Bozeman had organized a party of eight horse­ men with pack animals to continue the journey so well begun. They steered a course as much as possible between the rivers and mountains, as being less likely to encounter Indians, often suffering for water during the hot afternoons and being obliged at times to eat even crows. All got safely through, however, and the writer afterward met several at various times and places in Montana. Jacobs repaired to Denver for the winter, after which he and Bozeman, during the following year, 1864, inaugurated the Bozeman Cut-off, and the Indians made no end of trouble. The subsequent treacherous murder of John Bozeman by the Indians in revenge for his activities in opening the road is now a matter of history. Dillon, Montana, September 7th, 1920.

358 Missoula Cleaners A Stranger and Afraid. Ted Olson. (Yale University Press. 1928. $1.25.) and Dyers There is beautiful adequacy in the verse )f this Wyoming poet. The reader rests ‘in the phrases and the rhythms. For the We Clean and Dye Every­ ; poems, happily lacking for the most part thing from A to Z ,;he fervor, the raucousness, the staccato, lie “Here, here” of so much recent verse, . have clarity of idea and restraint of 'motion and right, and therefore unob­ 4 Hour Service trusive, language. Mr. Olson has thought about life for Absolutely Odorless limself; and although he has discovered lothing new, what he has found he ex­ presses with sturdy courage, and his phil­ osophic attitude is unmistakable. One ~ i r Inds in his verse occasionally the daring if Thomas Hardy or perhaps it is the kood-natured arrogance of Stephens’s 612 South Higgins Ave., Missoula Tomas an Bruile; one often finds the nellow, almost pathetic acceptance of Phone 3463 ife, without the dramatic sense, of A. E. Housman; and everywhere there is the [ pessimism of Schopenhauer. Yet the deas and the moods are authentically Mr. Olson’s. Nowhere in the poetry is there notable I memorability; seldom powerful concep- I Ions; but often and often the reader ’eels the happy rightness of conception ind language and is content that the poet las attempted only hills of song that he Sentinel Brand Butter |8 able to scale largely because of repeated hrial journeys. The poems are each so and Ice Cream mely a unit that lines for quotation are hard to cull, but one might in illustration |moose these: Are best for parties and I ‘Time has a way with flesh that is more cruel, formats. I Than any ruin it may work on stone.” Ilnd there are phrases beautiful in sug­ gestion and picture— “The long pulse of 11 I he wind” , “ warming to dim, great dreams |>f grain and God” , “ the aspen leaves I hat lift so thin a web against the waning I lay” , “the white horror of uncharted I mows”. The most complete blending, per- Sentinel Creamery | laps, of emotion and idea and imagery Incorporated |md rhythm and form is found in the gieautiful sonnet, “The City in the Sea” . I ts figure of speech is not so consciously 122 West Front I employed as the figure in that other fine iponnet, “The Lariat”, and the adjustment |>f the idea to form seems a little snugger Phones 3106-3107 han in another fine sonnet, “Makeshift”. Missoula e . G. Merriam 359 MASTER Public Drug CLEANER AND LAUNDRY Store Florence Hotel Bldg.

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360 Lanterns in the Mist. Lucy M. C. Rob­ inson. (Bellemin Press, Amity, Oregon. 1928.) The title is attractive and quite in the contemporary fashion. But the title poem is a disappointment “ On living in Green­ wich Village” , however, which is really on living in Spokane, encourages the read­ er. “The Keeper of the Flame” , rather grandiose light verse to the fireman in the Davenport Hotel, is interesting not so much in its details as in its stimulating central idea—centralized heating as it were! “ In Peaceful Valley” is, in the main, lovely and alive, to be enjoyed by all who know rivers. But “The Lonely Wind” , short, real, loving, is the best thing in the volume. “ The wind is a lonesome beastie, He whines around my door; And if I leave the smallest crack He crawls along the floor, To steal up close behind my chair. I feel his breath behind me there, And little paws that pat my hair.” The book, in spite of faults in form and feeling, apparently innate in news­ paper verse, which most of this is, re­ printed from Spokane and other papers, does, nevertheless, make one wish to see Low Fares Spokane and know more about the things of it that Lucy M. C. Robinson writes of Missoula Mary Brennan Clapp to Missoula for the Interscholas­ The Litany of Washington Street. Vachel Lindsay. (Macmillan. 1929. $3.00.) tic T rack M eet, “This is a Gilbert Stuart kind of a book. May 8-11. Rate It is a kind of a Washington’s birthday, a Lincoln’s birthday, Whitman’s birthday of fare and one- and Jefferson’s birthday book. Please do not be too censorious of non-historical third for round sentences. Draw your pencil through trip from all them and go on.” These initial sentences from the pro­ points in Mon­ logue of Vachel Lindsay’s new book not only defer to the historian but intimate tana. what will follow. The poet enjoys the word “ Litany”. He uses it frequently, Tickets on sale for instance, in his poem The Litany of Heroes. It is a fitting term. His choice May 5th to 11th, of the fine old word “troubadour” for a with return limit sobriquet suggests his preference for any­ thing pertaining to the chant. of May 13 th. The Litany of Washington Street comes after a period of rather extended incuba­ Ask Your Agent! tion, broken by occasional verse or bits of criticism. It is a collection of orations or fantasies which have appeared from Northern Pacific time to time in such periodicals as The Dearborn Independent, The English Journ­ al, or The New Republic. To my mind Railway Mr. Lindsay’s genius is creative rather than critical and for this reason the pres- 861 Painting Time MODERN

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t- 862 ent volume has not for me the appeal of his earlier prose reminiscences: A Handy Guide for Beggars or Adventures White Preaching the Gospel of Beauty. This Is not to say that it is not new, or fresh, UTILAC or significant. Every poet—or nearly every one—is a craftsman of prose as well A UTILITY ENAMEL and Mr. Lindsay’s latest effort contains arresting observation phrased beautifully. It is a series of apercu, the author wand­ ering at will. For him “ to travel Is better than to arrive”. His introduction intim­ ates as much. His, he infers, will be a poetic interpretation of history—an assur­ ance which to many enthusiasts is as much as saying it will be the truest. A word regarding the handiwork of Macmillan and Company. The volume is most attractively bound and has extra heavy plate paper. It contains some very fine reproductions of steel engravings. Missoula R, A. Coleman

Kristin Lavransdatter. Sigrid Undset. (Knopf. 1929. $3.00.) Consisting of three books in one, Kristin Lavransdatter presents a challenge to the The Charm and Brightneu hurried present-day reader that it will be which invite compliment* well worth while to accept. Since its about your home may be had author, Sigrid Undset, has won the Nobel with the expenditure of little Prize, these books have been reprinted by energy and le»* money. Knopf in a beautifully bound volume UTILAC l* a product for which does not appear to contain, as it renovating old, and for paint­ does, over a thousand pages. ing unfinished furniture; for chairs, tables, bureaus, desks, The stories of the three books are very closely related and tell of the life of flower boxes, picture frames, window seats, step ladders, Kristin, born in Norway in the fourteenth toys, trays and porch furni­ century, from the time she is a little girl ture. until her death. The Bridal Wreath tells of her childhood and girlhood, her be­ UTILAC is easy to apply trothal, which she breaks on account of flowing out to a smooth, even her love for, and passionate absorption in, finish like any high grade another man, Erlend Nikulausson, of enamel. It does not show Husaby, whom her father finally allows brush marks. Dries in four her to marry. Her father, Lavrans, is an hours. outstanding character in a large group UTILAC has no offensive of characters vividly portrayed. The re­ odor.—Special thinner* are lationship and some of the conversations not required. between him and Kristin are not soon Eight Bright Colors forgotten. The Second book, entitled The Black and Whit* Mistress of Husaby, tells of Kristin’s mar­ ried life, the bearing of seven sons and of their irresponsible, incurably youthful and yet charming father. On account of political plotting Erlend loses Husaby, his MISSOULA HARDWARE inherited estate, and barely escapes death The Cross is the title of the Third book. & PLUMBING CO. Here we see Kristin’s relationship to her 228 N. Higgins, Phone 5390 growing sons and the years of her matur- Uy‘ uIn 14 Kristin suffers much and learns much. And at last, having lost her hus­ band and having turned the affairs of her ancestral estate over to a daughter- B e n ja m in M o o r e &Co. | TOM - OUCAAO - CUYllAMD - *T*UW !• - CAftTVMT - TOROirro | 363 Why Not Use Beet Popular with the rest o f the folks Sugar? Why Not You? Furnishing employment for 300 workers, the beet sugar factory betters eco­ Best Pastries, Chili and nomic and social condi­ Meals in Missoula tions here. Help make Western Montana prosperous by Quick and Satisfying Service buying local products. — at — THE AMALGAMATED Jim ’s C a fe SUGAR COMPANY Near the Wilma

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364 in-law, she enters a religious order, and later dies in an epidemic of the black plague. The significance of this trilogy lies in GROCERIES the fact that it combines the historical novel of a Sir Walter Scott with the Wholesale and Retail psychological analysis of a Swinnertou. The reader has the interest of the kind of book which is today considered some­ what old-fashioned—the accurate notation of historical events, and manners and H. L. HAINES customs, of 14th century Norway. (Sigrid Undset’s father is said to be one of the best known archeological scholars of Nor­ way and his daughter’s knowledge of the AVENUE GROCERY Viking period is founded upon deep Study.) But this historical interest is 308 N. Higgins Phone 2175 blended with a most modern analysis of character, and intimate glimpses into the minds and feelings of those who people its pages. There is the fascination of watching actual growth in individuals. RAILROAD GROCERY ■ There is no character who is stereotyped 316 \V. Railroad Phone 3181 or perfect The imperfections of Kristin’s make-up are so obvious as to irritate the reader at times. She is so real that one rages at her shortcomings, and loves her. So it is with her knightly, impractical SANITARY GROCERY husband, whom she berated and resented 513 8. Higgins Phone 3154 and yet found irresistible. Her sons are all interesting and different. One finishes the book feeling that there [ is much to be said for the lengthy novel. Missoula Doris F. M err lam

The Making of Buffalo Bill. Richard J. Walsh. (Bobbs Merrill, 1928. $5.00.) PHONE The west and the Indian wars made William F. Cody. An Irishman, named John Burke, genial liar and press agent extraordinary, made Buffalo Bill. And 2438 Will Cody loved it. Pitilessly, Mr. Walsh undresses the glamorous hero. He takes off the buckskin trappings and the splen­ did boots. He turns off the calcium glare of the big tent and leads a shrunken figure into the daylight of facts. Bill Cody was an adventuresome, like­ able young man, whose scalp was once oyeased by an Indian bullet; who scouted a little for a regiment of soldiers. His active life on the plains ended when he was but twenty-six years old. Buffalo Bill was the chief of scouts for the United States Arm y; his body bore the scars of one hundred and thirty-seven LARSON TRANSFER wounds. He was the long-haired savior and I Of the Inland Empire, at whose name out- 1 law and Indian grovelled. Mr. Burke, the press agent, did it. The pen is might­ ier than the sword. BUS CO. Walsh did a scholarly piece of work. He traced the legends to their sources; 305 PATENTS H EAR O U R

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ALEX LEGGAT, Manager Missoula Public Service Co. L 366 examined the known facts; brought to light the discrepancies, and reinterpreted the hero in the light of his generation and his background. The result is an honest YOU book. A book which helps one to see in proper proportion, not only the wavy- always have an income when locked hero of the Deadwood Coach, but you have the decade of which he was a brilliant ornament. It is Mr. Walsh’s achievement, that in destroying the hero, he brings to OUR life the man. A very human man, given to follies and capable of nobility. Braver Building and Loan in his old age, facing dwindling audiences and disease, than in youth, riding to Stock avenge Custer. Mr. Walsh’s book places him quite definitely among the men who are saving the west from Hollywood. And it’s very readable. Missoula Brassil Fitzgerald WESTERN MONTANA

In Those Days. Harvey Fergusson. (Knopf. 1929. $2.50.) BUILDING The blight of the melodramatic and the sentimental, those twin curses of Western AND LOAN ASSOCIATION fiction, is unmistakably passing. What fine promise lies in the craftsmanship of 105 E. Broadway Stanley Vestal’s Life of Kit Carson, Var- dis Fisher’s Toilers of the Hills, and— CHRIS A. RUPP, Sec.-Treas. the greatest of the three—Willa Cather’s Death Conies for the Archbishop. To make the trio a memorable quartet one need only add Harvey Fergusson’s latest book In Those Days, like Miss Cather’s novel an impression of the Old Southwest. ; The setting is about as far as the analogy will carry us, for there are no saints in Mr. Fergusson’s pages. Miss Cather is The success of your next more searching in her analysis; her pro­ tagonists are more worthy of solicitation and therefore more abiding. She pours . out her love for them as a mother would Sorority or for her children. Mr. Fergusson’s treat­ ment is more superficial; his affection I [empered with judgment; his humor gen- Fraternity Party I ml, detached, calculative. Unlike the leisurely unfolding of Miss Cather’s story, the impressions of Mr. Fergusson come to is assured at us in four great leaps of time: Wagons, Indians, Railroad, Gas. The narrative, however, is not so episodic as these titles suggest. It is unified in the person of THE Kobert Jayson, a gawky, self-conscious °" the Middle Border, whose coming to himself must have been the writer’s joy FLORENCE •n fashioning as much as it is the read- rs delight in apprehending. Young Jayson is literally shoved into HOTEL lie. A young Mexican hot-blood almost mags him into a brawl; two Mexican one of the peasant type, the other ugniy sophisticated, awake him sexually. *hd when he returns from his expedition 867

i as a horse-trader among the Apaches, he is a hardened gringo, keen, decisive, cap­ able. Thus we follow him through the different stages of Western development up to the coming of the automobile. PIANOS! In this feverish interim of raucous laughter and rude jest we see the young — West growing up. It is a period of grow­ ing pains, breaking out in such freak dis­ guises as the uproarious saloon, the still Brunswick Panatropcs more boisterous Kelly Club, the serio­ comic antagonism of wife against pros­ Records titute. Sheet Music And at the end of this “ strange, event­ ful history” our hero comes into the “lean Atwater Kent Radios and slippered pantaloon,” sobered at the quick dropping off of old cronies, sadly reminiscent of the good old days. Everything Musical Harvey Fergusson knows his material first hand. We are told the background — ® — is that of his own family, his grandfath­ er having been a freighter over the old Santa Fe trail. The author’s later years as a newspaper man in Washington, D. C., bore fruit in two society novels: Capitol SCHAEFER Hill and Women and Wives. His earlier western story, Wolf Song, is to my mind distinctly inferior to the book here re­ MUSIC CO. viewed. This is as it should be. 130 N. Higgins Missoula R. A. Coleman

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