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Boy Life on the Prairie
•The
S-
*^"
Boy T.ife on the
Prairie
By
HAMLIN GARLAND
Author of
Main-Travelled Roads
Rose of Dutcher's Coolly
The Trail of the Goldseekers
Prairie Folks, etc.
Illustrated by
E. W. DEMING
New York
The Macmillan Company
London : Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1899
Copyright, 1899,
By HAMLIN GARLAND.
Noriuood Press
J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith
Noriuood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE
This book is the outgrowth of a series of articles
begun as far back as 1887. It was my intention, at
the time, to delineate the work and plans of a boy on a
prairie farm from season to season, beginning with seed-
ing and ending with threshing, and I wrote some six or
eight chapters in conformity with this plan. It occurred
to me then that twenty-seven was too young to begin
to write reminiscences, and I put the book aside until
such time as it might be seemly for me to say, " I
remember." I was resting easy in this attitude when a
friend startled me by saying, "Yes, that's right, put it
oft' till you have forgotten all about it ! "
There was enough disturbing force in this remark to
set me at work. The life I intended to depict was
passing. The machinery of that day is already gone.
The methods of haying, harvesting, threshing, are quite
changed, and the boys of my generation are already
middle-aged men with poor memories ; therefore I have
taken a slice out of the year 1 899 in order to put into
shape my recollection of the life we led in northern
Iowa thirty years ago. I trust the reader will permit
my assumption of the airs of an old man for a single
volume.
V
vi Preface
At the same time let me sav, " Boy Life on the
Prairie " is not an autobiography. It is not my inten-
tion to present in Lincohi Steiuar't the details of my own
life and character, though I lived substantially the life
of the boys herein depicted. I have used Lincoln merely
as a connecting life-thread to bind the chapters together.
Ranee is the hero of the book, so far as any character
can by courtesy be so called.
I ploughed and sowed, bound grain on a station, herded
cattle, speared fish, hunted prairie chickens, and killed
rattlesnakes quite in the manner here set down, but I
have been limited neither by the actualities of my own
life, nor those of any other personality. All of the inci-
dents happened neither to me nor to Rance^ but they
were the experiences of other boys, and might have been
mine. They are all typical of the time and place.
In short, I have aimed to depict boy life, not boys ;
the characterization is incidental. Lincoln and Ranee
and Milton and Owen are to be taken as types rather
than as individuals. The book is as faithful and as
accurate as my memory and literary skill can make it.
I hope it may prove sufficiently appealing to the men
of my generation to enable them to relive with me the
splendid days of the unbroken prairie-lands of northern
Iowa.
PROLOGUE
The ancient minstrel when time befit
And his song outran his laggard pen,
Went forth on the mart and chanted it
In the noisy street to the busy men,
Who found full leisure to listen and long
For the far-off land of the singer's song.
Let me play minstrel, and chant the lines
Which rise in my heart in praise of the plain ;
I'll lead you where the wild-oat shines.
And swift clouds dapple the wheat with rain.
If you'll listen, you'll hear the songs of birds,
And the shuddering roar of trampling herds.
The brave brown lark from the russet sod
Will pipe as clear as a cunning flute,
Though sky and cloud are stern as God,
And all things else are hot and mute —
Though the gulls complain of the blazing air
And the grass is brown and crisp as hair.
CONTENTS
Part I
I.
A Night Ride in a Prairie Schooner
I
II.
The Fall's Ploughing
8
III.
Winter Winds .
20
IV.
The Great Blizzard .
39
V.
The Coming of Spring
. 48
VI.
Seeding ....
63
VII.
VIII.
Planting Corn .
Snaring Gophers
75
85
IX.
Herding the Catde
93
X.
The Wild Meadows .
105
XI.
A Fourth of July Celebration
135
XII.
Hired Men
151
XIII.
Lincoln's First Stack .
180
XIV.
The Old-fashioned Threshing
194
XV.
Threshing in the Field
2!0
XVI.
The Corn Husking .
219
Part II
XVII. The Coming of the Circus
XVIII. A Camping Trip
231
253
Contents
XIX. A Day in the Old-time Harvest Field
XX. The Battle of the Bulls
XXI. The Terror of the Rattlesnake
XXII. Owen Rides at the County Fair .
XXIII. A Chapter on Prairie Game
XXIV. Visiting Schools
XXV. A Momentous Wolf-hunt .
XXVI. Lincoln goes away to School
Page
273
296
316
352
365
389
403
Conch
416
BOY LIFE ON THE PRAIRIE
CHAPTER I
A NIGHT RIDE IN A PRAIRIE SCHOONER
One afternoon in the autumn of 1868 Duncan
Stewart, leading his little fleet of " prairie schooners,"
entered upon " The Big Prairie " of northern Iowa,
and pushed resolutely on into the west. His four-horse
canvas-covered wagon was followed by two other lighter
vehicles, one of which was driven by his wife, and the
other by a hired freighter. At the rear of all the wag-
ons, and urging forward a dozen or sixteen cattle, trotted
a gaunt youth and a small boy.
The boy had tears upon his face, and was limping
with a stone-bruise. He could hardly look over the
wild oats, which tossed their gleaming bayonets in the
wind, and when he dashed out into the blue joint and
wild sunflowers, to bring the cattle into the road, he
could be traced only by the ripple he made, like a trout
in a pool. He was a small edition of his father. He
wore the same color and check in his hickory shirt and his
long pantaloons of blue denim, had suspenders precisely
like those of the men. Indeed, he considered himself
a man, notwithstanding the tear-stains on his brown
cheeks.
2 Boy Life on the Prairie
It seemed a long time since leaving his nati\'e Wis-
consin coolly behind, with only a momentary sadness,
but now, after nearly a week of travel, it seemed his
father must be leading them all to the edge of the world,
and Lincoln was very sad and weary.
"Company, halt ! " called the Captain.
One by one the teams stopped, and the cattle began
to feed (they were always ready to eat), and Mr. Stew-
art, coming back where his wife sat, said cheerily : —
" Well, Kate, here's the big prairie I told you of, and
beyond that blue line of timber you see is Sun Prairie,
and home."
Adrs. Stewart did not smile. She was too weary,
and the wailing of little Mary in her arms was dispirit-
ing.
" Come here, Lincoln," said Mr. Stewart. " Here
we are, out of sight of the works of man. Not a house
in sight — climb up here and see."
Lincoln rustled along through the tall grass, and,
clambering up the wagon wheel, stood silently beside
his mother. Tired as he was, the scene made an indeli-
ble impression on him. It was as though he had sud-
denly been transported into another world, a world where
time did not exist ; where snow never fell, and the grass
waved forever under a cloudless sky. A great awe fell
upon him as he looked, and he could not utter a word.
At last Mr. Stewart cheerily called : " Attention, bat-
talion ! We must reach Sun Prairie to-night. Forward^
march ! "
Again the little wagon train took up its slow way
A Night Ride in a Prairie Schooner 3
through the tall ranks of the wild oats, and the drooping,
flaming sunflowers. Slowly the sun sank. The crickets
began to cry, the night-hawks whizzed and boomed, and
long before the prairie was crossed the night had come.
Being too tired to foot it any longer behind the crack-
ing heels of the cows, Lincoln climbed into the wagon
beside his little brother, who was already asleep, and,
resting his head against his mother's knee, lay for a long
time, listening to the chuck-chuckle of the wheels, watching
the light go out of the sky, and counting the stars as
they appeared.
At last they entered the wood, which seemed a very
threatening place indeed, and his alert ears caught every
sound, — the hoot of owls, the quavering cry of coons,
the twitter of night birds. But at last his weariness
overcame him, and he dozed off, hearing the clank of
the whippletrees, the creak of the horses' harness, the
vibrant voice of his father, and the occasional cry of the
hired hand, urgino- the cattle forward through the dark.
He was roused once by the ripple of a stream, wherein
the horses thrust their hot nozzles, he heard the grind of
wheels on the pebbly bottom, and the wild shouts of the
resolute men as they scrambled up the opposite bank,
and entered once more the dark aisles of the forest.
Here the road was smoother, and to the soft rumble of
the wheels the boy slept.
At last, deep in the night, so it seemed to Lincoln,
his father shouted : " Wake up, everybody. We're
almost home." Then, facing the darkness, he cried, in
western fashion, " Hello ! the house ! "
4 Boy Life on the Prairie
Dazed and stupid, Lincoln stepped down the wheel
to the ground, his legs numb with sleep. Owen fol-
lowed, querulous as a sick puppy, and together they
stood in the darkness, waiting further command.
From a small frame house, near by, a man with a
lantern appeared.
" Hello ! " he said, yawning with sleep. " Is that
you, Stewart ? I'd jest about give you up."
While the men unhitched the teams, Stewart helped
his wife and children to the house, where A4rs. Hutchinson,
a tall, thin woman, with a pleasant smile, made them
welcome. She helped Mrs. Stewart remove her things,
and then set out some bread and milk for the boys,
which they ate in silence, their heavy eyelids drooping.
When Mr. Stewart came in, he said : " Now, Lin-
coln, you and Will are to sleep in the other shack.
Run right along, before you go to sleep. Owen will
stay here."
Without in the least knowing the why or wherefore,
Lincoln set forth beside the hired man, out into the
unknown. They walked rapidly for a long time, and,
as his blood began to stir again, Lincoln awoke to the
wonder and mystery of the hour. The strange grasses
under his feet, the unknown stars over his head, the dim
objects on the horizon, were all the fashioning of a mind
in the world of dreams. His soul ached with the pas-
sion of his remembered visions and his forebodings.
At last they came to a small cabin on the banks of a
deep ravine. Opening the door, the men lit a candle,
and spread their burden of blankets on the floor. Lin-
A Night Ride in a Prairie Schooner 5
coin crept between them like a sleepy puppy, and in a
few minutes this unknown actual world merged itself in
the mystery of dreams.
When he woke, the sun was shining, hot and red,
through the open windows, and the men were smoking
their pipes by the rough fence before the door. Lin-
coln hurried out to see what kind of a world this was
to which his night's journey had hurried him. It was,
for the most part, a level land, covered with short grass
intermixed with tall weeds, and with many purple and
yellow flowers. A little way off, to the right, stood a
small house, and about as far to the right was another,
before which stood the wagons belonging to his father.
Directly in front was a wide expanse of rolling prairie,
cut by a deep ravine, while to the north, beyond the
small farm which was fenced, a still wider region rolled
away into unexplored and marvellous distance. Alto-
gether it was a land to exalt a boy who had lived all his
life in a thickly settled Wisconsin coolly, where the
horizon line was high and small of circuit.
In less than two hours the wagons were unloaded, the
stove was set up in the kitchen, the family clock was
ticking on its shelf, and the bureau set against the wall.
It was amazino- to see how these familiar things and
his mother's bustling presence changed the looks of the
cabin. Little Mary was quite happy crawling about the
floor, and Owen, who had explored the barn and found
a lizard to play with, was entirely at home. Lincoln
had climbed to the roof of the house, and was still try-
ing to comprehend this mighty stretch of grasses. Sit-
6 Boy Life on the Prairie
ting astride the roof board, he gazed away into the north-
west, where no house broke the horizon Hne, wondering
what lay beyond that high ridge.
While seated thus, he heard a distant roar and tram-
ple, and saw a cloud of dust rising along the fence which
bounded the farm to the west. It was like the rush of
a whirlwind, and, before he could call to his father, out
on the smooth sod to the south burst a platoon of wild
horses, led by a beautiful roan mare. The boy's heart
leaped with excitement as the shaggy colts swept round
to the east, racing like wolves at play. Their long
tails and abundant manes streamed in the wind like
banners, and their imperious bugling voiced their con-
tempt for man.
Lincoln clapped his hands with joy, and all of the
family ran to the fence to enjoy the sight. A boy,
splendidly mounted on a fleet roan, the mate of the
leader, was riding at a slashing pace, with intent to
turn the troop to the south. He was a superb rider,
and the little Morgan strove gallantly without need of
whip or spur. He laid out like a hare. He seemed
to float like a hawk, skimming the weeds, and her rider
sat him like one born to the saddle, erect and supple, and
of little hindrance to the beast.
On swept the herd, circling to the left, heading for
the wild lands to the east. Gallantly strove the roan
with his resolute rider, disdaining to be beaten by his
own mate, his breath roaring like a furnace, his nostrils
blown like trumpets, his hoofs pounding the resounding
sod.
A Night Ride in a Prairie Schooner 7
All in vain ; even with the inside track he was no match
for his wild, free mate. The herd drew ahead, and,
plunging through a short lane, vanished over a big swell
to the east, and their drumming rush died rapidly away
into silence.
This was a glorious introduction to the life of the
prairies, and Lincoln's heart filled with boundless joy,
and longing to know it — all of it, east, west, north,
and south. He had no further wish to return to his
coolly home. The horseman had become his ideal, the
prairie his domain.
CHAPTER II
THE FALL S PLOUGHING
Before he could get down from the roof the boy
rider turned and rode up to the fence, and Lincoln
went out to meet him.
" Hello. Didn't ketch 'em, did ye ? "
The rider smiled. " Lodrone made a good try."
" Is that the name of your horse .? "
" Yup. What's your name ? "
" Lincoln Stewart. What's yours ? "
" Ranee Knapp."
" Where do you live ? "
The boy pointed away to a big frame house which
lifted over the tops of some small trees. " Right over
there. Can you ride a horse ? "
"You bet I can ! " said Lincoln.
"Well, then, you come over and see me sometime."
"All right; I will. You come see me."
" All right," Ranee replied and dashed away.
He was a fine-looking bov, and Lincoln and Owen
liked him. He was about twelve years old and tall
and slender, with brown eyes and light y^How hair.
He sat high in his saddle like a man, and his manners
were not at all boyish. It was plain he considered
8
The Fall's Ploughing 9
himself very nearly grown up. Lincoln made him his
boy hero at once.
For a few days Lincoln and Owen had nothing to
do but to keep the cattle from straying, and they
seized the chance to become acquainted with the
country round about. It burned deep into Lincoln's
brain, this wide, sunny, windy country, — the sky was
so big and the horizon line so low and so far away.
The grasses and flowers were nearly all new to him. On
the uplands the herbage was short and dry and the plants
stiff and woody, but in the swales the wild oat shook
its quivers of barbed and twisted arrows, and the
crow's-foot, tall and willowy, bowed softly under the
feet of the wind, while everywhere in the lowlands, as
well as on the sedges, the bleaching white antlers of
monstrous elk lay scattered to testify of the swarming
millions of wild cattle which once fed there.
To the south the settlement thickened, for in that
direction lay the country town, but to the north and
west the unclaimed prairie rolled, the feeding ground
of the cattle, but the boys had little opportunity to
explore that far.
One day his father said : —
" Well, Lincoln, I guess you'll have to run the
plough-team this fall. I've got so much to do around
the house, and we can't afford to hire."
This seemed a very fine and manly commission,
and the boy drove his team out into the field one
morning with vast pride, there to crawl round and
round his first " back furrow," which stretched from
one side of the quarter section to another.
lO Boy Life on the Prairie
But the pride and elation did not last. The task
soon became exceedingly tiresome and the field lonely.
It meant moving toward and fro, hour after hour, with
no one to talk to and nothing to break the monotony.
It meant walking eight or nine miles in the forenoon
and as many more in the afternoon, with less than
an hour off at dinner. It meant care of the share, —
holding it steadily and properly. It meant dragging
the heavy implement around the corners, and it meant
also manv mishaps where thick stubble or wild buck-
wheat rolled up around the standard and threw the
share completely out of the ground.
Lincoln, although strong and active, was rather
short, and to reach the plough handles he was obliged
to lift his hands above his shoulders. He made, in-
deed, a comical but rather pathetic figure, with the
guiding lines crossed over his small back, plodding
along the furrows, his worn straw hat bobbing just
above the cross-brace. Nothing like him had been
seen in the neighborhood ; and the people on the road-
way, looking across the field, laughed and said, " That's
a little too young a boy to do work like that."
He was cheered and aided by his little brother
Owen, who ran out occasionally to meet him as he
turned the nearest corner. Sometimes he even went
all the way around, chatting breathlessly as he trotted
after. At other times he was prevailed upon to bring
out a cooky and a glass of milk from the house.
Notwithstanding all this, ploughing was lonesome, tire-
some work.
The Fall's Ploughing li
The flies were savage, and the horses suffered from
their attacks, especially in the middle of the day.
They drove badly because of their suffering, their
tails continually got over the lines, and in stopping
to kick the flies off they got astride the traces, and
in other ways were troublesome. Only in early
morning or when the sun sank low at night, were
the loyal brutes able to move quietly in their ways.
The soil was a smooth, dark, sandy loam, which
rnade it possible for Lincoln to do the work expected
of him. Often the plough went the entire mile
" round " without striking a root or a pebble as big
as a walnut, running steadily with a crisp, craunching,
shearing sound, which was pleasant to hear. The
work would have been thoroughly enjoyable to Lin-
coln had it not been so incessant.
He cheered himself in every imaginable way ; he
whistled, he sang, and he studied the clouds. He
ate the beautiful red seed vessels upon the wild-rose
bushes, and watched the prairie chickens as they came
together in great swarms, running about in the stubble
field seeking food. He stopped a moment to study
the lizards he upturned. He observed the little gran-
aries of wheat which the mice and gophers had de-
posited in the ground and which the plough threw out.
His eye dwelt lovingly on the sailing hawk, on the
passing of wild geese, and on the occasional shadowy
presence of a prairie wolf.
There were days, however, when nothing could
cheer him, when the wind blew cold from the north,
12 Boy Life on the Prairie
when the sky was full of great, swiftly hurrying, ragged
clouds, and the whole world was gloomy and dark;
when the horses' tails streamed in the wind, and his
own ragged coat flapped round his little legs and
wearied him. There were worse mornings, when a
coating of snow covered the earth, and yet the ploughing
went on. These were the most distressing of all days,
for as the sun rose the mud softened and " gummed "
his boots and trouser legs, clogging his steps and mak-
ing him weep and swear with discomfort and despair.
He lost the sense of being a bov, and yet he was
unable to prove himself a man by quietly quitting work.
Day after day, through the month of September and
deep into October, Lincoln followed his team in the
field, turning over two acres of stubble each day. At
last it began to grow cold, so cold that in the early
morning he was obliged to put one hand in his pocket
to keep it warm, while holding the plough with the other.
His hands grew red and chapped and sore by reason
of the constant keen nipping of the air. His heart was
sometimes very bitter and rebellious, because of the
relentless drag of his daily toil. It seemed that the
stubble land miraculously restored itself each night.
His father did not intend to be cruel, but he was him-
self a hard-working man, an earlv riser, and a swift
workman, and it seemed a natural and necessary thing
to have his sons work. He himself had been bound
out at nine years of age, and had never known a week's
release from toil.
As it grew colder morning by morning, Lincoln
The Fall's Ploughing 13
observed that the ground broke into little flakes before
the standing coulter. This gave him joy, for soon it
would be frozen too hard to plough. At last there came
a morning, when by striking his heel upon the ground,
he convinced his father that it was too hard to break,
and he was allowed to remain in the house. These
were beautiful hours of respite. He had time to play
about the barn or to read. He usually read, devouring
anything he could lay his hands upon, newspapers,
whether old or new, or pasted on the wall or piled up
in the garret. His mother declared he would stand
on his head to read a paper pasted on the wall. Books
were scarce, but he borrowed remorselessly and so read
" Franklin's Autobiography," " Life of P. T. Barnum,"
Scott's " Ivanhoe," and " The Female Spy."
But unfortunately the sun came out warm and bright,
after these frosty nights, the ground softened up, and his
father's imperious voice rang out, " Come, Lincoln,
time to hitch up," and once more the boy returned to
the toil of the field.
But at last there came a day when Lincoln shouted
with joy as he stepped out of the house. The ground
was frozen hard and rung under the feet of the horses
like iron, and the bitter wind, raw and gusty, swept out
of the northwest, with spiteful spitting of snowflakes.
Winter had come, and ploughing was over at last. The
plough was brought in, cleaned and greased to prevent
its rusting, and upturned in the tool-shed, and Lincoln
began to look forward to the opening day of school.
A LONELY task it is to plough !
All day the black and clinging soil
Rolls like a ribbon from the mould-board's
Glistening curve. All day the horses toil
Battling with the flies — and strain
Their creaking collars. All day
The crickets jeer from wind-blown shocks of grain.
October brings the frosty dawn,
The still, warm noon, the cold, clear night,
When torpid crickets make no sound.
And wild-fowl in their southward flight
Go by in hosts — and still the boy
And tired team gnaw round by round.
At weather-beaten stubble, band by band,
Until at last, to their great joy,
The wijiter's snow seals up the unploughed land.
14
The Fall's Ploughing 15
One day he was sent to borrow a sand-sieve of
neighbor Jennings, and on his way he crossed a big
pond in the creek. The ice, newly formed, was clear
as glass, and looking down he saw hundreds of fish, pick-
erel, muskelunge, suckers, red-horse, mud-cats, sunfish
— the water was boiling with them ! Instantly the boy
became greatly excited. Never had he seen so many
fish, and he looked round to see the cause of it. The
creek had fallen to a thin stream, over which these large
fish could not move, and they were caught in a trap.
Hurrying on down to the Jennings place, he put his
news into the most exciting words he could find. But
Mr. Jennings, a large, jolly old fellow, only sucked his
pipe and said, "They're no account, I guess, on account
of the stagnant water."
Lincoln's face fell, and hearing a snicker behind him,
he turned and saw Milton Jennings for the first time,
and at the moment disliked him. He had a thin, fair,
smiling, handsome face, and his curly, taffy-colored
hair curled at the ends. His blue-gray eyes were full
of mischievous lights, and his head was tipped on one
side like a chicken's.
" You're the new boy, ain't ye ? "
" Well, s'pose I be ! "
" Think you're awful smart, don't you ! S'pose I
didn't see them fish? "
" Well, if you did, why didn't you catch 'em ? "
" 'Cause they're all diseased.^'' He gave a dreadful
emphasis to the word, and Lincoln knew he got it from
his father.
1 6 Boy Life on the Prairie
In the silence that followed Lincoln remembered his
errand. " Father wants to borrow your sand-sieve."
"All right. Go get it for him, Milton."
The two boys walked off, shoulder to shoulder.
Milton was about a year older than Lincoln, and
readier of speech. His profile was as fine as the image
on a coin, but he was not so handsome and strong as
Ranee Knapp. He wore a suit of store clothes ; true,
they were old, but the fit of the coat and trousers made
a deep impression upon Lincoln. He had heard that
Mr. Jennings was one of the well-to-do farmers of the
prairie, and the gleaming white paint on their house
seemed to verify the rumor.
With the sieve on his head, he lingered to say
good-by, for he was beginning to like the smiling boy.
" Come o\'er and see me," said Milton.
" All right ; vou come over and see me."
" Lve got a gun."
" So've I — anyhow, father lets me fire it off. I
hunt gophers with it."
" So do I, and ducks. Say, s'pose we set together at
school."
"All right. I'd like to."
" Begins a week from Monday. Well, good-by."
" Good-by."
Lincoln went away feeling very light-hearted, for
the last words of the boy were cordial and hearty. He
loved to joke, hut he was, after all, a good boy.
That night as they were all sitting round the lamp
reading, Mr. Stewart said, "Well, wife, I suppose we've
The Fall's Ploughing 17
got to take these boys to town and fit 'em out ready
for school."
" Oh, goody ! " cried Owen. " Now I can spend
my six centses."
He danced with joy all the evening and could hardly
compose himself to sleep. At breakfast neither of them
had any appetite, and their willingness to do chores
would have amazed Mr. Stewart, only he had known
such " spells " before.
As they rattled off down the road in the cold, clear
morning, the boys were round-eyed with excitement,
and studied every house and barn with such prolonged
interest that their heads revolved on their necks like
young owls. It was a plain prairie road which ran part
of the way through lanes of rail fences, and part of
the way diagonally across vacant quarter-sections, but
it lead toward timber land and the county town ! It
was all wonderful country to the boys.
Rock River had only one street of stores and black-
smith shops and taverns, but it was an imposing place
to Lincoln, and Owen clung close to his father's legs
like a scared puppy. Both stumbled over nail-kegs
and grub-hoes, while their eyes devoured people, and
jars of candy, and mittens hanging on a string. When
they spoke they whispered, as if in church, pointing
with stubby finger, " See there ! " what time some new
wonder broke on their sight.
Each had a few pennies to spend, and they were
soon sucking sticks of candy, while they listened to the
talk of the grocer. Owen's mouth was filled with
c
1 8 Boy Life on the Prairie
a big striped " marble " while his father was putting
caps on his head as if he were a hitching-post, and his
hands were so sticky he could scarcely try on his new
mittens.
The buying of boots was the crowning joy of the
day, or would have been, if Mr. Stewart had not insisted
on their taking those which were a size too large for
them. No one wore shoes in those days. The war
still dominated, and a sort of cavalry boot was the model.
Lincoln's had red tops with a golden moon in the cen-
tre, while Owen's were blue, with a flag. They had a
delicious smell, too, and the hearts of the youngsters
glowed every time they looked at them. Lincoln was
delighted to find that his did not have copper toes. He
considered copper-toed shoes fit only for babies. A
youth who had ploughed seventy acres of land couldn't
reasonably be expected to wear copper-toed boots.
Then there were new books to be bought, also. A
new geography, a new " Ray's Arithmetic," and a slate.
These new books had a nice smell, also, and there was
charm in the smooth surface of the unmarked slates. At
last, with all their treasures under the seat, where they
could look at them or feel of them, with their slates
clutched in their hands, the boys jolted home in silence,
dreaming of the new boots and mittens and scarfs which
they would put on when the next snow-storm came.
Lincoln was pensive and silent all the evening, for he
was digesting the mass of new sights, sounds, and sensa-
tions which the day's outing had thrust upon him.
Meanwhile, he had made but few acquaintances, and
The Fall's Ploughing 19
looked forward to his first day at school with nervous
dread. He knew something of the torment to which
big boys subject little ones, and he felt very weak
and diminutive as he thought of leading Owen up the
the road that first morning, when every face was strange.
He knew but two boys, Milton Jennings and Ranee
Knapp. Ranee was not easy to become acquainted with,
but Lincoln felt a confidence in him which Milton did
not inspire. He had seen but little of either of them,
and had no feeling of comradeship with them. His bat-
tles, and those of Owen also, must be fought out alone.
As the cold winds arose, and the leaves of the popple
trees and hazel bushes were stripped away, the prairie
took on a wilder, fiercer look. The prairie chickens, in
immense flocks, gathered in the corn-fields to feed, and
the boys were fired with evil desires. They built a trap,
and caught several, and when they were killed and
dressed and fried they ate them with relish born of a
salt pork diet. Aside from these splendid birds, innumer-
able chickadees, and a few owls, there was no other bird
life. The prairies became silent, lone, wind-swept, and
the cattle drew close around the snow-piles, and the peo-
ple crowded into their small shacks, and waited for
winter.
WINTER WINDS
The school-house stood a mile away on the prairie,
with not even a fence to shield it from the blast.
There had been a good deal of talk about setting out
a wind-break, Mr. Jennings said, but nothing had yet
been done. It was merely a square, box-like structure,
with three windows on a side and two in front. It
was painted a glaring white on the outside and a drab
within ; at least that was the original color, but the
benches were greasy and hacked until all first intentions
were obscured.
A big box-stove, sitting in a square puddle of
bricks, a wooden chair, and a table completed the
furniture. The walls, where not converted into black-
boards, were merely plastered over, and the windows
had no shades. Altogether it was not inviting, even
to the residents of Sun Prairie ; and Lincoln, who
stole across one Sunday morning to look in, came away
much depressed. He was fond of school. It was a
chance to get clear of farm work and also an oppor-
tunity to meet his fellows, — he never missed a day
if he could help it, — but the old school-house in Wis-
consin had stood in a lovely spot under some big burr
oaks, with a meadow and trout brook riot far away,
winter Winds 2i
and this bare building on the naked prairie seemed a
poor place indeed.
In this small room, whose windows rattled in the
wind, in this little coop which congealed like an egg
in the winds of winter and baked like a potato in the
remorseless suns of summer, some thirty boys and girls
met to study, and therein some of them received all
the education in books they ever got. The fact that
they endured it without complaint is a suggestive com-
mentary on the homes from which they came.
Nearly every family lived in two or three rooms.
The Stewarts had three rooms in winter. In one
they lived and cooked and sat. The husband and
wife occupied a bedroom below, and the children
slept above in the garret, close to the stovepipe. In
summer the small house mattered less, for the chil-
dren had all outdoors to spread over ; but in winter
they were unwholesomely crowded, and Mrs. Stewart
carried on her work at great disadvantage. It was
terribly cold in the garret, and the boys usually made
a dash for it when going to bed, and on very cold
mornings ran down to dress beside the kitchen stove.
Their clothing was largely cotton and ill-fitting.
Their underclothing was " cotton-flannel," made by
their overworked mother. Over this they generally
wore an old pair of trousers, and denim overalls went
outside " to break the cold winds." Each boy had
a sort of visored cap, with a gorget which fell down
over his ears and neck in stormy weather, and which
could be rolled up on sunny days. They also wore
22 Boy Life on the Prairie
long mufflers of gay-colored wool, which they wound
round their heads and over their ears when the wind
was keen. It was common for the big girls to "work"
these scarfs for their sweethearts. The boys' boots
were always a size too large, in order to admit of
shrinking in wet weather, and also to make the wear-
ing of thick socks possible during midwinter. They
looked exactly like diminutive men, with their long
trousers, boots, gloves, and caps, and it took a savage
wind to scare them.
It was a cold, bleak morning with much snow when
Lincoln set out with his books under his arm and a
little tin pail (filled with his lunch) dangling from his
mittened hand, — a comical, squat, little figure. He
trudged along alone, for Owen did not venture out.
On the road he could see other children assembling,
and upon nearing the school-house he found a dozen
boys engaged in a game called " dog and deer," and
too much occupied to pay any attention to him.
He had seen the game played before. It consisted
of a series of loops through which the " dogs " were
forced to run, while the "deer" were allowed to leap
across the narrow necks where the loops approached
each other. Two of the players having been selected
to act as "dogs," all the others became "deer" and
fled off into the loops, which were drawn in the deep
snow by the entire band of players moving in single
file, scuffling out the paths.
It was an exceedingly exciting and interesting game,
and Lincoln forgot that he was a stranger. He was
Winter Winds 23
brought to a sense of his weakness when Rangely Moss
ran up and threw him down and put snow in his
neck to see if he would cry. He did not. He swore
softly, for he had learned that to show fear or anger
would only bring other persecutions. He merely said
in his heart, " When I grow up, I'll kill you."
Upon the ringing of the bell, every boy made a
rush for a seat on the south side, while the girls
quietly took position opposite. Why this should be
Lincoln never understood, because it was exceedingly
cold and windy by the north windows. But as it gave
him a sunny seat, he had no mind to complain. There
was some squabbling and disputing, but in a short time
all were seated. Lincoln found himself sitting with
Milton Jennings, and was well pleased.
" Hello ! Got here, did you .? " said Milton.
The teacher turned out to be a slender, scholarly
young man, who seemed very timid and gentle to the
strong, rude boys. He toed in a little, and Rangely
Moss winked in derision of him and in promise of
mischief.
Lincoln was amazed to see so many pupils and
wondered where they all came from. There were
three or four " big girls," women they seemed to him,
and as many boys who were grown-up young men.
When the teacher came to his desk to look at his
books, he appeared to be a little surprised to find the
Fifth Reader in his hands.
" Is this your book ? " he asked.
"Yes, sir," replied Lincoln.
24 Boy Life on the Prairie
" Do you read this ? "
"Yes, sir." Lincoln was suffering agonies of bash-
fulness at being thus singled out for questioning before
the school.
" Let me hear you. Read this." He opened the
book at one of Wendell Phillips's orations.
The boy knew it by heart, and it was well he did, for
his eyes were dim with confusion as he gabbled off the
first paragraph.
" That'll do," said the teacher. " You may go on
with the class."
The relief was so sudden that Lincoln could not
thank him. His throat was "lumpy and sticky " for a
few minutes.
This drew attention to him at once, and smoothed
the way for him, too. He had no further rough usage
by the boys. They had a certain respect for the shock-
headed boy of ten, who could read " Webster's Reply to
Hayne " or " Lochiel's Warning." He was found to
be a good speller, also, and that was in his favor, and
counterbalanced his slowness as a " dog."
At recess, when Rangely assaulted him. Ranee ran up
behind, and pushed the bully sprawling. Rangely was
furious with rage, and chased Ranee for five minutes,
with intent to do him harm ; but Ranee was swift as a
coyote, and eluded the big fellow with ease. When
Rangely gave it up. Ranee came close to Lincoln, and
said, " When I'm fourteen I'm going to lick that fool
like hell." And it was plain he meant it.
After winter fairly set in it was a long, hard walk to
Winter Winds 25
school, but these little men prided themselves on not
missing a day. They were almost the youngest pupils
in school, but, led by Lincoln, Owen turned up every
morning, puffing and wheezing like a small porpoise,
his cheeks red as apples, and his boots frozen hard as
rocks. He had the spirit of the old vikings in his soul,
and laughed in the teeth of a gale which would have
made a grown-up city-dweller shiver with dismay.
Sometimes the thermometer fell thirty degrees below
zero, and the snow, mixed with dust from the ploughed
land, swept like water across the road, confusing and
blinding the lads, moving like fine sand under their feet.
Many, many days, when flying snow hid the world,
these minute insects set forth merrily as larks in spring-
time. The winter was an exceedingly severe one, and
some of the children came to school with ears and noses
badly frosted. Lincoln and Owen were quite generally
in a state of skin-renewing, but these were battle scars,
and not a subject of jest.
The boys always went early, in order to have an hour
at " dog and deer," or " dare-goal," or " pom-pom pull-
away." It seemed they could not get enough of play.
Every moment of " ree-cess " (as they called it) was
made use of. With a mad rush they left the room, and
returned to it only at the last tap of the bell. They
were all hardy as Indians, and cared nothing for the cold
as they ran, chasing each other like wolves. But when
they came in, they barked like husky dogs, and puffed
and wheezed so loudly that all study was for a time
suspended. They caught their colds in the house, and
26 Boy Life on the Prairie
not in the open air; for when the " north end of a south
wind " beat and clamored round the building, its ill-fit-
ting windows rattled, and the cold streamed in like water.
Many a girl caught her death-cold in that miserable
shack, and went to her grave a gentle martyr to shiftless
management.
Every one necessarily had chilblains, and on warm
days the boys pounded their heels and kicked their toes
against the seats, to allay the intolerable burning and
itching. Lincoln suffered worse than Owen, and often
pulled his left foot half-way out of its boot to find relief.
The kicking, banging, and scuffling of feet became so
loud and so incessant at times that the recitations were
interrupted, but the teacher had known chilblains him-
self, and made as little complaint as possible.
" Dog and deer," or " fox and geese," could be played
only when the snow was new-fallen and undisturbed,
which was seldom, for the wind, that uneasy spirit of
the sky, builder of scarp and battlement, scooper of
vaults and carver of plinths, — tireless, treacherous
tracker of the plains, — stripped the ground bare in one
place, to build some fantastic structure in another, until
the snow lay heaped and piled in long lines and waves
and pikes behind every bush and post and rock, and
the games of loops and circles were over.
Often Lincoln sat by the window, with a forgotten
book in his hand, watching the snow as it rustled up
against the leeward window, seeing it slide up some
fantastic heap, a miniature Pike's Peak, or Shasta-like
dome, only to swirl softly around the summit, and fall
Winter Winds 27
away in a wreath of misty white, apparently without
accomplishing anything. But it did, for the heap grew
larger and sharper, just as the peaks of frost grew
higher on the window pane. Outside the shelter, the
other snows went sweeping, streaming by, like the
swash of swift foam-white water, misty for very speed.
He used to wonder where a particular cloud or wave of
snow came from and where it would stop. What was
the mysterious force which hurried it on ?
There was little intercourse between the boys and
girls in the school, mainly because the sports were
austere and of a sort in which the girls took little inter-
est. They (poor things) could only sit in the bare and
chalky little room and make tattin' or some useless
thing like that.
At twelve o'clock they all ate dinner ; that is, such
of them as had not eaten it at recess. This dinner
was usually made up of long slices of white bread
buttered prodigiously in lumps, and frozen as hard as
" linkum vity." Dessert was a piece of mince pie,
which being hastily warmed was hot on one side and
like chopped ice on the other, and made many an ach-
ing tooth. Doughnuts, " fried-cakes " as they were
called, were general favorites. They did not freeze so
hard, were portable, and could be eaten "on the sly"
during school hours, in order that no time should be
wasted in eating at noon.
It will be admitted that these were grim experiences,
and there will be little wonder that Lincoln's memories
of those days are not unmixed with the stern and love-
28 Boy Life on the Prairie
less. Most of the pupils went to school only from De-
cember to March, and the winter sky, dazzling with its
southern sun, or dark with its stormy clouds, and the
flutter and roar of the wind and the snow, runs through
their recollection of the time. Sufferings and strife
abounded, but these bold hearts fought the bitter and
relentless cold and gloom with uncomplaining resolution.
The big girls and boys went miles away to dances in
some small cabin and came yawningly to school next
day, but the small boys had little recreation beyond
occasional games of " hi spy " or " dare-gool."
As there were no hills on which to coast, they
were forced to be content with " dare-gool," " snap the
whip," and " pom-pom pullaway." Success in these
sports depended upon s.wiftness in turning and dodging,
and Lincoln was only moderately successful therein ;
but Ranee, young as he was, held his own against the
biggest and swiftest boys. He had the lightness and
lithe grace of a young Cheyenne.
Milton preferred to stand in the lee of the building
and make comical remarks about everybody else, and
the big boys all had a healthy respect for his sharp wit.
The coolly boys adapted themselves to the level
country at once, and really did not miss the hills and
trees of their birthplace so much as one might imagine,
but sometimes when the first soft flakes of a gentle
snow-storm came whirling down, Lincoln remembered
indefinably the pleasure he once took in seeing through
the woodland the slant lines of the driving storm, and a
feeling of sadness swept over him. When the icy crust
Winter Winds 29
sparkled under the vivid light of the moon, he recalled
the long hill, down which he used to whizz on his red
sled — down past the well, through the gate, and on
over the meadow bog, — but which grew more and
more remote as new interests and new friends and the
pressure of other circumstances came on to make his
memories of the Coolly very dim and insubstantial and
far off. A house set close under a hill became now
a picture in his mind — with the quality of a poem.
Milton was a source of trouble to Lincoln and
others who possessed a keen sense of the ludicrous
and small powers of self-restraint, for he was able to
provoke them to spasmodic snorts of laughter in school
hours, for which they were promptly punished, while
the real culprit went free. He had a way of putting
his little fingers in his mouth and his index fingers in
the corners of his eyes, thus turning his long face into
the most grotesque and mirth-provoking mask. Natu-
rally, as he could not see how ludicrous he himself was,
and as he had the power to laugh heartily without
uttering a sound, and the ability also to instantly re-
turn to a very serious and absorbed expression, every-
body suffered but himself. His scalp seemed made of
gutta-percha, for he was able to corrugate it in most
unexpected ways. He could wag his ears like a horse
when drinking, and lift one eyebrow while the other
sadly drooped ; and, worse than all, he could look like
old man Brown, who had sore eyes and no teeth, or
like Elder Bliss, who was fat as a porker and had red
cheeks and severe, small eyes.
JO Boy Life on the Prairie
Hardly a day passed that some boy did not explode
in a wild whoop of irresistible laughter, to receive
swift punishment from the master, who had no way
of discoverino- the real disturber. Circumstantial evi-
dence was always taken as conclusive proof of guilt,
and Milton himself had an almost unimpeachable char-
acter in the eyes of his teacher ; he was so bright and
handsome and respectful, quite a prize scholar in fact.
" A modil boy," old Mrs. Brown said in speaking of
him.
Ranee was a good student, but never showy even
in mathematics, in which he was exceedingly apt.
Lincoln soon took rank as one of the best spellers in
school, and his memory was good in geography and
history, but he was easily " stumped " in figures. He
knew his old McGufFy Readers almost by heart, and
loved the wild song which ran through " Lochiel's
Warning" and "The Battle of Waterloo." "Web-
ster's Reply to Hayne " thrilled him with its majestic
rolling thunder of words, and he liked Whittier's " Pris-
oner of Debt," especially that verse which called on
somebody to —
"ring the bells and fire the guns.
And fling the starry banner out."
He liked the vivid contrast of the next stanza : —
** Think ye yon prisoner's aged ear
Rejoices in your general cheer ?
Think vou hrs dim and failing eye
Is kindled at your pageantry ? "
Winter Winds 31
" Marco Bozzaris " and " Rienzi's Address to the
Romans " and " Regulus before the Carthaginians " —
dozens of other bombastic and flamboyant and mouth-
filling poems and speeches — he knew by heart and
often repeated in the silence of the fields or on the
road to school. In the class he was always pleased
(and scared) when the passionate verses came to him,
— the verses with the "long primer caps," like: —
** STRIKE for your altars and your fires ! ' '
and
" Rouse, ye Romans ! Rouse, ye slaves ! "
He generally came out very well, if his breath did not
fail on the most important word, as it sometimes did
when visitors were present.
Most of the scholars hated those dramatic passages,
and slid over them in rattling haste with most prosaic
intonation, but Lincoln had a notion that the author's
intention should be carried out if possible. Sometimes
swept away by some power within, he struck exactly
the right note, and the scholars responded with a sud-
den thrill, and he felt his own hair stir. Altogether
he had a modest estimate of his powers and a pro-
found admiration for those who were able to see
meaning in x -\- y = z.
The winter days were very well filled with work or
study or pastimes. Every morning before it was light,
his father called in exactly the same way : " Lincoln,
Owen! Come — your chores." Their chores con-
sisted of cleaning out behind the horses, milking the
32 Boy Life on the Prairie
cows, and currying the horses. They disliked milk-
ing cordially, even in' pleasant summer weather, when
the cows were clean and standing in the open air, but
they went to this task in winter with a bitter hatred,
for the cattle stood in narrow, ill-smelling stalls, close
and filthy, especially of a morning. Taking care of
the horses was less repulsive, but that had its discom-
forts. The scurf and hair got into their mouths and
ears, and currying was hard work besides. They always
smelled of the barn, and " Clean y'r boots " was a regu-
lar outcry from their watchful mother.
Having finished these tasks, they ate breakfast, which
was often made up of buckwheat cakes, sausage (of
home-made flavor), and molasses, — good, strong food
and fairly wholesome. After breakfast all the cattle
were turned into the yard and watered at the well.
This meant a half-an-hour of hard pumping, but ended
the morning duties. They then put on their clean
brown blouses and went awav to school.
School closed at four, and they hurried home to do
the evening chores. The stalls were spread with fresh
straw, the cattle again watered, and the cows brought
into their places and again milked. This usually kept
them busy till dark. Supper was eaten by lamplight,
and ended the day's duties, and from seven to nine they
were free to go visiting, to play " hi spy," or pop corn,
or play dominoes or " authors," or read. With a book
or a paper Lincoln had little thought of playing any game.
Sometimes, with Owen, he set forth to find Ranee and
play a game of " hi spv," or he went across the wide
Winter Winds ^^
and solemn prairie to some entertainment in a neighbor-
ing school-house. Generally, if anything special were
going on, the family drove over in the big bob sleigh,
the box filled with fresh straw and buffalo robes, which
were cheap in those days.
There was a boy in most families just the right age
to bring in the wood and the kindling, which he consid-
ered a mighty task. Lincoln did this until old enough
to milk, when he moved up to give place to Owen.
Owen puffed and wheezed and complained and shed
bitter tears for a couple of years or so, and then began
to train Tommy to the task. Mary, at eight years of
age, began to help her mother about the dishes and in
dusting things, which she detested quite as bitterly as
Owen disliked milking, but was willing to take care of
the horses.
Lincoln objected to work very largelv because it took
up time which might otherwise have been employed in
reading. He was swift and strong in action, and
hustled through his chores like a sturdy young cyclone,
in order to get at some story. Owen objected to work,
purely because it was work and interfered with some
queer project of his own. He never read, but was al-
ways pottering about himself, busy at some mechanical
thing, talking to himself like a bumblebee, and produc-
ing no results whatever.
D
LOST IN A NORTHER
There are voices of pain
In the autumn rain.
There are pipings drear in the grassy zvaste^
There are lonely sivells whose summits rise
Till they touch and blend with the sombre skies^
Where massed clouds tvildly haste.
I sit on my horse in boot and spur
As the night falls drear
On the lonely plain. Afar 1 hear
The honk of goose and swift wing's whir
Through the graying deeps of the upper air —
Like weary great birds the clouds sail low —
The winds now wail like women in woe,
Now mutter and growl like lions in lair.
Lost on the prairie ! All day alone
With my faithful horse, my swift Ladrone.
And the shapes on the shadow my scared soul cast.
Which way is north ? Which way is west ?
I ask Ladrone, for he knows best.
And he turns his head to the blast.
He whinnies and turns at my voice's sound,
And then impatiently paws the ground.
34
Lost in a Norther 2S
The night's gray turns to a starless black,
And the drifting drizzle and flying wrack
Have melted away into rayless night.
The wind like an actor, childish with age,
Plays all his characters — now sobs with rage.
Now flees like a girl in fright.
I turn from the wind, a treacherous guide.
And touch my knee to the glossy side
Of my ready horse, and the prairie wide
Slips by like a sea under bounding keel :
As I pat his neck and feel the swell
Of his mighty chest and swift limbs' play.
The sorrowful wind-voice dies away.
The coyote starts from a shivering sleep
On the grassy edge of a gully's steep.
And silently slips through wind-blown weeds.
The prairie hen from before my feet
Springs up in haste with swift wings' beat,
And into the dark like a bullet speeds.
Which way is east ? Which way is south ?
Is not to be answered when dark as the mouth
Of a red-lipped wolf the night shuts down.
I look in vain for a star or light ;
Ladrone speeds on in steady flight,
His ears laid back in an anxious frown.
The lono; grass breaks on his steaming- breast
As foam is dashed from the billow's crest
^6 Boy Life on the Prairie
By a keen-prowed ship.
I see it not, but I hear it whip
On my stirrup-shield, and feel the rush
And spiteful lash of the hazel brush.
The night grows colder — the wind again —
Jh ! What is that F I pull at the rein
And turn my face to the blast.
It ivas sleet on my cheek. Ay — thick and fast
The startled snow through the darkness leaps,
As massed in the mighty north wind's wing
Like an air-borne army's rushing swing,
The dreaded norther upon me sweeps.
/ hoived my head till the streaming mane
Of my patiting horse luarmed cheek again
And plunged straight into the night amain.
% if. -^ i(, -^ if.
Day came and found me slowly riding on
With senses bound as in a chain.
Through drifting deeps of snow, Ladrone
Dumbly, faithful plodded on, the rein
Flung low upon his weary neck.
I long had ceased to fear or reck
Of death by cold or wolf or snow.
Bent grimly on my saddle-bow.
if if if if if if
My limbs were numb ; I seemed to ride
Upon some viewless, rushing tide —
My hands hung helpless at my side.
Lost in a Norther 37
The multitudinous, trampling snows,
With solemn, ceaseless, rushing din,
Swept round and over me : far and wide
A roaring silence shut the senses in.
Above me through the hurtling shrouds
The far sky, red with morning glows,
Looked down at times
And then was lost in clouds.
But were my tongue with poet's spell
Aflame, I could not tell
The tale of biting hunger — cold — the hell
Of fear that age-long night !
How life seemed only in my brain ; the wind,
The foam-white breeze of wintry seas
That roared in wrath from left to right,
Striking the helpless deaf and blind.
* * ^. * * *
The third morn broke upon my sight.
Streamed through the window of the room
In which I woke, I know not how —
Broke radiant in a golden bloom
As though God smiled away the night.
Like an eternal, changeless sea
Of marble lay the plain
In dazzling, moveless, soundless waste,
Horizon-girt, without a stain.
The air was still; no breath or sound
Came from the white expanse —
38 Boy Life on the Prairie
The whole earth seemed to wait in trance,
In hushed expectant silence bound.
And oh the beauty of the eastern sky,
Where glowed the herald banners of the King-
And as I looked with famished eye,
Lo, day came on me with a spring !
Along the iridescent billows of the snow
The sun-god shot his golden beams.
Like flaming arrows from the bow.
He broke on every crest, and gleams
Of radiant fire
Alit on every spire.
Along the great sun's pathway as he came.
And cloudless, soft, serene as May,
Opened the jocund day.
CHAPTER IV
THE GREAT BLIZZARD
A BLIZZARD on the prairie corresponds to a storm at
sea ; it never affects the traveller twice alike. Each
norther seems to have a manner of attack all its own.
One storm may be short, sharp, high-keyed, and malevo-
lent, while another approaches slowly, relentlessly, wear-
ing out the souls of its victims by its inexorable and
long-continued cold and gloom. One threatens for
hours before it comes, the other leaps like a tiger upon
the defenceless settlement, catching the children un-
housed, the men unprepared ; of this character was the
first blizzard Lincoln ever saw.
The day was warm and sunny. The eaves dripped
musically, and the icicles dropping from the roof fell oc-
casionally with pleasant crash. The snow grew slushy,
and the bells of wood teams jingled merrily all the fore-
noon, as the farmers drove to their timber-lands five or
six miles away. The room was uncomfortably warm
at times, and the master opened the outside door. It
was the eighth day of January. One afternoon recess,
as the boys were playing in their shirt-sleeves, Lincoln
39
40 Boy Life on the Prairie
called Milton's attention to a great cloud rising in the
west and north. A vast, slaty-blue, seamless dome,
silent, portentous, with edges of silvery frosty light.
" It's going to storm," said Milton. " It always
does when we have a south wind and a cloud like that
in the west."
When Lincoln set out for home, the sun was still
shining, but the edge of the cloud had crept, or more
properly slid, across the sun's disk, and its light was
growing cold and pale. In fifteen minutes more the
wind from the south ceased — there was a moment of
breathless pause, and then, borne on the wings of the
north wind, the streaming clouds of soft, large flakes of
snow drove in a level line over the homeward-bound
scholars, sticking to their clothing and faces and melting
rapidly. It was not yet cold enough to freeze, though
the wind was colder. The growing darkness troubled
Lincoln most.
By the time he reached home, the wind was a gale,
the snow a vast blinding cloud, fillino- the air and hidmo;
the road. Darkness came on instantly, and the wind
increased in power, as though with the momentum of
the snow. Mr. Stewart came home early, yet the breasts
of his horses were already sheathed in snow. Other
teamsters passed, breasting the storm, and calling cheer-
ily to their horses. One team, containing a woman and
two men, neighbors living seven miles north, gave up
the contest, and turned in at the gate for shelter, confi-
dent that they would be able to go on in the morning.
In the barn, while rubbing the ice from the horses, the
The Great Blizzard 41
men joked and told stories in a jovial spirit, with the
feeling generally that all would be well by daylight.
The boys made merry also, singing songs, popping
corn, playing games, in defiance of the storm.
But when they went to bed, at ten o'clock, Lincoln
felt some vague premonition of a dread disturbance of
nature, far beyond any other experience in his short life.
The wind howled like ten thousand tigers, and the cold
grew more and more intense. The wind seemed to
drive in and through the frail tenement ; water and food
began to freeze within ten feet of the fire.
Lincoln thought the wind at that hour had attained
its utmost fury, but when he awoke in the morning, he
saw how mistaken he had been. He crept to the fire,
appalled by the steady, solemn, implacable clamor of the
storm. It was like the roarings of all the lions of Af-
rica, the hissing of a wilderness of serpents, the lashing
of great trees. It benumbed his thinking, it appalled
his heart, beyond any other force he had ever known.
The house shook and snapped, the snow beat in
muffled, rhythmic pulsations against the walls, or swirled
and lashed upon the roof, giving rise to strange, multi-
tudinous, anomalous sounds ; now dim and far, now
near and all-surrounding ; producing an effect of mys-
tery and infinite reach, as though the cabin were a help-
less boat, tossing on an angry, limitless sea.
Looking out, there was nothing to be seen but the
lashing of the wind and snow. When the men at-
tempted to face it, to go to the rescue of the cattle, they
found the air impenetrably filled with fine, powdery snow.
42 Boy Life on the Prairie
mixed with the dirt caught up from the ploughed fields
by a terrific blast, moving ninety miles an hour. It was
impossible to see twenty feet, except at long inter\als.
Lincoln could not see at all when facing the storm.
When he stepped into the wind, his face was coated
with ice and dirt, as by a dash of mud — a mask which
blinded the eyes, and instantly froze to his cheeks.
Such was the power of the wind that he could not
breathe an instant unprotected. His mouth being once
open, it was impossible to draw breath again without
turning from the wind.
The day was spent in keeping warm and in feeding
the stock at the barn, which Mr. Stewart reached by
desperate dashes, during the momentary clearing of the
air following some more than usually strong gust. Lin-
coln attempted to water the horses from the pump, but
the wind blew the water out of the pail. So cold had
the wind become that a dipperful, thrown into the air,
fell as ice. In the house it became more and more
difficult to remain cheerful, notwithstanding the family
had fuel and food in abundance.
Oh, that terrible day ! Hour after hour they listened
to that prodigious, appalling, ferocious uproar. All day
Lincoln and Owen moved restlessly to and fro, asking
each other, "Won't it ever stop ? " To them the storm
now seemed too vast, too ungovernable, to ever again
be spoken to a calm, even by God Himself. It seemed
to Lincoln that no power whatever could control such
fury ; his imagination was unable to conceive of a torce
greater than this war of wind or snow.
The Great Blizzard 43
On the third day the family rose with weariness, and
looked into each other's faces with a sort of horrified
surprise. Not even the invincible heart of Duncan
Stewart, nor the cheery good nature of his wife, could
keep a gloomy silence from settling down upon the
house. Conversation was scanty ; nobody laughed that
day, but all listened anxiously to the invisible tearing at
the shingles, beating against the door, and shrieking around
the eaves. The frost upon the windows, nearly half
an inch thick in the morning, kept thickening into ice,
and the light was dim at midday. The fire melted the
snow on the window-panes and upon the door, and
ran along the floor, while around the key-hole and
along every crack, frost formed. The men's faces
began to wear a grim, set look, and the women sat with
awed faces and downcast eyes full of unshed tears, their
sympathies going out to the poor travellers, lost and
freezing.
The men got to the poor dumb animals that day to
feed them ; to water them was impossible. Mr. Stew-
art went down through the roof of the shed, the door
being completely sealed up with solid banks of snow and
dirt. One of the guests had a wife and two children
left alone in a small cottage six miles farther on, and
physical force was necessary to keep him from setting
out in face of the deadly tempest. To him the nights
seemed weeks, and the days interminable, as they did to
the rest, but it would have been death to venture out.
That night, so disturbed had all become, they lay
awake listening, waiting, hoping for a change. About
44 ^oy Life on the Prairie
midnight Lincohi noticed that the roar was no longer so
steady, so relentless,, and so high-keyed as before. It
began to lull at times, and though it came back to the
attack with all its former ferocity, still there was a per-
ceptible weakening. Its fury was becoming spasmodic.
One of the men shouted down to Mr. Stewart, " The
storm is over," and when the host called back a ringing
word of cheer, Lincoln sank into deep sleep in sheer
relief.
Oh, the joy with which the children melted the ice on
the window-panes, and peered out on the familiar land-
scape, dazzling, peaceful, under the brilliant sun and
wide blue skv. Lincoln looked out over the wide plain,
ridged with vast drifts ; on the far blue line of timber,
on the near-by cottages sending up cheerful columns of
smoke (as if to tell him the neighbors were alive),
and his heart seemed to fill his throat. But the wind
was with him still, for so long and continuous had its
voice sounded in his ears, that even in the perfect calm
his imagination supplied its loss with fainter, fancied
roarings.
Out in the barn the horses and cattle, hungry and
cold, kicked and bellowed in pain, and when the men
dug them out, they ran and raced like mad creatures, to
start the blood circulating in their numbed and stiffened
limbs. Air. Stewart was forced to tunnel to the barn
door, cutting through the hard snow as if it were clay.
7"he drifts were solid, and the dirt mixed with the snow
was disposed on the surface in beautiful wavelets, like
the sands at the bottom of a lake. The drifts would
The Great Blizzard 45
bear a horse. The guests were able to go home by
noon, climbing above the fences, and rattling across the
ploughed ground.
And then in the days which followed, came grim
tales of suffering and heroism. Tales of the finding of
stage-coaches with the driver frozen on his seat and all
o
his passengers within ; tales of travellers striving to reach
home and families. Cattle had starved and frozen in
their stalls, and sheep lay buried in heaps beside the
fences where they had clustered together to keep warm.
These days gave Lincoln a new conception of the
prairie. It taught him that however bright and beauti-
ful they might be in summer under skies of June, they
could be terrible when the Norther was abroad in his
wrath. They seemed now as pitiless and destructive
as the polar ocean. It seemed as if nothing could live
there unhoused. All was at the mercy of that power,
the north wind, whom only the Lord Sun could tame.
This was the worst storm of the winter, though the
wind seemed never to sleep. To and fro, from north to
south, and south to north, the dry snow sifted till it was
like fine sand that rolled under the heel with a ringing
sound on cold days. After each storm the restless
wind got to work to pile the new-fallen flakes into
ridges behind every fence or bush, filling every ravine
and forcing the teamsters into the fields and out onto the
open prairie. It was a savage and gloomy time for
Lincoln, with only the pleasure of his school to break
the monotony of cold.
SPRING RAINS
When the snow is sunk
And the fields are bare
And the rising sun has a golden glare
Through the window pane ;
And the crow flies over
The smooth, low hills,
And all the air with his calling thrills, —
All hearts leap up in joy again
To welcome spring and the springtime rain.
THEN IT'S SPRING
When the hens begin
A squawkin'
An' a-rollin' in the dust ;
When the rooster takes
To talkin'
An' a-crowin' fit to bust -,
When the crows are cawin', flockin',
An' the chickens boom an' sing, —
Then it's spring !
When the roads are jest one mud-hole
And the waters tricklin' round
Makes the barn-yard like a puddle,
46
Prairie Chickens 47
An' softens up the ground,
Till y'r ankle-deep in worter,
Sayin' words ye' hadn't orter;
When the jay-birds swear an' sing, —
Then it's spring !
PRAIRIE CHICKENS
From brown ploughed hillocks
In early red morning,
They wake the tardy sower with their cheerful cry.
A mellow boom and whoop
That held a warning,
A song that brought the seed-time very nigh,
The circling, splendid anthem of their greeting,
Ran like the mornins; beating;
Of a hundred mellow drums —
Boom, boom, boom !
Each hillock's top repeating
Like cannon answering cannon
When the golden sunset comes.
They drum no more.
Those splendid springtime pickets.
The sweep of share and sickle
Has thrust them from the hills ;
They have vanished from the prairie
Like the partridge from the thickets.
They have perished from the sportsman,
Who kills, and kills, and kills !
CHAPTER V
THE COMING OF SPRING
Spring came to the settlers on Sun Prairie with a
wonderful message, like a pardon to imprisoned people.
For five months they had been shut closely within their
cabins. Nothing could be sweeter than the joy they
felt when the mild south wind began to blow and the
snow began to sink away, leaving warm brown patches
of earth in the snowy fields. It seemed that the sun-
god had not forsaken them, after all.
The first island to appear in the midst of the ocean
of slush and mud around the Stewart house, was the
chip-pile, and there the spring's work began. As soon
as the slush began to gather. Jack, the hired man, was
set to work each morning, digging ditches and chopping
canals in the ice, so that the barn would not be inun-
dated by the spring rains. During the middle of the
day he busied himself at sawing and splitting the pile
of logs which Mr. Stewart had been hauling during the
open days of winter.
Jack came from far lands, and possessed, as Lincoln
soon discovered, unusual powers of dancing and playing
the fiddle. He brought, also, stirring stories of distant
forests and strange people and manv battles, and Lin-
coln, who had an eye for character, set himself to work
48
The Coming of Spring 49
to distinguish between what the hired man knew, what
he thought he knew, and what he merely lied about.
There was plenty of work for the boys. They had
cows to milk and the drains to keep open. It was
their business also to pile the wood behind the men as
they sawed and split the large logs into short lengths.
They used a cross-cut saw, which made pleasant music
in the still, warm air of springtime. Afterwards these
pieces, split into small sticks ready for the stove, were
thrown into a conical heap, which it was Lincoln's
business to repile in shapely ricks.
Boys always insist upon having entertainment even
in their work, and Lincoln found amusement in plan-
ning a new ditch and in seeing it remove the puddle
before the barn-door. There was a certain pleasure,
also, in piling wood neatly and rapidly, and in watching
the deft and powerful swing of the shining axes, as
they lifted and fell, and rose again in the hands of the
strong men.
The chip-pile, where the hired hand was busy, was
warm and sunny by mid-forenoon, and the hens loved
to burrow there, lying on their sides and blinking at
the sun. The kitchen was near, too, and the boys
knew whenever their mother was making cookies or
fried-cakes, and could secure some while they were hot
and fresh. Around the bright straw-piles the long-haired
colts frisked, and the young steers fought and bellowed,
as glad of spring as the boys.
Then, too, the sap began to flow out of the maple
logs, and Lincoln and Owen wore their tongues to the
E
50 Boy Life on the Prairie
quick, licking the trickle from the rough wood. They
also stripped out the inner bark of the elm logs and
chewed it. It had a sweet nut-like flavor, and was
considered most excellent forage ; moreover, the residue
made a sticky pellet, which could be thrown across the
room in school and slap against some boy's ear, when the
teacher was not looking. The ceilings were, in fact,
covered with these pellets, but their presence over a
boy's desk was not considered evidence that he had
thrown them there.
It was back-breaking work, piling wood, and the
boys could not have endured it, had it not been for the
companionship of the men, and the hope they had of
eoino; skating at nio-ht.
The skates which the boys used were usually a rude
sort of wooden contraption with a cheap steel runner,
which went on with straps. Lincoln and Owen had
one pair between them, and one was always forced to
slide while the other used the skates. This led to fre-
quent altercations and pleading cries of " Let me take
'em now."
To this day Lincoln can remember with what ecstasy,
intermingled with rage, he sprawled about on the pond
below the school-house, his skate-straps continually get-
ting loose and tripping him, while his poor ankles, turn-
ing inward till the wooden top of the skates touched
the ice, brought certain disaster. The edges of the
outer counters of his hard boots gouged his feet, pro-
ducing sores, which embittered his existence during the
skating season, notwithstanding all devices for making
The Coming of Spring 51
the skate stay in the middle of his sole, where it be-
longed. Even when doing his best, he leaned perilously
forward, swinging his arms, and toiling hard.
Ranee had a fine pair of brass-mounted skates, with
beautifully curving toes, which terminated in brass swan-
heads. They had heel-sockets, also, and stayed where
they were put, and it was very discouraging to see him
as he skimmed over the ice almost without effort, now
standing erect, now " rolling " from one foot to the
'M-^^-^^^^-^ othei, \n ease which
seemed uiipossible
for any human being to attain, though part of it was due,
even in Lincoln's worshipful thinking, to the skates.
These were days of trouble for foot wear. The boys
were in the water nearly all day while the snow was
melting, and their cowhide boots shrank distressfully
each night, causing their owners to weep, and kick the
mopboard, and say, " Goldarn these dam old boots —
I wish they was in hell," as they tried to put them on
in the early light. They suffered at this time, more
52 Boy Life on the Prairie
poignantly than ever, from chilblains, and to crowd
their swollen feet into their angular cowhide prisons
was too grievous to be gently borne. Mrs. Stewart
mildly protested against their swearing, but she sympa-
thized, in spite of all. After an hour or two the leather
softened, and the boy forgot his rage and the agony of
the morning, till the time to kick the mopboard came
round again.
Every hour of free time was improved by Lincoln
and Ranee and Milton, for they knew by experience
how transitory the skating season was. Early in the
crisp spring air, when the trees hung thick with frost,
transforming the earth into fairyland, and the cloudless
sky was blue as a ploughshare, they clattered away over
the frozen hubbies, to the nearest pond, where the jay
and the snowbird dashed amid the glorified willow trees,
and the ice outspread like a burnished share. On such
mornings the air was so crisp and still, it seemed the
whole earth waited for the sun.
There were no lakes or rivers near the Stewart farm,
and the ponds were only small and temporary, formed
by the melting snow in the wide, flat fields. The water,
moving slowly down the hollows, or ravines, was stopped
at the fences by huge banks of intermingled slush and
ice, strong, hard, and thick, along some hedge or corn
row. And there, on some evenings in March (as mys-
teriously as in the wonder tale by Hawthorne), a lake
suddenly lay rippling, where the day before solid land
was. And upon the very ground where be had ploughed
but a few months before, Lincoln skated in riotous glee
with his playmates.
The Coming of Spring 53
At night, during the full moon, nearly all the boys
and girls of the neighborhood met, to rove up and down
the long swales, and to play " gool " or " pom-pom
pullaway " upon the frozen ponds. These games could
be played with skates, quite as well as in any other way.
There was a singular charm in these excursions at night,
across the plain, or winding up the swales filled with
imprisoned and ice-bound water. Lincoln and Ranee
often skated ofF alone and in silence, far away from the
others, and the majesty of the night fell upon them with
a light which silenced and made them afraid.
Sometimes they biiilt bonfires on the ice, both to keep
them warm and to add the mystery and splendor of flame
to the gray night. Around the crackling logs the girls
hovered, coquetting with the older boys. Lincoln and
Ranee were usually in the thick of the games, or explor-
ing new ponds far away.
The fields and meadows retained these ponds only
for a few days. That part of the water which could
not mine through the frozen ground went rushing into
the next field with such power that nothing could with-
stand it. Then again, the sun was getting higher and
warmer, and the ice thinner. By ten o'clock of a morn-
ing the boys were forced to end their sport, by reason of
the growing danger of breaking, and also because of the
water flowing over its surface. They returned sadly to
work at the woodpile.
Sometimes Lincoln lingered long, studying the won-
derful things which were taking place under the warm
rays of the sun. As the water began to ebb, it left
54 Boy Life on the Prairie
upon the grass of the meadow strange formations be-
tween the ground and the ice, which a boy's imagina-
tion could easily turn into towns and forests, and crowds
of animals and men — tiny cathedrals with spires, horse-
men with spears, riding through crystal arches, and
labyrinths of shining pillars through which the water
gurgled and tinkled with most entrancing music.
Often, with his ear pressed to the ice, Lincoln laid
long listening to the faint, fairy-like melodies rung, as
if upon tiny bells far down, mingled with splashing of
infinitesimal waterfalls, and of rhythmical, far-away lap-
ping of tiny wavelets, ebbing and flowing somewhere in
crystal channels toward the sun.
Then there were ice bubbles, which lav just under the
surface of the ice like pellucid palettes. These were
called " money " by the boys, and Lincoln sometimes
dug holes through the ice with his penknife, to let them
escape, as if he intended to discover the mystery of
their iridescence. As the dams broke, one by one,
they left great crystal terraces at the banks, exposing a
whole fairy world of architecture to the boy's inquisitive
eyes, and when the sun struck in, and lighted up the
arches, pillars, and colonnades of this frost world, his
heart ached with the beauty of it.
There was a singular charm about this time of the
year. Travel was quite impossible, for the frost had
left the roads bottomless, and so upon the chip-pile the
boys sat to watch the snow disappear from the fields,
and draw sullenly away from the russet grass, to take a
final stand at the fence corners and in the hedges. They
The Coming of Spring 55
watched the ducks as they came straggling back in long
flocks, lighting in the corn-fields to find food. They
came in enormous numbers, sometimes so great the
sky seemed darkened with them, and when they alighted
on the fields, they covered the ground like some strange
down-dropping storm from the sky, and when alarmed
they rose with a sound like the rumbling of thunder.
At times the lines were so long that those in the front
rank were lost in the northern sky, while those in
the rear were dim clouds beneath the southern sun.
Many brant and geese also passed, and it was always
a great pleasure to Lincoln to see these noble birds
pushing their way boldly into the north. He could
imitate their cries, and often caused them to turn and
waver in their flight, by uttering their resounding cries.
One day in late March, at the close of a warm sunny
day (just as the red disk of the sun was going down in
a cloudless sky in the west), down from a low hilltop,
and thrilling through the misty, wavering atmosphere,
came a singular soft, joyous " booin^ boom^ boom^ cutta^
cutta^ ivar-ivhoop ! "
" Hooray ! " shouted Lincoln. " Spring is here."
*' What was that ? " asked the hired man.
" That ? Why, that's the prairie chicken. It means
it is spring ! "
There is no sweeter sound in the ears of a prairie-
born man than the splendid morning chorus of these
noble birds, for it is an infallible sign that winter has
broken at last. The drum of the prairie cock carries
with it a thousand associations of warm sun and spring-
^6 Boy Life on the Prairie
ing grass, which thrill the heart with massive joy of
living. It is almost worth while to live through a long
unbroken Western winter, just for the exquisite delight
which comes with this first exultant phrase of the vernal
symphony.
Day by day this note is taken by others, until the
whole horizon rings with the jocund call of hundreds
of cocks, and the whooping cries of thousands of hens,
as they flock and dance about on the bare earth of the
ridges. Here they battle for their mates, and strut
about till the ground is beaten hard and smooth with
their little feet.
About this time the banking was taken away from
the house, and the windows, which had been sealed up
for five months, were opened. It was a beautiful
moment to Lincoln, when they sat at dinner in the
kitchen, with the windows and doors wide open to the
warm wind, and the sunshine floating in upon the floor.
The hens, caiu^ caiuing^ in a mounting ecstasy of greet-
ing to the spring, voiced something he had never felt
before.
As the woodpile took shape, Mr. Stewart called
upon Lincoln and the hired man to help fan up the
seed wheat. This the boys hated because it was a
dusty and monotonous job. It was of no use to cry
out J the work had to be done, and so, on a bright
afternoon, while Jack turned the crank of the mill,
Lincoln dipped wheat from the bin into the hopper,
or held the sacks for his father to fill. It seemed
particularly hard to be confined there in the dust and
The Coming of Spring 57
noise while out in the splendid sunlight the ducks
were flying, the prairie chickens calling, and the ice
was cracking and booming under the ring of the
skaters' steel.
It was about this time, also, that Lincoln became
concerned in a series of informal cock-fights. It is
difficult to tell how this came about. Probably be-
cause the roosters fought more readily than at any
other season of the year. Anyhow, the boys were
'SS£:b ,
savage enough to enjoy each battle that broke out in
their barn-yard.
Lincoln yielded readily to Milton's banter, and, with
a rooster in a bag under his arm, trotted off one Sun-
day to Neighbor Jennings's barn-yard, there to arrange
a bout between his rooster and a chosen warrior of
Milton's flock.
The actions of the roosters were amazingly human.
The boys understood every note and gesture, and could
tell what each bird was thinking about by the slant
of his head, and by the way he lifted and put down
his feet, as well as by the tones of his voice. Some-
times the strange bird would be so disheartened by his
58 Boy Life on the Prairie
surroundings and by the savage aspect of his challenger,
that he would drop his tail in dismay and run under
the barn. This was considered a disgrace, and brought
shame upon the owner of the fowl, which he must
forthwith return to its own yard, and bring a better
and more valiant warrior.
In this case, however, the long confinement in the
darkness of the sack had made Lincoln's bird ex-
tremely belligerent, and, upon being released, he walked
forth into the open arena with imperious strides, and
blew his bugle in contempt of the world. This de-
liffhted his master and made him regret that he had
agreed to trade him away.
Both birds were magnificent fellows, lofty of step,
imperious of voice, with plumage of green and orange
and purple, which shone in the sunlight like burnished
brass. They were shapely, sinewy game-birds, quite
unlike the ugly squat " Plymouth Rocks." They had
the pride of Indian chiefs in their step, and the splen-
dor of the rainbow in their curving tails.
As the combatants approached each other, the boys
clapped hands in joy of the coming fray. Suddenly
the roosters' heads lowered and out-thrust. The shin-
ing rufi^ around each neck bristled with anger and
resolution. For a moment, with eyes seemingly bound
together by some invisible thread, they moved their
heads up and down, so silently it seemed that one was
onlv the shadow of the other.
Suddenly with a rush Milton's bird flung himself
upon his foe, striking with his spurs at the heart of
The Coming of Spring 59
his foe. For a time neither rested. The fight was
hot. At times they seized each other by the bill, and
rung and twisted like turkey-cocks, or flung themselves
against each other with flutter of wings, in a cloud
of feathers and dust, rushing again and again, until
too tired to do more than brush against each other.
Then began their most bloody execution, for they
laid hands upon each other at short range. They
seized each other by the comb, and chewed and tore
like bulldogs.
At last Milton's bird gave way and started on a
feeble run to escape his pursuer, who kept on with
his fighting as if he were a clockwork mechanism
and had not yet run down. And when at last the
vanquished one had crawled under the barn, the con-
queror lifted his head in perfectly human exultation
and sent forth such a crow — so filled with scorn and
pride — that Milton was a little nettled, and said,
"Wait till old Hancock gets after you."
It then remained for Lincoln to take his choice from
among the flock in Milton's yard, and the two boys re-
turned home to witness another battle. Mrs. Stewart
mildly reproved them for their brutality, but they ar-
gued with her that there was no help for it. If a new
strain of blood was to be brought into the barn-yard, a
fight must take place, and so long as it ?iiust take place
there was no good reason why it should not be wit-
nessed. To this she could not make convincing reply.
Another, and less savage diversion of the boys at this
season of the year, was the hiding of Easter eggs.
6o Boy Life on the Prairie
There was no special reason for it, and yet as a custom
it was quite common among the children of the settlers
from New York and the Middle States. The avowed
purpose was to lay up a supply of eggs for Easter Sun-
day. But as they were always extremely plenty at this
season of the year, and almost worthless, the motive
must be sought deeper down. Perhaps it was a survival
of some old-world superstitions. Anyhow, Lincoln and
his brother Owen began to hide eggs in all sorts of out of
the way places for full three weeks before Easter Sunday.
It was understood by Mr. Stewart that if he could
discover their hiding-places, the eggs might be confis-
cated, and he made elaborate pretence of searching for
them. One of the shrewd ways in which the boys
made concealment, was by lifting a flake of hay from
the stack, and making a hole beneath it. Upon letting
the flake of weather-beaten thatch fall back into place,
all signs of the nest disappeared. As the hens were lay-
ing a great many eggs each day, it was very difficult for
Mrs. Stewart to tell how many the boys were hiding —
she did not greatly care.
In his meetings with Milton and Ranee, Lincoln
compared notes, as to numbers, and together the four
boys planned their Easter outing. Day after day, Mr.
Stewart, to the great dread of the boys, went poking
about close to the very spot where the eggs were hidden,
and twice he found a small " nest." But this only
added to the value of those remaining and stimulated
the boys to yet other and more skilful de\ices in
concealment.
The Coming of Spring
6i
They were able, in spite of his search, to save up
several dozens of eggs, which they triumphantly brought
to light on Easter morning, with gusty shouts of laugh-
ter over the pretended dismay of their parents.
With these eggs packed in a pail, with a few biscuits,
some salt and pepper, Lincoln and Owen started out to
meet their companions. Ranee and Milton, and together
they all set forth toward a distant belt of forest in which
Burr Oak Creek ran.
There, in the warm spring sun, on the grassy bank
beside the stream, they built their fire and cooked their
eggs for their midday meal. Some they boiled, others
they roasted in the ashes. Ranee caught a chub or two
from the brook, which added a wild savor to the meal,
but eggs were considered a necessary order of the day ;
all else was by the way.
Something primeval and splendid clustered about this
unusual camp-fire. Around them were bare trees, with
buds just beginning to swell. The grass was green only
in the sunny nooks, but the sky was filled with soft
62 Boy Life on the Prairie
white clouds. For guests they had the squirrels and
the blue jays. It was a celebration of their escape from
the bonds of winter, and a greeting to spring. There
was no conscious feeling in this feast, as far as the boys
were concerned. But the deep-down explanation was
this, thev had gone back to the worship of Ocstre^ the
Anglo-Saxon divinity of Spring. They had returned to
the primitive, to the freedom of the savage, not know-
ing that the egg was the symbol of regenerate nature.
As a matter of fact, the flavor of these eggs was not
good ; the burned shells had a disagreeable odor, and the
boys would have been very sorry if Mrs. Stewart had
served up for them anything so disagreeable of flavor.
But the curl of smoke from the grass with which they
started the fire, the scream of the jay, the hawk
sweeping by overhead, the touch of ashes on their
tongues, the smell of the growing grass, and the sky
above, made it all wonderful and wild and very sweet.
When at night they returned, tired and sleepy, to the
warmly lighted kitchen and to mother, they considered
the day well spent, uniting as it did the pleasures of
both civilization and barbarism.
During these spring days the sunny side of the straw-
stacks had a vivid charm. There the hens sat to dream
in the sun, and the cows lay there chewing their cuds.
The boys spent many of their leisure hours scuffling on
the straw or lying dormant as the pigs, absorbing the
heat and light. Next to the chip-pile it was the most
comfortable resting-place about the farm, between the
melting of the snow and the coming on of spring.
SEEDING
At last one morning Mr. Stewart said : —
" Well, boys, now we'll get out the drags." And a
most interesting day followed. The hired man jointed
the harrows, and Mr. Stewart put the seeder teeth on,
and scoured up the plough, and made every preparation
for the spring campaign.
A few days later, he said : " Well, Lincoln, get out
into the field to-day, and try it."
It was still freezing of nights, but by ten o'clock Lin-
coln was upon the land with the harrow. He found
the field dry on the swells, but still wet and cold in the
ravines. He kept at work all the afternoon, in a tenta-
tive way, retaining the delicious feeling that he could
really quit at any time, if he wished to do so. This
thought made the work seem almost like play. He
unhitched early for supper, and did not go out again.
The next day it was frozen in the morning, and the
man finished up the woodpile and raked away the
refuse in the front yard. Li the afternoon Lincoln got
out the drag again, as before. On Saturday he worked
leisurely, nearly all day. Sunday he went to church
63
64
Boy Life on the Prairie
over at the Grove School-house, and met Ranee and
Milton and Ben, and they stood around on the sunny
side of the building and talked of seeding, and boasted
about how much they had done already. This meeting
of a Sunday became of verv great value after school was
out, and the farm work begun.
On Monday morning Air. Stewart's voice had a
stern ring as he called in the early dawn : *■'■ All out,
boys. It is business now."
No more dallying was allowed, no more tentative
assaults — the seeding was begun. Mr. Stewart dro\e
a load of wheat into the field and dispersed the white
sacks across the land, like fence posts. The hired man
followed with the broadcast seeder, while Lincoln moved
into the " south forty " behind the fifty-tooth harrow, with
mingled feelings of exultation and dismay.
Around him prairie chickens were whooping, and
files of geese, with slow, steady flight, swept by at great
height, wary and weary. Meadow-larks piped pleas-
antly. Ground sparrows arose from the soil in myriads.
Seeding 65
and flung themselves upward into the sky Hke grains of
wheat from a sower's hand. Theh' chatter came out
of the air like the voices of spirits invisible and multi-
tudinous. Prairie pigeons on sounding wing swooped
over the swells so close to the ground they seemed like
monstrous serpents. As he struck across the field, the
sun not far up in the sky was warm and red, but the
wind was keen. He looked about to see if any of his
neighbors had beaten him into action. There were no
signs of Ranee on his right, or Ben on his left. He
heard the first bang of the seedbox, clear and sharp as
a morning gun, as the hired man flung the cover shut
and called ^'•Glang there^ boysT
Back and forth across the wide field Lincoln moved,
while the sun crawled up high and higher in the
sky. It was viciously hard work. His heels sank in
the soft earth, making the tendons of his heels creak
and strain. The mud loaded itself upon his boots, till
he seemed a convict with ball and chain, but he
dragged himself along doggedly mechanical, like a fly
stuck in molasses. He was hungry by half-past nine,
and famished at eleven o'clock. Thereafter the sun
appeared to stand still. His stomach caved in and his
knees trembled with weakness, before the white flag
fluttered from the chamber window, announcing dinner.
However, he found strength to shout to the hired hand,
and unhitching with great haste, climbed upon his nigh
horse, and rode to the barn.
It was good to go into the kitchen, smelling sweet
and fine with fresh biscuit and hot coffee. The men
F
66 Boy Life on the Prairie
all ate like dragons, devouring potatoes and salt pork,
without end, but Mrs. Stewart only mildly remarked,
" For the land's sake, don't bust yourselves."
After such a dinner, Lincoln despaired of being able
to move again. Luckily he had half-an-hour in which
to get his courage back, and besides, there was the
stirring power of his father's clarion call. Mr. Stewart
appeared superhuman to his son. He saw everything,
seemed never to sleep, and never hesitated. Long
before the nooning was up, so it seemed, he began to
shout : —
" Roll out, boys, roll out ! Business on hand ! "
Lincoln hobbled to the barn, lame, stiff, and sore.
The sinews of his legs had shortened and his knees
were bent like an old man's. Once into the field he
perceived a subtle change, a mellower charm; the ground
was warmer, the sky more genial, and the wind more
amiable, and before he had made his first round his legs
were limbered up once more.
The tendency to sit and dream the hours away
was very great, and he laid his tired body down in the
tawny sunlit grass at the back of the field, behind
a hedge of hazel bushes, and gazed up at the beautiful
clouds sailing by, wishing he had nothing else to do in
the world. He saw cranes sailing at immense heights,
so far aloft their cries could be heard only when he held
his breath. Oh, the beauty and majesty of their life !
The wind whispered in the tall weeds, and sighed to
the hazel bushes. The grass blades touched each other
in the passing winds, and the gophers, glad of escape
Seeding 67
from their dark, underground prisons, whistled their
cheery greetings to the sun.
But the far-off voice of his father aroused the boy,
and taking up the Hnes again, he returned to his toil,
like some small insect, crawling across the wide brown
field. His team was made up of two big, powerful
colts, and he was forced to cross the reins over his
back, in order to hold them down. He grew weak and
lame as the sun went behind a cloud and the wind
became chill, yet he dared not rest.
The hired man never halted, except to put in seed.
Lincoln could hear his sharp commands to the team,
and the noise of the seeder, as he pushed his way from
one side of the farm to the other. Beyond the fence,
too far away for even a signal to pass between them,
he could see Ranee hard at it, like himself, and that
comforted him a little.
By five o'clock he was hungry, and not merely tired
— he was exhausted. The sun was setting dimly at
the west. The prairie chickens were again in evening
chorus. The gophers had gone back to their burrows.
The geese and ducks were flying low, seeking resting-
places, and the wind was bitter — the piercing chill of
coming night was in it. The going of the sun seemed
to put the springtime farther off. Again he unhitched
his tired horses, and moved slowly toward the house,
where Owen was pumping water for the cattle, and
bringing in wood for the kitchen fire. The kitchen
fire seemed a good thing again and the supper of salt
pork, mashed potatoes, and tea tasted very good indeed
68 Boy Life on the Prairie
after five hours in the field. He could not bring him-
self to go out after supper so painful were the tendons
on his heels, but in a few days this soreness passed
away.
Some of Mr. Stewart's fields were two miles away,
and the men did not go home at noon, but ate their cold
lunch in a clump of hazel bushes, or on the sunny side
of a " sink-hole," which offered shelter. There was
a sense of strangeness and wildness in all this to Lin-
coln, as he lay in the tall, dead grass, hearing the gusty
winds sweep by like vultures, whose wings wallowed
the wild oats at furious speed. Sometimes the blast
was cold and swift and bleak, chilling them all to the
marrow, making the tender cheeks of the boys red and
painful. Sometimes the snow came, spiteful and sting-
ing, and the soil grew wet and sticky again. But the
clouds were fleeting, for the most part the sun shone,
and the wind was soft and warm.
And so, day by day, the boys walked their monoto-
nous rounds upon the ever mellowing soil. They saw
the geese pass on to the north, and the green grass come
into the sunny slopes. They answered the splendid
challenge of the solitary crane, and watched the ground
sparrow build her lowly nest. Their muscles grew firm
and their toil tired them less. Each day the earth grew
warmer, and the great clouds more summer-like; the
wild chickens began to mate and seek solitarv homes in
the grassy swales. The pocket gopher commenced to
throw up his fresh purple-brown mounds. Larks, blue-
birds, and king-birds followed the robins, and at last the
Seeding
69
full tide of spring was sweeping northward over the
prairie, and the final cross-dragging of the well-mellowed
soil had a charm which almost counterbalanced the
weary tramp, tramp behind the uncomplaining team.
Long before the last field was finished, the dust began
to move on the southern breeze, and the boy, who be-
gan by wading in the mud, ended by being blackened by
the dust as he rode the "smoocher."
During these busy weeks, the boys met each other
only on Sunday, when Milton and Ranee or Ben came
to see Lincoln and Owen, or Milton and Ben " called
round " for Lincoln and stayed for dinner or supper.
These were pleasant days. Their playing was zestful.
As soon as the ground would allow it, they took off their
boots, and the delightful sense of lightness and deftness
thus gained, led them to turn handsprings and run races,
clean forgetting their week-day toil in the field.
At this time some heavy rains came on, and the " runs "
yo Boy Life on the Prairie
or ravines filled with rushing torrents of water, which
added dignity and strangeness to the quiet prairie, and
the boys spent a day wandering up and down the banks
of Prairie Run, studying the wreckage in the boihng
water, and hstening to its roar. The current was so
swift it swept away bridges, and cattle and pigs, whose
bodies, floating in the eddies, added a sinister quality to
the flood.
After a Sunday of riding about on their ponies, with
their friends, the boys found it very hard to return to the
stern toil of Monday morning. The world always
seemed a little darker at sunset on Sunday night than
on Saturday night. The week ahead of them seemed
hopelessly long and profitless, and when they answered
the imperious " reveille " of their father's " Roll out,
boys, roll out ! " it was but feebly and gloomily.
On the new land it was no light job to run the har-
row. The roots of the hazel brush clogged the teeth,
and it was necessary to lift it often, and this was hard
work for boys of ten and twelve. It was necessary,
also, to guide the horses constantly, to see that they
" lapped half," and sometimes the dust blew so thickly
that not only were the boys coated with it, but their
eyes were blinded by it, and the tears of rage and rebel-
lion they shed stained their cheeks with comic lines.
At such times it seemed hard to be a prairie farmer's
son.
Once Lincoln was tempted into giving chase to a big
gray gopher, and the sound of his whip startled the
spirited team, and they ran away across the field, each
Seeding yi
moment wilder, till at last one horse fell, and the other
flung the overturned harrow upon his mate mangling
him so that it was necessary to kill him. This was the
most tragic event of Lincoln's life up to this time, and
fairly stunned him with remorse, for he loved the colt
and considered him one of the most wonderful creatures
in the world.
He helped the hired man bury him, and when he
threw the first shovelful of earth on the grand body, his
throat ached and tears streamed down his cheeks. The
hired man respected the boy's grief, and did not joke.
Mr. Stewart remained stern and accusing for many days,
but did not refer to the tragedy, which darkened the
boy's life for many days.
One day as he went to the field he scared a great
black bird from the spot where the colt was buried. It
was the prairie vulture or " turkey-buzzard." With
three flaps of his enormous wings he mounted the air,
and then without an observable flutter of a feather he
looped and circled and rose, calmly, easefully, until he
mingled with the clouds and passed from sight. Not
even his grewsome reputation could lessen the majesty
of his flight, and Lincoln stood long wondering how he
could make the wind his servant and the cloud his
brother. Not even the crane could overtop this
demon of the air.
THE VULTURE OF THE PLAINS
He wings a slow and watchful flio;ht,
His neck is bare, his eves are bright,
His plumage fits the starless night.
He sits at feast where cattle lie
Withering in ashen alkali,
And gorges till he scarce can fly.
But he is kingly on the breeze !
On rigid wing in royal ease
A soundless bark on vicvvdess seas,
Piercing the purple storm-cloud — he makes
The sun his neighbor, and shakes
His wrinkled neck in mock dismay.
Swinging his slow contemptuous way
Above the hot red lightning's plav : —
Monarch of cloudland — yet a ghoul at prey.
72
THE HERALD CRANE
Ah ! Say you so, bold sailor,
In the sunlit deeps of sky.
Dost thou so soon the seed-time tell
In thy imperial cry.
As circling in yon shoreless sea
Thine unseen form goes drifting by ?
I cannot trace in the noonday glare
Thy regal flight, O Crane ;
From the leaping might of the fiery light
Mine eyes recoil in pain.
But on mine ear thine echoing cry
Falls like a bugle strain.
The mellow soil glows beneath my feet,
Where lies the buried grain ;
The warm light floods the length and breadth
Of the vast, dim, shimmering plain.
Throbbing with heat and the nameless thrill
Of the birth time's restless pain.
On weary wing plebeian geese
Push on their arrowy line
Straight into the north, and snowy brant.
In dazzling sunlight, gloom, and shine.
73
74 Boy Life on the Prairie
But thou, O Crane, at thy far height,
On proud extended wings sweepst on
In silent, easeful flight.
Then cry, thou martial-throated herald !
Cry to the sun, and sweep
And swing along thy mateless course
Above the clouds that sleep
On lazy wind — cry on! Send down
Thy trumpet note; it seems
The voice of hope and dauntless will,
And breaks the spell of dreams.
CHAPTER VII
PLANTING CORN
The preparation for the corn planting followed imme-
diately upon the cross-dragging of the wheat-field. The
ground set apart for this crop had been ploughed in the
fall, but it was necessary to cultivate it with the seeder
and harrow, till it became smooth and tillable as a
garden-patch.
At this time the earliest sown wheat-field was a lovely
green, tender and translucent. The meadows rang with
melody. The geese and loons had all passed over to the
lakes of the north, but the crane still made the sky ring
with his majestic note. Hardly a day passed but one of
these inspiring birds called from the fathomless depths of
the sky. The morning symphony of prairie chickens
had begun to die away. The popple groves were deli-
ciously green, and their round leaves were beffinnino- to
to
quiver in the wind. The oak's brown branches had
taken on delicate pinks and browns, as the tender buds
slowly unfolded, and though not yet quite as " large as a
squirrel's ear," Farmer Stewart considered it quite time
to plant his corn.
75
76 Boy Life on the Prairie
This was the 3d of May, and formed one of the most
joyous experiences of the year. The field's broad acres
lay out beautifully smooth and brown and warm after
the final crossing of the harrow. Mr. Stewart rode
cross it with the " marker " (a contrivance resembling a
four-runnered sleigh), leaving the mellow soil lined with
little furrows about four feet apart. The earth was now
ready for the seed, for it was the custom of the best
farmers to wait and mark it the other way, just ahead of
the droppers, in order that the grain should fall into
moist earth.
In those davs the corn was still planted by hand and
covered with a hoe. Lincoln, who had been helping to
make the garden, to rake up the yard, to clip vines, and
to set onions, was tired of " puttering," and eager to
drop corn. " You'll have enough of it before Saturday
night," said his father. Mr. Stewart was a lover of corn,
and had set aside a larger field than any of his neighbors.
Early on a fine May morning, Lincoln made one of a
crew, starting for the field. He was accompanied by
Milton, Owen, Mr. Stewart, Neighbor Jennings, and
Jack, the hired man. Mr. Jennings was "changing
works " ; that is, he was helping Mr. Stewart, with the
understanding that he would be paid in kind. His soil
was a little " colder " and was not quite ready.
Mr. Stewart drove the " marker," followed by Milton
and Lincoln, who dropped the seed, while iMr. Jennings
and Jack, with light, shapely, flashing, steel hoes, fol-
lowed, to cover it. Owen was commissioned to plant
pumpkin-seeds, which he considered a high honor for the
Planting Corn 77
first half-hour, and a burden, grievous to be borne, there-
after.
The " marker," as it passed over the field, crossed the
lines running the other wav, thus producing checks or
squares about three feet and nine inches each way. At the
intersection of these markings the seeds were dropped
and covered. The field, mellow as a garden, lay palpi-
tating under the sun ; the air was so still that the voices
of the girls on the Hutchison farm could be heard in
laughter. Ben's sisters were dropping corn over there,
and Jack said, " By Mighty ! for a cent I'd quit and go
work over there m'self."
The first thing Lincoln did was to pull off his boots,
in order not to miss the delicious feeling of the warm
soil, as the tender soles of his feet sank into it, bur-
rowing like some wild thing lately returned to its
native element. He wore one of his mother's old calico
aprons tied round his waist, with a big knot in the slack
of it, to make a pouch capable of carrying several quarts
of corn. Having filled this with seed, he was ready to
take his place in one of the rows.
Now, the rule was to drop three or four kernels (no
more and no less) in each intersection of the grooves.
The sharp eyes of those who followed were certain to
detect any mistake, though if you were a pretty girl, the
men with the hoes would say nothing about your blun-
ders. After Lincoln got the swing of it, he planted his
left foot each time close to the crossing, and dropped
the seeds just before his toes, fearing not the swift,
steady stroke of the hoes behind. The soil was so fria-
yS Boy Life on the Prairie
ble, and the hoes so light and keen, a single clip covered
each hill, and the skilful hoemen pressed the droppers
hard. The gait was a steady walk, and the dull ring of
the steel at each bov's naked heel was like the tick of a
clock, and an ever present incentive to speed and regu-
larity. In a short time Lincoln became so skilful he
could not only keep up his own row, but help Milton
occasionally when he fell behind.
It was hard work ; on this the bovs were agreed. It
made their necks ache, and stiffened their backs, espe-
cially as the day grew windy, and they were obliged to
stoop to the hills. By the time they had gone the whole
way across the wide field they were very glad to take a
look at the sky, and at the end of each round they con-
sumed a great deal of time in filling their pouches. As the
forenoon wore away, the sun grew warmer, and Mr.
Stewart, looking out over the fine, level wheat-field,
getting greener each hour, said, in a voice solemn
with veneration, " I just believe I can hear that wheat
grow."
Notwithstanding, the work, these days of planting
corn, had a distinct and mellow charm, filled as they
were with superb dawns and warm, sensuous, slumbrous
noons. Nisht came after most gorgeously colored and
silent sunsets, when the orange light flamed across a sea
of tender, springing wheat, and a rising mist was in the
air. The diminishing chorus of the prairie chickens
rang, in mournful, quavering chorus, through the haze,
the joy of spring quite lost out of it, but the frogs in the
marsh took up and carried forward the theme, as night
Planting Corn 79
slowly fell and the bird-voices slowly died away. Spring
was merging into sultry summer.
Corn-planting practically finished the spring work,
and there came a welcome breathing-spell for the boys
and the teams. The horses, so shining and plump a
few weeks before, were gaunt and worn. The men,
also, felt a vast relief; for all through April, from early
morning till late at night, they had tramped ceaselessly
to and fro across the field. They were glad of the
chance to break the wild sod and to build fences.
In a few days, with four horses hitched to a sixteen-
inch breaking-plough, the hired man went forth to slit
the smooth green sod into strips.
Lincoln sadly watched the tender grass and the spring-
ing flowers as they rolled beneath the remorseless mould-
board, but there was also a deep pleasure in seeing the
smooth, shining, almost unbroken ribbon of black soil
tuck itself into the furrow, behind the growling share.
Around them, on the swells, gophers whistled, and the
nesting plover quaveringly called. The blackbirds
clucked in the furrow, and gray-bearded badgers
watched, with jealous eye, the ploughman's steady
progress toward ' his knoll. The weather was perfect
May. Big fleecy clouds sailed from west to east, and
the wind was soft and kind.
It required a man to hold the big breaking-plough, as
it went ripping and tearing through the groves of hazel
brush, and sometimes Mr. Stewart was called to sit on
the plough-beam, to hold it to its work, while Jack
braced himself to the handles. And so, one by one.
8o Boy Life on the Prairie
the " tow-heads " yielded to the axe and the plough.
The boys helped to pile and burn the brush, which the
men cut with a short, heavy scythe. This was pleasant
business for a little while, but came at last to be a pun-
ishment and imprisonment, like all other toil. Every
change of work brought joy, like a release from prison.
From the seeding, corn-planting seemed very desirable ;
but when the hoes had clicked behind their heels for a
couple of days the boys longed for breaking or fence-
building. Burning brush seemed glorious sport until
they had tried it, and found it \erv hot and disagreeable,
after all. The fact is, they considered any continuous
labor an infringement of their right to liberty and the
pursuit of knowledge.
Fence-building suited Lincoln very well. Mr. Stew-
art went ahead, starting the holes with a crowbar. After
him Lincoln drove a team containing sharpened posts
and a barrel of water. The holes were filled with water
to soften the ground, and then, the post being dropped
therein and properly lined up, Da\id McTurg swung
the great iron beetle high in the air and brought it
down upon the squared timber with a loud " hoh ! "
which the boys considered indispensable to powerful
effort. There was somethino- laro-e and fine in his
wide swing of the maul, and Lincoln looked forward
eagerly to the time when he should be able to set a
post three inches into the ground with every clip. As
it was, he had nothing to do but drive the team, which
pleased him very well.
But this, after all, was only a diversion. The work
Planting Corn 8i
of clearing and breaking the sod on the new land, and
the daily care of the springing corn, were of first im-
portance. They all returned to breaking sod and clear-
ing away brush after a few days of fence-building.
One day as he was helping his father pile brush,
Lincoln stopped to examine a blossoming strawberry
vine. His fingers were almost touching it when he
caught the glitter of a small, metallic eye, and dis-
covered the severed head of a rattlesnake lying just
under the white flower. He sprang back with a sud-
den cry of fear, which brought his father to the spot.
Together they examined the reptile.
It was a " Massasauga " or meadow rattlesnake. The
scythe had clipped his head and about four inches of
neck from his body, and he lay sullenly quiet, with
his little black, forked tongue playing in and out of
his mouth. As Mr. Stewart presented a piece of
popple bark, the head opened its mouth wide and flat
and struck its fine, curving fangs into it. Immediately
a light-green liquid collected and began to creep up
the inner side of the bark, and Lincoln shuddered to
think how powerful that minute drop of poison was.
He had been accustomed to rattlesnakes all his life.
On the wooded hills of Wisconsin, in the limestone
country, the big black-and-yellow Crotalus horr'idus was
common. In the spring, when the suns of early April
began to warm the rocks on southward-sloping bluffs,
they came out to lie in the sun and breed before start-
ing downward into the fields and meadows below.
Nothing can be more sinister than a knot of these
G
82 Boy Life on the Prairie
terrible creatures, — a mass of twisting, shining bodies,
from which the flat heads protrude like tassels, instinct
with hatred and defiance, deadly as lightning and as
swift. In autumn they returned to their dens in the
seams of the clifts.
Lincoln, when not more than eight years of age,
used to go with his uncles hunting these breeding-
places ; and he had often seen them whip with long poles
these masses of rattling monsters into bloody shreds,
and he had seen the more agile of them slide away
beneath the rocks silent as golden oil. He had hap-
pened upon them beside his path ; his ear was ac-
quainted with their ringing, rattling, buzzing, singing
menace. Once a great, thick, sullen fellow was killed
in his father's barn-yard, after he had scared the chickens
into a frenzy by his mere presence. One of the men
put the wounded snake near a hen with chickens, and
it seemed she would go crazy with fear. She seemed
to know by instinct his dread power.
The boys had often seen them cut in pieces by the
mowing-machine, and in the harvest-field once a big
one dropped from the sheaf David McTurg was bind-
ing. The boys knew them well and did not greatly
fear them. In fact, Lincoln used to hunt the cows
on the hills in Wisconsin barefooted and alone with
less fear of the snakes than of purely imaginary bears
and wolves. When he first heard of the " Massasau-
gas " in Rock County, therefore, he was curious rather
than alarmed, and his parents were correspondingly
undisturbed. These small gray fellows had the eft<?ct
Planting Corn 83
of being mild imitations after a long experience with
the yellow monsters of the lichen-spotted limestone
clifFs of their old home. They were smaller, more
sluggish, and presumably less poisonous, though every
herd of cattle had one or more invalids with jaw swol-
len to enormous size to testify to the terrible power of
the virus even of these prairie cousins of the Horridm
family.
Moreover, there was less liability of ambush in the
prairie country, and the breaking ploughs were a remorse-
less agency in destroying the gray pests. Hardly a day
passed without Jack's triumphant exhibition of several
new bunches of rattles, and the men used to compare
notes on Sunday as they sat around the horse-block at
church, and boast of the number they had killed.
One of the neighbors who took dinner with Mr.
Stewart about this time horrified the mother by declar-
ing that he had killed three hundred Massasaugas on his
place alone. " We don't mind 'em," said he, " any
more'n so many garter-snakes. You jest want to
mind where you step, and where you put your bare
hand ; that's all."
Nevertheless the boys never came upon that cold
gray coil and lifted, steady, poised triangular head and
blurring tail, without feeling that a deadly weapon was
aimed and remorselessly ready to take a life.
THE STRIPED GOPHER
He is a roguish little wag ;
He sits like priest with folded hands ;
The farm-boy stops his dusty drag,
And mocks his whistle where he stands.
The crane in deeps of sunlit sky
Proclaims the spring with bugle-note —
Not less the prophecies which lie
Within the gopher's cheery note.
From radiant slopes of pink and green,
From warm brown fields, his greetings fret j
The eye of hawk is not more keen
Than his when danger seems to threat.
He is a cunning little wag;
He sits and jeers with folded hands ;
The farm-bov stoops behind his drag,
And fliuiis a missile where he stands.
^
.,i^^^r* ■./-/■:;:-- v.;-'''^i^
84
CHAPTER VIII
SNARING GOPHERS
After the corn was planted, the younger lads were
set to work snaring and shooting the gophers from the
corn-fields. The prairie abounded at this time with two
sorts of ground squirrel, which the settlers called " the
striped gopher " and " the gray gopher." The striped
gopher resembled a large chipmunk, and the gray gopher
was apparently a squirrel that had taken to the fields.
The " pocket gopher " was considered a sort of mole or
rat and not really a gopher.
The survival of the fittest had brought about a beauti-
ful adaptation to environment in both cases. The small
one had become so delicately striped in brown and
yellow, as to be well-nigh invisible in the short grass of
the upland, while the gray gopher, living in and about
the nooks and corners of the fields, which held over
from year to year long tufts of gray and weather-beaten
grass, fitted quite as closely to his background, his yellow-
gray coat aiding him in his efforts to escape the eyes of
the hawk and the wolf.
The little striped rogues absolutely swarmed in the
wild sod immediately adjoining the new-broken fields,
and were a great pest, for they developed a most annoy-
ing cleverness in finding and digging up the newly
85
86 Boy Life on the Prairie
planted corn. In some subtle way they had learned that
wherever two deep paths crossed, with a little mound
of dirt in the centre, there sweet food was to be had,
and it was no uncommon thing to find a long row of
sprouting kernels dug up in this manner, with most un-
erring precision.
It was clearly a case of inherited aptitude, for their
cousins, far out on the prairie, were by no means so
shrewd. Dwelling within the neighborhood of man for
a few generations had been valuable. Inherited apti-
tude was plainly superimposed upon native shrewdness.
They were a positive plague, and it became painfully
necessary to wipe them out or give up the corn. It
was the business of every boy in the neighborhood to
wage remorseless war upon them each day in the week,
from the time the corn was planted until it had grown
too big to be uprooted.
So Lincoln carried a shot-gun about the field with
which to slay these graceful little creatures, while Owen
followed behind to cut off their tails as trophies. They
were allowed two cents bounty (from their father) for
every striped gopher, and three cents apiece for every
gray gopher they killed. They generally made two
rounds each day. They soon discovered that the little
rascals were most likely to be out at about ten o'clock
of each warm forenoon, and once again between four
and five.
The boys went to this task with pleasure, but there
was something aesthetic mingled with the delight of suc-
cessful shooting. Like the angler or hunter, they en-
Snaring Gophers 87
joyed the vivid sunlight, the fresh winds, the warm
earth, and especially the freedom of the hunter. Oc-
casionally as Lincoln looked down at a poor bleeding
little gopher at the door of his house, he suffered a keen
twinge of remorse, and reproved himself for cruelty.
However, it seemed the only way out, so he hardened
himself and went on with his desolating work. He was
too small to hold the gun at arm's length, but rested it
on his knee or on a small stick which Owen consented
to carry.
It was, after all, sad business, and often the tender,
springing grass, the far-away faint and changing purple
of the woods, the shimmer of the swelling prairie, leap-
ing toward the flaming sun — all the inexpressible glow
and pulse of blooming spring — witched him from his
warfare. He lay prone on his back while the gophers
whistled and dashed about in play, watching the hawks
dipping and wheeling in the shimmering air, and listen-
ing to the quavering, wailing cry of the plovers as they
settled to the earth with uplifted pointed wings. The
twitter of innumerable ground sparrows passing over-
head united with the sweet and thrilling signals of the
meadow-lark, to complete the wondrous charm of the
morning air.
Killing gophers was like fishing, — an excuse for en-
joying the prairie. Often on Sunday mornings, together
with Milton and Ranee, Owen and Lincoln sallied
forth, armed with long pieces of stout twine to snare
the little pests, for they were not allowed to fire a gun
on Sunday. They became very expert in this business.
88 Boy Life on the Prairie
Having driven a gopher to his burrow, they took a
little turn on the sod, in order to drag their strings taut.
Then, slipping the noose well down into the hole, they
retired to the end of the string to wait for the little fel-
low to pop his head through the noose, which he usually
did after some moments of perfect silence. It is their
habit to come suddenly and silently to the top of their
burrows, and to cautiously and slowly lift their heads
until they can fix an eye on you. You must be keen-
eyed, or you will fail to observe the small head, which is
almost exactly the color of the surrounding grass. If
you glance away from the burrow even for a moment,
you may fail to find it when you look back.
For they are not only exceedingly shrewd, but they
are rare ventriloquists. After sitting a couple of min-
utes and seeing nothing, you may hear a low, sweet trill,
like that of a sleepy bird. You cannot place it — it
seems to be in the air one moment and behind you the
next moment. The crafty rascal has come up at some
other hole and is laughing at you.
You turn your head, '-'- cheep-eep" — a slight movement
and he is gone. You adjust your snare at the new bur-
row and again sit patiently and as still as stone for four
or five minutes, perhaps ten, before you hear again that
sly, sleepy trill. It sounds back of you, at first, then in
front, and at last, by studying every inch of the ground
before you, you detect a bright eye gleaming upon you
from the burrow where your snare had been set at first.
You now understand that you arc dealing with "an old
residentcr," not a young and foolish child.
Snaring Gophers 89
Owen often strup-trled for hours to snare one of these
cunning old tricksters. He was accustomed to lie flat on
his belly, with his feet waving in the air like small banners,
his eyes fixed upon the hole, with fingers ready to twitch
the string, but he generally grew impatient and looked
away or moved, and so lost his chance. It required even
greater patience and skill to succeed in snaring the gray
gopher, who was capable of breaking the string when
caught.
However, snaring was only part of the fun. When
they grew tired of killing things, they could lay out full
length on the warm, bright green sod, and listen to the
softened sounds of the prairie, seeing the girls picking
"goslins" on the sunny slopes, enjoying in sensuous
drowse the clouds, the sun, and the earth, content, like
the lambs or like Rover, to be left in peace in the down-
pour of spring sunshine. There was no grass for the wan-
dering wind to wave, no trees to rustle, nothing to break
the infinite peace which brooded over the wide prairie.
They felt, at such moments, some such pleasure as
that the fisherman knows, when dropping his rod among
the ferns he watches the soaring eagle high in the air, or
listens to the ripple of the restless stream.
But neither the snare nor the shot-gun sufficed to keep
these bright-eyed little people from eating up the seed,
and Mr. Stewart went to the great length of scattering
poisoned grains of corn about the field. This seemed
to Lincoln a repulsive and terrible thing to do, but the
father argued, " The poor beasties must give way, or
you'll have no Johnny cake for your milk."
90 Boy Life on the Prairie
The boys soon had a box partly filled with gray
gophers, which they tried hard to tame. It was supposed
that the gray gopher, like the squirrel, could be made a
household pet, but as a matter of fact thev were particu-
larly savage and untamable. They not only fought
their captors, but they fought each other with unrelent-
ing ferocity. There was something hard and stern,
something pitiless and threatening, in their eyes. They
invariably gnawed a hole through the box and escaped
long before they showed the slightest affection for the
boys, though they fed them on bread and milk and the
choicest grains of corn.
One day Jack brought home a half-grown badger,
and the boys were at once wildly excited by his
snarling and hissing. He was ready to do battle at any
moment ; and though Owen put him in a box and fed
him fat gophers and milk, and all kinds of good things,
he never grew much tamer. Lincoln, as a piece of
daring, sometimes stroked his flat, pointed head, but
always at risk of having his fingers snapped off. He
had a bad smell, also, and at last they grew tired of him,
and turned him out again, on the sod. He waddled
away flat in the grass, eagerly, swiftly. They followed
him until he burrowed into a ridge and hid himself from
sight, and never again attempted to tame one of his
kind.
It was impossible not to have business with skunks,
for they were thick. They were a greater terror to the
boys than rattlesnakes; for aside from their nauseating
odor, they were said to destroy the eyes of men by
Snaring Gophers
91
means of their terrible discharge. Nearly every dog of
the neighborhood smelled of them, and they often got
under the houses and barns, and rioted on good things,
for no one cared to kill them there.
Lincoln, being instructed by Ranee, set traps with long
ropes attached, and by gently hauling them at long
range, was able to get them far out on the prairie with-
out disaster. Their discharge was clearly only a last
resort, and so long as they were unharmed they were
themselves harmless. They were really pretty creatures,
especially the young ones, and Lincoln considered it a
pity that they should smell so horribly strong.
THE AdEADOW-LARK
A BRAVE little bird that fears not God,
A voice that breaks from a snow-wet clod,
With prophecy of sunny sod
Set thick with wind-waved goldenrod.
From the first bare earth in the raw, cold spring.
From the grim, gray turf when fall-winds sting.
The ploughboy hears his clear song ring.
And work for the time is a pleasant thing.
PRAIRIE FIRES
A CURVING, leaping line of light,
A crackling roar from lurid lungs,
A wild flush on the skies of night —
A force that gnaws with hot red tongues
And leaves a blackened, smoking sod,
A fiery furnace where the cattle trod.
92
^j^-^a^}^^-"
;--;?«=;■
CHAPTER IX
SUMMER-TIME.
HERDING THE CATTLE
At the time Duncan Stewart moved out upon Sun
Prairie, wide tracts of unbroken sod still lay open for
common grazing-ground, and every farmer kept from
twenty-five to a hundred head of cattle and horses. As
soon as the grass began to spring from the fire-blackened
sod in April, the cattle left the straw-piles (under whose
lee they had fed during the winter), and crawled out
to forage on the open. They were still " free com-
moners " in the eyes of the law.
The colts were a fuzzy, ugly-looking lot at this time ;
even those who were well fed had long hair, and their
manes were dirty and tangled, but as the grazing im-
proved, and the warmth and plenty of spring filled them
with new blood, they sloughed ofF their mangy coats of
hair, and lifted their wide-blown nostrils to the western
wind in glorious freedom. Many of them had never felt
the weight of a man's hand, and even those that had
wintered in and around the barn-yard lost all trace of
domesticity after a few days' life on the springing grass.
It was not unusual to find that the wildest and wariest
of all the herd bore a collar mark or some other inef-
faceable badge of previous servitude.
93
94 Boy Life on the Prairie
They were for the most part Morgan grades or
" Canuck," with a strain of broncho to give them fire.
It was curious, it was splendid, to see how the old,
deep-buried instincts broke out in these halterless herds.
In a few days, after many trials of speed and power, the
bands of all the region united into one drove, and a
leader, the swiftest and most tireless of them all, ap-
peared from the ranks and led them at will. Otten
without apparent cause, merely for the joy ot it, they
left their feeding-grounds to wheel and charge and race
for hours over the swells, across the creeks, and through
the hazel thickets. Sometimes their movements arose
from the stinging of gadflies, sometimes from a battle
between two jealous leaders, sometimes from the pass-
ing of a wolf — often from no cause at all other than
bounding vitality.
In much the same way, but less rapidlv, the cattle
went forth upon the plain. Each family herd not only
contained the growing steers, but the family cows, and
it was the duty of one boy from each family to mount
a horse every afternoon and " hunt the cattle," a task
he seldom shirked. Lincoln and Owen took turn and
turn about at this, and thev soon knew the sound of
every bell. They seldom failed of discovering the herd
at once. The cows were then cut out and driven back
to the farm-yard to be milked. In this way every lad
in the neighborhood could ride like a Comanche. Mr.
Stewart turned over to Lincoln a little Morgan horse
called " Ivanhoe," and cattle-herding became part of
his business durino- the summer. Owen soon had a
Herding the Cattle 95
pony of his own. They lived in the saddle when no
other duties called them. Ranee and Lincoln met al-
most every day on the feeding-grounds, and the world
seemed a very good place for a boy, as they galloped
along together.
In this way Lincoln came to know the prairies, which
was then very beautiful, and all its life. On the up-
lands a short, light-green, hair-like grass grew, inter-
mixed with various resinous weeds, while the lowlands
produced a luxuriant growth of bluejoint, wild oats,
and other large grasses. Along the streams and in the
" sloos," cattails rose from thick mats of wide-bladed
marsh-grass. Almost without realizing it, the boys
came to know every weed, every curious flower, every
living thing big enough to be seen from the back of a
horse. They enjoyed it all, too, without so much as
calling it beautiful.
Nothing could be more generous, more joyous, than
these natural meadows in June. The flash and ripple
and glimmer of the tall, wide-bodied grass, the myriad
voices of ecstatic bobolinks, the chirp and whistle of
red-winged blackbirds swaying on the reeds or in the
willows, the meadow-larks piping from grassy bogs, and
the swift snipe and wailing plover adding their voices as
they rose and fell on the flowery green slopes of the
uplands. It was a big land, and a big, big sky to Lin-
coln, who had been born in a coolly home, and he had
withal a sense of the still wilder country to the west.
Sometimes of a Sunday afternoon, as he wandered deep
in these meadows with Bettie and Milton and Cora,
96
Boy Life on the Prairie
gathering bouquets of pinks, sweet-williams, tiger-lilies,
and lady-slippers, he had a vague perception of another
and sweeter side of this landscape, though it did not re-
main with him long. The sun flamed across the splen-
did, moving, flashing deeps of the grasses, the perfumes
of a thousand nameless plants rose in the warm middav
air, and the mere joy of living filled his heart to the ex-
clusion of any other desire.
T'v'V^
////
A
Nor was the upland less interesting as thev roamed
over it, far and wide, on their horses. In the spring the
huge antlers, bleached white and bare, in countless num-
bers, on the bare-burnt sod, told of the millions ot elk
and bison that had once roamed on these splendid pas-
tures, in the days when the tall Sioux were the only
hunters.
The gray hermit, the badger, made his home in deep
dens on the long ridges, and on sunny April days the
mother fox lay out with her \oung, on southward-sloping
Herding the Cattle 97
swells. The swift prairie wolf slunk, with backward-
glancing eyes, from copse to copse, and many a mad
race the boys had at the tail of this swift and tireless
"spectre of the plains." They seldom did him any harm,
but it brought out the speed of their ponies and broke
the monotony of the herding. Antelope and deer were
still occasionally seen, and to Lincoln it seerrted that just
over the next ridge toward the sunset, the shaggy brown
bulls still fed in thousands, and in his heart he vowed
sometime to ride away over there and see. All the boys
he knew — all the young men talked of "the west," never
of the east ; always of the plains, of the mountains and
cattle-raising and mining and Indians, and Lincoln could
not but be influenced by this spirit.
Scattered over the clay lands were small groves or
clumps of popple trees, called " tow-heads " by the set-
tlers. They were commonly only two or three hundred
feet in diameter, though in some cases they grow along
a ridge many acres in extent. Around these islands,
seas of hazel brush rolled, interspersed with lagoons of
bluejoint-grass, that most beautiful and stately product
of prairie soil. On the Maple River there were plum
trees and crab-apples and haws and many good things,
while the prairie produced immense crops of hazelnuts
and strawberries.
Over these uplands, through these lakes of hazel brush,
and round these coverts of popple, Lincoln and Ranee,
Owen and Milton and Ben and Bert, careered, chasing
the rabbits, hunting the cows, killing rattlesnakes, racing
the half-wild colts and the prowling wolves. It was an
H
98
Boy Life on the Prairie
alluring life for a bov. Ranee, tall, reliant, graceful, and
strong almost as a man, was a product of this life. He
had a magnificent colt named " Ladrone," and rode him
as no other boy in the whole country could do. He
used the cowboy saddle, with a high pommel, while
Lincoln and Milton rode army saddles without pommels.
They all carried short-handled drover's whips, which re-
quired considerable skill to manage, for the lash was long
and heavy and sure to wind around the neck of an
awkward lad. Lincoln was soon exceedingly expert
with this whip, but Ranee remained the best rider.
Ranee was in the saddle most of the time, but Lincoln
continued to take a man's place with a team in times
when work pressed. Captain Knapp was one of the
" best fixed " of all the farmers near. He had a frame
barn and a house with a parlor. He had also two grown-
up daughters, of whom Lincoln stood very much in awe.
Thev were the belles of the country, tall pale girls with
velvet-black eyes, very graceful of manner, and always
neat and pretty, even on wash days.
Ranee was the only son and was the pride of his father,
Herding the Cattle 99
a reticent and singular man, who had more books and
newspapers than any other farmer in Sun Prairie. He
was tall and a little bent, with a long brown beard ; it
was plain that Ranee took his reticence and his black
eyes from his father. Mrs. Knapp had been dead sev-
eral years when Lincoln came to know the family, but
everybody said Ranee had the fair skin of his mother.
He was not a notably studious boy. He loved the
prairies and his horse " Ladrone " too much to remain in
the house reading. He was a good scholar, always near
the head of his class, but he had a contempt for those
who could not leap, ride a horse, swing a cattle whip,
and play ball. With heel behind the cantle of his saddle,
and right hand sweeping the grass, he could pick up his
hat or whip as his horse galloped past. Captain Knapp
had been to California in the days of gold, and from him
Ranee had acquired a knowledge of the wonderful horse-
manship of the Mexican vaqueros. He could throw a
lasso, and ride backward on his horse, or standing in the
saddle. Captain Knapp had been a cavalryman under Kil-
patrick, and also taught his son to ride in army fashion.
As a result he and Lincoln carried themselves half in the
cowboy manner and half as the cavalryman sits.
They held the reins in the left hand, guiding their
horse by the pressure of the rein on his neck, rather
than by pulling at the bit. The right hand carried the
whip ; when not in use it dropped to the thigh, cavalry
fashion. They rode with knees straight — sitting low
in their saddles. Their horses were never allowed to
trot, but were taught a gait which they called the
lOO Boy Life on the Prairie
" lope," which was a canter in front and a trot behind,
a very good gait for long distances, and each horse was
taught to keep it without the pressure of the rein, and
to fall at the word into a swift walk.
For the first year Lincoln was Ranee's pupil.
Everything his hero did was fine and noble, and in
truth Ranee was a good boy. Though passionate and
wilful, he was clean-spoken and naturally high-minded
and honorable. He seldom joked (he left all that to
Milton), and he was exceedingly sensitive to ridicule.
He never quarrelled, never abused smaller boys, and yet
he seldom showed a favor. Young as he was, the big
boys were afraid to press him too far.
Milton could ride fairly well, but could not play ball
and did not enjoy any game with running in it. The
truth was, Milton was lazy. More than this, he had
a sneaking fondness for girls, and Lincoln once caught
him knitting. Only his love of horses and his fairly
good horsemanship saved Milton from being called
" a girl-boy."
All the boys but Ranee had to milk cows, which was
a peculiarly hateful task in summer, when the flies
were bad, and worse in autumn, when the cold rains
came on. It made their hands ache, and the cows'
steaming hot sides were unpleasant to the touch, and
they were liable at any moment to kick into the pail,
in their efforts to drive off the flies. The boys had
a trick of driving their heads hard in the cow's flank,
so she could not bring forward her leg at all. The
heavy tail was also a nuisance, and was tied by the long
Herding the Cattle
lOl
hairs around the cow's own leg. Humbolt Bunn tied
it to the strap of his boot — and regretted it very much
afterwards.
As the weather grew cold, the boys had a trick of
urging the sleeping cows to their hoofs very gently, in
order that their own bare feet might rest on the ground
which the cows had warmed during the night. Lin-
coln often went out to milk barefooted when the ground
was white with frost.
In midsummer they wore no shoes at all, except
when they went to Sunday-school or to town. Their
feet resembled " toad backs," their mother often said,
and when ordered to wash their feet, they ran out into
the tall grass, cleansed them in the dew, running back-
ward in order to wash their heels. They were gener-
ally limping from a bruise or a brier or some other
cause, but accepted each wound as one of the unavoid-
able things of human life.
There were always a lot of calves to be fed, and they
I02 Boy Life on the Prairie
did not like that very well, either, for they were noisy
and unruly little brutes. They were sure to blow a
blast of milk upon you if you did not watch out, and
each one tried hard to steal the other's portion, and
often ended by spilling it all. The pigs were less
trouble. They had but to empty the pail into a long
trough and let them race for it. The boys taught the
calves to drink by letting them suck their fingers be-
neath the surface of the milk, and Lincoln nailed a rag
to the bottom of the pail, and it answered admirably.
As soon as the grain was threshed, the herd was
brought in and turned on the stubble, and then it was
Owen's business to keep them out of the corn. This
was called " watching the cows," and it became very
tiresome indeed after a tew hours. After the cows had
enjoyed a taste of the juicy young corn they became
excessively eager to return to it, and the boy was forced
to eye them closely. If he turned his back to get
a melon or to visit with Lincoln, one of the rangy
steers was certain to set forth in a bee-line for the corn,
trailing all the herd behind him. Once within the
shelter of the tall stalks, it required loud hallooing, and
the best work of Rover to get them out, and even then
thev managed to get away with a nice taste of the
succulent leaves. They loved it as Owen loved ice-
cream.
So it was that the boys were in attendance on cattle
from year end to year end, and they didn't like it. In
fact, they didn't like any kind of work very well, at
least not as a steady business. They liked riding and
Herding the Cattle loj
fishing and swimming and playing ball and lassoing
the colts and training yearlings to the yoke, and break-
ing colts, and going to school, because at school there
were no cows to milk or horses to curry, and yet in
spite of all this they did an amazing amount of work.
They grumbled and rubbed their eyes, but they got up
early, and they were busy all day long either on the
farm with the men or on the plains with the cattle.
-..'-••■..:
MEADOW MEMORIES
0 MEMORY, what conjury is thine ?
Once more the sun shines on the wheat —
Once more I drink the wind like wine
When bursts the lark's song wildly sweet
From out the rain-wet new-mown grass.
I hear the sickle's clattering sweep,
And far-hallooings fleetly pass
From field to field. Again I heap
The odorous windrows rank on rank —
Far from the tumult of the street,
From granite pavements' ceaseless clank,
From grinding grooves and jar of car,
1 flee and lave mv boyish feet
Where bee-lodged clover-blossoms are.
104
CHAPTER X
THE WILD MEADOWS. HAYING TIME
Haying was the one season of farm work which the
boys thoroughly enjoyed. It usually began on the tame
meadows about the twenty-fifth of June, and lasted a
week or so. It had always appealed to Lincoln, in a
distinctly beautiful and poetic sense, which was not true
of the main business of farming. Most of the duties
through which he passed needed the lapse of years to
seem beautiful in his eyes, but haying had a charm and
significance quite out of the common.
At this time the summer was at its most exuberant
stage of vitality, and it was not strange that even the
faculties of toiling old men, dulled and deadened with
never ending drudgery, caught something of exultation
from the superabundant glow and throb of Nature's life.
The corn-field, dark green and sweet-smelhng, rippled
like a sea with a multitudinous stir and sheen and swirl.
Waves of dusk and green and yellow circled across the
level fields, while long leaves upthrust at intervals like
spears or shook like guidons. The trees were in heavy
leaf, insect life was at its height, and the air was filled
with buzzing, dancing forms and with the sheen of
innumerable gauzy wings.
The air was shaken by most ecstatic voices. The
105
io6 Boy Life on the Prairie
bobolinks sailed and sang in the sensuous air, now sink-
ing, now rising, their exquisite notes ringing, filling the
air like the chimes of tiny silver bells. The king-bird,
ever alert and aggressive, cried out sharply as he launched
from the top of a poplar tree upon some buzzing insect,
and the plover made the prairie sad with his wailing call.
Vast purple-and-white clouds moved like bellying sails
before the lazy wind, dark with rain, which they dropped
momentarily like trailing garments upon the earth, and
so passed on in stately measure with a roll of thunder.
The grasshoppers moved in clouds with snap and
buzz, and out of the luxurious stagnant marshes came
the ever thickening chorus of the toads and the frogs,
while above them the killdees and snipe shuttled to and
fro in soundino; flii>;ht, and the blackbirds on the cattails
and willows swayed with lifted throats, uttering their
subtle liquid notes, made mad with delight of the sun
and their own music. And over all and through all
moved the slow, soft west wind, laden with the breath
of the far-off prairie lands of the west, soothing and
hushing and filling the world with a slumbrous haze.
It was time for vacation, and as a matter of fact the
boys on the farm found a little leisure between corn-
ploughing and haying for base-ball, swimming, fishing, and
berrying, and they declined to exchange places with the
cowboys under these circumstances. They knew from
dear experience that from the time the sickle set into the
timothy there was no vacation till the snow fell.
In the ever changing West, " haying " covers a mul-
titude of diverse experiences. Those whose recollections
The Wild Meadows 107
extend over a term of twenty years, have seen many
changes in the implements of haying ; from the old-
fashioned scythe and rake to the patent-geared-self-lift-
ing-adjustable-front-cut-yellow-King Mowing-machine,
and the self-dumping, spring-tooth horse-rake, not to
speak of the patent-loader harpoon-fork, and baling-
press.
Lincoln's earliest recollections of the haying-field
were of going into the field with an older boy, to take
a large white jug of " switchel " to the men. (The
jug was swung on a pole, and each accused the other
of trying to get the long end.) The men were bent
above the scythe, and cruel work it was — though Lin-
coln remembered only the glorious strawberries, which
the toilers tossed up on the green billows of damp
grass ; and also with what awe he gazed at the great
green frogs, sitting motionless near by, and his horror
of the black snakes which ran with heads above the
timothy. The frogs always looked so mossy and in-
animate, it was a surprise to see them move. At this
time he was too small to have a set task, and was put to
look for berries and tumble down the " doodles."
But a year or two later, when his freedom to come
and go was ended, Lincoln began work in the field by
" raking after." Every middle-aged man in the West
will know what that subtends. It brings to mind a
gloomy urchin, with a long-handled rake, following a
huge, half-loaded wagon. He is treading gingerly the
" stubble-speared, new-mown sward," sliding his bare
feet close to the ground to avoid being spiked, or set-
io8 Boy Life on the Prairie
ting foot carefully in the track of the "bull-wheel"
for the same good reason. What a blessed relief it
was when the boy found the slant of the stubble going
his way! Scatterings — always the command, "Lin-
coln, hurry up with them scatterings."
All through June, before the haying came on, Lin-
coln and O^ven kept track of the cattle on the wide
prairies, or rode the horse in ploughing corn, and helped
to build fence, and cut hazel brush before the breaking-
plough. There was always something to do, even in
" slack times." But the days grew hotter, the grass
thicker and taller, and finally, on a bright, cloudless
morning in June, the mowing-machine buzzed merrily
around the grass-lot.
It had always been a joyous sound to Lincoln, this
whizzing clatter of the mower. It was a pleasure to
watch the sickle as it melted into the grasses stately
and. fragrant. They seemed to bow to the sweep of
the shining bar. The timothy heads, sinking, shook
out a fragrant, purple dust, and the cloyer blooms and
fallen roses mingled their expiring breaths as they with-
ered beneath the sun. The hay was even more fragrant
than the grass. All day under the sun, all night under
the dew, it lay, changing from green to gray ; and the
next afternoon it was ready to be raked into windrows
and bunched, reading for stacking.
Raking, in the olden times, was a long and hard task.
I can just remember seeing a row of men using hand-
rakes as they gathered the hay on a valley farm in Wis-
consin, but at the same time, on the lowan prairies they
The Wild Meadows
109
were using a revolving rake drawn by a horse and oper-
ated by a man walking behind. A year or two later
came the riding horse-rake ; and by the time Lincoln
was able to take an important part in the haying-field,
the rake had been improved so that a boy could run it,
and it became his duty from his eleventh year forward.
It was with great joy and pride that he rode for the
first time into the field atop this new tool. He kept
li-hi. -*•" ^ ^ -^" ,(
:': '- ^'-:
, 'i^-A ^-i,^;^^-,:'-^
his feet stoutly braced to the trip-lever until a big roll
of gathered hay bulged beneath him, then, with a
mighty pull, raised the teeth and dropped his load at
the " win'row." Three times round the piece, and the
" doodling " began. Owen now " raked after," a task
which he hated with cordial intensity. White, the
hired man, and Mr. Stewart put the hay into conical
heaps, their light and graceful forks flashing in the
vivid sunlight. There was very little drudgery con-
nected with this harvest.
Each morning Mr. Stewart drove the mowing-ma-
chine, its clatter and buzz pulsing through the air like
no Boy Life on the Prairie
the cheerful drone of a gigantic insect, while the boys
and the hired men set up that already cured. The
work was clean, not severe, and though the weather
was warm, it was almost always enjoyable. Sometimes
Mr. Stewart changed work with some of his neighbors,
and so David McTurg and Ranee or Milton came to
help, and the work was almost like a picnic party.
Costumes were simple. A big, oat-straw hat, a
hickory shirt, and a pair of denim trousers outfitted
a boy, though Ranee never went barefoot. The men
wore boots (or a sort of army " brogan " shoe) in addi-
tion. If the sun were especially warm, they all filled
their hats with cool, green cottonwood leaves, and
" bore down " on the handle of their forks, which
were three-tined, with smooth, curved handles, quite
unlike the clumsy, two-tined things which Lincoln had
often seen in pictures. The companionship, the merry
voices of the men, the song of the machine, made hay-
ing very pleasant to all hands, although Lincoln's back
sometimes ached with lifting the rake teeth, and the
old mare grew stubborn and stupid as the day wore on.
Dinner came, bringing joy. Oh, the cool water at
the well ! And the fried pork, and the volcano of
mashed potatoes, with a lump of butter in the crater !
llie salt pork, when dipped in bread-crumbs, tasted so
good that the boys nearly " foundered themselves," as
Jennings used to say. There was very little ceremony
at these meals. Man and boy went to the table as they
came from the field, wet with sweat and sprinkled with
timothy bloom. Napkins were " against the law," and
To/a.f /.'i-< ///
The Wild Meadows iii
steel knives were used to help out the three-tined forks.
There were no courses, and no waiting on the table.
The host merely said : " Now, boys, help yourselves.
What you can't reach, yell for."
The weather was glorious, with only occasional show-
ers to accentuate the splendid sunlight. There were no
old men and no women in these fields. The men were
young and vigorous, and their action was swift and sup-
ple. Sometimes it was hot to the danger point, especially
on the windless side of the stack (no one had hay barns
in those days), and sometimes the pitcher complained of
cold chills running up his back. Sometimes Jack flung
a pailful of water over his head and shoulders before
beginning to unload, and seemed the better for it. Mr.
Stewart kept plenty of " switchel " (which is composed
of ginger and water) for his hands to drink. He had
a notion that it was less injurious than water or beer,
and no sunstrokes occurred among his men.
The sun rose in cloudless splendor each day, though
during the middle hours vast domes of dazzling white
clouds, half-sunk in misty blue, appeared, encircling the
horizon. The farmers kept an anxious eye on these
" thunder-heads," regulating the amount of cutting by
the signs of the sky. At times the thermometer rose to
one hundred degrees in the shade, but work went on
steadily.
Once, on a hot afternoon, the air took on an oppres-
sive density ; the wind died away almost to a calm,
blowing fitfully from the south, while in the far west a
vast dome of inky clouds, silent and portentous, uplifted,
112 Boy Life on the Prairie
filling the horizon, swelling like a great bubble, yet
seeming to have the weight of a mountain range in its
mass. The birds, bees, and all insects, hitherto vocal,
suddenly sank into silence, as if awed by the first deep
mutter of the storm. The mercury is touching one
hundred degrees in the shade.
All hands hasten to get the hay in order, that it niav
shed rain. Thev hurry without haste, as only adept
workmen can. They roll up the windrows by getting
fork and shoulder under one end, tumbling it over and
over endwise, till it is large enough ; then go back for
the scatterings, which are placed, with a deft turn of
the fork, on the top to cap the pile. The boys laugh
and shout as they race across the field. Every man is
wet to the skin with sweat; hats are flung aside; Lin-
coln, on the rake, puts his horse to the trot. The feel-
ing of struggle, of racing with the thunder, exalts him.
Nearer and nearer comes the storm, silent no longer.
The clouds are breaking up. The bovs stop to listen.
Far away is heard a low, steady, crescendo, grim roar ;
intermixed with crashing thunderbolts, the rain streams
aslant, but there is not vet a breath of air from the west;
the storm-wind is still far away; the toads in the marsh,
and the fearless king-bird, alone cry out in the ominous
gloom cast by the rolling clouds ot the tempest.
" Look out ! here it comes ! " The black cloud
melts to form the gray veil of the falling rain, which
blots out the plain as it sweeps on. Now it strikes the
corn-field, sending a tidal wave rushing across it. Now
it reaches the wind-break, and the spire-like poplars bow
The Wild Meadows 113
humbly to it. Now it touches the hay-field, and the caps
of the cocks go flying ; the long grass streams in the
wind like a woman's hair. In an instant the day's work
is undone, and the hay is opened to the drenching rain.
As all hands rush for the house, the roaring tempest
rides upon them like a regiment of demon cavalry. The
lightning breaks forth from the blinding gray clouds of
rain. As Lincoln looks up he sees the streams of fire
go rushing across the sky like the branching of great red
trees. A moment more, and the solid sheets of water
fall upon the landscape, shutting it from view, and the
thunder crashes out, sharp and splitting, in the near dis-
tance, to go deepening and bellowing off down the
illimitable spaces of the sky and plain, enlarging, as it
goes, like the rumor of war.
In the east is still to be seen a faint crescent of the
sunny sky, rapidly being closed in as the rain sweeps
eastvyard ; but as that diminishes to a gleam, a similar
window, faint, watery, and grav, appears in the west, as
the clouds break away. It widens, grows yellow, and
then red ; and at last blazes out into an inexpressible
glory of purple and crimson and gold, as the storm
I
114 -^oy Life on the Prairie
moves swiftly over. The thunder grows deeper, — dies
to a retreating mutter, and is lost. The cloud's dark
presence passes away. The trees flame with light, the
robins take up their songs again, the air is deliciously
cool. The corn stands bent, as if still acknowledg-ing-
the majcstv of the wind. Everything is new-washed,
clean of dust, and a faint, moist odor of green things is
everywhere.
Lincoln seizes the opportunity to take Owen's place
in bringing the cattle, and mounting his horse gallops
awav. The road is wet and muddy, but the prairie is
firm, and the pony is full of power. In full flower,
fragrant with green grass and radiant with wild roses,
sweet-williams, lilies, pinks, and pea-vines, the sward
lies new washed by the rain, while over it runs a strong,
cool wind from the clearing west. The boy's heart
swells with unutterable joy of life. The world is
exaltingly beautiful. It is good to be alone — good to
be a boy and to be mounted on a swift horse.
I
I
O wiDF, cloud-peopled,
Mimmcr sk\ ,
Sea-dnfting grasses, rust-
ling rcedi
Where \oung grouse to
their mothers cry
V v;-;-: •-,:>;■ T^v'' And locusts buzz from
whistling weeds ;
O meadows lying like lagoons
Ofsun-smit water — on whose swells
Float nodding blooms to tinkling bells
Of bob-o-linkums' wildest tunes —
My western land I love you yet !
In dreams I ride my horse again
And breast the breezes blowing fleet
From out the sunset cool and wet
From fields of flowers blowing sweet
With honey for the droning bees.
The wild oats swirl like ripened grain ;
I feel their dash against my knees
Like rapid plash of running seas.
"5
Ii6 Boy Life on the Prairie
I pass by islands, dark and tall,
Of painted aspen thick with leaves.
The grass in rustling ripple cleaves
To left and right as waters flow.
And as I listen, riding slow.
Out breaks the robin's jocund call.
O shining suns of boyhood's time,
O winds that from the mythic west
Sang lures to Eldorado's quest,
0 swaying thrushes' sunset chime.
When the loud city's ceaseless roar
Enfolds mv soul as if in shrouds,
1 hear vour sounds and songs once more
And dream of western wind-swept clouds !
The Wild Meadows 117
The farmers depended very largely upon the wild
meadows for most of their hay, raising only enough tim-
othy to feed their milch-cows. The near meadow be-
ing claimed, Mr. Stewart was obliged to go some miles
away to find a midsummer cutting. The boys found
these wild meadows of infinite interest. The tame
meadows were prose, the upland meadows poetry, the
sloughs mystery, filled as they were with flowers, weeds,
aromatic plants, insects, and reptiles. Wild straw-
berries furnished sauce for the dinner, eaten beside the
wagon, with the odor of the popple trees in the air, and
the bob-o-linkums gave orchestral accompaniment. The
trail of the sluggish gray rattlesnake added a touch of
malignant menace. He was always near on these grass-
lands.
Once the boys secured permission to camp all night
beside the wagon, and after the men drove away home-
ward, they busied themselves with eating their supper
and making up their beds on piles of hay, with the deli-
cious feeling of being real campers on the plains. This
feeling of exaltation died out as the light paled in the
western sky. The wind grew suddenly cold, and the
sky threatened a storm. The world became each
moment more menacing. Out of the darkness came
obscure noises. Now it seemed like the slow, sinister
movement of a rattlesnake — now it was the hopping,
intermittent movement of a polecat.
Lincoln was secretly appalled by these sinister changes,
but the feeling that he was shielding weakness made
him strong, and he kept a cheerful voice. He lay awake
Ii8 Boy Life on the Prairie
long afier Owen fell asleep, with eyes strained toward
every moving shadow, his ears intent for every movement
in the grass. He had the primitive man's sense of war-
fare against nature, recalled his bed in the garret with
fervent longing, and resolved never again to tempt the
dangers of the night. He fell asleep only when the
moon rose and morning seemed near.
The coming of the sun rendered the landscape good
and cheerful and friendly again, and he was ashamed to
acknowledge how nervous he had been. When his
father returned, and asked with a smile, "Well, boys,
how did you enjoy it ? " Lincoln replied, "• O bully.
It was lots of fun."
That night when they rode home, high on a fragrant
load of hay, it seemed as though they had been away for
a month. Mrs. Stewart had warm biscuits for supper,
and the hearts of her sons overflowed with gratitude and
love. " Campin' is all right for a day or two, but for a
stiddy business give me mother's cookin'," said Lincoln.
HOME FROM WILD MEADOWS
Through cool dry dust the wagons chuckle.
Their talk subdued and grave and low.
The horses walk with heads low-swinging.
Their footfalls muffled, rhythmical, and slow.
Upon the weedy load of autumn grasses
I lie at ease and watch the daylight wane.
Hearing the hum of distant thresher.
And cowbells down the dusty lane.
The darkness deepens, and the stars appearing.
Line out the march of coming night.
And now I catch the farm-yard's calling.
And cross the kitchen's band of friendly light.
Familiar laughter wakes — the falling neck-yokes rattle.
The pump gives out a welcome squeal.
The barn's gloom swallows men and cattle.
And mother's call to supper rings like a bugle's peal.
119
I20
Boy Life on the Prairie
During the hot days of summer the ri\'er came to be
of greater and greater value to the older boys toiling
in the hot corn rows, and trips for bathing and fish-
ing were looked forward to with keenest longing, and
remembered with deepest delight. Many of Lincoln's
sweetest recollections of nature are associated with these
swimming excursions. To go from the dusty field of
the prairie farms to the wood shadows and to the cool
murmuring of water, to strip stark to the caressing
winds, and to plunge in the deeps of the dappled pools,
was like being born again.
^^ . ■■-■ ■■■"-. '/''. ,
It comes from the meadow
Where cool and deep,
In the elm's dark shadow.
In murmur of dream and of sleep.
It drowsily eddied and swirled
And softly crept and curled
Round the out-thrust knees
Of the bassvvood trees
The River 121
And lifted the rustling, dripping sedge
In rhythmic sweep at the outer edge.
It was then the water-snake rippled across.
Through the shimmering supple the leaves cast down.
While the swamp-bird perched on the spongy moss
In the shadow-side looked gravely on.
'Twas there the kingfishers swiftly flew.
In the cool, sweet silence from tree to tree —
All silence, save when the vagabond jay
Flashed swiftly by with sharp "Te-chee,"
Swaggering by in his elfish way —
And I, a bare-legged boy again.
Can hear the low, sweet laugh of the river —
See on the water the dapples aquiver.
Feel on my knees the lipping lap
Of the sunny ripples, and see the snake
Slip silently into the sedgy brake.
And hear the rising pickerel slap
In a rushing leap
Where the lilies sleep.
122 Boy Life on the Prairie
The Maple River was about four miles away, a bright,
sparkling stream, with occasional pools, overhung by
great elm and bassvvood trees, and bordered with droop-
ing water-grasses and delicate ferns. The road to these
swimming-places led away through beautiful wild
meadows, rich with waving crow's-foot, lit as with flame
by pinks, lilies, roses, and sweet-williams. Young
prairie chickens rose before each galloping horse with a
sudden buzz, and the smell of roses burdened the slow
wind. A mile of burr-oak openings followed, and then
came the dip into the wooded bottom where the river
ran.
The boys usually went in parties of five or six.
Sometimes they started late on Saturday afternoon, more
often on Sunday ; for many of the parents took the
view that cleanliness was next to godliness, and made no
objection to such Sabbath excursions. Lincoln usually
rode over after Milton, and together they picked up
Ranee on the way. Sometimes one of the herdmen
took a team and gathered up a load of young men and
boys.
When the river came in sight, a race began, to see
who should first throw off his clothing and be as the
frogs are.
Shadows seemed to beckon, the kingfishers called,
and the water laughed up at the exultant fugitixcs from
the burning dust of the fields, with delicious promise of
coolness and vigor.
After they had taken their fill of swimming and plung-
ing, and spattering each other with water, the bovs re-
The River
123
turned to their hickory shirts and brown denim overalls,
and wandered up and down the river, seeking the new
and interesting things which the wood and the river
offered to them. They dug clams out of the sand, and
caught and killed the great spotted water-snakes that
ventured out of the sedges along the river. They
mocked the kingfishers, and the giant " thunder pump-
ers " in the reeds, and gathered the strange plants and
flowers which grew in the cool dusk under the shadow
of the basswood trees.
All things not positively poisonous were eaten, or at
least tasted. The roots of ferns, black haws, choke-
berries, sheep-sorrel, Indian tobacco, clams, dewberries,
May-apples — anything at all that happened to be in
season or handy. Sometimes they fished, and usually
with ill success — they were too impatient of silence,
and too eager to enjoy to the full the cool paths and the
124 Boy Life on the Prairie
pools. And when it was all over, they mounted their
horses and rode reluctantly back into the heat and burn-
ing sunlight of the farm lanes — back to milk the cows
and feed the pigs, and begin again their six days of
toil.
Of course the lucky boys of Owen's age were able to
reach the woodland oftener, but once a week was as
often as Lincoln and Milton could get away during the
corn-growing season. They had to ride horse to the
single-shovel plough or to pull weeds with their brown
and warty hands. A freshet in June brought large
numbers of fish up the rivers from the Mississippi, and
one day the boys organized a night expedition for spear-
ing pickerel. After a day or two of toil making kero-
sene torches, while the blacksmith forged a spear out of
a broken fork, Lincoln and Ranee and Jack, the hired
man, joined with several other sportsmen of the neigh-
borhood, in a visit to the river. They arrived just at dark,
and leaving a man in the wagon with orders to meet
them at the bridge, the spearmen entered the shallows,
and began to wade slowly upward, with torches held
high, to light the fish as they swam slowly away.
Lincoln was torch-bearer, and counted it an honor.
His torch lit the rushing waters and the deep pools, but
threw into impenetrable darkness the farther landscape.
After an hour of wading behind the men, the universe
seemed reduced to a chill stream, rushing between snake-
haunted jungles of grass beneath a feeble flare of light
into endless night. The mere fiict of being there in the
cold water at midnight, rather than in his snug warm
The River 125
bed, made the expedition heroic, and Lincoln again felt
the savage arms of nature close round him.
At first there was much outcry : —
" There goes one ! "
" I've got him ! "
" Here, Link, bring your light ! " and much exulta-
tion over captures. As the night wore on, — toward
twelve, — however, there was a steady decrease of talk
and corresponding increase of silence, wherein the lap-
ping rush or soft purling ripple of the river could be
heard. The water chilled Lincoln's feet, and sharp
pebbles got into his old boots, until at last the fun was
quite lost out of carrying torch, and he was heartily glad
of a chance to climb into the wagon which was waiting
for them at " the big bend." And when he threw off
his wet clothing and tumbled into bed, the river and the
fish were of small account. In the days which followed,
this glimpse of nature from the night river came to pos-
sess singular charm, and though he never went again, he
often talked of it to Ranee.
Nearly every farm-house on Sun Prairie sorely needed
protection from the winter winds, and the thriftiest of
the farmers set about planting trees at once. Naturally
they selected those which grew most rapidly, either
willows, cottonwoods, soft maples, or Lombardy pop-
lars, which were being introduced by nurserymen. All
of these except the maples were planted by means of
cuttings from the branches, and Lincoln and Owen
spent a day pushing " slips " of willow and cotton-
wood into the soft, moist earth. They were delegated
126 Boy Life on the Prairie
also to report when the maple seeds were ripe and
falling.
The Stewarts and the Knapps made up a picnic partv,
one day in June, to go to the river and gather tree seeds.
This made another red-letter day in the calendar. It
offered the small boys another chance to go in swim-
ming, to climb trees, and to dig clams out of the sand-
bars ; and it afforded the grown-up boys and girls an
excuse for putting on their good clothes and riding in a
buggy. It was at such times that the cowboys con-
sidered the business of cattle-herding an overrated
amusement, and looked upon the passing wagons laden
with joyous young folks, with dim and sullen eyes.
They forgot how many weary days of corn-ploughing
thev had escaped. The seeds were soon gathered, and
nothing remained but to lie under the trees and wait
for dinner.
Here the big girls proved of some use. They set out
large segments of pie and cold chicken and jelly cake
for their sweethearts, and a boy could manage to fill his
stomach while Jennie and Mace were passing compli-
ments. It made no difference which came first, pie or
chicken, each arrived at the same station in the end ; so
Lincoln and his comrades seized on any attractive vic-
tual at hand, and having filled up, returned to the river
to swim in defiance of the well-known law of health,
which says one should not bathe till three hours after
eating. However, they kept on bathing the entire three
hours and so came within the scope of the rule, after all.
After swimming till they were tired, they painted them-
The River
127
selves with mud and pretended to be Indians and hunted
each other in the alder thickets. It was very exciting,
and the afternoon slipped away with mournful swiftness.
Lincoln enjoyed the tree-planting. Bryant's " Plant-
ing of the Apple Tree " had made a mystical impression
on his mind, and to bring any kind of tree into being
seemed noble and fine. It was a great pleasure to see
them grow during the summer days. They shot up
like corn, by the second winter forming a considerable
1^ . '/i-'^'J'^
>"^>
'■^ Ct>
check to the fierce winds, and yet, fast as they grew,
they were too slow for the settler. It seemed as though
they would never grow tall enough to shade him.
(They stand there now with bodies big as his own —
reaching out their arms like yawning young giants.)
Lincoln and Owen soon discovered that the prairies
were populous with a sort of wolf, half-way between
the coyote of the plains and the gray wolf of the tim-
ber land. They were called simply " prairie wolves."
Nothing else, save an occasional deer or antelope, re-
mained of the splendid game animals which had once
covered these flowery and sunlit savannahs. Of the
elk, nothing remained but his great bleached antlers.
128 Boy Life on the Prairie
gleaming white in the grass, and only deep-worn trails
in the swales of the unbroken prairie marked the places
where the mighty bison had trod. But the wolf, more
adaptable, remained to prey, like the fox, on the small
cattle of the incoming settler.
Mr, Stewart, during the second season, planted a field
of corn just back of his barn, nearly half a mile in
length, and a quarter of a mile in breadth, which made
a magnificent ambush for wolves and foxes and skunks,
and as the spring chickens grew nice and fat, and the
corn dark and tall as a forest, these marauders began
to make their attacks upon the barn-yard. The corn,
stretching awav in sombre, dark-green, thick-standing
rows, joined the tall grass and hazel thickets of the
prairie to the north, and the wolves came easily to the
very edge of the chicken range, even in broad daylight.
Each day a wild commotion broke out in the edge of
the corn-field near the barn, followed by screams of
terror from the voung chickens, a flutter and a squawk,
and Mrs. Stewart only found a handful of feathers, and
another fat broiler gone.
In vain Lincoln laid in wait with shot-gun, his heart
beating wildly. Li vain he set traps and put out poison.
The wolves had eyes and ears all too keen for him. Each
day the flock grew less, and the wolves fatter. Mr.
Stewart considered chicken-raising too small business for
men anyway, and was not particularly stirred up about it.
In this urgency the boys mysteriously acquired a de-
fender of the farm-yard flock. A woebegone looking
dog came to them one day out of his distress and stayed
The River
129
with them because of their need of him. He was a mix-
ture of Hver-and-white pointer and foxhound, with a tail
Uke a broomstick, and ears that hung down hke broken
hinges. His big eyes were meek and sorrowful, almost
to tears, his ribs stood out like hoops, and his neck was
covered with minute brown specks like flecks of blood.
The boys fed him, which was no light task, for his
capacity was enormous. " He don't stop to taste it,"
cried Owen, ruefully. He assumed an air of being at
home at once, and it became necessary to name him.
For some reason the boys imagined his home to be on
the Wapsypinnicon River, and Lincoln called him
" Wapsy," for short. This he accepted with a slow
wag of his tail, as if to say, " I am very grateful for so
nice a name."
He was a wonderful creature to the boys. There was
something forlorn and mysterious in his silent presence,
and when he gave voice, his bay was like the mournful
echoes of a battered bugle. " He'll keep the wolves
away," said Lincoln, and they all waited with eagerness
for the next commotion among the hens, and when it
came, Lincoln ran out among the pumpkin vines, callino-
to Wapsy, " Sic 'em, boy ! sic 'em ! "
All to no purpose. He lumbered along, looking at
his master with dim, pathetic eyes, as if to say, " I am a
stranger, and I don't know what you want of me." All
this amused Mr. Stewart very much. " 'Bout the only
thing he's good for is to keep bread from spoiling."
After trying this a number of times to no effect, it
occurred to Lincoln that Wapsy's eyes were of no use
I JO Boy Life on the Prairie
to him, for he could never be induced to look in the
direction in which his master pointed. Lincoln there-
fore called his attention to the ground, and by moving
in a circle at last came upon the trail of the wolf. Then
old Wapsy awoke. With sudden bell-like outcry he
dashed away into the corn-field, straight on the trail, cer-
tain and swift, his tail lifted, decision in everv movement.
The boys raced after him, wild with excitement. They
had discovered his peculiar powers. He was a " smeller,"
not a " looker."
They came to the edge of the corn-field just in time
to see him overtake a wolf on a little ridge some forty
rods in the open. The robber was a little nettled by his
failure to get a chicken, and not at all disposed to run ;
on the contrary, he seemed willing to try conclusions with
this new foe. As the hound pounced upon him, he
curled up like a cat, and reaching back snapped at Wapsy's
throat, then leaped away just out of the dog's reach.
Again giving tongue, the old hound struck after his
enemy, only to receive each time that wicked, clipping
snap; so fighting and running thev passed out of sight.
When Wapsy returned, the brown flecks on his neck
were reddened with the blood which his keen-fanged
antagonist had drawn from him, but he had won the
respect even of Mr. Stewart.
Having discovered his peculiar powers, the boys
amused themselves by setting him subtle tasks. Some-
body said to Lincoln, " If you want a dog to be always
able to foller you, you jest rub a piece of meat or bread
on the sole of your shoe, and give it to him. He'll track
The River 13 1
you anywhere after that." This was sufficiently mys-
terious to attract Lincohi, and as he wore no shoes at
all, he rubbed the bread on the sole of his bare foot, in-
stead. This the dog swallowed at a gulp as usual, and
the boys set forth to experiment. While Owen held
Wapsy near the house, Lincoln ran out on the prairie,
doubling in every conceivable way, and at last hid in a
deep hollow. Upon being released, the old dog started
forth upon his search.
It was a little uncanny to Owen to see how accurately
the hound traced his master's footsteps, gliding in and
out, curving, circling, looping, with a certainty which be-
came almost appalling to Lincoln as he listened to the
old dog's deep baying. It was easy to imagine himself
a fugitive, and Wapsy a ferocious bloodhound on his
trail. And then, his tongue lolling out, and his long
ears waving and flapping, he peered up with his dim eyes,
that seemed, somehow, as pathetic as those of an old
man; the old dog seemed to say, "Did I do it well?"
In a little time they could tell by the minute differ-
ences in his baying whether he was on the trail of a
rabbit, a skunk, a fox, or a wolf. He was a faithful soul
and of great value. Night after night he battled with
his savage enemies, returning to the house each morning
wet with his own blood.
He remained only one summer. He disappeared
early in September, as silently and as mysteriously as he
came. Perhaps his work was done. Perhaps the wolves
united to kill him, or he may have eaten some poison.
Mrs. Lincoln was not inconsolable, for he was an
132 Boy Life on the Prairie
enormous eater, and smelled of polecats, while Mr.
Stewart considered him the " measliest critter that e\'er
punished a hunk o' meat." To the boys he was a vis-
itor from the great world which lay just over the big
ridge to the east.
CORN SHADOWS
With heart grown weary of the heat
And hungry for the breath
Of field and farm, with eager feet
I trod the pavement dry as death
Through city streets where crime is born,
And sudden — lo, a ridge of corn !
Above the dingy roofs it stood
A dome of tossing, tangled spears.
Dark, cool, and sweet as any wood
Its silken, green, and plumed ears
Laughed on me through the haze of morn -
The tranquil presence of the corn !
Upon the salt weed from the sea
Borne westward swift as dreams
Of boyhood are, I seemed to be
Once more a part of sounds and gleams
Thrown on me by the winds of morn
Amid the rustling rows of corn.
I bared my head, and on me fell
The old-time wizardry again
Of leaf and sky, the mystic spell
Of boyhood's easy joy or pain.
When pumpkin trump was Siegfried's horn
Echoing down the walls of corn.
133
134 ^oy Life on the Prairie
1 saw the field (as trackless then
As wood to Daniel Boone)
Wherein we hunted wolves as men,
And camped and twanged the green bassoon j
Not blither Robin Hood's merry horn
Than pumpkin pipe amid the corn.
In central deeps the melons lay,
Slow swelling in the August sun.
I traced again the narrow way.
And joined again the stealthy run —
The jack-o'-lantern's wraith was born
Within the shadows of the corn.
O luide^ sweet wilderness of leaves !
O playmates far away ! Over thee
The sloiu wind like a mourner grieves^
And stirs the plumed ears fitfully.
JVould lue could sound the signal horn
Jnd fneet once more in walls of corn I
CHAPTER XI
A FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION
Money in those days was less easily obtained than
now, especially on the border, and Lincoln had never
had fifty cents to spend on a Fourth of July. Once he
had thirty cents, and it seemed that he was as rich as
any boy could reasonably hope to be. For several years
he had only fifteen cents, a dime of which went for a
bunch of firecrackers ; with the remaining five cents
he bought an orange (which he carried in the hollow of
his brown little paw, smelling of it from time to time,
reluctant to break its skin) or some peanuts. But the
year he was fourteen years of age he had a big silver
dollar, and Owen had one just like it. For weeks they
planned how to use these immense sums. One thing
they decided upon early — they would have three
bunches of firecrackers.
It had been their habit, for some years, to stealthily
rise in the early morning, and fire the heavily charged
shot-gun from the chamber window, and to wake the
household with furious cheers. Once they tried to
make a cannon out of an old mowing-machine wheel,
but failed, and fell back on the shot-gun. On this par-
ticular morning the sound of the firearm was to be a
135
136 Boy Life on the Prairie
signal to Ranee and Milton, who were to meet them at
the school-house, and go to Rock River, the county
town, for a riotous day.
As Lincoln crept from his bed, and pushed the gun
out through the open window, he was awed, for the
moment, by the silence and beauty of the morning. It
was scarcely dawn, and all over the grass, heavy with
dew, lay a wavering, thin mist, which was like visible
silence. For a moment the boy hesitated to break this
solemn hush, but, remembering " the great day," he
pulled both triggers at once, and the sound of the dis-
charge rolled away over the prairie with the grandeur
(it seemed to him) of a cannon-shot. Then he shouted
" Hurrah for the Fourth of July ! " and Owen,
struggling to his feet, his eyes heavy with sleep, joined
in shrilly. Having succeeded in thoroughly disturbing
the comfortable rest of their hard-working parents, the
boys felt quite happy and well repaid for their trouble.
Too much excited to eat any breakfast, and too im-
patient to wait for it anyhow, they saddled their horses
and rode away, a small haversack full of bread and butter
dangling at their saddles, and their money pushed far
down into the lowest corner of their trousers pockets.
Their comrades were late, and it was full sunrise before
they arrived.
" How much money you got ? " asked Ranee at
once.
" A dollar. How much you got ? "
He held up a bill. " Five dollars."
Lincoln stared in silent amazement, his big dollar
A Fourth of July Celebration 137
shrinking each minute. Milton had only seventy-five
cents, however, and the other boys were partly consoled.
Taking the lead. Ranee and Milton cantered away,
Owen and Lincoln close behind. It was always an ex-
citing experience to go to Rock River, but to go on horse-
back was glorious. Lincoln soon forgot the difference
between his funds and those of his hero. As they
passed other farm-houses, they saw men and boys going
out to milk the cows and feed the horses, and felt sorry
for them. To all who were hitching up they uttered
exultant cheers. No one else was moving along the
road but themselves, and as they entered the main
street of the town, they found it quite empty, except for
the grocers and notion-sellers, who were erecting bowers
of green trees before their shops, and setting out lem-
onade glasses, and heaps of rockets, firecrackers, and
candy.
Ranee was acquainted in town, and found a yard in
which they were permitted to leave their horses. As
soon as possible they returned to the street, in order to
miss nothing of the preparation. They each bought an
orange, and stood about, sucking at it gently, in order to
make it last a long time. They each bought a package
of " assorted candies." Whatever one did, the others
did also, as a matter of course, though Milton was at a
disadvantage. There came a time when Ranee naturally
branched out and " went it alone," but at the start they
kept together. Ultimately they fell under the fascination
of the prize candy package, and each paid five cents for
one of those deceitful boxes. Lincoln drew a little gilt
ijS Boy Life on the Prairie
pin, in shape like a locomotive, Ranee a big yellow fly,
and Owen and Milton some rings that shone like gold,
but were not. However, they did not complain. It
was all in the game.
Meanwhile the streets began to ring with the cries of
the lemonade-dealers, who used their best wit to make
people laugh. They amused the boys from Sun Prairie,
at least.
" Roll up, tumble up, any way to get up. Here's
your ice-cold lemonade, made in the shade, stirred with
a spade, by an old maid. Here it is cool and sweet."
" Right HERE you'll find your Eyetallion oranges,"
called forth another, " five cents each. They weigh a
pound and are sweet as sugar."
" Ice-cream ! I scream, I scream ! " bawled his
neighbor, with his eyes on every pair of sweethearts
who came his way. Wagons laden with whole families
clattered in, raising a long cloud of dust, which settled
over the bowers, and into the ice-cream which the boys
were eating. But dust was a small affair. Men on
horseback, brown, keen-eyed young fellows, pulled up
and tied before the doors of the saloons. The farmers'
wives and daughters sat in the grocery stores and gos-
siped for a time, in order to gain courage to go forth
into the street, which was getting crowded with people,
moving aimlessly back and forth along the walk.
To Lincoln the throng was enormous. It seemed as
if the whole country must be in town, and he felt a pang
of regret when he remembered his mother toiling at
home.
A Fourth of July Celebration 139
Meanwhile, around in a side street the " Ragamuf-
fins " were forming, and occasionally one of them irregu-
larly galloped down the main street, to the immense
amusement of the boys. Whatever this parade had
originally been, it had degenerated into a rude caricature
of political parties or persons, and was amusing only to
simple minds. It always contained a negro preacher, a
couple of grotesque sweethearts, and old Uncle Sam. It
was considerably greater in the prologue than in the
enactment. It was all over in a few moments after it
started. With drumming pans and tooting of tin horns
and the blare of a designedly cacophonous band it passed
away, and the people were able to give attention to
something better worth while.
Most of the forenoon was passed (and it seemed
profitably spent by the Sun Prairie boys) in just looking
at strange things and in devouring a mixture of nuts,
candies, figs, and oranges. Little was necessary to
amuse and interest them. A new sort of dog, an un-
usual carriage, a boy playing on a mouth-organ, —
anything at all diverted them. Time did not exist.
They knew nothing of clocks till the middle of the day
drew near, and even then tney felt no pang of hunger —
they knew the middle of the day had come when, upon
call of the marshal of the day, the elderly people " re-
tired to the Court-house yard " to listen while " the stars
and stripes were planted on the cloud-capped summit of
the peaks of liberty," after which all took dinner. Even
the boys from Sun Prairie began to feel that they ought
to eat something besides candy and peanuts, and upon
140 Boy Life on the Prairie
Ranee's suggestion they returned by the alley, and ex-
humed some bread and butter from their haversacks,
which they ate with ginger ale for drink. Lincoln was
already beginning to feel ill, and so was Ranee. Milton
and Owen professed to be " all right."
" Let's go and see the games and races at the Fair
grounds," said Ranee. Lincoln in secret wished to
remain on the streets, for he forecast battle among the
men, and did not want to miss it, but agreed. As they
were about finishing their lunch, a town boy came
along — a stalwart, freckle-faced youth of sixteen, who
looked them over closely. Having sized up the group,
he made insolent demand.
"Gimme a drink of your pop."
" Go buy your own," replied Owen, promptly.
" You shut up, or I'll break your jaw, you little
country snipe."
Ranee was moderate of speech, but he instantly said :
" You run along. You ain't wanted here,"
The town boy doubled his fists, " Mebbe you want
to fight me."
" I don't want to, but I will if you don't stir your
stumps out o' here."
" Oh, you will, will you ! " sneered the stranger.
Ranee grew white. "You go about your business."
The insolent one started to sav something, but Ranee
hurled himself against him like a bulldog, and both
went down in the dust. Ranee on top spread out
" like a letter X." The bully tried to rise ; he wriggled
and twisted and kicked and offered to bite, but Ranee
A Fourth of July Celebration 141
held him flat on his back, a grim smile on his pale face.
Lincoln's heart beat fast as he looked about, expecting
each minute the rush of other foes. He dreaded a
fight, but was willing to do his best if it came.
" Good for you. Ranee. Hold him ! " shouted
Milton, his eyes shining with laughter.
At length the town boy ceased to struggle, and pant-
ing for breath, began to cry.
" Let me up ! I'm choking ! Let me up ! "
" Got enough ? " asked Ranee sternly, but relaxing
his hold a little.
" You better let me up, now."
There was a threat still in his voice, and Ranee laid
his strong hard wrist across his enemy's throat and
again said : —
" Got enough ? "
" Yes, yes. Let me up ! "
Ranee let him up. " Now you let us alone," he
said, " and git out o' here."
The boy at a safe distance said : " I'll fix you. I'll
bring Shorty Sykes — he'll beat you black and blue."
Ranee made a dash at him and he fled. " Guess we
better move," said Lincoln. " He'll come back with
his gang in a few minutes. They're down on us
country boys, anyway."
The street was swarming with people now, but
four lads had eves only for the freckle-faced boy, who
pointed them out to his friends. Trouble was brew-
ing. Meanwhile Lincoln was feeling sick, very sick.
Starting the day without any breakfast, he had eaten all
142 Boy Life on the Prairie
the morning, and his stomach was filled with candv,
lemonade, oranges, peanuts, ginger-pop, and soda
crackers. Besides, he was sick by reason of his over-
wrought nerves. He was like a rabbit that has strayed
into the city streets, and fears every moving thing.
It was plain the freckle-faced youth was urging his
clan to action. They could see him talking excitedlv,
and making savage gestures in their direction.
Ranee was grimly silent. " Not much," he said in
answer to Lincoln, who wished to go home. " I'm not
goin' to be run out o' town by these runts."
Lincoln was no fighter under the best circumstances,
and with a splitting headache he was seeking a place to
lie down and groan and sleep. The holiday street had
become a field of warfare, and the surroundings were
all alien to the country boys.
At last the redoubtable Sykes seemed to take com-
mand, and began to lead his forces in casual yet sinister
fashion toward the little knot of Sun Prairie boys.
Sykes was a sturdy chap, as his torn trouser legs too
plainly showed. He was the town tatterdemalion, the
yellow cur who delights to growl and yelp and roll in
the dust with his betters. He had taken up the quarrel
with ready jov, and only wanted an opportunity to leap
upon Ranee, whom he had plainly marked as " my
meat." Freckle-face as obviously singled out Lincoln,
while two or three others were detailed to bother at
Owen and Milton.
At this critical moment Lincoln spied Ben Hutchison
and called to him. Ben came up smiling, his long
A Fourth of July Celebration 143
upper lip twitching like a colt's. He was stained with
orange juice and candy, but ready for any sort of fun.
" Hello," he said. " Where you been keepin' your-
selves ? "
" Say, Ben," replied Lincoln, " we've got business for
you. See them fellers ? " He pointed to the enemy.
" Aha. What about 'em ? "
" Why, they're plannin' to lick us like shucks, that's
all."
" Oh, they be ? I want to know. What for ? "
" 'Cause we wouldn't let 'em have part of our ginger-
pop."
This aroused Ben thoroughly. " If they want fight,
they can have a bellyful."
The confident strength of this reenforcement did not
escape the attention of the enemy, and a council of
war was held in the alleyway between the meat shop
and the livery stable. At last a small aid was sent to
secure new troops. His legs fluttered like those of a
partridge as he sped away.
By this time the celebration and the crowd were
entirely secondary matters. The people, indeed, seemed
merely a wilderness of trees walking, a jungle wherein
the coming battle must take place. The two hostile
armies reconnoitered for position while seeking reen-
forcements. Ranee and Ben did most of the talking.
Milton and Lincoln were dumb from nausea, and Owen,
too, began to suffer from internal wars among the nuts
and candies he had munched, and the plans of the en-
emy did not profoundly interest him. Ben realized the
144 Boy Life on the Prairie
weakness of his rank and file, and kept an eye out for
wandering bands of guerillas. The best he could find
and draw to his aid was Humboldt Bunn, whom every-
body called " Hum-Bunn," unless they wished to pes-
ter him ; then he naturally became " hum-^«^." He
was a lathv, loose-jointed youth, of slender physical
prowess, but full of grit. He was always willing to
try, and came into the war with joy.
"Show me 'um ! " he cried, licking his lips as if in
preparation for a pudding. " Show me to 'um ! " and
he doubled his rope-like arms and kicked up his heels
so comically that even the sick ones laughed. Hum
put humor into the war, anyway.
Meanwhile the enemy had been reenforced by a fat
boy, who wore a small cap over his ear and looked
wicked, very wicked indeed. His bulk was imposing,
but Hum took a satirical view of him.
" I'll take that sack o' bran," said he. " I'll punch
the wind out o' that bladder. Lem me put the kibosh
on that puffball."
The fat boy began to roll up his sleeves to show
his big arms. He seemed to supersede Sykes and the
freckle-faced one, too. With imperious voice he or-
dered all hands to follow him, and marched straight
toward Ben and his little army.
As he threaded his way through encumbering men
and women, and carriages and babies and lemonade
stands, his stride became wonderful. He absorbed all
attention, completely overshadowing Svkcs and Freckle-
face.
A Fourth of July Celebration 145
With insolent visage and turbulent action, he stepped
before Ranee. " Want to fight, do ye ? Well, come
on. I'll lick you into strips."
Ranee was silent with rage, but Ben twisted his
upper lip into a comical leer, and said : —
" What'll we be doin' ? "
" You dassent fight."
" We dassent ? "
" No."
" We'll show you in about a minute whether we
dast or not."
" I dare ye to come back into the alley."
" Go on," said Ranee, and at the tone of his voice
the fat boy paled a little. Ranee was white-hot with
anger, and his eyes burned with dangerous intensity.
'' Come on, fellers," commanded the fat general, and
led the way back of the post-office, upon a vacant lot,
where a number of horses were eating hay out of
wagons. To Lincoln this had all the solemnity of
war to the death. It was the country against the
town. His headache was swallowed up in a sort of
blurring numbness. He had forgotten who they were
or what they came for, except that now battle was
impending and that they must sell their lives as dearly
as possible. That was the phrase always used by the
scouts in Boodle's dime novels. Remembering that,
he took a last look at the sun and faced the enemy.
He kept a watchful eye on Freckles, for since the
coming of the fat boy, Sykes had shifted his calculating
eyes to Ranee.
146 Boy Life on the Prairie
At last, just beside a barn, and hedged in by a fence
on two sides, the armies took position. The rank and
file of both sides were dolefully silent. The challenges
were uttered by the commanders, and for a few moments
words flew like brickbats.
The fat boy was game for war. He put a piece of
shingle on his shoulder at last and said, " I dare ye ! "
Ben knocked it off with his left hand, and swatted the
general's insolent cheek with his right, and in a moment
the two were rolling in the dust, and Sykes and Ranee
were at it, hammer and tongs. PVeckles charged sav-
agely upon Lincoln, and with that, all the forces became
engaged. In the first rush Freckles carried Lincoln to
the ground, but could not hold him there. The first
blow in his face seemed to transform the world. There-
after he saw nothing but the strange, savage face of his
assailant, though he leaped again and again, striking at it
blindly. Sometimes he hit, and at last a stream of blood
trickled down the freckled face. Then he rushed, and
Lincoln went to the ground again, and there writhed,
choking, gasping, till a cry from Owen pierced the blur
ot his senses.
" Link, Link, help ! He's chokin' me."
With a sudden surge of strength Lincoln rose, and
flinging his assailant away, with a cry of rage leaped
upon and tore the assailant off his brother, who was
weeping and gasping for breath. As he fought the
murderer with foot and hand, he heard a loud cry of
pain, and looking up, saw Ranee with a long sliver of
board in his hand, battling back the redoubtable Sykes
A Fourth of July Celebration 147
and Freckles. His face was set in a dangerous smile,
and every sweep of his weapon brought fo'"th a yell of
pain. Sticks, stones, pieces of bricks, began to fly, and
the country troops were just getting warmed to the
work, when the town-dwellers suddenly scattered like a
covey of prairie chickens, leaving the Sun Prairie forces
amazed and inert. What was the cause of their sudden
flight ? It was deeply suspicious.
Around the end of the barn appeared a small man
with a star on his coat, and all was explained. It was
the City Marshal.
Walking up to Ben, he wound his hand in his collar,
and said, " See here, what's all this row about ? "
Lincoln's blood was hot, and his heart big with a sort
of desperate courage.
" Oh yes, that's right. Jump on us and let the town
boys go."
The Marshal looked up at him. " Oh, you're from
the country, are you ? What's your name ? "
" Lincoln Stewart. Them boys pitched into us, an'
you arrest us. If my folks was here, you wouldn't do it."
" Shut up," said the Marshal. " What's your name ? "
he said to Ben.
" Ben Hutchison."
" And yours ? "
" Milton Jennings, and that's Ranee Knapp. If you
want the votes of Sun Prairie, you better let us alone,"
replied Milton, who was a good deal of a politician, and
knew the Marshal's tender spot.
The Marshal released Ben. He was a candidate for
148 Boy Life on the Prairie
party nomination as sheriff, and besides, he knew the
families very well.
" What was it all about ? " he asked in a more reason-
able way. Lincoln told him.
He smiled. " I'm from the country myself. You
flailed 'em out, didn't you ? " he said to Ranee.
" I tried to."
" Did you know the boys ? "
" Yes."
" Who were they ? "
Ben started to reply.
" Keep quiet," commanded Ranee. " We're satis-
fied as long as you don't arrest us. If you're going to
arrest anybody, you've got to take us all."
Owen began to cry, and Humboldt looked very much
alarmed.
" Well, now I'll tell you, boys. Seein's you are all
from the country, and seein's them ragamuffins set upon
ye, I'll let ye go. But I can't have anv more rowin'
here. You better put out for home and get washed up.
You look like you'd been run through a separator.
Now, hyper," he added, with the air of being very
gracious.
The boys stood in a knot, waiting until the officer
reentered the saloon from which he had emerged -, then
Ben said : —
" I move we stay to the fireworks, and show 'em
we're not afraid."
But Lincoln, whose headache was returning, said,
" I'm going home."
A Fourth of July Celebration 149
" So am I," said Milton, who was pale with a head-
ache.
Under the circumstances it was unsafe for the rem-
nant of the army to remain, and so they, too, went away,
claiming a victory.
The glory of the day had departed for Lincoln. The
noise and excitement had produced a blinding pain just
back of his left eye, and the poisonous mixture of sweets
and drinks had given him a sickness at his stomach,
which was torture. Every leap of his horse seemed
likely to split his poor head. Owen and Milton were
almost as badly off, and Ranee looked rather morose.
There was little talk on the way home. They rode
rapidly, alternating the fox canter with the walk. As
they journeyed, the sun sank behind a big bank of
clouds. Teams clattered along, raising prodigious clouds
of dust, the wagon-boxes filled with fretful, wailing
children — they, too, were suffering from unaccustomed
noise and soda-water and candy.
At the corner by the school-house, Ranee and Milton
turned off, and Lincoln and Owen rode on. They were
so sick they could hardly put their horses in the barn,
and when they crawled into the house, Mr. Stewart
said : " Sick, are you ? " and added disgustedly, " If
you'd eat a little decent food and let ' truck ' alone, you'd
come home able to walk."
" Let 'em alone, father," said Mrs. Stewart. " They
know that as well as anybody. Now, for land sakes !
what marked you all up like that ? And look at your
clothes ! Well, you are in nice shape."
150 Boy Life on the Prairie
" We licked 'em, anyway," chirped Owen.
" Licked 'em r Licked who ? "
" The town boys. And the Sheriff was going to
arrest us, an' Mikon scared him off."
Mrs. Stewart looked helplessly at her husband.
"Well, now, Duncan, what do you 'spose the young
'uns have been into ? "
"Send 'em to bed. We'll hear all about it in the
morning," he replied, resuming his newspaper.
Weak, dizzy, groaning with pain, Lincoln and Owen
crawled up the stairs to their beds. The Glorious
Fourth, their outing, was over, and their dollars were
gone to the purchase of a dreadful headache, but of such
were the ways of boys.
CHAPTER XII
HIRED MEN
The " hands " of Sun Prai-
rie, even those hired by the
month, were a source of great
interest to Lincohi and Owen, Each March brought
a new personality into the home — sometimes a disa-
greeable and dangerous one, occasionally a fairly inter-
esting one. Some of them could play the violin or
sing, and so brought new music into the family. Others
were famous dancers. Too often they were coarse and
vicious and given to low amusements, especially those
who came to help in haying and harvest.
However, a very distinct line was drawn between the
day-hand and the hired man. The hired man entered
the family, and his character was a consideration at the
start. Mr. Stewart always got at the antecedents of
his help if possible. With a fair chance, Lincoln was
disposed to make a hero of each new-comer, and brag
about him to the other boys of the neighborhood.
152 Boy Life on the Prairie
who had their own accomplished hired men to cele-
brate.
Jack, the first hired man, was a most amazing dancer
of negro breakdowns, and the boys delighted to get him
at it of an evening in the kitchen, and patted "juber"
for him, while he shuffled and double-shuffled and hoed-
down and side-stepped, and drummed with heel and toe
on the floor till Mrs. Stewart cried out, " For Peter's
sake ! stop that racket."
He was a small man, hardy and willing, comically
ignorant, but a handy man to spear fish, a famous swim-
mer, and always good-tempered and ready for fun. The
boys liked him very well indeed, but ignored his advice.
They bragged of his dancing, not of his beauty. He
stayed till snow fell, then went away to the pinery, and
was seen no more.
The next one came from Tama County, and was
called " Tama Bill." He was a comical fellow, who
spoke with a drawl, and became famous for his boastful
references to " Tamy Caounty." " Why, talk about
soil," said he, " the black soil of Tamy beats the world.
Leave a crowbar in the ground over night, and ye can
pick a handful of tenpenny nails off of it in the morn-
ing." He was a perpetual circus, — at least the clown
part of it, — but he was slack and slow, and left just
before harvest.
One curious type was an old Cornishman, whom
the boys could hardly understand, so uncouth was his
pronunciation of the simplest words. He always seemed
a pathetic figure to Lincoln — to be so old, and lonely.
Hired Men
153
and far from home ! Another, equally curious, was a
near-sighted old German, who read everything, — Scott,
Dickens, dime novels, weekly story-papers, — anything
that contained a tale. He claimed a university educa-
tion, and in truth his diction was always good, and his
manner grave and sedate. He was not handsome to
look at, but he was of much finer type than some of
the drunken young daredevils who made sport of him.
He knew the plots of all the stories of Scott and Dumas,
and Lincoln and Ranee delighted to get him spinning
them out in his broken English. They also read his
story-papers, and the gayly colored dime novels, which
dealt mainly with Indians and scouts, and filled them
with longing to be as these heroes in fringed buckskin
jackets — but they were far too cautious of temperament
to run away, as several boys in Rock River did.
Old Jacob read bushels of these tales, holding the
page so near his eyes it seemed his eyelash must touch.
His end was tragic. He became blind and helpless, and
was taken care of by the town, and died far away from
kith and kin. Others followed him on the farm ; brisk,
hardy young fellows, who bought teams, and began busi-
ness for themselves. They made less impression on
Lincoln, but they were better hired men. They were
made to seem commonplace, also, by the troops of
nomads from the south who swept over the country,
like a visitation of locusts, in harvest, reckless young
fellows, handsome, profane, licentious, given to drink,
powerful but inconstant workmen, quarrelsome and diffi-
cult to manage at all times. They came in the season
1^4 ^oy Life on the Prairie
when work was plenty and wages high, and were very
independent of bearing. They dressed well, in their own
peculiar fashion, and on Saturday night and Sunday
spent their wages in mad reyels in the country along the
riyer, where a couple of road-houses furnished harbor
and amusement for their like. " We take no orders
from any man," they often said, and made much of
their freedom to come and go.
Each had a small hand-bag, which contained a change
of clothing and a few personal knickknacks. Many of
them bought the Police Recorder^ and carried pictures of
variety actresses, which pleased their coarse tastes.
When dressed in their best they were dashing fellows.
They wore close-fitting, high-heeled boots of calfskin,
dark trousers, with a silk handkerchief in the hip pocket,
a colored shirt with gay armlets, and a vest, genteelly
left unbuttoned. A showy watch-chain, a big signet-
ring (useful in fighting), and a soft black hat completed
a costume easy and not without grace. They gener-
ally hunted in couples, helping each other out at work
and in scrimmages on Sunday. The fights were furious
and noisy, but not deadly. The revolver was not in
common use on the prairie. The traditions were against
it. "Tussling" and biting were common.
There were those, even of this nomadic army, of a
different class, — men of good bringing up, who were
working to get a start, and it often happened that such
men remained as hired men, or paid court to some girl,
became a farmer's son-in-law, rented a quarter-section,
and settled down. Hut for the most part the harvest
Hired Men 155
hands passed on to the north, mysterious as the flight of
locusts, leaving the people of Sun Prairie quite as igno-
rant of their real names and characters as upon the
first day of their coming.
To Lincoln there was immense fascination in these
men. They came from distant lands. They told of
the city, and sinister and poisonous jungles all cities
seemed, in their stories. They were scarred with
battles. Some of them openly joked of " boarding at
the State's expense." They came from the far-away and
unknown, and planned journeys to other States, the
very names of which were poems to Lincoln, and then
they passed without so much as a courteous good-by
to the boy who admired, and sometimes loved them.
Sometimes a broken-hearted girl wept in secret over
their going, for they appealed with even greater power
to the farmers' daughters.
Among them each season were men of great physical
beauty and strength ; men who carelessly asked, " Who
is vour best man ? " and then straightway challenged
him to combat. They were generally accommodated,
for the country held some half dozen men who consid-
ered themselves invincible, and who welcomed ambitious
strangers with closed fists. One of these was Steve
Nagle, a magnificently proportioned young fellow, but
pock-marked of face, with a shapeless and cruel mouth.
When sober he was likely to take offence, but when in
liquor he dreamed of dominion over the world. Stories
of his exploits abounded among the boys, who admired,
and feared, and hated him.
156 Boy Life on the Prairie
His favorite amusement, when inflamed with whiskev,
was to enter a saloon suddenly, and snarl : —
" Git out o' here.. Every blank blank blank ! "
And thcv got ! They crawled on the floor, they
jumped through the windows, anyway to get out, while
Steve walked the floor, and laughed like a hyena in
enjoyment of his joke.
If any of the harvest hands desired trouble, they could
always get it, by merely crossing Steve's path, and to
refuse to move at his bidding. Not a Saturday night
passed without some self-confident person contributing
another good story of Steve's method of entertainment.
Monday morning was usually filled with half-told stories
of Saturday night's debaucheries.
There were but three men in the country whom the
boys believed to be Steve's equal. They were Jim
Moriarty, the sheriff who whipped the counterfeiter;
Dan, his brother, whom nobody but Jim dared to face ;
and Lime Gilman, a big, good-natured, golden-haired,
slope-shouldered giant, who came along the road one
spring day and hired out to old man Bacon, and married
his daughter, Marietta, in less than a month. Bacon
was tremendously incensed at first, but became recon-
ciled, and put the young couple on his lower eighty,
which diamond-cornered with the Stewart farm.
The boys loved Lime and made him their hero at
once. His face was almost always shining with a smile,
and his blue eyes gleamed good-naturedly on man and
beast. His voice was so soft and low it expressed weak-
ness, or at least laziness, but it was in truth a very
Hired Men 157
deceptive peculiarity. He loved horses and dogs and
children, and they all obeyed him instantly. He knew
no poetry or history, could barely cipher out the price of
a load of barley, and had not travelled much, and yet
he never uttered a word that was not, somehow, inter-
esting to his hearers. Part of this was due to his natural
reticence, and part to his manner of speech, which made
even a statement of fact worth listening to.
It was six months before the men even suspected his
enormous strength. Lincoln and Owen knew it first,
for he occasionally did wonderful things to please them,
such as tossing a two-bushel sack of wheat over the
wheel of the wagon, or slyly lifting one wheel of the
threshing-machine, or holding an iron sledge at arm's-
length. These things he did with a smile of amusement
at the round-eyed admiration of the boys, saying,
" When you can do this, boys, demand full pay."
These things the boys promptly related to their father
and the other hired men, in order to get a comparison of
strength. The other young fellows strained at bags of
shot and the sledge, and professed to believe Lincoln
was mistaken. In one sly way and another, the boys
got Lime to widen his fame, till his giant strength be-
came known. Clothing concealed his muscles. When
stripped for swimming he seemed twenty pounds heavier,
so enormous were his arms and shoulders. The calves
of his legs would not go into the tops of his boots, and
he always looked untidy, because his boot-legs were
wrinkled or slit, to admit his vast muscles. He could
split the sleeve of a new coat by doubling up his arm.
158 Boy Life on the Prairie
At last all the young men of the neighborhood
acknowledged his superiority. He could outjump and
outlift them all. He could set a bear-trap with his
hands, and hold a boy on a chair at arm's-length. He
could throw the maul ten feet beyond the best man, and
turn headsprings with his arms folded. Only for his
friends, and after much urging, would he put himself on
display, and a year went by before his fame reached the
bar-rooms, for he very seldom so much as entered a
saloon. He had never met ''Big Ole " or the " Yancv
boys " or Steve Nagle, when hot with liquor, and in
cool blood not one of these redoubtables cared to
measure forearms with him. His calm blue eye was a
powerful check to indiscriminate assault.
Steve Nagle had at times uttered a desire to meet him,
but only when excited with drink among his cronies, and
when his challenge was conveyed to the big fellow. Lime
merely laughed, and said, " He knows where I live."
Steve was one of a group of men gathered in Coun-
cill's barn one rainy day in September ; the rain had
stopped the stacking, and the men were amusing them-
selves with feats of skill and strength. Steve was easily
champion, no matter what came up ; whether shoulder-
ing a sack of wheat, or raising weights, or suspending him-
self with one hand, he left the others out of the game.
" Aw ! it's no good foolun' with such puny little
men as you," he swaggered at last, throwing himself
down upon a pile of sacks.
" If Lime Oilman was here, I bet he'd beat you all
holler," piped Owen from the doorway.
Hired Men
^S9
Steve raised himself up and glared.
" What's that thing talkun' ? "
Owen held his ground. " You can brag when he
ain't around, but I bet he can lick you with one hand
tied behind him ; don't you, Link? "
Lincoln was doubtful, and kept a little out of sight.
He was afraid of Steve. Owen went on about his
hero : —
" Why, he can take a sack of wheat by the corners
and snap every kernel of it clean out ; he can lift a
separator just as easy ! You'd better not brag when
he's around."
Steve's anger rose, for the others were laughing ; he
glared around at them all like a wolf. " Bring on your
wonder ; let's see how he looks."
" Pa says if Lime went to a saloon where you'd meet
him once, you wouldn't clean out that saloon," Owen
went on calmly, with a distinct undercurrent of glee in
his voice.
" Bring on this feller ; I'll knock the everlasting spots
ofFen 'im f'r two cents."
"I'll tell 'im that."
" Tell him and be damned," roared Steve, with a
wolfish gleam in his eyes that drove the boys away
whooping with mingled terror and delight.
Steve well understood that the men about him held
Owen's opinion of Lime, and it made him furious. His
undisputed sovereignty over the saloons of Rock County
was in doubt.
Lime was out mending fence when Owen came
i6o Boy Life on the Prairie
along to tell him what Steve had said. The boy was
anxious to have his faith in his hero justified, and watched
Lime carefully as he pounded away without looking up.
His dress had an easy slouch about his vast limbs, and
his pantaloons were tucked into his boot-tops, his vest
swinging unbuttoned, his hat carelessly awry.
" He says he can knock the spots off of you,"
Owen said, in conclusion, watching Lime roguishly.
The giant finished nailing up the fence, and at last
said, " Now run along, sonny, and git the cows."
There was a laugh in his voice that showed his amuse-
ment at Owen's disappointment. " I ain't got any
spots."
On the following Saturday night, at dusk, as Lime
was smoking his pipe out on the horse-block, and telling
stories to Lincoln and Owen, a swiftly driven wagon
came rattling down the road, filled with a noisy load of
men. The driver pulled up at the gate, with a prodig-
ious shouting.
''Hello, Lime!"
" Hello, the house ! "
" Hurrah for the show ! "
" It's Al Crandall," cried Owen, running down to the
gate. Lime followed slowly, and asked, " What's up,
boys ? "
" All goin' down to the show ; climb in ! "
"All right; wait till I git my coat."
" Oh, can't we go. Lime ? " pleaded Owen.
" If your dad'll let you ; I'll pay for the tickets."
The boys rushed wildly home and as wildly back
Hired Men i6i
again, and the team resumed its swift course, for it was
getting late. It was a beautiful autumn night •, the full
moon poured down a cataract of silent white light like
spray, and the dew (almost frost) lay on the grass and
reflected the glory of the sky ; the air was still and had
that peculiar property, common to the prairie air, of
carrying sound to a great distance.
The road was hard and smooth, and the spirited little
team bowled the heavy wagon along at a swift pace.
"We're late," Crandall said, as he snapped his long
whip over the heads of his horses, " and we've got to
make it in twenty-five minutes or miss part of the
show." This caused Lincoln great anxiety. He had
never seen a play and wanted to see it all. He looked
at the flying legs of the horses and pushed on the dash-
board, chirping at them slyly.
To go to town was an event, but to go with the men
at night, and to a show, was something to remember a
lifetime.
There was little talk as they rushed along, only some
singing of a dubious sort by Bill Young, on the back
seat. At intervals Bill stopped singing and leaned over
to say, in exactly the same tone of voice each time,
" Al, I hope t' God we won't be late." Then resumed
his monotonous singing, or said something coarse to
Rice, who laughed immoderately.
The play had begun when they climbed the narrow,
precarious stairway which led to the door of the hall.
Every seat of the room was filled ; but as for the boys,
after getting their eyes upon the players, they did not
1 62 Bov Life on the Prairie
think of sitting, or of moving, for that matter ; they
were literally all eves and ears.
The hall seated about three hundred persons, and the
stage added considerably to the fun of the evening by
the squeaks it gave out as the heavy man walked across,
as well as by the falling down of the calico wings at
inopportune moments. At the back of the room the
benches rose one above the other until those who occu-
pied the rear seats almost touched the grimy ceiling.
These benches were occupied by the toughs of the
town, who treated each other to peanuts and slapped
each other over the head with their soft, shapeless hats,
and laughed inordinately when some other fellow's cap
was thrown out of his reach into the crowd.
The play was Wilkie Collins's "New Magdalen," and
the part of " Mercy " was taken by a large and magnifi-
cently proportioned woman, a blonde, and in Lincoln's
eyes she was queenly in grace and majesty of motion.
He took a personal pride in her at once and wanted her
to come out triumphant in the end, regardless of any
conventional morality.
True, his admiration for the dark little woman's tragic
utterance at times drew him away from his breathless
study of the queenly " Mercy," but such moments were
few. Within a half-hour he was deeply in love with
her and wondered how she could possibly endure the fat
man who played the part of " Horace," and who pitched
into the " practicable " supper of cold ham, biscuit, and
currant wine with a gusto that suggested gluttony as the
reason for his growing burden of flesh.
Hired Men 163
And so the play went on. The wonderful old lady
in the cap and spectacles, the mysterious dark little
woman who popped in at short intervals to say " Be-
ware ! " in a very deep contralto voice, the tender and
repentant " Mercy," all were new and wonderful and
beautiful things to the boys, and though they stood up
the whole evening through, it passed so swiftly that the
curtain's fall drew from them long sighs of regret.
From that time on Lincoln dreamed of that wonderful
play and that beautiful, repentant woman. So securely
was she enthroned in his regard that no rude and sense-
less jest could ever unseat her. Of course, the men, as
they went out, laughed and joked in the manner of such
men, and swore in their disappointment because it was
a serious drama in place of a comedy and the farce
which they had expected.
"It's a regular sell," Bill said. "I wanted to hear
old Plunket 'stid of all that stuff about nothin'. That
was a lunkin' good-lookin' woman though," he added,
with a coarse suggestion in his voice, which exasperated
Lincoln to the pitch of giving him a kick on the heel as
he walked in front. *' Hyare, young feller, look where
you're puttin' your hoofs ! " Bill growled, looking about.
Lincoln was comforted by seeing in the face of his
brother the same rapt expression which he felt was
on his own. He walked along almost mechanically,
scarcely feeling the sidewalk, his thoughts still dwelling
on the lady and the play. It was after ten o'clock, and
the stores were all shut, the frost lay thick and white on
the plank walk, and the moon was shining as only a
164 Boy Life on the Prairie
moon can shine through the rarefied air on the Western
prairies, and overhead the stars in innumerable hosts
swam in the absolutely cloudless sky.
Owen stumbled along, keeping hold of Lime's hand
till they reached the team standing at the sidewalk,
shivering with cold. The impatient horses stretched
their stiffened limbs with pleasure and made off with a
rearing plunge. The men were noisy. Bill sang an-
other song at the top of his voice as they rattled by the
sleeping houses, but as he came to an objectionable part
of the song Lime turned suddenly and said, "Shut up
on that, will you ? " and he became silent.
Rock Rivers, after the most extraordinary agitation,
had just prohibited the sale of liquor at any point
within two miles of the school-house in the town. This,
after strenuous opposition, was enforced ; the immediate
effect of the law was to establish saloons at the limit of
the two miles and to throw a large increase of business
into the hands of Hank Swartz in the retail part of his
brewery, which was situated about two miles from the
town, on the bank of the river. He had immediately
built a bar-room and made himself ready for the increase
of his trade, which had prc\'iously been confined to sup-
plying picnic parties with half-kegs of beer or an occa-
sional glass to teamsters passing by. Hank had an eye
to the main chance and boasted, " If the public gits
ahead of me, it's got to be up and a-comin'."
The road alono; which Crandall was driving did not
lead to Hank's place, but the river road, which branched
off a little farther on, went by the brewery, though it
Hired Men 165
was a longer way around. The men grew silent at last,
and the steady roll and rumble of the wagon over the
smooth road was soothing, and Owen laid his head in
Lime's lap and fell asleep while looking at the moon and
wondering why it always seemed to go just as fast as the
team.
He was awakened by a series of wild yells, the snap-
ping of whips, and the furious rush of horses. Another
team filled with harvesters was trying to pass, and not
succeedino;. The fellows in the other wagon hooted and
howled. The driver cracked the whip, but Al's little
bays kept them behind until Lime protested, " Oh, let
'em go, Al," and then with a shout of glee the team
went by and left them in a cloud of dust.
" Say, boys," said Bill, " that was Pat Sheehan and
the Nagle boys. They've turned off; they're goin'
down to Hank's. Let's go, too. Come on, fellers,
what d'you say ? I'm all-fired dry. Ain't you ? "
" I'm willun'," said Frank Rice ; " what d'you say.
Lime ? " Lincoln looked up into Lime's face and said
to him, in a low voice, "Let's go home ; that was Steve
a-drivin'." Lime nodded and made a sign of silence,
but Lincoln saw his head lift. He had heard and recog-
nized Steve's voice.
" It was Pat Sheehan, sure," repeated Bill, " an' I
shouldn't wonder if the others was the Nagle boys and
Eth Cole."
" Yes, it was Steve," said Al. " I saw his old hat as
he went by."
It was perfectly intelligible to Lime that they were all
1 66 Boy Life on the Prairie
anxious to have a meeting between Steve and himself.
Lincoln also understood that if Lime refused to go to
the brewery he would be called a coward. Bill would
tell it all over the neighborhood, and his hero would be
shamed. At last Lime nodded his head in consent, and
Al turned off" into the river road.
When they drew up at the brewery by the river, the
other fellows had all entered, and the door was shut.
There were two or three other teams hitched about
under the trees. The men sprang out, and Bill danced
a jig in anticipation of the fun to follow. " If Steve
starts to lam Lime, there'll be a circus."
As they stood for a moment before the door, Al spoke
to Lime about Steve's probable attack. " I ain't goin'
to hunt around for no row," replied Lime, placidly,
"and I don't believe Steve is. You lads," he said to
the boys, " watch the team for a little while ; cuddle
down under the blankets if you git cold. It ain't no
place for you in the inside. We won't stop long," he
ended cheerily.
The door opened and let out a dull red light, closed
again, and all was still except an occasional burst of
laughter and the noise of heavy feet within. The scene
made an indelible impress upon Lincoln. Fifty feet away
the river sang over its shallows, broad and whitened with
foam which gleamed like frosted silver in the brilliant
moonlight. The trees were dark and tall about him and
loomed overhead against the starlit sky, and the broad,
high moon threw a thick tracery of shadows on the
dusty white road where the horses stood. Only the
Hired Men 167
rhythmic flow of the broad, swift river, with the occa-
sional uneasy movement of the horses under their creak-
ing harnesses or the dull noise of the shouting men within
the shanty, was to be heard.
Owen nestled down into the robes and took to dream-
ing of the lovely lady he had seen, and wondered if, when
he became a man, he should have a wife like her. He
was awakened by Lincoln, who was rousing him to serve
a purpose of his own. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and
rose under orders.
" Say, Owen, what d'yeh s'pose them fellers are doen'
in there ? You said Steve was goin' to lick Lime, you
did. It don't sound much like it in there. Hear 'um
laugh," he said viciously and regretfully. " Say, Owen,
you sly along and peek in and see what they're up to,
an' come an' tell me, while I hold the horses," he said,
to hide the fact that Owen was doing a good deal for
his benefit.
Owen got slowly off the wagon and hobbled on toward
the saloon, stiff with cold. As he neared the door he
could hear some one talking in a loud voice, while the
rest laughed at intervals in the manner of those who are
listening to the good points in a story. Not daring to
open the door, Owen stood around the front, trying to
find a crevice to look in at. The speaker inside
had finished his joke, and some one had begun sing-
ing.
The building was a lean-to attached to the brewery,
and was a rude and hastily constructed affair. It had
only two windows : one was on the side and the other
1 68 Boy Life on the Prairie
on the back. The window on the side was out of
Owen's reach, so he went to the back of the shanty.
It was built partly into the hill, and the window was
at the top of the bank. Owen found that by lying
down on the ground on the outside he had a sood
view of the interior. The window, while level with
the ground on the outside, was about as high as the
face of a man on the inside. The boy was extremely
wide-awake now and peered in at the scene with round,
unblinking eyes.
Steve was making sport for the rest and stood lean-
ing his elbow on the bar. He was in rare good humor,
for him. His hat was lying beside him, and he was in
his shirt-sleeves, and his cruel gray eyes, pock-marked
face, and broken nose were lighted up with a frightful
smile. He was good-natured now, but the next drink
might set him wild. Hank stood behind the high pine
bar, a broad but nervous grin on his round, red face.
Two big kerosene lamps, through a couple of smoky
chimneys, sent a dull red glare upon the company,
which half filled the room.
If Steve's face was unpleasant to look upon, the
nonchalant, tiger-like poise and flex of his body was
not. He had been dancing, it seemed, and had thrown
off his coat, and as he talked he repeatedly rolled his
blue shirt-sleeves up and down as though the motion
were habitual with him. Most of the men were sitting
around the room, looking on and laughing at Steve's
antics and the antics of one or two others who were
just drunk enough to make fools of themselves. Two
Hired Men 169
or three sat on an old billiard table under the window
through which Owen was peering.
Lime sat in characteristic attitude, his elbows upon
his knees and his thumbs under his chin. His eyes
were lazily raised now and then with a lion-like action
of the muscles of his forehead. But he seemed to take
little interest in the ribaldry of the other fellows. Owen
measured both champions critically, and exulted in the
feeling that Steve was not so ready for the row with
Lime as he thought he was.
After Steve had finished his story there was a chorus
of roars : " Bully for you, Steve ! " " Give us another,"
etc. Steve, much flattered, nodded to the alert saloon-
keeper, and said, " Give us another. Hank." As the
rest all sprang up, he added : " Pull out that brandy
kaig this time. Hank. Trot her out, you white-livered
Dutchman ! " he roared, as Swartz hesitated.
The brewer fetched it up from beneath the bar, but
he did it reluctantly. In the midst of the hubbub thus
produced, an abnormally tall and lanky fellow known
as " High " Bedloe pushed up to the bar and made an
effort to speak, and finally did say, solemnly : —
" Gen'lmun, Steve, say, gen'lmun, do'n' less mix our
drinks ! "
This was received with boisterous laughter. Bedloe
could not see the joke, and looked feebly astonished.
Just at this point Owen received such a fright as
entirely took away his powers of moving or breathing,
for something laid hold of his heels with deadly grip.
He was getting his breath to yell when a familiar voice
lyo Boy Life on the Prairie
at his ear said, in a tone somewhere between a whisper
and a groan : —
"Say, what they up to all this while? I'm sick o'
wait'n' out there."
Lincoln had become impatient ; as for Owen, he had
been so absorbed by the scenes within, he had not
noticed that the frosty ground had stiffened his limbs
and set his teeth chattering. Owen simply pointed
with his mittened, stubby thumb toward the interior,
and Lincoln crawled along to a place beside him.
Mixing the drinks had produced the disastrous effect
which Hank and Bedloe had anticipated. The fun
became uproarious. There were songs and dances by
various members of the Nagle gang, but Lime's crowd,
being in the minority, kept quiet, occasionally standing
treat, as was the proper thing to do.
But Steve grew wilder and more irritable every mo-
ment. He seemed to have drunk just enough to let
loose the terrible force that slept in his muscles. He
tugged at his throat until the strings of his woollen
shirt loosened, displaying the great, sloping muscles
of his neck and shoulders, white as milk and hard as
iron. His eyes rolled restlessly as he paced the floor.
His panther-like step was full of a terrible suggestive-
ness. The breath of the boys at the window came
quicker and quicker. Steve was working himself into
a rage that threatened momentarily to break forth into
a violence. He realized that this was a crisis in his
career ; his reputation was at stake.
Young as Owen was, he understood the whole mat-
Hired Men 171
ter as he studied the restless Steve, and compared him
with his impassive hero, sitting immovable.
" You see Lime can't go away," he explained breath-
lessly to Lincoln in a whisper, " 'cause they'd tell it
all over the country that he backed down for Steve.
He daresn't leave."
" Steve ain't no durn fool," replied Lincoln, with
superior wisdom. " See Lime there, cool as a cucum-
ber. He's from the pineries, he is." He ended in a
tone of voice intended to convey that fighting was the
principal study of the pineries, and that Lime had gradu-
ated with the highest honors. " Steve ain't a-go'n' to
pitch into him yet awhile, you bet your bottom dollar;
he ain't drunk enough for that."
Each time the invitation for another drink was given,
they noticed that Lime kept on the outside of the crowd,
and some one helped him to his glass. " Don't you see
he ain't drinkin'. He's throwin' it away," said Lincoln ;
" there, see ! He ain't goin' to be drunk when Steve
tackles him. Oh, there'll be music in a minute or
two."
Steve now walked the floor, pouring forth a flood of
profanity and challenges against men who were not
present. He had not brought himself to the point of
attacking the unmoved and silent giant. Some of the
younger men, and especially the pleader against mixed
drinks, had succumbed, and were sleeping heavily on the
back end of the bar and on the billiard table. Hank
was getting anxious, and the forced smile on his face
was painful to see. Over the whole group there was a
172 Boy Life on the Prairie
singular air of waiting. No one was enjoying himself,
and all wished that they were on the road home, but
there was no way out of it now. It was evident that
Lime purposed forcing the beginning of the battle on
Steve. He sat in statuesque repose.
Steve had his hat in his hand and held it doubled up
like a club, and every time he turned in his restless walk
he struck the bar a resounding blow. His eyes seemed to
see nothing, although they moved wildlv from side to side.
He lifted up his voice in a snarl. " I'm the man that
struck Billy Patterson I I'm the man that bunted the
bull off the bridge ! Anybody got anything to sav,
now's his time. I'm here. Bring on your champion.
I'm the wildcat of the prairie."
Foam came into the corners of his mouth, and the
veins stood out on his neck. His red face shone with
its swollen veins. He smashed his fists together, threw
his hat on the floor, tramped on it, snarling out curses.
Nothing kept him in check save the imperturbability of
the seated figure. Everybody expected him to clear the
saloon to prove his power.
Bedloe, who was asleep on the table, precipitated
matters by rolling off with a prodigious noise amid a
pandemonium of howls and laughter. In his anxiety to
see what was going on, Lincoln thrust his head violently
against the window, and it crashed in, sending the glass
rattling down on the tabic.
Steve looked up, a red sheen in his eyes like that of a
wild beast. Instantly his fury burst out against this new
object of attention — a wild, unreasoning rage.
Hired Men 173
" What you doen' there ? Who air ye, ye mangy
little dog ? "
Both boys sank back in tumultuous, shuddering haste,
and rolled down the embankment. They heard the voice
of Steve thundering, " Fetch the little whelp here ! "
There was a rush from the inside, a sudden outpour-
ing, and the next moment Owen felt a hand touch his
shoulder. Steve dragged him around to the front of the
saloon before he could draw his breath or utter a sound.
The rest crowded around.
" What are y' doen' there ? " said Steve, shaking him
with insane vindictiveness.
" Drop that boy ! " said Lime. " Drop that boy ! "
he repeated, and his voice had a peculiar sound, as if it
came through his teeth.
Steve dropped him, and turned with a grating snarl
upon Lime, who opened his way through the excited
crowd while Owen stumbled, leaped, and crawled out
of the ring and joined Lincoln.
"Oh, it's you, is it? You white-livered — " He
did not finish, for the arm of the blond giant shot out
against his face like a beetle, and down he rolled on the
grass. The sound of the blow made Owen utter an
involuntary cry.
" No human bein' could have stood up agin that
blow," Crandall said afterwards. " It was like a mule
a-kickin'."
As Steve bounded to his feet, the silence was so great
Owen could hear the thumping of his heart and the
fierce, almost articulate breathing of Steve. The chatter
174 ^oy Life on the Prairie
and roar of the drunken crowd had been silenced by this
encounter of the giants. The open door, where Hank
stood, sent a reddish bar of light upon the two men as
they faced each other with a sort of terrific calm. In
his swift gaze in search of his brother, Lincoln noticed
the dark wood, the river murmuring drowsily over its
foam-wreathed pebbles, and saw his brother's face white
with excitement, but not fear.
Lime's blow had dazed Steve for a moment, but at
the same time it had sobered him. He came to his feet
with a curse which sounded like the swelling snarl of a
tiger. He had been taken by surprise before, and he
now came forward with his hands in position, to vindi-
cate his terrible reputation. The two men met in a
frightful stru2;2;le. Blows that meant murder were dealt
by each. Each slapping thud seemed to carry the crack-
ins; of bones in it. Steve was the more agile of the two
and circled rapidly around, striking like a trained boxer.
Every time his face came into view, with set teeth
and ferocious scowl, the boys' spirits fell. But when
they saw the calm, determined eyes of Lime, his watch-
ful, confident look, they grew assured. All depended
upon him. The Nagle gang were like wolves in their
growing ferocity, and as they outnumbered the other
party two to one, it was a critical quarter of an hour.
In a swift retrospect Lincoln remembered the frightful
tales told of this verv spot — of the killing of Lars
Petersen and his brother Ncls, and the brutal hammering
a crowd of drunken men had given to Big Ole, of the
Wapsy.
Hired Men 175
The blood was trickling down Lime's face from a cut
on his cheek, but Steve's face was swollen and ghastly
from the three blows which he had received. Lime was
saving himself for a supreme effort. The Nagle party,
encouraged by the sound of the blows which Steve
struck, began to yell and to show that they were ready
to take a hand in the contest.
" Go it, Steve, we'll back yeh ! Give it to 'im.
We're with yeh ! We'll tend to the rest."
Rice threw off his coat. " Never mind these chaps,
Lime. Hold on ! Fair play ! " he yelled, as he saw
young Nagle about to strike Lime from behind.
His cry startled Lime, and with a sudden leap he
dealt Steve a terrible blow full in the face, and as he
went reeling back made another leaping lunge and struck
him to the ground — a motion that seemed impossible
to one of his bulk. But as he did so, one of the crowd
tripped him and sent him rolling upon the prostrate
Steve, whose friends leaped like a pack of snarling
wolves upon Lime's back. There came into the giant's
heart a terrible, blind, desperate resolution. With a
hoarse, inarticulate cry he gathered himself for one
supreme effort and rose from the heap like a bear shak-
ing off a pack of dogs ; and holding the stunned and
nerveless Steve in his great hands, with one swift, in-
credible effort literally swept his opponent's body in the
faces of the infuriated men rushing down upon him.
" Come on, you red hellions ! " he shouted, in a
voice like a lion at bay. The light streamed on his
bared head, his hands were clinched, his chest heaved in
176 Boy Life on the Prairie
great gasps. There was no movement. The crowd
waited with their hands lowered ; before such a man
they could not stand for a moment. Thev could not
meet the blaze of his eyes. For a moment it seemed as
if no one breathed.
In the silence that followed, Bill, who had kept out
of sight up to this moment, piped out in a high, weak
falsetto, with a comically questioning accent, " All quiet
along the Potomac, boys ? "
Lime unbraced, wiped his face, and laughed. The
others joined in cautiously. " No, thank yez, none in
mine," said Sheehan, iij answer to the challenge of
Lime. " Whan Oi take to fightin' stame-ingins Oi'U
lit you knaw."
" Well, I should say so," said another. " Lime,
you're the best man that walks this State."
" Git out of the way, you white-livered hound, or I'll
blow hell out o' yeh," said Steve, who had recovered
himself sufficiently to know what it all meant. He lay
upon the grass behind the rest and was weakly trying to
get his revolver sighted upon Lime. One of the men
caught him by the shoulder and the rest yelled : —
" Hyare, Steve, no shootin'. It was a fair go, and
you're whipped."
Steve only repeated his warnings to get out of the
way. Rice kicked the weapon from his outstretched
hand, and the bullet went flying harmlessly into the air.
Walking through the ring. Lime took Owen by the
hand and said : " Come, boy, this is no place for you.
Let's go home. Fellers," he drawled in his customary
Hired Men 177
lazy way, "when y' want me you know where to find
me. Come, boys, the circus is over, the last dog is
hung."
For the first mile or two there was a good deal of
talk, and Bill said he knew that Lime could whip the
whole crowd.
" But where was you. Bill, about the time they had
me down ? I don't remember hearin' anything of you
'long about that time. Bill."
Bill had nothing to say.
" Made me think somehow of Daniel in the lions'
den," said Owen.
" What do you mean by that, sonny ? " said Bill.
" It made me think of a circus. The circus there'll be
when Lime's woman finds out what he's been a-doin'."
" Great Scott, boys, you mustn't tell Merry Etty,"
said Lime, in genuine alarm.
As for Owen, he lay with his head in Lime's lap,
looking up at the glory of the starlit night, and with a
confused mingling of the play, of the voice of the lovely
woman, of the shouts and blows at the brewery, in his
mind, and with the murmur of the river and the roll and
rumble of the wagon blending in his ears, he fell into a
sleep which the rhythmic beat of the horses' hoofs did
not interrupt.
AUGUST
From cottonwoods the locusts cry
In quavering ecstatic duo — a boy
Shouts a wild call — a mourning dove
In the blue distance sobs — the wind
Wanders by heavy with odors
Of corn and wheat and melon vines.
The trees tremble with delirious joy as the breeze
Greets them, one by one — now the oak,
Now the great sycamore, now the elm —
While the locusts, in brazen chorus, cry
Like stricken things, and the ringdove's note
Sobs on in the dim distance.
IN STACKING TIME
Within the shelter of a towerino- stack
I lie in shadow, blinking at the sky.
I hear the glorious southern wind
Sweep the sere stubble like a scythe.
The falling crickets patter like the rain
Shaken from wind-tossed yellow wheat.
O first ripe dav of autumn !
O memory half of pain and half of joy !
178
In Stacking Time 179
As if the harsh fate of some dead girl
Haunted my heart, I dream and dream
With aching throat of dim but unforgotten days.
O wind, and Hght, and cool, high clouds,
O smell of corn leaves ripening !
It is so sweet to lie here, dumb and rapt
With wordless weight of ancient scenes and suns.
Of unremembered millions of autumn days.
Filled with the wonder of a million vanished years,
Wonder of winds and woods and waters,
The smell of ripening grain and nuts,
And the joy of sunset rest from toil
In rude, small fields in dim ancestral days.
As I muse, the shadows wheel and lengthen
Across the stubble-land, which glows,
A mat of gold inlaid with green.
The sun sinks. Sighing, I rise to go —
The noise of near-by street-car breaks the spell
Of cloud and sun and rustling sheaves.
Drowning the call of the mystical wind —
And overhead I hear the jar and throb
Of giant presses ; and the grinding roar
Of ceaseless tumult in the street below
Comes back and welters all my world
As the gray sea returns to sweep
In sullen surges where the roses bloomed.
.'it '■J^''"
CHAPTER XIII
Lincoln's first stack
From the time he had reached his eighth year, it had
been Lincohi's business in stacking time to ^' turn
bundles." That is, he stood in the middle of the stack,
and receiving the sheaves from the pitcher on the
wagon, turned them, and laid them butt-end foremost
at the elbow of the stacker, while on the far side of the
stack, as he came round on the side near the wagon,
the pitcher could place them without aid.
The stacks were often six or eight yards in diameter,
and as the stacker rose far above the wagon, he was
quite out of sight of the pitcher while making his round.
Turning the sheaves was not hard work, and Lincoln
rather enjoyed it, for he had wheat to eat, and the talk
i8o
Lincoln's First Stack
iSi
of the men interested him, and besides, he was learning
to be a stacker himself.
A boy wants to do everything, but he doesn't want
to do anything long. No matter how enjoyable a job
may be for a time, it soon grows old to him. He is an
experimenter. That is his trade. To do one thing
long cuts him off from acquiring a complete education.
Moreover, he wants to do a man's work. Set him to
turning bundles, he longs to pitch in the field, or some
other job for which he is not fitted.
Lincoln enjoyed the close of each old job and the
beginning of each new one. He was intensely pleased
when harvest ended and stacking began. There was
something fine in the coming of his uncles, the
McTurgs, rattling up the road in the early dawn of
late August. They changed work, thus making up
a crew in order to get the services of Duncan Stewart,
who was a skilful stacker. They often came with the
avowed intention of catching the Stewarts at breakfast,
but they never succeeded. Lincoln considered his
father an owl, because of his early rising.
Often by half-past six in the morning the teams
moved out into a field where the rising sun was flaming
through a mist that clothed the world like a garment,
and clung to the jewelled grass like a bridal veil.
The prairie at this time was quite silent. The
young chickens had ceased to peep, the meadow-lark
was heard only infrequently — the cricket and the
katydid possessed the land. The corn rustled huskily
now and then, as if in intermittent, meditative speech.
1 82 Boy Life on the Prairie
brooding upon the decay which was falling upon the
world. The pumpkins and melons were ripening in
the deeps of the corn-forests, the waving fields of wheat
had given place to wide reaches of cleanly shaven
stubble, beautifully mottled in green and purple by
smart-weed and mats of morning-glory vines, wherein
the shocks, weather-beaten as granite, sat in sagging
rows waiting the stacker, eaten into by pocket-gophers
below and ravaged by swarms of blackbirds above. By
contrast with the fierce heat and the unrelenting strain
of the harvest-field, stacking time seemed leisurely and
full of genial intercourse. The teams moved lazily at
the most, and the men worked on quietly with the action
of those who meditated. The crew was made up of
" monthly hands " and neighbors ; the wild and lawless
element was pretty thoroughly eliminated. A single
crew consisted of two teams with their drivers, one
pitcher in the field, a stacker, and a boy to hand bundles.
Sometimes Mr. Stewart ran a double crew and superin-
tended the stacking, while Lincoln and Owen turned
bundles and " raked down," keeping the stack clean of
" scatterings."
It was pleasant business at first, to stand on the
growing stack, facing the rushing breeze, counting the
number of settings in sight, hearing the voices of
the men, and tossing the sheaves into place. But
before noon came the boy dropped with amazing readi-
ness upon the stack, to shell wheat between his hands
(out of which to make " gum ") and to listen to the
crickets, while the stacker was at work on the side
Lincoln's First Stack 183
next to the pitcher. Each time he called " Come,
Lincoln," the boy rose with reluctant weariness. If
a boy could only toil when he felt like it, work
wouldn't be so bad, but to be interrupted in a day-
dream by a call to hand bundles was disagreeably like
being enslaved to a treadmill.
There were days when a powerful, persistent wind,
hot and dry, moved up from the south, making the
ripening corn hiss and flutter, a blast that swept the
sear stubble like a scythe invisible, but sounding with
swiftness, a wind that drove the loose wheat into the
boy's face like shot, and lifted the outside sheaves of
the stack in spite of all precaution, and laughed and
howled like an insane fury. It was the mighty equa-
torial wind, and Lincoln loved it. All day while the
sun shone and the prairie lay dim in its garment of mist,
that steady, relentless, furious, splendid breeze swept
from the burning south to the empty, mysterious north
like an invisible fleeing army of invisible harpies. Some-
times on such a day, fires broke out and raged, sweeping
from field to meadow and from stubble-land to pasture.
Fires were infrequent at this time in the settled places,
but when they came they worked woes. Sam Hutchison
lost all his horses on such a day by a spark from the
kitchen stovepipe, and Humboldt Bunn burned up two
enormous ricks of grain by setting fire to the stubble
which plagued him. For all these things Lincoln
always found something extremely worth while in the
sound of this wind.
It browned the men till they looked like Sioux, and
184 Boy Life on the Prairie
made the boys' lips chap. The hawks seemed to deh'ght
in it — tipping, wheeling, down-shooting, up-darting,
apparently its toy, but in reality its master. The
turkey-buzzards went abroad in it without hesitancy and
their majestic flight always appeared to Lincoln as al-
most miraculous. They seemed to fling themselves into
the air and ride above the storm at their own will with-
out a particle of physical effort. They had the sovereign
pride of eagles and the taste of carrion beetles.
For several years Lincoln had been instructed by his
father in the rudiments of stacking, and had been
allowed to " start the bottom," and even to lay a course
or two of the *•' bulge." To stack well was considered
a nice job, requiring skill and judgment, and the privi-
lege of doing even an occasional " inside course " was
of great value to ambitious boys.
The bundles are laid in rings, butt-ends out, each
inner course lapping to the bands of the outer sheaves.
Thus when a stack is started the courses form a series
of circular terraces rising to a dome of crossed sheaves
in the middle, the design being to keep the straw always
slanting out, so that any rain sinking in must necessarily
work its way outward of its own weight. In order to
further insure their slant, skilful stackers like Duncan
Stewart laid " bulges," so that when the stack was com-
plete it was shaped like a gigantic egg ; small on the
bottom, swelling to a much larger diameter six or eight
feet from the ground, and gradually tapering to a point
at the top.
This was done by studying the slant of the sheaves.
Lincoln's First Stack 185
After a shock has set for some time in the field, the ends
of the outside bundles take on a " slanch " at the butt,
and when the stacker wishes to " carry the stack up
straight," he lays the sheaves sidewise. When he
wishes to "lay out" his bulge, he turns the long point
of the " slanch " upward. When he wishes to " draw
in," he reverses them, putting the point down and the
slant upward, — "and always keep your middle full,"
Duncan reiterated to his son. " Pack your middle hard,
especially when you come to draw in. Tramp it down
well, and you won't have any wet grain."
The year he was thirteen, Lincoln regularly laid the
bottoms and brought the stacks to the bulge, but hardly
dared go on through that ticklish spot. He came to
" top out " for his father, being light and agile, and able
to cling like a chicken to the high stack after it was far
above the ladder, but he had never been able to put up a
full stack. One day in Lincoln's thirteenth year, Mr.
Stewart, while topping off a very high oat-stack, slipped
and fell to the ground, spraining his arm and side so
badly that he could not continue his work. For a few
minutes he could not speak for his pain. As he grew
easier, he feassumed his dauntless tone.
" Well, Lincoln," he said grimly, " I guess you are
the boss stacker from this on." They laid him on a
wagon and carried him to the house. " I'm all right
now, — go back to work," he said.
Lincoln's heart swelled with pride. He was not quite
fourteen, but his father's words made a man of him.
He assumed command, and the work went on as before.
1 86 Boy Life on the Prairie
Owen passed bundles, and Lincoln began a new bottom
in a sort of tremor, such as a voung lieutenant feels
when he assumes command for the first time. The
hired men were curious to see how the boy would come
out. The wind was against him, but the oats were
long and not likely to slip, so Lincoln started boldly on
a new stack, resolved to make it a big one. He moved
swiftly round on his knees, catching the bundles with
his left hand and drawing them under his right knee.
The men did not spare him, and he did not ask mercy
of them.
It was hard work. The knees of his trousers soon
gave way, and the backs of his hands swelled from the
exertion of grasping the heavy bundles, which often
struck him in the face, filling his neck with chaff and
beards. Briers got into his fingers, and his neck ached,
but after all, it was a man's work, and he had no mind
to complain.
By three o'clock he began to lay out his bulge, and
then the hired hands began to bother him.
" Better not try to put on too much of a bulge.
Link," said one.
" Ain't vou layin' 'er out a little too much on one
side ? " asked David, with an air of great solicitude.
" I guess not," Lincoln replied. He had been taught to
tell by the dip of the stack whether it was balancing prop-
erly or not ; nevertheless he got down often to look at it.
" I'll make her a twenty-five-footer," he said to Owen.
" It's time to eat our melons," replied Owen, who
was already tired of handling bundles.
Lincoln's First Stack 187
Lincoln, with the air of the boss, called on all hands
for a rest and a hack at a big " mountain sweet " which
had been picked in the early morning, and put under the
edge of a stack to keep cool.
The boys considered it almost providential that
melons should ripen just in time to relieve the drouth
of stacking time. And such melons ! They seemed to
grow spontaneously from the new land. Sometimes by
merely scattering seeds as he broke the sod, a farmer
would find thousands of splendid melons ready in Au-
gust. Everybody had a patch, generally in the middle
of the corn-field, for safe keeping, and Lincoln and
Owen took great pride in having the best seed known
to them. They were skilled in ways to tell when a
melon was ripe, and in the darkest night made no mis-
takes.
In the shade of his stack, with the crickets chiming
dully in the stubble, Lincoln and all hands drew around
an immense green-striped globe, rich in the summer's
sweetness, and laved in the cool dew of the night be-
fore. There is no other place where a melon tastes
so good (a table is no place for a melon). The midday
meal was just far enough away to make the red core
delicious food, as well as cool drink. When the men
slit ofF great pink and green crescents, and, disdaining
knives, " wallered into it," when nothing remained of
it but the seed and green " rine," Lincoln rose and
walked toward the ladder, and thus set the crew again
in motion.
Round by round he pushed out his bulge, the pitch-
1 88 Boy Life on the Prairie
ers warning him, " Better look out, Link, you'll have a
' slide-out.' "
But he, with wilful pride, had determined to build a
monster, just to show his father he was really a boss
stacker. At last the huge, half-built stack stood like a
top poised on a twelve-foot bottom, and Lincoln, fairly
alarmed, crept round on the top of the outside course,
fearing disaster.
"Don't touch them outside bundles," he said sharply
to the pitcher. " Send 'em up to Owen. Owen, slide
'em down easy — don't jiggle me."
Another round bound the outside sheaves, but still
the stack was in danger. Not till the third round did
Lincoln's muscles relax. Even then he knew that the
first course of " drawing in " was almost as full of dan-
ger. His nerves were a little shaken, but his pride
would not let him show his doubt of the issue. Slowly
he " drew in," but when all danger of a " slide-out " was
over, a new problem presented itself. The stack was
growing out of reach of the pitcher. It bid fair to be
thirty feet high, and to finish it by night was impossible,
though a dark cloud rising in the west threatened rain.
It must be " topped out " somehow.
As they went up to supper at five o'clock, the men
were full of admiration of the stack.
" She's a linger, and no mistake."
" When ye goin' to top her out. Link ? "
"Who has the honors?" (The "honors" meant the
privilege of pitching the last sheaves to the top of the
stack, an ironical phrase.)
Lincoln's First Stack 189
"Well, I'm not anxious," said David. "I guess I'll
let Dan have it."
They found Mr. Stewart stretched out on two chairs,
with his arm bandaged, but fairly comfortable.
"Well, my son, how do you come on ? "
" Oh, all right, I guess."
" Leave everything snug — it looks like rain."
"You want to see that stack," said David. "We
put ten loads into her, and she's only a little ways above
the bulge."
Duncan looked at his son. " Ten loads ? "
" Oh, I'll taper off — don't worry."
Dan took a hand. " He'll top 'er off if we can get the
bundles to him. She's as big as a mountain."
Duncan smiled. " Trying to beat your old dad, are
you ? "
Lincoln felt hot. " I wanted to make it big enough
to take all the afternoon," he said.
" You have," said David, " and part of the night."
" Put a man on the ladder," said Mr. Stewart, " and
do the best you can."
Lincoln set his lips, and said no more in the house.
" I'll make you pay for this," he said to Dan, as he
climbed to his place on the wagon. " Now hump your-
selves," Slowly the top of the stack contracted, and
the pitchers sank below. The shadows of the teams
began to lengthen along the stubble, which the setting
sun glorified. The crickets sang innumerably. The
cloud in the west hung low down on the horizon, await-
ing the coming of the night to advance. The wind
190 Boy Life on the Prairie
had died away, as if " to give the boy a chance," as
David said, and Lincohi's heart was resolute.
The " honors " fell on Dan, but David came in to
stand on the ladder and pass the bundles up to the
stacker, who looked like a child working all alone high
up in the air. There was something fine and exalting
in that last hour's work. To feel that his first stack
was, after all, a success made the boy feel like a young
soldier just promoted. He worked in his bare feet in
order to cling better, — worked swiftly, and yet calmly.
David " gassed " Dan. " Come, bear down on your
fork, there ! Your hide's been crackin' with strength
all day. Now here is your chance for exercise. A
little more steam, Danny. I can't come down after
em.
At last the boy, hardly larger than a sheaf, stood
erect on the completed top of the stack, and called
for the centre stake. He was so far above even the
man on the ladder, that David grumbled in flinging
the cap-sheaf to him, but at last the final bundle was
broken and upturned upon the stake, and as the boy,
sliding to the ground, agile as a squirrel, walked around
the stack, which towered, big, and stately, and graceful,
far above him, his heart was big with pride. He had
demonstrated his skill, and was happy.
But all night long he crept round that wide, slippery
bulge, the bundles sliding away from him again and again,
till he was worn and brain-weary with the effect. It was
always so with any new thing he did ; he toiled over it
all night, and rose in the morning limp and unrested.
Lincoln's First Stack 191
The following day tried him sorely. He passed from
oats to wheat, which is much more slippery and more
difficult to handle in the bulge. He had a disastrous
" slide out " in his forenoon's stack. The rain which
threatened had not come, the air was hot and close, and
he was lame and sore, his hands badly swollen, and his
knees tender, and on all these accounts, when a third of
his bulge fell out, he wept tears of mortification and
rage. To crown his misfortunes, his father came out
before he was able to straighten out the " mess."
But something rose in him which made him sullenly
determined, and with only an hour's delay he was once
more master of the situation. Mr. Stewart wisely said
nothing — preferring to "let the boy wiggle." When
he turned his back and started for the house, Lincoln's
heart grew strong again. His father considered him
quite equal even to a disaster, capable of taking care of
himself and a crew. By nightfall he had repaired all
mistakes ; thereafter, he was the stacker of the crew.
The finest part of all the stacking time lay in the
" home setting " in the barn-yard, for the work lay near
the house, the road, the well, and the berry patch. A
part of the crop was always housed in and stacked
around the barn, in order that the straw might be used
for sheds, and as feed for the cattle in winter. Here
Lincoln was forced to do his handsomest, for every pass-
ing team minutely studied the work of his hands.
By the time they reached this home setting, his father
was able to supervise, and his warnings and advice en-
abled Lincoln to outdo himself. Hardly a neighbor
192 Boy Life on the Prairie
passing by but had his remark about the boy stacker.
Old man Bennett came along and stopped to drawl
out : —
"Say, Link, your stack's tarvin' over."
" Oh, I guess not."
" I say 'tis. You'll be off in a minute."
Jennings pulled up to say, " Get full pay ? "
" Yes, sir."
"Well, you d'oughto. How do you build 'em on air,
that way ? "
Lincoln enjoyed all this very much, and as a matter
of fact, so did his father. If a man seemed disposed to
linger, Mr. Stewart went out to the fence to gossip
about his injured arm, and to state the age of the boy.
It was perfectly obvious vanity, but it led to no ill
results.
The kitchen was handy, and Mary came out with a
cooky and a cup of milk occasionally. The turkeys and
chickens fluttered about, picking up crickets and grass-
hoppers, and singing harsh songs of joy, as if giving
thanks for this unexpected feast. David's wife came
over once to spend the day, and Dan's sister came to tea
at night. Ranee, on his way to town one afternoon
with a drove of steers, made Lincoln discontented for a
time. " I wish I could go along," he shouted as Ranee
pulled up at the gate.
" I wish you could ; I'd treat you to ice-cream."
"Just my darn luck," said Lincoln, ruefully, and
Ranee rode on.
There was a peculiar charm in the work as night fell
Lincoln's First Stack 193
and the lights flamed up in the kitchen. As the last
load was finished, the crickets increased their shrill
chorus ; the rumble of wagons on the road grew more
distinct, and the cattle came snuffing and lowing un-
easily at the bars, surprised at being shut ofF from their
accustomed quarters. Stiff and weary, but serenely
well pleased, Lincoln slid down from his high place, and
with the privilege of a boss stacker went directly to the
house, with no chores to do — a very decided honor and
high distinction indeed.
There was only one thing better — to go with Ranee
to market with the steers. It made his mouth water to
think of the peaches and ice-cream he might have had
with his chum after the " bunch " of steers at the cattle
chutes had been safely corralled. But the good things
of life never seemed to go in a " string," anyway.
They came singly and far apart.
I
CHAPTER XIV
THE OLD-FASHIONED THRESHING
Life on an Iowa farm, even for the older lads, had
its compensations. There were times when the daily
routine of lonely and monotonous life gave place to an
agreeable bustle for a few days, and human intercourse
lightened the toil. In the midst of the dull, slow prog-
ress of the fall's ploughing, the gathering of the thresh-
ing crew was a most dramatic event.
There had been great changes in the methods of
threshing since Mr. Stewart had begun to farm, but it
had not yet reached the point where steam displaced the
horse-power. In the old days in Wisconsin, the grain,
after being stacked round the barn ready to be threshed,
was allowed to remain until late in the fall before call-
ing in the machine.
Of course, some farmers got at it earlier, for all could
not thresh at the same time, and a good part of the fall's
labor consisted in " changing works " with the neigh-
bors, thus laying up a stock of unpaid labor ready for
the home job. Day after day, therefore, Mr. Stewart
and the hired man shouldered their forks in the crisp
and early dawn and went to help their neighbors,
while Lincoln ploughed the stubble-land.
All through the months of October and November,
194
The Old-fashioned Threshing 195
the ceaseless ringing hum and the boiv-ouiu^ omu-iuoo boo-
oo-oofti of the great balance wheels of the threshing-ma-
chine and the deep bass hum of the whirling cylinder, as
its motion rose and fell, could be heard on every side
like the singing of some sullen and gigantic autumnal
insect.
For weeks Lincoln had looked forward to the com-
ing of the threshers with the greatest eagerness, and
during the whole of the day appointed Owen and he
hung on the gate and gazed down the road to see if the
machine were not coming. It did not come during the
afternoon — still they could not give it up, and at
the falling of dusk still hoped to hear the rattle of its
machinery.
They moved about restlessly in momentary expecta-
tion of a shout, notwithstanding the hired man said,
"They're probably stuck in the mud." A score of
times Owen ran to the window to see if he could not
catch a glimpse of it or hear the shouts of the men to
their horses.
It was not uncommon for the men who attended to
these machines to work all day at one place and move
to another "setting" at night. In that way, they might
not arrive until nine o'clock at night, or they might
come at four o'clock in the morning. And the children
were about starting to "climb the wooden hill" when
they heard the peculiar rattle of the cylinder and the
voices of the McTurgs singing.
"There they are," said Mr. Stewart, getting the old
square lantern and lighting the candle within. The air
196 Boy Life on the Prairie
was sharp, and the boys having taken off their boots,
could only stand at the window and watch the father as
he went out to show the men where to set the "power,"
the dim light throwing fantastic shadows here and there,
lighting up a face now and then, and bringing out the
thresher, which seemed a silent monster to the children,
who flattened their noses against the cold window-panes
to be sure that nothing should escape them. The men's
voices sounded cheerfully in the still night, and the
roused turkeys in the oaks peered about on their perches,
black silhouettes against the sky. The children would
gladly have stayed up to greet the threshers, who were
captains of industry in their eyes, but they were ordered
off to bed by Mrs. Stewart, who said, " You must go to
sleep in order to be up early in the morning." As they
lay there in their beds under the sloping rafter roof, they
heard the hand riding furiously away to tell some of the
neighbors that the threshers had come. They could
hear the cackle of the hens as Mr. Stewart assaulted
them and wrung their innocent necks. The crash of
the " sweeps " being unloaded sounded loud and clear in
the night, and so watching the dance of the lights and
shadows cast by the lantern on the plastered wall, they
fell asleep.
They were awakened next morning by the ringing
beat of the iron sledge as the men drove the stakes to
hold the " power" to the ground. The rattle of chains,
the clash of rods, the clang of iron bars, intermixed with
laughter and snatches of song, came sharply through the
frosty air. The smell of sausages being fried in the
The Old-fashioned Threshing 197
kitchen, the rapid tread of their busy mother as she hur-
ried the breakfast forward, warned the boys that it was
time to get up, although it was not yet dawn in the
east, and they had a sense of being awakened to a strange
new world. When they got down to breakfast, the men
had finished their coffee and were out in the stock-yard
completing preparations.
This morning experience was superb. Though shiv-
ery and cold in the faint frosty light of the day, the
children enjoyed every moment of it. The frost lay
white on every surface, the frozen ground rang like iron
under the steel-shod feet of the horses, the breath of the
men rose up in little white puffs while they sparred
playfully or rolled each other on the ground in jovial
clinches of legs and arms.
The young men were all anxiously waiting the first
sound which should rouse the countryside and proclaim
that theirs was the first machine to be at work. The
older men stood in groups, talking politics or speculating
on the price of wheat, pausing occasionally to slap
their hands about their breasts.
The pitchers were beginning to climb the stacks, and
belated neighbors could be seen coming across the fields.
Finally, just as the east began to bloom and long
streamers of red began to unroll along the vast gray
dome of sky, Joe Gilman — " Shouting Joe " as he was
called — mounted one of the stacks, and throwing down
the cap-sheaf lifted his voice in " a Chippewa war-
whoop." On a still morning like this his voice could
be heard three miles. Long drawn and musical, it sped
198 Boy Life on the Prairie
away over the fields, announcing to all the world that
the McTurgs were ready for the race. Answers came
back faintly from the. frosty fields, where the dim figures
of laggard hands could be seen hurrying over the plough-
land ; then David called '•'All right," and the machine
began to hum.
In those days the machine was a "J. I. Case" or a
" Buft^alo Pits " separator, and was moved by five pairs
of horses attached to a power staked to the ground,
round which they travelled to the left, pulling at
the ends of long levers or sweeps. The power was
planted some rods away from the machine, to which the
force was carried by means of " tumbling rods," with
"knuckle joints." The driver stood upon a platform
above the huge, savage, cog-wheels round which the
horses moved, and he was a great figure in the eyes of
the boys.
Driving looked like an easy job, but it was not. It
was very tiresome to stand on that small platform all
through the long day of the early fall, and on cold
November mornino;s when the cutting wind roared over
the plain, sweeping the dust and leaves along the road.
It was far pleasanter to sit on the south side of the
stack as Tommy did and watch the horses go round.
It was necessary also for the driver to be a man of good
judgment, for the power must be kept just to the right
speed, and he should be able to gauge the motion of the
cylinder by the pitch of its deep bass hum. There were
always three men who went with the machine and were
properly " the threshers." One acted as driver, the
The Old-fashioned Threshing 199
others were respectively " feeder " and " tender " ; one
of them fed the grain into the rolling cylinder, while the
other, oil-can in hand, " tended " the separator. The
feeder's position was the high place to which all boys
aspired, and they used to stand in silent admiration
watching the easy, powerful swing of David McTurg as
he caught the bundles in the crook of his arm, and
spread them out into a broad, smooth band upon which
the cylinder caught and tore like some insatiate monster,
and David was the ideal man in Lincoln's eyes, and to
be able to feed a threshing-machine, the highest honor
in the world. The boy who was chosen to cut bands
went to his post like a soldier to dangerous picket duty.
Sometimes David would take one of the small boys
upon his stand, where he could see the cylinder whiz
while the flying wheat stung his face. Sometimes the
driver would invite Tommy on the power to watch the
horses go round, and when he became dizzy often took
the youngster in his arms and running out along the
moving sweep, threw him with a shout into David's
arms.
Lincoln, who was just old enough to hold sacks for
the measurer, did not enjoy threshing so well, but to
Owen and his mates it was the keenest joy. They
wished it would never end. The wind blew cold and
the clouds were flying across the bright blue sky, the
straw glistened in the sun, the machine howled, the
dust flew, the whip cracked, and the men worked like
beavers to get the sheaves to the feeder, and to keep the
straw and wheat away from the tail-end of the machine.
200 Boy Life on the Prairie
These fellows, wallowing to their waists in the chaff,
did so for the amusement of Owen and Mary, and for
no other reason.
And the straw-pile — what delight they had in that!
What fun it was to go up to the top where the four or
five men were stationed, one behind the other. They
tossed huge forkfuls of the light, fragrant stalks upon
the boys, burying their light bulk, from which they
came to the surface out of breath, and glad to see the
light again.
They were always amused by the man who stood in
the midst of the thick dust and flying chaff at the head
of the stacker, who took and threw away the endless
cataract of straw as if it were all play. His teeth shone
like a negro's out of his dust-blackened face, and his
shirt was wet with sweat, but he motioned for more
straw, and the feeder, accepting the challenge, motioned
for more speed, and so the driver swung his lash and
yelled at the straining horses, the pitchers buckled to it,
the sleepy growl of the cylinder rose to a howl, the
wheat rushed out in a stream as " big as a stovepipe,"
and the carriers were forced to trot back and forth from
the granary like mad, and to generally " hump them-
selves " in order to keep the wheat from piling up round
the measurer where Lincoln stood disconsolately holding
sacks for old man Smith.
When the children got tired with wallowing in the
straw, and with turning somersaults therein, they
could go down and help Rover catch the rats which
were uncovered bv the pitchers when they reached the
The Old-fashioned Threshing 201
stack bottom. It was all drama to Owen, just as it
had once been to the others. The horses, with their
straining, outstretched necks, the loud and cheery
shouts, the whistling of the driver, the roar and hum
of the machine, the flourishing of the forks, the supple
movement of brawny arms, the shouts of the threshers
to each other, all blended with the wild sound of the
wind overhead in the creaking branches of the oaks,
formed a splendid drama for such as he.
But for Lincoln, who was forced to stand with old
Daddy Smith in the flying dust beside the machine, it
was a bad play. He had now become a part of the
machine — of the crew. His liberty to come and go
was gone. When Daddy was grinning at him out of
the gray dust and the swirling chafF, the wheat beards
were crawling down his back, scratching and rasping.
His ears were stunned by the noise of the cylinder and
the howl of the balance-wheel, and it did not help him
any to have the old man say in a rasping voice, " Never
mind the chaff, sonny — it ain't pizen."
Whirr — bang! something had gone into the cylin-
der, making the feeder dodge to escape the flying teeth,
and the men seized the horses to stop the machine.
Lincoln hailed such accidents with delight, for it afforded
him a few minutes' rest while the men put some new
teeth in the "concave." He had time to unbutton his
shirt and get some of the beards out of his neck, to take
a drink of water, and to let the deafness go out of his
ears.
At such times also some of the young fellows were
202 Boy Life on the Prairie
sure to have a wrestling or a lifting match, and all kind
of jokes flew about. The man at the straw-stack leaned
indolently on his fork and asked the feeder sarcastically
if that was the best he could do, and remarked, " It's
gettin' chilly up here. Guess I'll haf to go home and
get my kid gloves."
To this David laughingly responded, " I'll warm your
carcass with a rope if you don't shut up," all of which
gave the boys infinite delight.
There was not a little joking about the extraordinary
number of times the oil-can had to be carried to the
kitchen fire and warmed by Len Robbins, the driver.
When David was tending and Len feeding, the can was
all right, but thfe moment Len took it up it congealed.
David said, " It always does that whenever there's a
pretty girl in the house, even in the warmest days of
September."
Len laughed and said, " Don't you wish you had as
good a chance, boys ? " and triumphantly flourished a
half-eaten doughnut on the tip of his forefinger.
But the work began again, and Lincoln was forced to
take his place as regularly as the other men. As the
sun neared the zenith, Lincoln looked often up at it —
so often in fact that Daddy, observing it, cackled in great
amusement, " Think you c'n hurry it along, sonny ?
The watched pot never boils, remember!" — which
made the boy so angry he nearly kicked the old man
on the shin.
But at last the call for dinner sounded, the driver began
to shout, " Whoa there, bovs," to the teams and to hold
The Old-fashioned Threshing 203
his long whip before their eyes in order to convince them
that he really meant "Whoa." The pitchers stuck their
forks down in the stack and leaped to the ground, Billy
the band-cutter drew from his wrist the string of his big
knife, the men slid down from the straw-pile, and a race
began among; the teamsters to see who should be first
unhitched and at the watering trough and at the table.
It was always a splendid and dramatic moment to the
boys as the men crowded round the well to wash, shout-
ing, joking, cuffing each other, sloshing themselves with
water, and accusing each other of having blackened the
towel by using it to wash with rather than to wipe with.
Mrs. Stewart and the hired girl and generally some of
the neighbors' wives (who had " changed works " also)
stood ready to bring on the food as soon as the men
were seated. The table had been lengthened to its
utmost and pieced out with the kitchen table, which
usually was not of the same height, and planks had been
laid for seats on stout kitchen chairs at each side. The
men came in with a noisy rush and took seats wherever
they could find them, and their attack on the " biled
'taters and chicken " should have been appalling to the
women, but it was not. They smiled to see them eat.
One cut at a boiled potato followed by two motions and
it disappeared. Grimy fingers lifted a leg of a chicken
to a wide mouth, and two snaps at it laid it bare as a
slate pencil. To the children standing in the corner
waiting, it seemed that every smitch of the chicken was
going and that nothing would remain when the men got
through, but there was, for chickens were plentiful.
204 Boy Life on the Prairie
At last even the "gantest" of them filled up. Even
Len had his limits, and something remained for the
children and the women, who sat down at the second
table, while David and William and Len returned to
the machine to put everything in order, to sew the
belts, or take a bent tooth out of the " concave." Len,
however, managed to return two or three times in order
to have his joke with the hired girl, who enjoyed it
quite as much as he did.
In the short days of October only a brief nooning was
possible, and as soon as the horses had finished their
oats, the roar and hum of the machine began again
and continued steadily all the afternoon. Owen and
Rover continued their campaign upon the rats which
inhabited the bottoms of the stacks, and great was their
excitement as the men reached the last dozen sheaves.
Rover barked and Owen screamed half in fear and
half from a boy's savage delight in killing things, and
very few rats escaped their combined efforts.
To Lincoln the afternoon seemed endless. His arms
grew tired with holding the sacks against the lip of
the half-bushel, and his fingers grew sore with the
rasp of the rough canvas out of which the sacks were
made. When he thought of the number of times he
must repeat these actions, his heart was numb with
wearinesF.
But all things have an end. By and by the sun
grew big and red, the night began to fall and the wind
to die out. Through the falling gloom the machine
boomed steadily with a new sound, a sort of solemn
The Old-fashioned Threshing 205
roar, rising at intervals to a rattling yell as the cylin-
der ran empty. The men were working silently, sul-
lenly, looming dim and strange ; the pitchers on the
stack, the feeder on the platform, and especially the
workers on the high straw-pile, seemed afar off to
Lincoln's eyes. The gray dust covered the faces of
those near by, changing them into something mysteri-
ous and sad. At last he heard the welcome cry, " Turn
out ! " The men raised glad answer and threw aside
their forks.
Again came the gradual slowing down of the mo-
tion, while the driver called in a gentle, soothing voice :
" Whoa, lads ! Steady, boys ! Whoa, now ! " But
the horses had been going on so long and so steadily that
they checked their speed with difficulty. The men
slid from the stacks, and, seizing the ends of the
sweeps, held them ; but even after the power was
still, the cylinder went on, until David, calling for a
last sheaf, threw it in its open maw, choking it into
silence.
Then came again the sound of dropping chains and
iron rods, and the thud of hoofs as the horses walked
with laggard gait and weary down-falling heads to the
barn. The men, more subdued than at dinner, washed
with greater care, brushing the dust from their beards
and clothes. The air was still and cool, the wind was
gone, the sky a deep, cloudless blue.
The evening meal was more attractive to the boys
than dinner. The table was lighted with a kerosene
lamp, and the clean white linen, the fragrant dishes, the
2o6 Boy Life on the Prairie
women flying about with steaming platters, all seemed
very dramatic and very cheery to Lincoln as well as to
the men who came into the light and warmth with ach-
ing muscles and empty stomachs.
There was always a good deal of talk at supper, but
it was more subdued than at the dinner hour. The
younger fellows had their jokes of course, and watched
the hired girl attentively, while the old fellows discussed
the day's yield of grain or the matters of the township.
Lincoln was now allowed a place at the first table like a
first-class hand.
There was a brisk rattle of implements, and many
time-worn jokes from the wags of the party — about
" some people being better hands with the fork at the
kitchen table," etc.
The pie and the doughnuts and the coffee disappeared
as fast as they could be brought, which seemed to please
Mrs. Stewart, who said, " Goodness sakes, yes ; eat all
you want. They was made to eat."
The men were all, or nearly all, neighbors' boys, or
hands hired by the month, and were like members of
the family. Mrs. Stewart treated them like visitors and
not like hired help. No one feared a genuine rudeness
from the other.
After supper Mr. Stewart and the men withdrew to
milk the cows and to bed down the horses, and when
they were gone, the women and the youngsters ate their
supper while two or three of the young men who had no
teams to take care of sat round the room and made the
most interesting remarks they could think of to the
The Old-fashioned Threshing 207
girls. Lincoln thought they were very stupid, but the
girls seemed to enjoy it.
After they had eaten their supper it was a great
pleasure to the boys to go out to the barn and shed (all
wonderfully changed now to their minds by the great
new stack of straw), there to listen to the stories or jolly
remarks of the men as they curried their tired horses
munching busily at their hay, too weary to move a
muscle otherwise, but enjoying the rubbing down which
the men gave them with wisps of straw held in each
hand. The lantern threw a dim red light on the harness
and the rumps of the horses, and on the active figures
of the men.
The boys could hear the mice rustling the straw of
the roof, while from the farther end of the dimly lighted
shed came the regular strim — stram of the streams
of milk falling into the bottoms of the tin pails as Mr.
Stewart and the hired hand milked the contented cows.
They peered round occasionally from behind the legs of
a cow to laugh at the fun of the threshers, or to put in
a word or joke.
This was all very momentous to Lincoln and Owen
as they sat on the oat box, shivering in the cold air, lis-
tening with all their ears. When they all went toward
the house, the stars were out, and the flame-colored
crescent moon lay far down in the deep west. The
frost had already begun to glisten on the fences and well-
curb. High in the air, dark against the sky, the turkeys
were roosting uneasily, as if feeling some premonition
of their approaching fate. Rover pattered along by
2o8 Boy Life on the Prairie
Lincoln's side on the crisp grass, and Owen wondered
if his feet were not cold — his nose certainly was when
he laid it in his hot palm.
The light from the kitchen was very welcome, and
how bright and warm it was with the mother's merry
voice and smiling face where the women were moving
to and fro, and talking even more busily than they
worked.
Sometimes in these old-fashioned threshing days, after
the supper table was cleared out of the way, and the
men returned to the house, there followed an hour or
two of delicious merrymaking. Perhaps two or three
of the sisters of the young men had dropped in, and the
boys themselves were in no hurry to get home.
Around the fire the older men sat to tell stories while
the girls trudged in and out, finishing up the day's work
and getting the materials ready for breakfast. With
speechless content Lincoln used to sit and listen to
stories of bears and Indians and logging on the " VVis-
consc," and other tales of frontier life, and then at last,
after much beseeching, the violin was brought out and
David played. Strange how those giant hands could
supple to the strings and the bow — all day they had
been handling the fierce straw or were covered with the
grease and dirt of the machine, yet now they drew from
the violin the wildest, weirdest strains (David did not
know the names of these tunes), thrilling Norse folk
songs, Swedish dances, and love ballads, mournful, sensu-
ous, and seductive.
Lincoln could not understand why those tunes had
The Old-fashioned Threshing 209
that sad, sweet quality, but he could listen and listen to
them all night lono-.
At last came the inevitable call for the " Fisherman's
Hornpipe," or the " Devil's Dream," to which Joe Gil-
man jigged with an energy and abandon only to be
equalled by a genuine darky. Sometimes, if there were
enough for a set, the young people pushed the table
aside and took places for " The Fireman's Dance," or
"Money Musk," and at the end the boys went home
with the girls in the bright starlight, to rise next dawn
for another day's work with the thresher. Such had
been the old-time threshing in the coolly.
Oh, those rare days and rarer nights ! How fine
they were then — and how mellow they are growing
now as the slow-paced years drop a golden mist upon
them. From this distance they seemed too hearty and
wholesome and care free to be lost out of the world,
p
CHAPTER XV
THRESHING IN THE FIELD
The jfields of grain were much larger on the prairie,
and the work of taking care of the wheat was new to
Mr. Stewart. The larger part of the wheat was
"threshed from the shock" early in September, though
the barn-yard settings of oats remained till October, or
even November, as in Wisconsin.
As soon as the grain was hard enough, the machine
was moved into the centre of the field and " set."
Six teams with their drivers, three pitchers in the field,
and two band-cutters, one on each side of the feeder,
were necessary to supply the wants of the wide-throated
monster. It was stacking; and threshing; combined.
A wagon at each " table " kept the cylinder busy chew-
ing away, while the other teams were loading. At the
tail of the stacker, a boy with a pair of horses hitched
to the ends of a long pole hauled away the straw and
scattered it in shining yellow billows on the stubble,
ready to be burned. Straw was not merely valueless,
2IO
Threshing in the Field 211
it was a nuisance. Burning was the quickest and
cheapest way of getting rid of it.
There was less of the old-time neighborliness and
charm in field threshing. The days were hot and
long, and the hands nearly all nomadic workmen, who
had no intimate relation with the family. They worked
like day-help, doing no chores, sleeping in the barn or
granary, taking little interest in anything beyond their
pay. There was less chance to change works, and
often the whole of the early threshing was finished with
hired help, though the late threshing retained for several
years something of the quality of the old-time " bee."
Work was less rushing then, and the young men came
in to help, just as in the home coolly.
The first year Lincoln left the position of sack-holder
to Owen, and moved up to hauling away the straw.
The third season Owen took his place at the stacker,
and Lincoln became a band-cutter, while Tommy took
his turn at holding sacks for the measurer. All other
work was necessarily suspended while the thresher was
in the field. Work for the women was harder than
ever, for the crew was increased from twelve to twenty-
one and the threshing lasted longer. The kitchen
was hotter, too, and the flies more pestiferous.
It was not long before the " mounted power " gave
way to the stationary engine, and the separator surren-
dered its " apron " and its bell-metal cog-wheels, its
superb voice diminished to a husky roar and loose rattle.
It was as if some splendid insect had become silent.
The engine made a stern master, and work around the
212 Boy Life on the Prairie
thresher became one steady, relentless drive from dawn
to dusk ; the black monster seemed always yelling for
coal and water, and occasionally uttered cries of hate and
anger.
How long those ea'rly autumn days did spin out ! The
steady swing of the feeder on the platform, the hurried
puffing of the engine, the flapping of the great belt,
made a series of related motions without thought of
stopping.
On the far plain the tireless hawks wheeled and dipped
through the dim splendor of the golden autumn days.
They had no need to toil in the midst of stifling dust
and deafening clatter ; they had only to swim on the
crisp, warm air, and scream at each other in freedom.
It was at such moments that the boys recalled their
own liberty as horsemen on the plains, and longed to
be once more a-gallop behind the herd.
Lincoln, who served regularly as a band-cutter, held
himself to his work, though his arms were aching with
fatigue, toiling on and on until the sun went down, and
the dusk and dust came to hide the look of pain on his
face. He did not dislike this work, but it overtaxed his
strength.
There was great danger of fire from the engine on
the hot, dry, September days, when the wind was strong
and gusty, and all too frequently a separator burned
before it could be drawn away from the blazing straw.
The engine had a bad smell of mingled gas and steam,
and sometimes when the wind was right for it, suffoca-
tion was added to the pain of aching muscles. Lincoln
Threshing in the Field 213
was sorely tempted at times to leap from his platform
and walk away, so intolerable did the smoke and gas
become — but he didn't. A sort of stubborn pride or a
fear of ridicule held him to his place, and he swore
under his breath and kept his place.
All pain has an end. At last the engine signalled
" stop ! " The tender put his shoulder under the belt
and threw it from the pulley. The feeder choked the
cylinder to a standstill. The men leaped to the ground
stiffly and in silence, and with quiet haste melted away
in the dusk, leaving the hissing engine alone in the field.
Though very tired, the boys seldom failed to take a
hand in burning the straw. After supper was eaten and
their chores finished they returned to the field where
the last setting had stood, and kneeling in some hollow
between the waves, Mr. Stewart set a match to the
straw, while the boys twisting big handfuls into torches,
ran swiftly over the stubble like bent gnomes of fire,
leaving a blazing trail which transformed the world.
The roaring flames threw a cataract of golden sparks
high in the air — the wind suddenly returned, and great
whisps rose like living things, with wings of flame, and
sailed away into the obscure night, to fall and die in the
black distance. The smoke, forming a great inky roof,
shut out the light of the stars, and the gray night
instantly thickened to an impenetrable wall, closing in
around them, filling Lincoln's heart with a sudden awe
of the world of darkness.
The shadows of Owen and his father, in the dancing
light, twisting smoke, and wavering, heated air, seemed
214 -^oy ^'^^^ o"'' the Prairie
wild and strange, enormous, deformed, menacing, and
for a moment Lincoln imagined himself transported to
some universe of intermingled flame and darkness, where
men were formed in the image of wreathino- mist.
Billows of glowing coals rolled away beneath the
smoke, and it was easy to imagine himself looking down
upon some volcanic valley, where the rocks were blaz-
ing. He was glad when his father's voice called him
back to reality. As he turned his back on the flame
and started homeward, he thrilled with surprise to find
the stars calmly shining and the wide landscape serenely
untroubled, with an atmosphere of sleep hovering over
it, like mist. The barking of dogs at this moment was
weirdly suggestive. Once he looked back and saw the
distant horizon lit with other burnings, from which other
columns of smoke, gloriously lighted, soared to the stars.
After the early threshing he returned to his ploughing,
while Jack dug potatoes, cut corn, changed work with
the neighbors, and at last, set to work husking. Late
in October, or early in November, when the ploughing
was nearly done, the settings at the barn were threshed,
and the straw stacked around the stables, quite as in
Wisconsin. The uncouth monster, the engine, was
planted between the well and the corn-crib, looking sav-
age and out of place ; the grimy engineer, with folded
arms, fixed his eyes on the indicator and waited for the
hand to swing round to " eighty." Then a wild screech
broke from the engine. " All ready, boys," called the
feeder. The men scrambled to their places, and the
hum of the cylinders began.
Threshing in the Field 215
By this time most of the "tramp hands " had moved
on. The crew was made up of regular hired men and
neighbors. The wheat or oats was hauled away and
emptied in the bins of the granary, the straw was care-
fully stacked by skilled men ; given the purple hills, the
wind in the oaks, and it would have seemed like the
good old days in Boscobel.
No sooner was the home setting threshed than the
boys made use of the straw-stack. Milton and Ben
came over, and they all worked like moles to " tunnel "
the rick while it was still permeable. They pierced it
in every direction, with burrows big enough to allow a
boy to creep through on his hands and knees, and con-
structed chutes which began high on the stack, and
ended at the bottom, through which it was possible to
descend like a buck-shot through a tin tube. They
built caves deep in the heart of it, and constructed a
sort of maze, so that only the well-instructed could find
way thereto ; so that when a game of " hi spy " was
going on, the " blinder " could be properly surprised
and outwitted.
A large part of the boys' fun, at night and on Sunday,
went on around the straw-pile. With deadly weapons
composed of corn-cobs, stuck on willow wands, and
swords of lath, sharpened to savage keenness on the
edges, they battled for hours. No actual danger could
exceed the weakening spasms of fear which followed
upon moments of imminent capture in these games.
When Ranee, with deadly corn-cob slug, stepped from
ambush and made ready to slay, to Owen a blind
2i6 Boy Life on the Prairie
fear of death came, paralyzing his Hmbs, and his shriek
of terror was very real. Generally, however, they
played "hi spy," counting out in the good old way,
saying, " Intra, mentra, cutra, corn," etc.
As the nights grew colder, the boys met regularly,
now at Lincoln's, now at Ranee's, to pop corn on the
kitchen stove, and to play in the vivid moonlight.
Cold made little difference to them. Many a night,
when the thermometer was ten degrees below zero,
Lincoln and Owen walked across to Milton's home,
there to play till nine o'clock, walking home thereafter
in the stinging frosty night, without so much as feeling
a fire the whole evening long. Their big boots, frozen
stiff, stumped and slid on the snowy road, but the boys
did not mind that. They were sleepy, but the serene
beauty of the winter world was not lost upon them.
It was cold in the garret, but in contrast to the out-
side air, it was very comfortable, and so they flung off
their outside garments (night-shirts were unknown to
them), and snuggled down into the middle of their
" straw-ticks," like a couple of Poland China shotes,
and were asleep in thirty seconds. Their slumber was
dreamless and unbroken during all these years.
As the winter came on, the straw-pile settled down
into a shapeless mass, weighted with snow. The cattle
ate irregular caves and tunnels into it, and at last it lost
its charm. The school entertainments, protracted meet-
ings, or Lyceums claimed their interest and attention.
" Pom-pom pullaway " at the school-house replaced the
game of "hi spy " around the straw-stack.
Threshing in the Field 217
The spirit which made the old-time threshing a festi-
val, the circumstances which made of it a meeting to-
gether of neighbors, is now largely a memory. The
passing of the wheat-field, the growth of stock-farms, the
increase in machinery, have removed many of the old-
time customs. Lincoln Stewart walks no more in the
red dawn of October, his fork on his shoulder, while
the landscape palpitates in ecstasy, waiting the coming
of the sun. The frost gleams as of old on the sear
grass at the roadside, the air is just as crisp and clear.
The stars are out, Venus burns to her setting, and the
crickets are sleepily crying in the mottled stubble, but
Ranee and Milton and Owen are not there to meet the
majesty of the night.
THE AUTUMN GRASS
Have you ever lain low
In the deeps of the grass,
In the lee of a swell that uplifts,
Like a small brown island out of the sea —
When the bluejoint shakes
Like a forest of spears.
When each amber wave breaks
In bloom overhead,
And the wind in the doors of your ears
Is wailing a song of the dead ?
If so, you have heard in the midst of the roar.
The note of a lone gray bird.
Blown slant-wise by overhead.
Like a fragment of sail
In the grasp of the gale.
Hastening home to his southland once more.
O the music abroad in flie air.
With the autumn wind sweeping
His hand through the grass, where
Each tiniest blade is astir.
Keeping voice in the dim hid choir —
In the infinite song, the refrain.
The majestic wail of the plain !
218
\ > j»^
X ^
VI
-♦^
r-
"^^%.*4i
CHAPTER XVI
THE CORN HUSKING
In the autumn of his eleventh year Lincoln again went
into the stubble-field to plough, and for seventy days
he journeyed to and fro behind his team, overturning
nearly one hundred and fifty acres of stubble. When
he began, the sun was warm and the flies pestiferous, the
corn green, the melons ripe. As he followed the plough
the corn grew sear, the melon leaves turned black under
the heel of frost, the ducks flew south again, the grain-
stacks disappeared before the thresher, and the buskers
went forth to gather the ripened corn. All day, and
every day but Sunday, he worked, seeing the black land
grow steadily, while slowly but surely the stubble-land
wasted away.
It was a harsh day indeed, when he did not work.
Occasionally for an hour or two during a heavy shower
he took shelter in the barn, but squalls of snow or rain
he was not able to avoid without censure. Owen was a
great comfort to him as before, but he had his own work
to do in bringing the cattle and in pumping water at the
well, picking up chips, and other chores. It was lonely
business, and when at last he had laid aside the plough and
joined the corn-huskers, Lincoln's heart was very light.
Already in Sun Prairie husking the corn or "shucking"
219
2 20 Boy Life on the Prairie
it, as people from the South called it, was a considerable
part of the fall work. Each farmer had a field running
from twenty to fifty acres, generally near the homestead.
Along toward the first of October these fields got dry
and yellow under the combined action of the heat and
sun. All through the slumbrous days of September the
tall soldiers of the corn dreamed in the mist of noon,
and while the sun rolled red as blood to its setting, they
whispered like sentries awed by the passing of their chief.
Each day the mournful rustle of the leaves grew louder,
and flights of noisy passing blackbirds tore at the helpless
ears with their beaks. The leaves at last were dry as
vellum. The stalk still held its sap, but the drooping
ear revealed the nearness of the end. At last the owner,
plucking an ear, wrung it to listen to its voice; if it
creaked, it was not yet fit for the barn. It was solid as
oak, and the next day the teams began the harvest.
In big fields like that of Mr. Stewart it was the cus-
tom to husk in the field, and from the standing stalk.
No one but a stubborn Vermonter like Old Man Bunn
thought of cutting it up to husk from the shock. With
Jack, the hired man, Lincoln drove out with a big wagon
capable of holding fifty bushels of ears. On one side
was a high " banger board," which enabled the man
working beside the wagon to throw the husked ears in
without looking up. The horses walked astride one
row — bending it beneath the axle; this was called the
" down row," and was invariably set aside as " the boys'
row." Lincoln took the down row while Jack husked
two rows on the left of the wagon. The horses were
The Corn Husking 221
started and stopped by the voice alone, and there was
always a great deal of sound and fury in the process.
The work was easy and a continual feast for the horses
after their long, hard siege at ploughing, and right
heartily they improved the shining days.
At first this work was not devoid of charm. The
mornings were frosty but clear, and the sun soon
warmed the world ; but as the days passed, the boys'
hands became chapped and sore. Great, painful seams
developed between the thumb and forefinger, the nails
wore to the quick, and the balls of each finger became
tender as boils. The leaves of the corn, ceaselessly
whipped by the powerful winds, grew ragged, and the
stalks fell, increasing the number of ears for which the
husker was forced to stoop. The sun rose later each
day and took longer to warm the air. At times he failed
to show his face all day, and the frost hung on till nearly
noon.
Husking-gloves became a necessity, but this by no
means preserved the hands. The rains came and flurries
of snow ; the gloves, wet and muddy, shrank at night and
in the morning were hard as iron. They soon wore
out at the ends where the fingers were sorest, and Mrs.
Stewart was kept busy sewing on " cots " for Lincoln
and her husband : even Jack came to the point of accept-
ing her aid.
To husk eighty or a hundred bushels of corn during
the short days of November means making every
motion count. Every morning, long before daylight,
Lincoln stumbled out of bed, and dressed with numb
222 Boy Life on the Prairie
and swollen fingers, which almost refused to turn a
button. Outside he could hear the roosters crowing
far and near. The air was still, and the smoke ran into
the sky straight as a Lombardy poplar tree. The frost
was white on everything, and made the boy shiver as he
thought of the thousands of icy ears he must husk dur-
ing the day.
Sore as his hands were, he had his cows to milk be-
fore he could return to breakfast, which consisted of
home-made sausages (" snassingers," the boys called
them) and buckwheat pancakes.
" You won't get anything more until noon, boys,"
said Mr. Stewart, warningly ; " so fill up."
Mrs. Stewart flopped the big, brown, steaming disks
into their plates two or three at a time, and over them
each man and boy poured some of the delicious fat from
the sausages, cut them into strips, and having rolled the
strips into wads, filled their stomachs as a hunter loads
a gun.
Often they drove afield while the stars were still
shining, the wagon clattering and booming over the
frozen ground, the horses "humped" and full of "go."
It was very hard for the boy to get limbered up on
such mornin2:s. The keen wind searched him through
and through. His scarf chafed his chin, his gloves were
harsh and unyielding, and the tips of his fingers were
tender as "felons." The "down" ears were often
covered with frost or dirt and sometimes with ice, and
as the sun softened the ground, the mud and dead leaves
clung; to his feet like a ball and chain to a convict.
The Corn Husking 223
Owen shed some tears at times. Mr. Stewart was a
rapid workman, and it was hard work for the boy to
keep up the down rows, especially when he was blue
with cold and in agony because of his mistreated hands.
When the keen wind and the snow and mud conspired
against him, it was hard indeed. Each morning was a
dreaded enemy.
There were days when ragged gray masses of cloud
swept down on the powerful northern wind, when there
was a sorrowful, lonesome moan among the corn rows,
when the cranes, no longer soaring at ease, drove
straight into the south, sprawling low-hung in the
blast, or lost to sight above the flying scud, their necks
out-thrust, desperately eager to catch a glimpse of their
shining Mexican seas.
On Thanksgiving Day, Mr. Stewart, being apprehen-
sive of snow, hired some extra hands and got out into
the field as soon as it was light enough to see the rows.
''We must finish to-day, boys," he said. "We can't
afford to lose an hour. We're in for a big snow-storm."
It was a bitter day. Snow and sleet fell at intervals,
rattling in among the sear stalks with a dreary sound.
The northeast wind mourned like a dying wolf, and the
clouds seemed to leap across a sky torn and ragged, roll-
ing and spreading as in summer tempests. The down
ears were sealed up with ice and lumps of frozen earth,
and the stalks, ice-armored on the northern side, creaked
dismally in the blast. " We need a hammer to crack
'em open," said one of the men to Mr. Stewart.
With great-coats belted around them, with worn fin-
224 Boy Life on the Prairie
gers covered with new cots, Lincoln and Owen went
into the field. Thick muffled as they were, the cold
found them. Slap and swing their hands as they might,
their fingers and toes would get numb.
Oh, how they longed for noon ! Though he could not
afford a holiday, Mr. Stewart had provided turkey and
cranberry sauce ; and the men talked about it with
increasing wistfulness as the day broadened.
" I hope it is a big turkey," said one.
" Say, I'll trade my cranberry sauce for your piece
of turkey."
" Stewart don't know what he's in for."
It seemed as though the wagon box held a thousand
bushels ! And the hired man took a malicious delight
in taunting the boys with lacking " sand." "Smooth
down your vest and pull up your chin," he said to
Owen. " Keep your eye on that turkey."
But the hour of release came at last, and the boys
were free to " scud for the house." Once within, they
yanked off their old rags, threw their wet mittens under
the stove, washed their chafed hands and chapped fingers
in warm water, and curled up beside the stove, with
their mouths watering for turkey. " They were all
eyes and stummick," as Jack said when he came in.
Once at the feast they ate until their father said,
" Boys, you must 'a been holler clear to your heels."
Owen made no reply. He merely let out a reef in his
waistband and took another leg of turkey.
But the food and the fire served to show how very
cold they had been. A fit of shivering came on, which
The Corn Husking 225
the fire could not subdue. Lincoln's fingers, swollen
and painful, palpitated as if a little heart hot with fever
were in each one. His back was stiff as that of an old
man. His boots, which he had incautiously pulled off,
were too small for his swollen chilblain-heated feet, and
he could not get them on again.
He wept and shivered, saying, " Oh, I can't go out
again," but Mr. Stewart was a stern man, who admitted
no demurrer so far as Lincoln was concerned. Owen,
shielded by his mother, flatly rebelled. At last, by the
use of flour and soap, and the help of his mother, Lin-
coln forced his poor feet back into their prison cells,
belted on his coat, tied on his rags of mittens, and went
out, bent, awkward, like an old beggar, tears on his
cheeks, his teeth chattering. His heart was big with
indignation, but he dared not complain.
The horses shivered under their blankets that after-
noon. The men yelled and jumped about, and slapped
their hands across their breasts to warm them, but the
work went on. By four o'clock only a few more rows
remained, and the cheery, ringing voice of his father
helped Lincoln to do his part, though the wind was roar-
ing through the fields with ever increasing volume,
carrying flurries of feathery snow and shreds of corn
leaves.
Slowly the night came. It began to grow dark,
but the men worked on with desperate energy. They
were on the last rows, and Lincoln, exalted by the near-
ness of release, buckled to it with amazing energy, his
small figure lost in the dusk behind the wagon. Jack
Q
226 Boy Life on the Prairie
only knew he was there when he pounded on the end-
gate to start the horses ; the boy's own voice was gone.
There was an excitement as of battle in the work now,
and he almost forgot his bleeding hands and the ache in
his back. The field grew mysterious, vast, and inhos-
pitable as the wind. The touch of the falling snow to
his cheek was like the caress of death's ghostly finger-tips.
Belated flocks of geese swept by at most furious
speed, their voices sounding anxious, their talk hurried.
Suddenly a wild yell broke out. One of the teams
had broken through the last rows. Jack and Lincoln
answered it, being not far behind.
" Hurrah ! Tell 'em we're comin'."
Five minutes later, and they, too, reached the last
hill of corn. Night had come, but the field was finished.
The extra help had proved sufficient. " Now let it
snow," said Stewart.
It was good to see the lights shining in the kitchen,
and, oh, it was delicious comfort to creep in behind the
stove once more, and feel that husking was over. It was
better than the supper, though the supper was good.
When quite filled with food, Lincoln crept back to
the fire, and opening the oven door, laid a piece of wood
thereon, upon which to set his heels, and there he sat
till the convulsive tremor went out of his breast and his
teeth ceased to chatter. His mother brought him some
bran and water in which to soak his poor claws of
fingers, and so he came at last to a measure of comfort.
At nine o'clock the boys crept upstairs to bed.
BOYISH SLEEP
And all night long they lie in sleep
Too deep to sigh in or to dream.
Unmindful how the wild winds sweep
Or snow-clouds through the darkness stream
Above the trees that moan and cry.
Clutching with naked hands the flying sky.
Beneath their checkered counterpane
They rest the soundlier for the storm ;
Its wrath is only lullaby,
A dim, far-off, and vast refrain.
^
227
PART II
BOY LIFE ON THE PRAIRIE
CHAPTER XVII
THE COMING OF THE CIRCUS
There were always three great public holidays, —
the Fourth of July, the circus, and the Fair, which was
really an autumn festival. To these was added the
Grange picnic, which came in about 1875 and took
place on the 12th of June. Of all these, the circus
was easily the first of importance ; even the Fourth
of July grew pale and of small account in the " glit-
tering, gorgeous Panorama of Polychromatic Pictures,"
which once a year visited the county town, bringing
the splendors of the great outside world in golden
clouds, mystic as the sky at sunset. The boy whose
father refused to take him wept with no loss of dig-
nity in the eyes of his fellows. He could even swear
in his disappointment and be excused for it.
The boys of Sun Prairie generally went. Nearly all
of them had some understanding with their fathers,
whereby they earned the half-dollars necessary for their
tickets. This silver piece seemed big as the moon
when it was being earned, but it was small and mean
231
2^2 Boy Life on the Prairie
beside the diitv blue slip of cardboard which admitted
" bearer " to the pleasures of the circus. Lincoln and
Owen earned their money bv killing gophers. Ranee
was paid for herding. Ben raised chickens.
June was usually the month for the circus. In those
days, even the " colossal caravans " did not travel in
special trains, but came across the country in the night
and bloomed out in white canvas under the rising sun,
like mysterious and splendid mushrooms, seemingly as
permanent as granite to the awed country lads who
came to gaze timidly from afar.
No one but a country boy can rightly measure the
majesty and allurement of a circus. To go from the
lonely prairie or the dusty corn-field and come face
to face with the " amazing aggregation of world-wide
wonders" was like enduring the visions of the Apoca-
lypse. From the moment the advance man flung a
handful of gorgeous bills over the corn-field fence, to
the golden morning of the glorious day, the boys specu-
lated and argued and dreamed of the glorious " pageant
of knights and ladies, glittering chariots, stately ele-
phants, and savage tigers," which wound its way down
the long yellow posters, a glittering river of Elysian
splendors, emptying itself into the tent, which housed
the " World's Congress of Wonders."
The boys met in groups on Sunday and compared
posters, while lying beneath the rustling branches of
the Cottonwood trees. Ranee, who always had what
he wanted and went where he pleased, was authority.
He had seen three circuses before — Lincoln only one.
The Coming of the Circus 233
From the height of his great experience, Ranee said :
"No circus is ever as good as its bills. If it is half
as good, we ought to be satisfied."
The important question was : " Shall we go in the
afternoon or in the evening ? " The evening was said
by some to be much the best. Others stood out for
the afternoon. Milton suggested going to both, but
such extravagance was incredible, even to Ranee. No
banker was ever known to do such a preposterous
thino;.
" Well, then, let's go down to the parade in the
morning, and hang round and see all the fun we can,
and go to the circus in the evening."
To this Lincoln made objection. "We'd all be
sick by that time."
The justice of this remark was at once acknowledged.
Only one thing remained to do, — see the usual morn-
ing parade, then lunch, and go early to see the ani-
mals. They parted with this arrangement, but at the
last moment their plans were overruled by their parents,
who quietly made ready to go in the big wagons and
family carriages ; and the boys were bidden to accom-
pany their mothers, who considered a circus much
more dangerous than a Fourth of July.
So, early on the promiseful day, Lincoln and Owen,
seated on a board placed across the wagon box behind
the spring seat (on which the parents sat), jarred and
bounced on their way to the county town, while
Ranee galloped along in gay freedom on his horse.
Milton was another unwilling guest of his parents.
234 ^oy Life on the Prairie
and sat in the back seat of the old family carryall, with
a sense of being thrust back into childhood.
Other teams were on the road : young men and
their sweethearts in one-seated " coyered buggies," while
other parties of four and six rumbled along in big
wagons trimmed with green branches. The Richard-
sons went by with the box of their lumber wagon
quite overflowing with children and dogs; and Mr.
Stewart remarked that " such men would pawn the
cook-stove to go to the circus," but Lincoln did not
share his father's disgust. It seemed to him that poor
folks needed the circus just as much as any one —
more, in fact.
Teams came streaming in over every road till the
town was filled as if it were the Fourth of July.
Accustomed to the silence of the fields, or the infre-
quent groups of families in the school-houses, the prairie
boys bowed with awe before the coming together of two
thousand people. It seemed as if Cedar County and
part of Cerro Gordo had assembled. Neighbors greeted
each other in the midst of the throng with such fervor
as travellers show when they unexpectedly meet in far-
off Asiatic cities.
Every child waited in nervous impatience for the
parade, which was not a piece of shrewd advertising
to them, but a solemn function, A circus without a
parade was unthinkable. It began somewhere — the
country boys scarcely knew where — far in the mys-
tery of the East and passed before their faces, — the
pageantry of " Ivanhoe " and the " Arabian Nights,"
The Coming of the Circus i^S
and red Indians, and Mohammedanism and negro slav-
ery, — in procession. It trailed a glorified dust, through
which foolish and slobbering camels, and solemn and
kingly lions, and mournful and sinister tigers, moved,
preceded by the mountainous and slow-moving ele-
phants, two and two, chained and sullen, while closely
following, keeping step to the jar of great drums and
the blaring voices of trumpets, ladies, beautiful and
haughty of glance, with firmly-moulded busts, rode on
parti-colored steeds with miraculous skill, their voices
sounding small in the clangor of the streets. They
were accompanied by knights corsletted in steel, with
long plumes floating from their gleaming helmets.
They, too, looked over the lowly people of the dusty
plains with lofty and disdainful glance. Even the
drivers on the chariots seemed weary and contemptu-
ous as they swayed on their high seat, or cried in
far-reaching voices to their leaders, who did not dis-
dain to curvet for their rustic admirers.
The town boys, alert and self-sufficient, ran alongside
the open chariot where the lion-tamer sat, surrounded
by his savage pets, but the country boys could only stand
and look, transfixed with pleasure and pain, — the
pleasure of looking upon it, the pain of seeing it pass.
They were wistful figures, standing there in dusty, ill-
fitting garments, sensitive, subtle instruments on which
the procession played, like a series of unrelated grandi-
ose chords. As the lion passed, vague visions of vast
deserts rose in their minds. Amid toppling towers
these royal beasts prowled in the vivid moonlight. The
236 Boy Life on the Prairie
camels came, reachino- long necks athwart the shadows
of distant, purple pyramids, and on hot sands at sunset,
travellers, with garments outblown by the sirocco, passed
near a crouching Arab. Mounted on elephants with up-
lifted trunks, tiger-hunters rode through long yellow grass.
The feudal tournaments rolled back with the elitterino;
knights. The wealth of the Indies shone in the golden
chariots of the hippopotami. The jungles of Hindoo-
stan were symbolized in the black and yellow bodies of
the tigers, the heat of Africa shone from their terrible
eyes. All that their readers, histories, and geographies
had taught them seemed somehow illustrated, illumi-
nated, irradiated, by this gorgeous pageantry.
When it passed, Lincoln found his legs stiffened and
his hands numb. Owen's unresisting fingers, close
clasped in his, testified to his absorbed interest. Upon
this trance, this sleep of flesh and not of imagination, the
voice of their father broke sharply.
"Well, boys. That's all of it. Now we'll go and
get some dinner." In such wise does practical middle
age justle the elbow of the dreaming boy.
Lincoln drew a deep sigh and turned away. He had
no desire to follow the chariots, but he wished they
would all come his way again.
Out on a vacant lot on a back street, in the shade of
their wagon, Mrs. Stewart set out a lunch, and while
the horses munched over the end-gate, the boys tried to
eat, but with small success. The cold chicken was quite
tasteless, the biscuits were like cotton-batting — only
the jelly cake and the cold tea had power to interest
The Coming of the Circus 237
them. Lincoln was eager to get to the grounds, and
heartily wished his father would let him go alone. It
was humiliating to be forced to tag along behind, lead-
ing Owen by the hand, but the time for rebellion had
not yet come.
At last, after agonies of impatience, while the mother
put things in order and brushed her own clothes as well
as those of little Mary, the family set out, joining the
streams of people converging upon the grounds. The
country folk tramped heavily along the unaccustomed
sidewalks, while the townspeople, lighter shod and
defter moving, in groups, seemed like another race of
beings. Their women were more graceful and gayer.
The town boys, many of them, wore new suits that fit,
with stylish straw hats, and they went unattended by
elders, chattering like blackbirds. The bankers drove
their families down in fine carriages, and the District
Attorney, going by in a white " Manila " hat, with a
wide black band, said, " Good afternoon. Neighbor
Stewart," and Lincoln bobbed his head while his father
saluted.
As they came out upon the green, the huge white
tents, the fluttering flags, the crowds of people, the
advertisements of the side-shows, the cries of the ticket-
sellers and lemonade and candy men, appalled the coun-
try boys, and they were glad to keep in the protective
shadow of their resolute and stalwart father. The
tumult was benumbing. On the left of the path was a
long line of side-shows, with enormous billowinp; canvas
screens, on which were rudely painted the wonders
238 Boy Life on the Prairie
within, — a pig playing a viohn, an armless man sewing
with his toes, a bearded lady, a fat boy, a man taking a
silk hat from a bottle, while on a stool before each door
stood alert and brazen-voiced young men, stern, con-
temptuous, and alien of face, declaring the virtues of
each show, and inviting the people to enter. Lincoln
could have listened to these people all day, so fascinated
was he by their faces, so different from those he knew.
They were so wise and self-contained, and certain of
themselves, these men. To them the noise, the crowd,
the confusion, were parts of ordinary, daily life.
"You have still a half an hour, ladies and gentlemen,
before the great show opens," one called with monoto-
nous, penetrating, clanging utterances, like a rusty bell.
*' Still a half an hour to see the wonders of the world,
Adadame Ogoleda, the snake woman. Walk in — walk
in ; only a dime to see this wondrous woman and her
monstrous serpent. The Bible story related. The
woman and the snake. Only a dime apiece."
"He is! He is!" called another. "The fattest
boy in the world. He weighs four hundred and eighty
pounds. See him eat his dinner. Only a dime to see
the fat boy eat a whole ham ! "
" Professor Henrv, court wizard of Beelzebub himself.
Come in and see the great and marvellous man. You
can see a glutton cat any dav, but this is your only
chance to see the magician of Mahomet. The Magi of
the East ! The King of Conjurors! " called a third.
At this moment, just as they were passing the door,
the sound of a blow was heard, and a stern voice cried,
" You come with me."
The Coming of the Circus 239
Oaths and the sound of a struggle followed, and the
canvas side of the tent waved to and fro violently. Then
a voice rose in command, —
"Clear the way there," and others replied, —
" All right, Jim ; hang to him."
As the spectators outside stopped, the man on the
stool sprang down, crying, —
" What's the matter in there ? "
At this precise moment, a powerfully built man, with
a stern and handsome face, came from the tent, holding
a revolver in his right hand, with his left fastened to
the collar of a wiry, slick-looking fellow, who was bare-
headed and foaming with rage.
" Drop that man ! " yelled the ticket-seller.
" Get out of the way," said the heavy man, quietly.
The ticket-seller put his fingers in his mouth and
blew a sharp whistle.
The man with the revolver swept his weapon around,
and laid the ticket-seller flat on the ground by a blow
on the temple.
The crowd cheered. " Good for you, Jim ! "
" What's up, Jim ? " cried a dozen others.
The immense throng lost all interest in the circus,
and closed around the scene like a wall. The Stewarts
found themselves fenced in and unable to escape, even
had they desired it. Lincoln was quite in front now
and knew that this was Jim iVIoriarty, Sheriff of the
county. The crowd was wild with excitement. The
criers had ceased their clatter, and men were approaching
from every direction. Oaths, jeers, signals, could be
240 Boy Life on the Prairie
heard ; but Jim, with keen, round gray eyes, faced his new
antagonists, with ready revolver.
The ticket-seller sprang to his feet, with the blood
streaming from his wound.
" I'll kill vou ! " he hoarsely snarled.
" It's the Sheriff, you fool," said a companion.
" Sheriff, and the best man in the country, bar none,"
said a townsman.
Jim explained. "This is a thimble-rigger. He's
wanted in Cerro Gordo for robbery — and he goes."
The crowd laughed. " You bet he goes. We know
VOU, Jim. Go ahead."
Jim said : " And I want you, me friend, for inter-
ferrin' with an officer in the discharge of his duty.
Open a path, b'ys."
The crowd opened a lane, and Jim said, " Go before
me, an' don't look back."
"If you weren't an officer and armed, you couldn't
take me," replied the angry man.
Jim smiled grimly. " My friend, ye' re too ambitious.
Ye're a foine bit of a b'y, but too soft to talk loike that
to a workin' man."
" For a copper I'd show you."
" Has anny one a copper ? " asked Jim. " I'm an ac-
commodatin' man."
The circus men pushed to the front, so far as possi-
ble, but fell to sullen silence when told it was the
Sheriff The manager, red of face, and dripping per-
spiration, his silk hat at an anxious angle, appeared at
this moment.
The Coming of the Circus 241
"What's all this? Are you the Sheriff? What's
wanted ? Let that man go ! "
Jim turned on him. " Kape a civil tongue in yer
head, an' shove out yer sharpers, or it'll go hard with
ye to get out o' the county."
" This is a straight show. I want you to understand
nothing goes crooked around me. I won't have my
men interfered with. I won't have no gay sheriff
jumpin' — "
" Listen ! " said Jim, swift and sharp. " Open yer
jaw at me agin, and I'll break yer silk hat, and stuff yer
t'roat with the pieces."
A man in the crowd yelled : " Lay a hand on our
Sheriff, and, by God, we'll lynch every man o' ye," and
the roar that followed made the manager's red face
change to a ghastly white. He turned and walked away
amid the laughter of the citizens.
The ticket-seller was pacing up and down : —
"Oh, if you weren't Sheriff! I'd learn you to strike
me. I'd waller ye till your mother wouldn't know ye."
Jim winked at the crowd : " He has a consate of his
powers that is commuck. Will somebody hold me
thimble-rigger for a few seconds ? "
A big man stepped out. " I'll take care of him."
" All right, Steve. It's a holiday. I've a little con-
sate of meself, and it won't take long, annyway." He
handed his revolver to his deputy, and took off his coat.
" Now, me lad. I've laid down me authority wid me
coat. I'm plain Jim Moriarity,from theWapseypinnicon,
wishin' to be instructed ; but be quick, or you'll delay
R
242 Bov Life on the Prairie
the circus." The fellow hesitated a moment. Jim's
brow darkened. " Come ahn, or I'll lift ye on the toe
of me boot."
The ticket-seller squared off as Jim drew near, and
began dancing around with his arms in fighting posture,
but Jim only faced him with a smile on his handsome
brown face, his hands carelessly hanging at his sides.
At last the circus man struck out, but fell short, and
Jim cuffed him on the cheek with the flat of his palm.
" Wake up, me lad," he called.
With a curse the ticket man leaped forward, striking
out furiously. Jim stepped aside, and as the man went
by, struck him behind the ear. He fell like a log, and
Jim, taking him by the collar, set him on his feet.
"Try it onct more, me bucco."
He did try again, wildly, blindly, and Jim cuffed him
ri2;ht and left, till he spun round dizzily on his feet;
then taking him by the collar, kicked him in the rear
till he sprawled on his hands and knees. Jim lifted him
again, amid the laughter of the crowd. Every man,
woman, and child knew his wonderful powers, and took
personal pride therein. The second time he landed,
the man did not rise, and Jim said, "Anny time when
I'm not busv, I'll be glad to have fun with ye, or anny
of yer mates."
He came back, and said : " We've still a few minutes
to spare. Is there anny other gentleman would like to
amuse the crowd ? Me father was born in Donegal, and
dearly loved a shindy." No one offered, and Jim put
on his coat. " Now, me friend," he said, returning to
The Coming of the Circus 243
his professional tone, " we'll lave the people to enjoy
the show." He deftly snapped a handcuff to the pris-
oner's right arm, and put the other to his own wrist.
Steve handed over the revolver. Jim lifted his eyes :
" Go ahn to the show, b'ys. Come," he said to his
prisoner ; " if ye break so much as the skin av me wrist,
I'll kill ye."
As they walked down the lane of grinning citizens,
the prisoner kept close, very close, to his captor's side.
Then the tide of sound swept back. The cries began
again. The pent-up excitement of the crowd broke
forth in a clatter of talk, as they moved away toward
the big tent, where a splendid band was playing furiously,
and the ticket-seller was crying in a monstrous voice : —
" Right this luay to the big show ! The only entrance !
Have your tickets ready ! "
Carried along by the pressure of the crowd, the boys
neared the entrance, their blue tickets crushed to a
pulp in their sweaty hands. The stern and noisy gate-
keeper snatched at them, and a moment later they were
inside the animal tent, and the circus was just before
them. But somehow, the breathless interest of the
morning was gone. The human drama before the side-
show had put the wonders of the menagerie on a differ-
ent plane. For a few moments all the talk was of the
Sheriff and his victim.
Slowly but surely the power of " the circus " reas-
serted its dominion over the boys, as they moved slowly
round the circle of the chariots, wherein the strange
animals from the ends of the earth were on view. The
244 -^oy Life on the Prairie
squalling of parrakeets, the chatter and squawk of mon-
keys, the snorting of elephants, the deep, short, gusty
elemental ough of the lions, the occasional snarl of the
leopards, restlessly pacing, with vcllow-green eyes glar-
ing, the strange, odd, hot smells, — all these made the
human fist very small and of no account. These beings
whose footfalls were like velvet on velvet, whose bodies
were swift as shadows and as terrible as catapults, whose
eyes emitted the blaze of undving hate ; these mon-
strous, watery, wide-mouthed, warty, uncouth creatures
from rivers so remote that geographers had not reached
them ; these birds that outshone the prairie flowers in
coloring -, these serpents whose lazy, glittering coils con-
cealed the strength of a hundred chains, — these forms too
diverse to be the work of Nature, stupefied Lincoln, and
he stumbled on, a mere brain insecurely toppling on a
numb and awkward body. All the pictures of the
school-books, all the chance drawings in the periodicals
open to him, all the stories of the sea and far countries,
were resurged and vivified in his brain, till it boiled like
a kettle of soap ; and then, on top of it all, came the
men and women of the circus proper.
Stumbling along behind the broad shoulders of his
father, hearing and not heeding the anxious words of his
mother, " Keep close to us, boys," Lincoln passed from
the pungent air of the animal tent out into the ring of
the circus, which crackled with the cries of alert men
selling fans, ice-cream, sticks of candy, and bags of
peanuts. It was already packed with an innumerable
throng of people, whose faces were as vague to the boys
The Coming of the Circus 245
as the fans they swung. Overhead the canvas lifted
and billowed, and the poles creaked and groaned, and
the rope snapped with the strain of the brisk outside
wind. To Lincoln it seemed nearly a quarter of a mile
across the ring, and he feared the performance might
begin before they got safely out of it and seated. The
feel of the sawdust under his feet was a thing long to be
remembered.
Jokes and rude cries passed between those already
seated and the families wandering along with faces up-
turned like weary chickens looking for a roost. Mr.
Stewart heard a familiar voice, and looking up, saw Mr.
Jennings, who was pointing to a vacant strip of plank
near him.
" There's our place, mother," said Mr. Stewart.
" Away up there ? Good land ! " exclaimed she, in
dismay.
" All a part of the show," replied her husband.
They climbed slowly up the terraced seats of thin
and narrow boards, and at last found themselves seated
not far from the Jennings family.
" Where do we put our feet ? " inquired Mrs. Stewart.
"Anywhere you can get 'em," replied Milton.
" They don't improve on their seats," said Mr. Jen-
nings. " It seems to me the seats used to be a good
deal wider."
" You were young then. Neighbor Jennings."
" I guess that's the truth of it."
The boys did not think of making complaint. It
was enough for them that they were at last on a seat,
246 Boy Life on the Prairie
ready for the wonders of the performance. The band
was already beating upon Lincoln's sensitive brain, with
a swift and brazen clangor, and at a signal twelve uni-
formed attendants filed into the ring and the gates were
closed. The band flared out into a strongly accentuated
march, and forth from the mystic gateway came the
knights and their ladies, riding two and two on splendid
horses, and the boys thrilled with the joy of it. They
were superb horsemen, these riders, and the prairie boys
were able to understand and appreciate their skill.
Nothing was lost on them ; every turn of the knee,
every supple twist of the waist was observed, never to
be forgotten. The pride and joy of the action, the
ringing cries, the exultant strength of the horses, who
seemed to enjoy it quite as much as their riders, — these
things went deep with Lincoln and his playmates.
The color, the glitter, the grace of gesture, the pre-
cision of movement, all so alien to the plains — so
different from the slow movement of stiffened old
farmers and faded and angular women, as well as from
the shy and awkward manners of the beaux and belles
of the country dances ; the pliant joints and tireless
limbs, the cool, calm judgment, the unerring eves, the
beautiful muscular bodies of the fearless women — a
thousand impressions, new and deep-reaching, followed
so swiftly that Lincoln had no time to even enjoy them.
He could only receive and taste — he could not digest
and feed.
Oh, to be one of those fine and splendid riders, with
no more corn to plough, or hav to rake, or corn to husk.
The Coming of the Circus I47
To go forth into the great, mysterious world, in the
company of those grand men and lovely women ; to be
always admired by thousands, to bow and graciously
return thanks, to wear a star upon his breast, to be able
to live under the shining canvas in the sound of music.
In such course Lincoln's vague aspirations ran. He
had no desire to serve as ring-master. To be the man-
ager and wear a white vest and tall hat was of small
account, but to be " an artist " was the finest career in
the world.
One of the clowns was not a good clown, but he was
a strong man. He formed the walking pedestal for the
deft performance of two fine acrobats. He was a
spotted clown, with an enormous, artificial belly, and was
very loud and boisterous, but the audience did not like
him so well as the little short, stout man, who sang
" Little Brown Jug," " May slap-jacks hang an inch
on me if ever I cease to love," and "Where was Moses
when the Light went out ? "
The spotted clown was following the singer about,
imitating his walk, when a man in citizen's dress came
quietly walking out of the inner entrance into the ring,
and laid his hand on him. It was Jim, the Sheriff. A
great shout went up from the crowd.
The clown wrenched himself loose, and running
swiftly backward a i'ew steps, threw a somersault, intend-
ing to strike the Sheriff in the breast with his feet. Jim
evaded him with a lightning-swift movement, and
struck him, just as he landed on the sand, and he went
down with a heavy sound. He bounded to his feet, but
248 Boy Life on the Prairie
Jim was at his ear with his left, and he went to the
earth again. Five or six attendants came running —
the ring-master clubbed his whip to strike, but he did
not. A roar went up, the like of which he had never
heard before. And over the ropes, tumbling, shouting,
cursing, the men of the benches broke, like a grislvj
grav-black flood. The ropes were cut, the stakes pulled
up for weapons, and in a breath a densely packed ring
of angry men surrounded the indomitable Sheriff and his
new antagonists.
For a few moments all was confusion and frenzy ;
nothing could be seen and heard. At last those in front
turned and thrust their palms in the air, and hissed for
silence, and almost immediatelv the penetrating, har-
monious voice of the Sheriff could be heard.
" B'ys, ye can see better on yer seats. Go back;
I'll attend to this small business. Go back, I say, and
lave me to me work. This man is not a clown ; he's a
crook, and I need him to make a pair."
The crowd laughed and yelled, " You're all right,
Jim."
" I am. You're all lurong. Go back, I say." The
crowd laughed, and uttering exclamations of amusement
and pride in Jim, clambered back to their seats.
When the ring cleared, Jim was seen standing with
the clown handcuffed to his left wrist, a revolver in his
right hand facing the ring-master, the manager, and a
crowd of circus people.
" Be quiet ! " he was saying. " B'ys," — he turned to
the acrobats and equestrians, — "I've nothin' agin ye.
The Coming of the Circus 249
I'm sorry to interrupt the fun, but no three-card monte
man can play in this county while I'm Sheriff. And as
to you, me beauty," he said, addressing the manager, " I
am not so sure you don't stand in with these crooks.
Me advice is, when ye come agin, lave the thieves
behind. Come, me man."
The clown sullenly complied, and with his drawn
revolver in his hand, Jim walked toward the exit, fol-
lowed by hundreds of the men who wanted to see that
no evil befell their hero.
This practically ended the circus. In vain the criers
went over the audience, shouting : —
"Tickets for the Minstrel Show only a quarter of a
dollar. Let no one miss the songs and dances to fol-
low. A grand entertainment will follow the final
act ! "
To the boys, the incident came as a disagreeable
interruption. It was exciting, but was out of place.
They grumbled at missing the lion-tamer's act and the
dance of the elephants.
Both the Stewart and Jennings families had remained
in their seats during the arrest of the clown, and at Mr.
Jennings's suggestion they waited while the crowd rushed
out.
"We'll take a little more time to see the animals,"
said Mr. Stewart. " Jim will take care of the
man."
But the charm of the circus was broken, so far as
Lincoln was concerned. The day had been too excit-
ing. His head was throbbing with pain, and the smells
^5^) Boy Life on the Prairie
of the animal tent were intolerable. Only the lions and
tigers interested him, and when he came out into the
clear, sweet air and felt the fresh wind in his face, he
wished he were already at home. The end of all holi-
days were the same to him ; sickness, weariness, pain,
and aching muscles and a gorged brain, blotted out all
the pleasures that had gone before.
As he pounded up and down on the board behind his
father and mother, he had no words to say, no thoughts
which were articulate. His brain was a whirling wheel,
wherein all his impressions were blurred into bands of
gray and brown and gold and scarlet. But in the days
that followed, the splendid men and women reasserted
themselves. His brain cleared, and as he lay with Ranee
under the rustling poplars on Sunday, he could pick out
and dreamily define the events of the day. The SherifFs
dramatic actions came to be an entirely separate thing —
a thing to be condemned, for it interrupted the circus,
which they had all gone to see.
One by one the splendid acts, the specially beautiful
women, and the most wonderful men were recalled and
named and admired, and Ranee compared them with the
events of other circuses. But deeper down, more im-
palpable, more intangible, subtler, — so subtle they ran
like aromatic wine throughout his very blood and bone, —
were other impressions which threw the prairie into new
relief and enhanced the significance of the growing
corn as well as the splendor of the pageant which had
come and gone like the gold and crimson clouds at sun-
set.
The Coming of the Circus 251
Lincoln had a dream now, that the world was wide,
and filled with graceful men and wondrous women, as
well as with innumerable monsters and glittering, harsh-
throated birds and slumbrous serpents. Some day, when
he was a man, he would go forth and look upon the
realities of his dream.
A SUMMER MOOD
O TO be lost in the wind and the sun,
To be one with the grass and the stream,
With never a care while the waters run,
With never a thought in my dream ;
To be part of the robin's lilting call.
And part of the bobolink's chime,
Lying close to the shy thrush singing alone,
And lapped in the cricket's rhyme !
O to live with these care-free ones,
With the lust and the glory of man
Lost in the circuit of springtime suns —
Submissive as earth, and a part of her plan ;
To lie as the snake lies, content in the grass ;
To drift as the clouds drift — effortless, free.
Glad of the power that drives them on,
With never a question of wind or sea!
252
CHAPTER XVIII
A CAMPING TRIP
It was the fifteenth of June, and the sun blazed
down on the dry corn-field, as if it had a spite against
Lincoln, who was riding a gayly-painted new sulky
corn-plough, guiding the shovels with his feet. The
corn was about knee-high, and rustled softly, almost
as if whispering, not yet large enough to speak aloud.
Riding about all day, in such a level field, with the
sun burning one's neck brown as a leather glove, is apt
to make one dream of cool river pools, where the water-
snakes wiggle across, and the kingfishers fly, or of bright
ripples where the rock bass love to play.
It was about four o'clock, and Lincoln was tired.
His neck ached ; his feet were swollen, and his tongue
calling out for a drink of water. He got off the plough,
after turning the horses' heads to the faint western breeze,
and took a seat on the fence in the shade of a small
popple tree on which a king-bird had a nest.
Somebody was galloping up the road in a regular rise
and fall, that showed the perfect horseman and easy
rider. It was Milton.
" Hello, Lincoln ! " shouted Milton.
" Hello, Milt," Lincoln returned. " Why ain't you
at home workin' like an honest man ? "
253
254 Boy Life on the Prairie
" Better business on hand. I've come clear over here
to-day to see you — "
" Well, here I am;"
" Let's go to Clear Lake."
Lincoln stared hard at him.
" D'ye mean it ? "
" You bet. I can put in a horse. Bert Jenks will
lend us his boat — put it right on in place of the wagon
box — we can borrow Captain Knapp's tent."
" I'm with you," yelled Lincoln, leaping down, his
face aglow with the idea. " But say, won't you go up
and break it gently to the boss. He's got his mind kind
o' set on goin' through this corn again. When'll we
start ? "
"Let's see — to-day is Wednesday. We ought to
get off on Monday."
"Well, now, if you don't mind. Milt, I'd like to have
you go up and see what father says."
"I'll fix him," said Milton. "Where is he?"
" Right up the road, mending fence."
He was so tickled he not only leaped the fence, but
sprang into the high seat from behind and started on
another round, singing, showing how instantly hope of
play can lighten a boy's task. But when he came back
to the fence Milton was not in sight, and his heart fell a
little — the outlook was not so assuring.
It was nearly an hour later when Milton came riding
back and stood by the fence, waiting. Lincoln looked
up and saw him wave his hand and heard his shout.
The victory was won. Mr. Stewart had consented.
A Camping Trip 255
Lincoln whooped with such wild delight that the
horses grew frightened, and swerving to the right,
ploughed up two rows of corn for several rods before
they could be brought back into place.
"It's all O.K.," Milton called. "But I've got to
come over with my team and help you go through the
corn the other way."
From that on, nothing else was thought of or talked
of. Each night the four boys got together at Mr. Jen-
nings's house, each time bringing things that they needed.
In their dreams, the gleam of the lake drew nearer.
They had never looked upon a sheet of water larger
than the mill-pond on the Cedar River, and the cool
wind of that beautiful lake of which they had heard so
much seemed to beckon them. The boat was carefully
mended, and Ranee, who was a good deal of a sailor,
naturally talked about making a sail for it.
Lists of articles were carefully drawn up thus : —
4 tin cups, 4 knives and forks,
I spider, i kettle, etc.
Sunday afternoon, at Sunday-school, the campers be-
came the centre of attraction for the other small boys,
and quite a number went home with Lincoln to look
over the preparations.
There stood the vehicle — a common lumber wagon,
with a boat for the box, projecting dangerously near the
horses' tails, and trailing far astern. From the edges of
the boat arose a few hoops, making a kind of cover, like
a prairie schooner. In the box were " traps " innumer-
256 Boy Life on the Prairie
able in charge of Bert, who was " chief cook and bottle-
washer."
Each man's duty had been assigned. Lincoln was to
take care of the horses, Milton was to look after the
tent and places to sleep. Ranee was treasurer, and Bert
was the cook, with the treasurer to assist. All these
preparations amused an old soldier like Captain Knapp.
" Are you going to get back this fall ? " he asked
slyly, as he stood about, enjoying the talk.
" We'll try to," replied Milton.
But there the thing stood, all ready to sail at day-
break, with no wind or tide to prevent, and every boy
who saw it said, —
" I wish I could go."
And the campers, not selfish in their fun, felt a pang
of pity, and said, —
"We wish you could, boys."
It was arranged that they were all to sleep in the
craft that night, and so as night fell, and the visitors
drew off, the four navigators went into the kitchen,
where Airs. Jennings set out some bread and milk for
them.
*' Now, boys, d'ye suppose you got bread enough ? "
" We've got twelve loaves."
"Well, of course you can buy bread and milk, so I
guess you won't starve."
" I guess not — not with fish plenty," they assured her.
" Well, now, don't set up too late, talk'in about
gettin' off."
" We're goin' to turn right in, ain't we, boys ? "
A Camping Trip 257
" You bet. We're goin' to get out of here before
sun-up to-morrow mornin'," replied Bert.
" Well, see't you do," said Mr. Jennings, who liked
to see boys have a good time. " But I guess I'll be up
long before you are."
" Don't be too sure o' that."
It was delicious going to bed in that curious place,
with the stars shining in, and the katydids singing. It
gave them all a new view of life.
" Now, the first feller that wakes up, yell," said Bert,
as he crept under the blanket.
" First feller asleep, whistle," said Lincoln.
" That won't be you, that's sure," grumbled Ranee,
already dozing.
As a matter of fact, no one slept much. About two
o'clock they began, first one, and then the other : —
" Say, boys, don't you think it's about time ? "
" Boys, it's gettin' daylight in the east ! "
" No, it ain't. That's the moon."
At last the first faint light of the sun appeared, and
Lincoln arose and fed the team, and harnessed them
while the other boys got everything in readiness.
Mr. Jennings came out soon, and Mrs. Jennings got
some hot coff'ee for them, and before the sun was any-
where near the horizon, they said good-by and were
off. Mr. Jennings shouted many directions about the
road, while Mrs. Jennings told them again to be care-
ful on the water.
To tell the truth, the boys were a little fagged at
first, but at last the sun rose, the robins chattered, the
s
258 Boy Life on the Prairie
bobolinks began to ring their fairy bells, the larks
whistled from the meadows, and the boys began to sing.
For the first hour or two the road was familiar and
excited no interest. But at last they began to come
upon new roads, new fields, and new villages. Streams
came down the slopes and ran musically across the
wood, as if on purpose to water their horses. Wells
beside the road, under silver-leaf maples, invited them
to stop and drink and lunch. Boys they didn't know,
going out to work, stopped and looked at them envi-
ously. How glorious it all was !
The sun grew hot, and at eleven o'clock they drew
up in a beautiful grove of oaks, beside a swift and spark-
ling little river, for dinner and to rest their sweaty
team. They concluded to eat doughnuts and drink
milk for dinner, and this gave them time to fish a little,
and swim a good deal, while the horses munched hay
under the trees.
After a good long rest, they hitched the team in
again, and started on toward the west. They had still
half-way (twenty-five miles) to go. The way grew
stranger. The land, more broken and treeless, seemed
very wonderful to them. They came into a region full
of dry lake-beds, and Bert, who had a taste for geology,
explained the cause of the valleys so level at the bottom,
and pointed out the old-time limits of the water.
As they rode, the boys planned their week's stay,
breaking out occasionally into song. As night began
to fall, it seemed they had been a week on the way.
At last, just as the sun was setting, they saw a dark
A Camping Trip I59
belt of woods ahead of them, and came to a narrow
river, which the farmers said was the outlet of the
lake. They pushed on faster, for the roads were better,
and just at dusk they drove into the little village street
which led down to the lake, to which their hungry eyes
went out first of all.
How glorious it looked, with its waves lapping the
gravelly beach, and the dark groves of trees standing
purple-black against the orange sky. They sat and
gazed at it for several minutes, without saying a word.
Finally Ranee said, with a sigh, —
" Oh, wouldn't I like to jump into that water ! "
"Well, this won't do. We must get a camp," said
Milton ; and they pulled the team into a road leading
along the east shore of the lake.
" Where can a fellow camp ? " Bert called to a young
man who met them, with a pair of oars on his back.
" Anywhere down in the woods." He pointed to the
south.
They soon reached a densely wooded shore where no
one stood guard, and drove along an old wood road
to a superb camping-place near the lake shore, under
a fine oak grove.
" Whoa ! " yelled Milton.
The boys leaped out. Milton and Lincoln took care
of the horses. Bert seized an axe and chopped on one
side of two saplings, bent them together and tied them,
cleared away the brush around them, and with Ranee's
help drew the tent cloth over them, and there was the
camp. While they dug up the bedding and put it
26o Boy Life on the Prairie
in place, Ranee built a fire and set some cofFee boil-
ing.
When thev sat down to eat their bread and coftee
and cold chicken, the grove was dark ; the smoke rose
up, lit by the fire, and then was lost in the dark, cool
shadows of the oak above. Below them they could
hear the lap of the waves on the boulders. A breeze
was rising. It was all so fine, so enjoyable, that it
seemed a dream from which they were in danger of
waking. After eating they all took hold of the boat
and eased it down the bank into the water.
" Now, who's goin' to catch the fish for breakfast ? "
asked Bert.
" I will," replied Ranee, who was a " lucky "
fisherman. "I'll have some fish by sun-up — see if I
don't."
Their beds were hay, with abundant quilts and
blankets spread above, and as Lincoln lay looking out
of the tent door at the smoke curling up, hearing the
horses chewing and tramping and an owl hooting, it
seemed gloriously like the stories he had read, and the
dreams he had had of being free from care and free
from toil, far in the wilderness.
" I wish I could do this all the time," he said to iMil-
ton, who was looking at the fire, his chin resting in his
palms.
" I can tell better after a week of it," said Milton,
with rare wisdom.
To a boy like Lincoln or Rancc, that evening was
worth the whole journev, that strange, delicious hour in
A Camping Trip 261
the deepening darkness, when everything seemed of
some sweet, remembered far-off world and time — they
were living as their savage ancestry lived, they were
gettino; close to nature's self.
The pensiveness did not prevent Milton from hitting
Bert a tremendous slap with a boot-leg, saying, —
" Hello ! that mosquito pretty near had you that
time." And Bert, who knew Milton's pranks, turned
upon him, and they had a rough and tumble tussle, till
Ranee cried out : —
" Look out there ! You'll be tippin' over my butter ! "
But at last the rustle of the leaves over their heads
died out in dreams. The boys fell asleep, deliciously
tired and full of plans for the next day.
Morning dawned, cool and bright, and Bert was stir-
ring before sunrise. Ranee was out in the boat with
Milton before the pink had come upon the lake, while
Milton was " skirmishing " for some milk.
How delicious that breakfast ! Newly fried perch,
new milk with bread and potatoes from home — but the
freedom, the strange familiarity of it all ! There in the
dim, sweet woods, with the smoke curling up into
the leafy masses above, the sunlight just dropping upon
the lake, the killdee, the robin, and the blue jay crying
in the still, cool morning air. This was indeed life.
The hot corn-fields were far away.
Breakfast eaten to the last scrap of fish, they made a
rush for the lake and the boat. There it lay, moving
a little on the light waves, a frail little yellow craft,
without keel or rudder, but something to float in, any-
262 Boy Life on the Prairie
how. And there rippled the lake miles long, cool and
sparkling. Boats were getting out into the mid-water
like huge " skimmer-bugs," carrying fishermen to their
tasks.
While the other boys fished for perch and bass for
dinner, Lincoln studied the lake and shore. The beach
where they had their boat-landing was made up of fine
varicolored boulders, many of them round as cannon-
balls, and Lincoln thought of the thousands of years
they had been rolling and grinding there, rounding each
other and polishing each other till they glistened like
garnets and rubies. And then the sand !
He waded out into the clear yellow waters and ex-
amined the bottom, which was yellow sand set in tiny
waves beautifully regular, the miniature reflexes of the
water in motion. It made him think of the little wind
waves in the snow, which he had often wondered at in
winter.
Growing tired of this, he went to the bank, and lying
down on the grass gave himself up to the rest and free-
dom and beauty of the day. He no longer felt like
" making the most of it." It seemed as if he were
always to live like this.
The others came in, after awhile, with some bass and
perch. The perch were beautifully marked in pearl and
gray, to correspond with the sand bottom, though the
boys didn't know that. There were no large fish so
near shore, and they lacked the courage to go far out,
for the whitecaps glittered now and then in mid-water.
They ate every " smidgin' " of the fish at dinner, and
A Camping Trip 263
things looked desperate. They went out into the deep
water, all feeling a little timorous, as the little boat be-
gan to rock on the waves.
Lincoln was fascinated with the water. It was so clear
that he could see fish swimming far below. The boat
seemed floating in the air. At times they passed above
strange and beautiful forests of weeds and grasses, deep
down there. These scared him, for he remembered the
story of a man who had been caught and drowned by
just such clinging weeds, and besides, what monsters
these mysterious places might conceal !
Other boats came round them. Sail-boats passed,
and the little steamer, the pride of the lake, passed over
to " the island." Yachts that seemed to the boys im-
mense, went by, loaded with merrymakers. Every-
thing was as strange, as exciting, as if they were in a
new world.
Ranee was much taken by the sail-boats, and when
they went home to dinner he declared, —
" I'm going to rig a sail on our boat, or die tryin'."
He spent the whole ' afternoon at work while the
other boys played ball and shot at a target. By night
he was ready for a sail, though the others were sceptical
of results.
That second night the mosquitoes bit and a loud
thunder-storm passed over. As they heard the roar of
the falling rain on the tent, and the wet spatter in their
faces, and heard the water drip-drop on their bread-box,
Milton and Lincoln wished themselves at home.
But it grew cooler, and the mosquitoes left, and they
264 Bov Life on the Prairie
all slept like bear cubs, and woke fresh as larks in the
morning. It was a little discouraging at first. Every-
thing was wet, the bread was inclined to be mouldy and
tasted of the box, but the fish were fresh and sweet —
the birds were singing and the sky was bright and cool,
with a fresh western wind blowing.
Ranee was eager to sail, and as soon as he had put
away the breakfast, he shouldered his mast.
" Come on, bovs, now for the boat."
^' I guess not," said Milton.
The boat was soon rigged with a little triangular sail,
with an oar to steer by, lashed in with wires. Lincoln,
finally, had courage to get in, and with beating heart
Ranee pushed off.
The sail caught the wind, and the boat began to move.
" Hurrah ! Whoop ! " Ranee threw water on the
sail ; where he learned that was a mystery. The effect
was felt at once. The cloth swelled, became impervi-
ous to the wind, and the boat swept steadilv forward.
Lincoln was cautious. " That is all right. The
question is, can we get back ? "
"You wait an' see me tack."
" All right. Tack or nail, only le's see you get back
where we started from." Lincoln was sceptical of sail-
boats. He had heard about sailing " just where you
wanted to go," but he had his doubts about it.
But the boat obeyed the rudder nicely, and came
around slowly and started in smoothly and steadilv.
After this successful trip the boys did little else but sail,
making longer voyages thereafter.
A Camping Trip 265
" I'm going up to town with it after dinner," Ranee
announced. But when he came out, after dinner, the
sky was overcast and the breeze rising, blowing from
the southwest, and Milton refused to experiment.
"I'd sooner walk than ride in your boat," he explained.
"All right; you pays your money — you takes your
choice."
The boat drove out into the lake steadily and swiftly,
making the water ripple at the stern delightfully ; but
when they got past a low-lying island where the waves
ran free, the boat began to heave and slide wildly, and
Lincoln grew a little pale and set in the face, which
made Ranee smile.
" This is something like it. I'm going to go out about
half a mile, then strike straight for the town."
It was not long before he found the boat was getting
unmanageable. The long oar crowded him nearly off the
seat, as he tried to hold her straight out into mid-water.
She was flat-bottomed, and as she got into the region of
whitecaps, she began to be blown bodily with the wind.
Lincoln was excited, but not scared ; he realized now
that they were in great danger. Ranee continued to
smile, but it was evident that he, too, was thinking new
thoughts. He held the sail with his right hand, easing
it off and holding it tight, by looping the rope on a peg
set in the gunwale. But it was impossible for Lincoln
to help him. All depended upon him alone.
" Turn ! — turn it ! " shouted Lincoln. " Don't you
see we can't get back ? "
" I'm afraid of breakin' my rudder."
266 Boy Life on the Prairie
There lay the danger. The oar was merely lashed
into a notch in the stern, with wire. The leverage was
very great, but Ranee' brought the boat about and headed
her for the town, nearly three miles away.
They both thrilled with a sort of pleasure to feel the
boat leap under them as she caught the full force of the
wind in her sail. If thev could hold her in that line,
they were all right. She careened once till she dipped
water.
" Get on the edge ! " commanded Ranee, easing the
sail off, Lincoln climbed upon the edge of the little
pine shell, scarcely eighteen inches high, and the boat
steadied.
Both looked relieved.
The water was getting a lead color, streaked with
foam, and the hissing of the whitecaps had a curiously
snaky sound, as they spit water into the boat. The
rocking had opened a seam in the bottom, and Lin-
coln was forced to bail furiously.
Ranee, though a boy of unusual strength, clear-headed
and resolute in time of danger, began to feel that he was
master only for a time.
" I don't suppose this is much of a blow," he yelled,
" but I don't see anv of the other boats out."
Lincoln glanced round him •, all the boats, even the
two-masters, were in or putting in. Lightning began
to run down the clouds in the west in zigzag streams.
The boat, from time to time, was swept sidewise out
of its course, but Ranee dared not ease the sail, for fear
he could not steer her, and, besides, he was afraid of the
A Camping Trip 267
rapidly approaching squall. If she turned sideways
toward the wind, she would fill instantly.
He sat there, with the handle of the oar at his right
hip, the rope in his hand, with one loop round the peg.
Each time as the gust struck them, he was lifted from
his seat by the crowding of the oar and the haul of the
rope. His muscles swelled tense and rigid — the sweat
poured from his face, but he laughed when Lincoln, with
reckless drollery, began to shout a few nautical words.
" LufF, you lubber — why don't you luff"? "
" Suppose you come help ! "
"I guess not! I'm only passenger. Hard-a-port,
there, you'll have us playin' on the sand, yet. That's
right. All we got to do is to hard-a-port when the
wind blows."
The farther they went, the higher the waves rolled,
till the boat creaked and gaped under its strain, and the
water began to come in fast,
" Shut up, there. Link. Bail 'er out ! " the pilot
cried. The thunder broke over their heads, and far
away to the left they could see the rain on the lake,
and the water white with foam, but they were nearing
the beach at the foot of the street. A crowd was
watching them with motionless intensity.
Soon they were in the midst of a fleet of anchored
boats — the rain began to fall. The blast struck the
sail, tearing it loose, and filling the boat with water, but
Ranee held to his rudder, and darting among the boats a
moment later, the little craft ran half her length upon
the sand.
268 Boy Life on the Prairie
As Ranee leaped ashore, he staggered with weakness.
Both took shelter in a near-by boat-house. The boat-
keeper swore at them : —
" Don't vou know any more'n to go out in such a
ticb as that on a day like this ? I expected every minute
to see you go over."
"We didn't," said Ranee. "I guess we made pretty
good time."
"Time! you'd better say time! If you'd been five
minutes later, you'd had ti??ie enough."
It was a foolhardy thing, — Ranee could see it now, as
he looked out on the mad water, and at the little flat,
awkward boat on the sand.
An hour later, as they walked up the wood, they met
the boys half-way on the road, badly scared.
" By golly ! We thought you were goners," said
Milton. "Why, we couldn't see the boat, after you
got out a little ways. Looked like you were both sittin'
in the water."
Thev found the camp badly demoralized. The other
boys had been too worried to put things snug before the
squall, and their blankets were wet, and the tent blown
out of plumb. But they set to work clearing things up.
The rain passed away and the sun came out again, and
when they sat down to their supper, the storm was far
away.
It was glorious business to these prairie boys. Re-
leased from work in the hot corn-fields, they were in
camp on the lovely lake, with nothing to do but swim
or doze when they pleased. They had the delicious
A Camping Trip 269
feeling of being travellers in a strange country, —
explorers of desert wilds, hunters and fishers in the
wildernesses of the mysterious West.
To Lincoln it was so fine it almost made him sad.
When he should have enjoyed every moment he was
saying to himself, " Day after to-morrow we must
start for home," — and the happy days passed so swiftly.
They went down and brought the boat home, and as
the weather continued fine, they were able to sail about
near the camp with comfort, and trail a line, and watch
the fish swimming deep down in the clear, crystal water.
Occasionally Milton said : —
" By golly ! I wish I had one o' mother's biscuits
this morning," or some such remark. Some one usually
shied a potato at him and shut him up. Such remarks
were heretical.
They explored the woods south of the lake, a wild
jungle, which it was easy to imagine quite unexplored.
Some years before a set of horse thieves had lived there,
and their grass-grown paths were of thrilHng interest to
the boys. They never quite dared to follow them to the
house where the shooting of the leader had taken place.
Altogether it was a wonderful week, and when they
loaded up their boat and piled their plunder in behind, it
was with sad hearts, although it must be said the ques-
tion of "grub" was giving Bert a good deal of trouble.
At meal-time they thought of home — with their stom-
achs fairly filled they were pleased with the wilderness.
The journey homeward occupied parts of two days.
They made camp by the roadside, and the next day
270 Boy Life on the Prairie
being Saturday they were delayed by a game of base-
ball in Taylor City. It was late Saturday night when
they drew up in Mr. Jennings's yard, and to show that
they were thoroughly hardened campers they slept in
the wagon another night — at least three of them did.
Milton shamelessly sneaked away to his bed, and they
did not miss him until morning.
They upbraided him in severe terms, but he only
laughed. When Mr. Jennings invited them all to
breakfast, nobody refused.
" Land o' Goshen," said Mrs. Jennings, " you eat as
if you were starved. What did you live on ? "
" Fish," replied Bert.
"Sour bread," said treacherous Milton.
" Well, no wonder you look gaunt as weasels."
" Oh, but it was fun, wasn't it, boys ? " cried Lincoln.
" You bet it was. Let's go again next year."
" All right," said Milton ; " raise your weapons and
swear to be true to the ' poet.' "
They all lifted their knives in solemn consent, while
Mrs. Jennings laughed till the tears came to her eyes.
But they never did. Of such stuff are the plans of
youth.
COLOR IN THE WHEAT
Like liquid gold the wheat-field lies,
A marvel of yellow and green,
That ripples and runs, that floats and flies,
With the subtle shadows, the change, the sheen
That plays in the golden hair of a girl.
A cloud flies there —
A ripple of amber — a flare
Of light follows after. A swirl
In the hollows like the twinkling feet
Of a fairy waltzer ; the colors run
To the westward sun.
Through the deeps of the ripening wheat.
I hear the reapers' far-off hum.
So faint and far it seems the drone
Of bee or beetle, seems to come
From far-off, fragrant, fruity zone,
A land of plenty, where
Toward the sun, as hasting there.
The colors run
Before the wind's feet
In the wheat.
271
272 Boy Life on the Prairie
The wild hawk swoops
To his prey in the deeps ;
The sunflower droops
To the lazy wave ; the wind sleeps ;
Then, moving in dazzling links and loops,
A marvel of shadow and shine,
A glory of olive and amber and wine,
Runs the color in the wheat.
* ->^^'
n fiis^' -
CHAPTER XIX
A DAY IN THE OLD-TIME HARVEST
FIELD
Who shall describe the glory of growing wheat ?
Deep as the breast of a man, wide as a sea, heavy-
headed, supple-stalked, many-voiced, full of multitudi-
nous, secretive, whispered colloquies, — a wilderness of
wealth, a meeting-place of winds and of magic. Who
shall sing the song of it, its gold and its grace ?
See it when the storm-wind lays hard upon it ! See
it when the shadows drift over it ! Go out into it at
night when all is still — so still you seem to hear the
passing of the transforming elixir as it creeps upward
into the tiny globes of green, and you must cry, " Oh,
the music and magic of growing wheat ! "
Stand before it at eve when the setting sun floods
the world with crimson, and the bearded heads lazily
swirl under the slow, warm wind, and the mousing
hawk dips into the green deeps like the sea-gull into
the ocean, and your eyes will ache with the light and
the color of it.
T 273
274 Boy Life on the Prairie
The boy on the old-time wheat farm generally began
his apprenticeship by carrying luncheon and fresh water
to the men, or by riding the lead horse for the man
who drove the reaper. This he enjoyed for an hour
or two the first day. Thereafter it became wearisome
and a burden of care. The sun beat down upon his
shoulders, the salt sweat of the horse made his chafed
legs smart, and the monotonous creak-creak of the
harness became an intolerable nuisance. He was glad
when his father set him to carrying bundles for the
" shocker."
But this soon became worse than riding the lead
horse, and the boy, seeing his younger brother riding
along in the cool wind, with gloomy face, felt a keen
pang of sorrow to think he had outgrown that with-
out being able to "bind on a station."
Sometimes as the boy stopped to rest his worn and
swollen hands and looked at the wilderness of sheaves
already bound and scattered over the field, and con-
sidered the thousands which the sturdy arms of the
men were constantly adding to those other myriads,
his heart grew sick with despair. What to him were
sailing hawk, piping chicken, and whistling bob-white ?
No sooner did he bring twelve bundles together than
he was forced to move on to twelve other bundles,
equally heavy and equally filled with briers ; and there
beyond waved a vast field not yet yielded to the reaper.
All these gloomy transitions had been the lot of
Lincoln Stewart, and when he was set to " bind up the
corners," out of the way of the horses, he felt a glow
The Old-time Harvest Field 275
of exultation ; he was nearing the time when he, too,
should be considered a man and take his " station,"
He was very deft and powerful, and in the harvest of
his fifteenth year, Mr. Stewart said : —
"Well, Lincoln, you've been aching to take your
station for some years. Now you can show your
mettle. I'll put you into the field this year as a full
hand."
This was pretty nearly equivalent to being knighted,
and the boy replied : —
" All right. I'm ready for it."
The coming on of harvest was always of great in-
terest to the Western farmer boy. There was a cer-
tain excitement as of battle in it. It was the event
waited for — the end and reward of all the ploughing
and sowing of the year. There was a certain anxious
solicitude in the eyes of the older men, as they watched
the sky from day to day. Every cloud rising in the
west was a menace, each thunder roll in the night a
disquieting threat.
But day by day Lincoln watched with unusual interest
the hot sun transforming the rain and soil into gold.
His day of trial was coming swiftly. He went out into
the wheat often, lying prone in its deeps, hearing the wind
singing its whispered mystic song over his head. He
watched the stalks as they turned yellow at the root and
at the neck, though the middle height remained green
and sappy, and the heads had a blue-green sheen. The
leaves, no longer needed, were beginning to die at the
bottom, and the stalk to stiffen as it bore the daily in-
276 Boy Life on the Prairie
creasing weight of the milky berries. As he looked
along the edge of the field, Lincoln felt the beauty of
the broad ribbon of green and yellow, as it languidly
waved in and out with every rush of the wind.
At last Mr. Stewart began to get out the reapers and
put them in order. Provisions were bought in generous
measure. The wheels and cogs were all cleaned and
oiled, the hands assembled, and early on a hot morning
in July, the boss mounted his self-rake reaper and drove
into the field. Owen rode the lead horse, and Lincoln
and four stalwart " hands " followed the machine to
bind the grain. It was "work from the word go! "
Wheat harvest always came in the hottest and driest
part of the summer, and was considered the hardest
work of the year. It demanded early rising for both
man and wife. It meant broiling all day over the hot
stove in the kitchen for the women, and for the men it
brought toil from dawn to sunset, each man working
with bent back beneath the vivid sunlight. Some davs
the thermometer stood at a round hundred in the shade,
but immense fields of wheat ripening at the same mo-
ment and threatening; to "go back into the ground"
too D
made rest impossible.
There are no tasks on the farm which surpass the
severity of binding on a station, as Lincoln well knew,
but he was ready for the trial. Three of the hands
were strange nomadic fellows, which the West had not
yet learned to call tramps. One was called " Long
John," a tall, lathy, freckle-faced man of twenty-five
or thirty, while his " partner " was a small, dark, score-
The Old-time Harvest Field 277
tive middle-aged fellow whom Lincoln disliked. John
called him " Little Bill." The fourth was a cousin
named Luke Mc Turg. The fifth was Ben Hutchison,
who had developed into a long-armed, stalwart youth.
The field had been trimmed by means of the old-
fashioned cradle, and the boss swung into the field at
the corner, without hitch. Giving a final touch of oil
^^^\ I . ,n^^.,h\L
to the sickle, he mounted the seat of the self-rake
McCormick, and said : —
"Now, boys, it's going to be hot, and this being the
first day, we'll take it tolerably slow and easy. I'd
hate to have any of you ' peter out.' "
Long John sneered a little : " Oh, you needn't worry
about us. If the boy goes through, I think we will."
Lincoln spoke up, " You follow the boy, and you'll
earn your wages, and don't you forget it."
Mr. Stewart smiled. "When I was sixteen I could
rake and bind with any man I ever saw. I guess Lin-
coln'll look after himself."
Under these conditions the work began. Long John
"took in" immediatelv after the machine. Bill went
on and set in at the second fifth, and Luke at the third,
278 Boy Life on the Prairie
while Ben and Lincoln walked back the other way to
meet the machine.
"That ' jacknape ' thinks he is going to bind us off
our legs," said Lincoln.
Ben put out his tongue. " Well, if he does, he'll
earn his board. I'd break my back rather than get
caught to-day."
As Lincoln stood at his station, looking across the
level sweep of grain, he could see the flashing reels
whirl, and see the heads of the two strangers bobbing
up and down, as if they were binding in a race. The
wind was light, and the sun was growing warmer each
moment. The boy was dressed in brown ducking trou-
sers, a plain hickory shirt, and stout shoes, while a wide
straw hat shaded his face. His brown hands were bare.
As the purring sickle passed him, and the angry rake
delivered his first bundle to him with a jerk, Lincoln's
heart leaped. Right there he became a man. Running
to the gavel, he scuffled it together with his feet, while
he jerked a handful of the wheat from the sheaf with his
left hand. A swift whirl of the band, a stooping clutch,
and he rose with the bundle on his knee. A sudden
pull, a twist, a twirl over his thumb, and the first bound
sheaf dropped into the stubble. He scarcely halted in
the work, for his deft action was like that of some cun-
ning machinery. Swiftly the gavels turned to sheaves
behind him, and before the reaper had turned the second
corner his station was half finished. He did not allow
himself to exult too much, for he knew the real struggle
was yet to come. Behind him Ben came, stooping low.
The Old-time Harvest Field 279
Lincoln's heart was full of pride to feel he was part
of the crew. As the morning wore on, the sun grew
hotter, and a great void developed in Lincoln's chest.
His breakfast had been ample, but no mere stomachful
of food could carry a growing boy through such toil.
Along about a quarter to ten he began to scan the field
with anxious eye, to see if little Mary were not coming
with the luncheon. He had less time to rest at the
end of his station, and his arms began to ache with
fatigue.
Just when it seemed as if he could stand no more,
Mary came with a jug of cool milk, and some cheese
and fried-cakes. Setting a couple of tall sheaves together
like a tent, Lincoln flung himself down flat on his back
in their shadow and devoured his lunch, while his aching
muscles relaxed and his tired eyes closed. Weary as
he was, his dim eyes apprehended something of the glory
of the waving wheat and sailing clouds, and the boy's
heart in him regretted at the moment the privileges of
the man. He would gladly have lain there listening to
the faint wailing of the wind, and seeing the great silent
clouds sail by.
The delicious zephyrs kissed his face with lips as
cool as the lofty clouds which rolled like storms of
snow in the deep blue space of sky.
Lying silent as a clod, he could hear the cheep of the
crickets, the buzzing wings of flies and grasshoppers,
and the faint, fairy-like tread of unseen insects just
under his ear in the stubble. Strange green worms,
and staring flies, and shining beetles crept over him as
2 8o Boy Life on the Prairie
he listened, in dreamful doze, to the far-off, approach-
ing purr of the sickle, flicked by the faint snap of the
driver's whip, while out of the low rustle of the ever
stirring wind amid the wheat came the wailing cry of a
lost little wild chicken, a falling, thrilling, piteous little
sob. This momentary communion with nature seemed
all the sweeter for the terrible toil which had preceded
it, and was to follow it. It took resolution to rise and
fall in behind the sickle.
But the dinner signal came at last in the shape of a
cloth hung from the chamber window, or a tin horn blown
by the stalwart hired girl, or through Gran'papa Stewart,
who had long ago given up his place in the fields, and
whose white hair, shining afar, was signal for release.
As they left their stations, Ben and Lincoln walked
to the house together. " Well, the boys didn't get
caught, after all."
" No," replied Ben. " I came mighty near it once.
I run a stubble under my nail, and had to get it out."
" The tug of war will come about four o'clock to-
day," answered Lincoln. " But I reckon I'm good for
it."
No one can know how beautiful water is, till they
have toiled thus in the harvest held, and have come at
last to the spring or well, to lave a burning face, and
worn, aching arms. Lincoln soused head and all into
the huge bucket again and again, dashing the cold water
upon his bared arms with a shout of pleasure. He
could not get enough of it.
And so, with their hair " smooched " back, all wet
The Old-time Harvest Field
281
with perspiration as they were, the hands surrounded
the table, and fell upon the boiled beef and potatoes with
unexampled ferocity, while the wind through the open
door brought the smell of corn in bloom, and the sound
of bees at the hives. The table, covered with homely
ware, had a sort of rude plenty, — raspberries, bread,
coffee, with pie for dessert. There was no ceremony,
and very little talking, till the wolf was somewhat satis-
fied. Then came a delicious hour of lying on the thick,
cool grass, under the shade of the trees, a doze sensuous
and dreamful as the siesta of a tropical monarch, cut
short all too soon by the implaca-
ble voice of the boss, —
" Roll out, boys, and stock y'l
jugs-"
Again the big white
jugs were filled at the well
or spring. The horses,
"lazy" with food, led
the way back to the
field, and work be-
gan again. All na-
ture seemed to invite
to sleep, rather than
to work, and the boys longed, with a wordless longing,
tor the woods and the river. The gentle wind hardly
moved the bended heads of grain ; hawks hung in the
air like trout sleeping in deep pools ; the sunlight seemed
a golden silence, — and yet men must strain their tired
muscles and bend their aching backs to the harvest.
282 Boy Life on the Prairie
At the starting-point, just to let the bovs know that
he was " all right," " Long John " put both heels behind
his neck and walked about on his hands.
" Why, it's plav," he said, " standing up against you
boys."
Lincoln was nettled, and as Mr. Stewart passed him
the next time, he said : —
" You never mind me, father. Take the conceit out
of that chap, or we can't live with him."
It was foolish, but Duncan had a pride in his bov,
and swung the long whip above his team, settling the
sickle full length into the heavy grain.
For a couple of hours Lincoln found time to rest
after each station, and each time he felt his strength
ebbing. His lingers were wearing to the quick from
raking the stubble, and his thumb was lame from tucking
the band. He no longer bound as he walked, for he
had not the strength to draw the band without pressing
the sheaf against the ground. Twice he got his last
bundle out of the way just in time to avoid the disgrace
of being "doubled." The sweat streamed into his eyes,
blinding him, and a throbbing pain filled his temples,
yet he toiled on with set teeth, determined not to be
beaten. At every opportunity he dropped flat on his
back, like a prize-fighter at the end of his round, with
every muscle limp as a rag.
" How're you standing it, Lincoln ? " his father asked
anxiously.
" Oh, I'm all right. You catch and double that fellow.
Don't worry about me. How's Ben ? "
The Old-time Harvest Field 283
" He's about ' bushed,' but I guess he'll hold out till
supper."
" All right, we'll make that Jack-knife think he's in
the harvest field."
The whip cracked and the flying sickle swept through
the grain like a steel-blue ribbon. The clang of the
rake was like the advancing footfalls of an angry giant.
Ben bent almost double, his tongue licking his parched
lips, came after Lincoln, holding his own by reason of
his long arms and his low stature. Bill, hard as iron,
silent and grave, worked away methodically, just keeping
out of the reapers' way, and no more. Luke was always
waiting when the driver came to him, and on his face
was little sign of effort. Long John still sneered and
asked : " Is that the best you can do ? How's the boy ?
Had to give him a rest this round, didn't you ? "
As he passed his son the next time, Duncan said,
" Look out for yourself, Lincoln. I'm going to double
that bean-pole or heat a pinion."
The hour that followed tested the boy to his inner-
most fibre. The speed of the machine was almost
doubled, and when he snatched his last sheaf from be-
fore the lead horse's feet, Owen piped out with glee, —
" We caught Little Bill and Ben this round, and
Long John, pretty near."
Catching a handful of green weeds from the stubble,
Lincoln dashed some water on them, crowded them in
the crown of his hat, and set in after the machine, dog-
gedlv, blindly. There was no beauty now in the sky
or grain. He saw only the interminable rows of sheaves,
284 Boy Life on the Prairie
felt only the harsh stubble, heard only the sound of the
sickle. He calculated every movement. While his
left hand was selecting the band, his feet rolled the
gavel together, and putting the band beneath was but
a single motion. He allowed no stop, no hurry. He
reduced himself to the precision and synchronism of a
piece of machinery — all in vain ; on the third round he
had four gavels unbound. He was " doubled " at last.
As he realized this, he straightened his aching back and
looked at his father.
"Did you get him ? "
" Not quite, but I will this time," he replied, cracking
his whip. " Get out o' there, Dan."
Lincoln took up the next station with the feeling of
havinp; been beaten. His heart was gone and he was
faint with hunger, but he worked on.
He heard Owen whoop, and his father laugh. Had
they doubled the long man ? He looked back toward
the house and saw the supper signal fluttering from the
window. It came just in time to save him from defeat.
As he came back slowly toward the oil-can corner, he
joined Ben.
" Well, he got all of us but Luke and that long-
legged kangaroo."
" Looks that way. He'll crow over us all the rest of
the harvest, I suppose."
But he didn't. On the contrary, he looked rather
crestfallen, and before they could put in a word,
Mr. Stewart said : —
" I guess I don't want you round. He's been cheat-
THE COOL GRAY JUG
0 COOL gray jug that touched the lips
In kiss that softly closed and clung,
No Spanish wine the tippler sips
Or port the poet's praise has sung,
Such pure untainted sweetness yields
As cool gray jug in harvest fields.
1 see it now ! A clover leaf
Outspread upon its sweating side.
As from the standing sheaf
I pluck and swing it high, the wide
Field glows with noonday heat —
The winds are tangled in the wheat.
In myriads the crickets blithely cheep.
Across the swash of waving grain
I see the burnished reaper creep —
The lunch-boy comes ! and once again
The jug its crystal coolness yields —
O cool gray jug in harvest fields!
285
2 86 Boy Life on the Prairie
ing for the last four rounds. See here." He led them
all to the end of Long John's last station, and walking
along, pulled the bands ofF the sheaves. They had not
been tied at all.
" Now, what I don't understand," said the boss, " is
this. How did you expect to do that without being
found out ? "
Long John sullenly replied, "Well, I made up my
mind at noon I didn't want to work for a man who drives
his hands as you do."
" But it was your own fault," said Lincoln. "Your
bragging started the whole thing."
" Well, let's go to supper," said Ben. " I'm empty
as a tin boiler."
Again a dash of cool water at the well, and then,
weary and sore, the boys sat down to hot tea, salt pork,
and berries, while the horses rested in the shed. It was
a hasty meal, and in less than an hour they were all
back in the field.
But the pace was leisurely then. There was a won-
drous charm in this part of the day, when the shadows
began to lengthen across the stubble, and the fiery sun,
half veiled in thin gray clouds in the west, abated his
fierceness, and the air began to grow cool and moist.
A few rounds, and then long-drawn and musical arose
the driver's cry : —
"Turn out! All hands — turn out!'' and slowly,
with low-swinging heads, the horses moved toward the
barn, followed by the men, who walked with lagging
steps.
The Old-time Harvest Field
287
Lincoln and Ben walked side by side with swollen
hands and aching arms, too tired to exult over their
victory. Around them the katydids and treetoads
were singing, and down the lane Mary and Gran'pap
were bringing the sober-gaited cows.
"To-morrow — that's where we catch goudy," said
Ben.
"Oh, I don't know; it may rain," replied Lincoln.
" Anyhow, we've got a good long night to rest in."
That night Mr. Stewart called Little Bill and Long
John one side and handed them some bills. " Here's
your ' walking papers,' " he said grimly. " I don't want
a hand round me that I can't trust. I don't like your
style. Good day."
irti^ C
,ip>^^** -*-rjtit
■^.^^
' - 'r-'":-^'- 'f'-^-^TT
II
The next year Mr.
Stewart bought a " har-
vester," which was a reaper on which two men stood to
bind the grain, which was carried o\'er the bull-wheel
by a sort of endless apron and dropped upon a table be-
tween the binders. This was considered a wonderful in-
vention and a great improvement over the self-rake reaper,
for two men could bind as much as four on the ground.
The boys were instantly ambitious to try their hands
on this new machine. Lincoln was at once gratified.
He took his place beside the hind man and bound his
half of all the grain that rolled over the bull-wheel —
no matter how heavv it was. In some ways the work
was quite as hard as binding on a station, but the labor
of walking and gathering the grain was saved, and
besides, a canopy shut off the sun, while the motion of
the machine helped to keep a breeze stirring.
It looked to be a vcrv picturesque way of gathering
the grain, and those who looked on considered that the
machine was doing all the work — but it wasn't. To
bind one-half of ten acres of wheat each day was
work, incessant and severe. Every motion must count.
No bands must break or slip, for at that precise moment
a mountain of grain would be waiting for the band.
288
The Old-time Harvest Field 289
Each man drove the other, and the driver was master
of both their fates. The motions of good binders were
regular and graceful, and as certain as those of faultless
machinery.
Lincoln, being the lighter, always bound on the front
table, and his partner had no cause to complain of him.
The " knack " which always came to help him out,
served him particularly well on the harvester. He
could tuck the knot with his right thumb while reach-
ing for a band with his left hand, and the heap of grain
was seldom too large for even his short arms. The
hired man accused him of taking " light loads " each
time, but to this Mr. Stewart merely said : " You know
what you can do. Put your band around the straw
a little quicker,"
Sometimes the hired man tried this while Mr. Stew-
art laughed at them from his seat in the machine. It
was of no avail ; no matter how quickly he worked,
Lincoln's deft fingers were a little nimbler, and he was
forced to return to his usual pace. Part of the time
Owen drove, and then the hired man was very quiet,
for Owen had no scruples about crowding the sickle to
its full length even when the wheat was full of thistles
or wild sunflowers.
It was hard work. The briers got into Lincoln's
arms and fingers. His shirt-sleeves wore out, and the
rust from the oats stung like vitriol. His hands chapped,
and the balls of his fingers became raw, so that when
he returned to work after dinner or supper he groaned
every time he drew a band. If the ground were rough,
u
290 Boy Life on the Prairie
he was banged about till his knees were lame — and
yet in spite of all these trials no one cared to return to
binding on the ground. Harvesting was enormously
facilitated by this reaper, but invention was already
busy on something far more wonderful.
Already there were rumors that a machine had been
invented v/hich cut and bound the grain entirely of its
own motion. This was incredible, a tale out of the
" Wonder Book," and no one really believed it till
Captain Knapp brought one home and set it to work
on his own farm. The whole of Sun Prairie turned out
to see it — Lincoln and Owen among the rest. It was
like a harvester save that a heavy mass of machinery
hung where the binders used to stand, and when these
intricacies revolved, a long iron arm, which looked like
the neck of a goose, rose and plunged down through
the grain, pushing a wire tight around a sheaf, while
some cunning little twisters and a knife tied and cut
the wire, and a small foot came up from below and
kicked the bundle clear. It had the weight of a thresh-
ing-machine, but it did the work, and thereafter Cap-
tain Knapp and Ranee could cut, bind, and stack more
grain than seven men in the old way. Soon every
farmer had a self-binder. It was improved each year,
and became less ponderous and cheaper. Then a sort
of twine was invented which the crickets would not
eat (they ate everything else, fork handles, vests, jack-
knives, gloves), and the wire, which had become a great
nuisance in the field, was laid bv in fa\'or of the string.
The excitement and bustle of the harvest passed with
The Old-time Harvest Field 291
the old-time reaper. On many farms the regular hired
man and the men of the family were able to take care
of the grain, and the women hardly knew when reaping
began or left off. The blinding toil of binding by
hand was gone, and the work of shocking was greatly
lightened by the bundle-carrier attachment, which
dropped the sheaves in windrows. The iron arm did
better work than even those of David McTurg, and
never grew tired or careless.
But with all these gains there was a loss — the in-
exorable change from old to new forever drops and
leaves behind pleasant associations of human emotion —
the poetry of the familiar and the simpler forms of life.
The self-rake reaper and binding on a station joined the
" down-power," the tin lantern, the bell-metal cog-
wheels of the separator, and the tallow candle. The
new had its poetry, tooi, but it was a little more difficult
for the old folks to see it — even Lincoln and Ranee
did not recognize it as poetry, though they enjoyed the
mystery and excitement of it as they looked across the
bull-wheel and saw the faithful arm of insensate steel
doing its glorious work, unwearied and uncomplaining.
In his home in the city the middle-aged man of
country birth hears the wind blowing through the
branches of a sparse elm, and instantly he is back on
the prairies of Iowa, in the harvest field of twenty years
ago, or in the hay-field where the larks and bobolinks
are swaying and whistling. The king-bird chatters from
the little popple tree by the fence under whose shade the
toiler lies in momentary rest.
292
Boy Lite on the Prairie
Oh, ineffaceable sunsets ! Oh, mightv sweep of golden
grain beneath a \astei", more glorious sea of clouds, vour
light and song and motion are ever with us. We hear
the shrill, myriad-voiced choir of leaping insects whose
wings flash fire amid the glorified stubble. The wind
wanders by and lifts our torn hats. The locusts leap in
clouds before our heedless feet, the prairie hen's brood
rises out of the unreaped barley and drops into the shel-
tering deeps of the tangled oats, green as emerald. The
lone quail pipes in the hazel thicket, and far up the
road the cow-bell's steady clang tells of the homecoming
of the herd.
Even in such hours of toil, and through the sultry
skies, the sacred light of beautv broke; worn and grimed
as we were, we still could fall a-dream before the marvel
of golden earth and a crimson sky.
A WESTERN HARVEST
FIELD
On every side the golden stubble stretches,
Looped and laced with spiders' silvery maze.
From stalk to stalk the noisy insects leaping,
Add sparks of glittering fire to gold and purple haze.
Their clicking flight the only sound of living
In all the solemn plain
Of flooding, failing light through drooping, dreamy grain.
The warm sweet light grows every instant richer.
Ever more sonorous the night-hawk's sudden scream,
And now there comes the clatter of the sickle.
And loud and cheery urging of the reaper's tired team.
Around, unseen, the choir of evening crickets
Deepens and widens with the sunset's lessening heat.
And distant calls to supper pulse across the tangled wheat.
The overarching majesty of purple clouds grows brighter.
Soaring serene in seas of blue and green,
A tumbled mountain-land of cloud-crags fired and lighted
To glowing bronze with red and yellow sheen.
And through the grain the reaper still goes forward —
And still the insects leap and night-hawks play.
While overhead the glory of the sunset turns to gray.
293
COMING RAIN ON THE PRAIRIE
In sounding southern breeze
The spire-like poplar trees
Stream like vast plumes
Against a seamless cloud — a high,
Dark mass, a dusty dome that looms
A rushing shadow on the western sky.
The lightning falls in streams,
Sprangling in fiery seams.
Through which the bursting rain
Trails in clouds of gray ;
The cattle draw together on the plain,
And drift like anchored boats upon a wind-swept bay.
THE HERDSMAN
A luaste of grasses dry as hair ;
Stillness ; insects' buzz ; and glare
Of white-hot sunshine everyiuhere !
The Herdsman like a statue sits
Upon his panting horse, while far below
The herd moves soundlessly as a shadow flits.
The weak wind mumbles some mysterious word.
294
The Herdsman 295
The word grows louder, and a thrill
Of action runs along the hot twin bands
Of steel. A low roar quivers in the ear, and still
No motion else in all the spotted sands.
The roar grows brazen, and a yell
Bursts from an unseen iron throat ;
The Herdsman's eyes rest on a distant swell,
Whence seems to pulse the savage welcome note.
Sudden it comes, a crawling, thunderous thing !
A monstrous serpent hot with haste,
The cannon-ball express with rushing swing
Circles the butte and roars across the waste.
The embodied might of these our iron days.
The glittering moving city, rushes toward the east,
Bringing for a single instant face to face
Barbaric loneliness and a flying feast.
A roguish maiden from an open window throws
(Or drops) her handkerchief among the cacti spears,
The Herdsman plucks and wears it like a rose
Upon his breast, and laughs to hide his grateful tears.
Again the luaste of grasses crisp as hair;
Stillness ; crickets' chirp ; and glare
Of boundless sunshine everywhere !
CHAPTER XX
THE BATTLE OF THE BULLS
During the first three years of Lincohi's life on Sun
Prairie, the cattle remained " free commoners," ranging
at will on the unfcnced land, but all this suddenly
changed. The stockman was required to take care of
his cattle, and fencing became optional with the owner
of crops. This reversal of liability was due to an enact-
ment called " The Herd Law," and was a great relief to
farmers, to whom fencing was a very considerable burden.
As to the rights or wrongs of this change, the boys
of Sun Prairie had no opinion, and the cause was only
vaguely understood, but the change in their own lives
was momentous. Up to this time their watch over the
cattle had been easy and lax, now it became necessary to
2ijb
The Battle of the Bulls 297
know where the herd was every hour of the day and
night. The herder must stay with his charges until
relieved, like a sentinel. This led to an arrangement
between the Stewarts, Knapps, and Jenningses by which
the cattle were held in one drove, and the boys took turn
and turn about in watching them.
Meanwhile a still greater change was taking place.
As the settlers poured into the county in hundreds, the
wild lands yielded to the breaking-plough, and the range
disappeared with incredible swiftness, until at last only two
great feeding-grounds existed. One to the west, a wet,
cold tract covered with fine grass interspersed with
patches of willow, the other the burr-oak opening on the
Wapseypinnicon. To these ranges the cows had to be
driven each morning, and brought home each night.
This led to the next important step. A part of the
home farm was " seeded down " to timothy grass, and
the cows separated from the general herd, which could
thus be driven farther away and held during the entire
season.
So at last Milton and Owen or Lincoln and Ranee
kept watch every day over the combined flocks of the
neighborhood, while the other boys worked at corn-
planting or haying or harvest. As it happened, the
farmers for a year or two kept up their fences, and the
boys, after seeing the herd quieted for the night, were
able to return home to sleep ; but at last the range grew
too small and the fences too poor (new-comers made
none at all) to allow this, and then came the final
change of all. One day. Captain Knapp called to ar-
298 Boy Life on the Prairie
range with Mr. Stewart about having the young cattle
and the steers driven over into the next county, in
search of wider range.
When the decision and date of the moving were an-
nounced, the boys were deeply excited. Whoever herded
the cattle now would be a herder indeed. He must not
expect to return to his mother at night. He must sleep
in a tent and follow his cattle. In imagination Lincoln
saw files of Indians moving over smooth ranges, out-
lined against the sky, or heard the thunderous trample
of migrating buffaloes. On the night before they were
to start, the boys were all too excited to sleep. Everv
lad in Sun Prairie wanted to go, and most of them
did go, to spy out the land.
Lincoln, Ranee, and Milton rounded up the herd and
kept it moving, while Mr. Stewart and Mr. Knapp and
several of the smaller boys followed in a wagon, in
which were tent and bedding for the herders. Mr.
Stewart had said : " You don't want a tent. We will
get a place for you at some settler's shanty." But the
boys insisted, and so a little " dog tent " was purchased
by Lincoln and Ranee, to be their very own, and they
were happy.
For a couple of hours the ground was familiar, but at
last they came to the Cedar River, beyond which all
was unknown. They were deeply disappointed to find
houses there, but toward noon they came to a long, low
swell of wild land, reaching far to right and to left. It
seemed to be the beginning of the wild country. It
was a wet and swampy country ; for that reason it was
The Battle of the Bulls 299
yet unclaimed, but there were herds of cattle already
feeding there, and Mr. Stewart said, —
" Let 'em feed, boys, while we take a snack."
It was a glorious business ! The grass was green
and tender, the wind fresh, the sunlight vivid.
" I'd like to keep right on all summer, wouldn't you.
Ranee .? " said Lincoln.
"Yes," replied Ranee, but his voice was not as fervid
as Lincoln had expected.
They stopped for the night, about four o'clock.
They were still in the wet country, but about twenty
miles from home. It seemed a very long way indeed
to Lincoln when Mr. Stewart said, " Well, boys, I
guess we'll have to go into camp."
Captain Knapp being an old soldier and a plainsman
took direction of affairs. He selected a place to
camp on the east side of a popple grove, out of the
wind, which grew cold as the night fell. He soon had
a bright fire going in a trench, while Ranee galloped
away to a cabin near by to get some milk. Lincoln
dismounted, but kept his horse in hand, in case the
cattle should become restless, while Mr. Stewart erected
the little tent and got out the bedding.
The scene filled Lincoln's heart with emotions and
vaguely defined splendid pictures, which he could not
utter. It was all so grand and true and primeval to
him. He felt like singing — like chanting a great poem,
but he only squatted on the ground and stared at the
flaming fire.
The meal was eaten hunter-fashion, and its rudeness
300 Boy Life on the Prairie
was a merit. Home seemed very far away, and the
prairie very wide and wild, as night fell. Owen snuggled
close to his father's knee, listening in silence to Captain
Knapp's stories of " the service." That was his way
of alluding to his term of enlistment as a soldier in the
Civil War. Ranee and Lincoln were out keeping the
herd close to the camp, with orders to stay with them
till they began to lie down.
It was all very mysterious and solemn out there.
Ducks were gabbling in the pools — frogs seemed sing-
ing out of the ground everywhere. Flights of prairie
pigeons went bv, with a whistling sound. The twitter
of sparrows, the lonely piping of the plover, and the
ceaseless boom and squawk of the prairie chickens, filled
the air. Once a wolf barked from a ridge, and Ranee
said " Hark ! " in the tone of one who fears to be heard.
At last the cattle, tired and well filled, began to drop
down on the sod, uttering loud sighs of contentment, and
the boys returned to the camp fire, which beckoned from
afar, like the signal fires of the Lidians, in the novels
the boys had read.
As they drew near, Captain Knapp said : " Leave the
saddles on, bo\s, and put vour bridles where you can
find them. We may need to rout you out, any time."
This pleased the boys, also ; for they laid down before
the fire, feeling like young soldiers doing picket duty.
As a matter of fact, they were tired and needed a good
bed, but would not complain.
Mr. Stewart and Owen, with the other boys, drove
away to a neighboring house, leaving Captain Knapp and
The Battle of the Bulls 301
Lincoln and Ranee at the camp. And after an hour of
talk around the fire, they all crawled into the little tent
and slept soundly till sunrise. They rose stiff and lame
from their hard beds, and Lincoln rode forth to turn the
herd back toward the west, while Ranee helped about
the breakfast.
Lincoln considered himself a well-seasoned cowboy,
as he galloped around the herd, and headed them back
toward the camp. Breakfast was soon ready, and once
more they took up their line of march toward the west.
As they moved they passed another thin line of settle-
ment, and came at last to the edge of a superb range,
several miles in extent, and comparatively unspotted with
cattle.
"Here's the pasture," said Captain Knapp.
It was a beautiful place. A great stretch of rolling
prairie, with small ponds scattered about. It had beau-
tiful stretches of upland, also, and Lincoln's imagi-
nation turned the cattle into bison, and his own party
into redmen, and so felt the bigness and poetry of the
scene.
Again they camped, and Captain Knapp selected their
permanent camping-ground, and laid out a corral, into
which the cattle were to be driven at night. Arrange-
ments were made with the nearest settler to board the
boys, and night fell with all arrangements made, except
the building of the corral. That night only deepened
the wonder and wild joy of the task.
The next morning, as they watched the men climb
into the wagon, the cowbovs began to realize that thev
302
Bov Life on the Prairie
were now to be actually responsible herders. Captain
Knapp said : —
" Now, Ranee, be careful. Put the cattle into the
corral every night for a week; after that, if they are
quiet, you won't need to. Watch 'em till they fill up,
and then go to bed.
But if it threatens rain,
or if the flies are bad,
you'd better bring 'em
in. Good-bv — take
care o' yourselves."
"Look out for Sau-
gas," said
Mr. Stew-
art.
"Go to
your meals
regular," was Mr. Jennings's jocose parting word.
As the wagon passed over a swell, out of sight,
Milton cocked his head on one side and said, "Well,
boys, we're in for it."
" I guess we weigh a hundred and enough," replied
Lincoln.
The first thing necessary was to get the lay of the
The Battle of the Bulls 303
land, so they galloped away to a swell, which ran against
the sky to the west ; from there they could see a large
blue line of timber, and houses thickening to a settle-
ment. To the north, the land seemed open and com-
paratively free of tillage — to the south, farms could
be seen.
Below them, to the west, was a big drove of colts,
and Ranee said, —
" Milton, you watch the cattle, while Link and I go
down and look at that herd of horses."
"All right," said Milton. "Don't be gone long."
There was mischief in Ranee's eyes as he rode gently
down toward the herd, which had finished its morning
feeding and was standing almost motionless on the
prairie. Some were feeding, others stood gnawing each
other's withers in friendly civility, some were in a close
knot to keep away from the flies, stamping uneasily or
jostling together. Others, still, were lying flat on their
sides, or rolling in a dusty spot. They were a very
excellent grade of horses.
" I wonder which is the leader," said Lincoln.
" That black mare," replied Ranee. " See her eyes.
She's ready to stampede."
Gathering the reins well in hand, he rode slowly up
to the herd. The colts and young stallions, never
handled by man, approached with insolent curiosity.
They had not the craft of the Morgan mare, who knew
all too well what it meant to fall into the hands of
men.
Lincoln's " Rob " began to breathe heavily, and to
304 Boy Life on the Prairie
dance in sidewise motion, as the restless ones began to
swerve and circle around each other.
Ranee raised a whoop. The black whirled on her
feet agile as a cat, and away they all went, with thunder
of hoofs, and bugling from wide-blown nostrils. The
clumsy colts were transformed into something swift and
splendid. Their lifted heads and streaming manes dig-
nified and gave majesty, as they moved off awkwardly
but swiftly, looking back at their pursuers with peculiar,
insulting, cunning waving of the head from side to side, —
the challenge of the horse, — their tails flung out like
banners.
But Ranee was a light weight, and his horse once the
proud leader of a similar herd. He soon outstripped all
but the savage little black mare, who was running easily.
Side by side the two horses moved as if in harness, but
Ranee's Ladrone pulled hard at the bit, showing that
he was capable of more speed. Lincoln was close be-
hind. The herd dropped awav and was lost. Ranee,
lifting his short-handled whip, and swirling the long lash
round his head, brought it down across the mare's back,
yelling like a Sioux.
The mare seemed to flatten out like a wolf, as she let
out the last link of her speed. Lincoln could see the
veins come out on her neck, and could hear the roaring
breath of his own " Rob Rov." The muscles along the
spine and over the hips of the mare heaved and swelled,
as Ranee again raised the whip in the air, and brought it
down along the mare's glossv side. She did not respond.
She had reached the limit of her stride.
The Battle of the Bulls
305
Suddenly changing the pressure of his knees, the ex-
ultant lad let the rein fall, and leaning forward shouted
into the ear of his roan, whose head, hitherto held high,
straightened and seemed to reach beyond the flying mare
— she fell behind and wheeled — she was beaten ! And
Lincoln joined in the exultant whoop of his hero.
But while the boys were glad to turn and recover
their breath, the tireless mare lead the drove in wide
evolutions, wheeling and charging, trotting and gallop-
ing, always on the outside track, as if to show that
while Ladrone could beat her on a short run, she was
fresh and strong while he was winded. The boys re-
turned to Milton, who had watched the race from the
ridge.
X
3o6 Boy Life on the Prairie
Such movements as this, common with colts, did not
occur among the cattle. They never moved, except for
a purpose. They did not seem to feel the same need
nor to take the same joy in exercise. But they had
their own tremendous dramas, for all that. They were
almost incessantly battling among themselves, steer
against steer, and herd against herd. In this the boys
took immense delight. In comparison with the struggle
of great steers, the cock-fighting in which they gloried
in early spring became of small account. It was as if
lions warred, when two herds met.
The boys understood the voices and gestures of cattle
quite as well as those of roosters, and each had one par-
ticular animal in whose skill and prowess he had betting
confidence, and during the long, monotonous davs herds
were often driven into contact. War always resulted,
for these cattle were not meek " polled Angus " or
Jerseys, but great rangy, piebald creatures with keen and
cruel horns, to whom battle was as instinctive as in a
wildcat.
As the boys returned to Milton, he said : —
"Say, boys, we'll have a dandy fight one o' these
days. See them cattle ? "
Sure enough. Slowly rising from a ravine was a big
herd of cattle, attended by a single horseman.
"Boys, you stay here," said Lincoln, "and I'll go
over an' see that feller."
As he galloped up to the herd, he discovered the
herder to be a boy a little voungcr than himself, a very
blond boy, with a keen, shrewd face.
The Battle of the Bulls 307
" Hello, where'd you come from ? " he asked.
"Cedar County. Where do you live ? "
" 'Bout four miles west o' here. What's your name ? "
" Lincoln Stewart. What's yours ? "
" Cecil Johnson. Say, you want to look out for our
old bull ; he's roamin' round somewhere. He's a terrible
fighter."
" What if he is ? If he comes round our herd, old
Spot'll 'tend to him."
" Mebbe he will and mebbe he won't. Old Erin
killed a steer last Sunday. You want to keep on your
horse when he comes round."
" We ain't afraid, but you want 'o head your herd
south, o' there'll be war."
" I guess our cattle can take care o' their selves."
This was virtually a declaration of war, and when
Lincoln reported to Ranee and Milton, Ranee omi-
nously said, " Let 'em come ; we're here first."
They were all deeply excited at the prospect of see-
ing the two strange herds come together. No such
battle had ever before been possible, and Milton said
several times during the middle of the day, —
" Let's kinder aige 'em along toward each other, and
have it over an' done with."
But Lincoln opposed this. " Oh, gosh, no ! If we
did, an' some of 'em got killed, we'd catch lightnin'; but
if they come together themselves, we're not to blame."
The herds fed quietly on opposite sides of a timbered
ridge, till about three o'clock, when a low, deep, sullen,
far-off roaring was heard.
3o8 Boy Life on the Prairie
" That's the brindle bull. He's coniin' this way,
too," said Lincoln, who could see in imagination the
solitary beast, pacing slowly along, uttering regular mut-
tering growls, as if half-asleep, and vet angry.
Ranee twisted his lip into a queer smile. "Well, let
him come. Old Spot will meet him."
Old Spot was a big tiger-bodied beast, half Durham
and half Texan ; a wild, swift, insolent, and savage steer,
with keen, wide-spreading horns. He had whipped every
animal on Sun Prairie, and considered himself the neces-
sary guard of the flock. He was quarrelsome among
the members of the flock, a danger to horses, and a
menace to the boys, though they kept him half in awe
by occasional severe hidings. He heard the distant
sound, and lifting his head, listened, critically, while the
boys quivered with delight.
Soon the solitary warrior topped the ridge, and looking
over the prairie to the west, challenged the world. He
tore at the sod with his flat, sharp horns, and threw
showers of dust and pieces of sod high in the air, and
threatened and exulted in his strength.
Then Old Spot commenced to brag in his turn.
Drawing a little out of the herd, he, too, began to show
what he could do with hoofs and horns, while the boys,
wild with interest, cut in behind and urged him gently on.
It was worth while to see these resolute and defiant
animals approach each other, challenging, studying each
other, seeking battle of their own free will. With
heads held low and rigid as oak, with tongues lolling
from their red mouths, while the skin wrinkled on their
The Battle of the Bulls 309
curved and swollen necks, like the corrugations of a
shield, they edged in sidelong caution, foot by foot,
toward a common centre. They came on like skilled
boxers, snuffing, uttering short and boastful roarings,
their eyes protruding, their tails waving high, until,
with sudden crash of skull and horns, they met in
deadly grapple.
A moment's silence took place, as they measured
strength, pushing and straining with sudden relaxations
and twisting throats, impatient to secure advantages.
The clash of their shaken, interlocked horns, their deep
breathing, the terrible glare of their bloodshot eyes,
became each moment more terrible. The sweat streamed
from their heaving sides, their great hoofs clutched and
tore the sod. The boys, tense with excitement, kept the
herds away, and waited, almost breathlessly, the issue.
At last Brindle, getting the upper hold, pressed the
spotted steer's head to the ground, nearly shutting off
his breath. Lincoln, who was betting on the bull,
raised a cheer, but the steer was not defeated. From
his great nostrils he blew the bloody foam, and gathered
himself for one last desperate effort ; with a sudden jerk
he ran one long horn under the bull's neck, and with a
mighty surge, rose under him, flinging him aside, and
literally running away with him.
The Sun Prairie boys cheered, but the owner of the
bull, who had joined them, calmly said, " Old Brin is
still on deck; don't you forget it."
Once beaten is always beaten, as a rule, with a steer
or cow. They seldom dispute the outcome of a first
3IO Boy Life on the Prairie
encounter, no matter how old or weak the victor be-
comes, but with the bull it is a different matter. A young
bull will return to the battle twice, and even a third
time. The brindle fled as long as he saw no chance to
recover, but when the big steer paused, he turned, and
the battle went on again. The two herds became
aware of the struggle, and drew near, snuffing and paw-
ing, circling restlessly, threatening to interfere, but the
bovs held them away with sudden dashes toward them,
with their whips in hand.
Never had such a battle taken place on the prairie.
Lincoln, skilled in the sign language of animals, under-
stood that this was a fight to a finish, and a sort of awe
fell on him. The brindle was heavier, but the steer had
keener horns, and was quicker on his feet. His tiger-
like body bent almost double under the bull's mightv
rushes, but out-sprang again, like a splendid sword
blade. Both were sensibly weaker at the end of ten
minutes, but their ferocity continued unabated. They
were fighting in silence now, wasting no breath in
boasting.
Suddenlv, with a dexterous fling, the steer tossed the
bull aside, and followed with a swift rush for his heart,
with his keen right horn. Out burst a thin stream of
blood, and the boys looked at each other in alarm.
" He's killed him," said Milton. " Old Spot's killed
him,"
" Not much he hasn't," replied Cecil. " A bull
never gives up. He's just beginning to get mad."
Whipping into line, the brindle again met his antago-
The Battle of the Bulls 311
nist, and with another mad rush pinned Spot to the
ground, as before, but his horns were too short to hold
him. Again the steer rose.
The battle-ground shifted, the boys following, their
muscles aching with the strain. At this moment arose
a new sound, a wild and savage roar, a long-drawn,
powerful, raucous note, ending in a singular upward
squealing inflection, which was instantly followed by
other similar outcries. The boys, pale with fear,
turned to look. A big, line-back-steer stood above the
pool of fresh blood, and with nose held to the ground,
with open mouth and protruding tongue, was calling for
vengeance. The herds, hitherto merely restless, woke
to fury. They flung themselves upon that calling sen-
tinel. From a herd of largely feeding, stupidly sleeping
domestic animals, they woke to the fury of their mighty
ancestors. They had the action of bison — the voices
of lions.
In an instant the two gladiators were hidden by a
swarm of bawling, rushing, crowding cattle, from which
the herders fled in terror. Out of the mass of dusty,
sweaty, bloody beasts, waving tails fluttered, and up-
flung dust and sod arose; while above the mutter and roar
and trample that thrilling, hair-uplifting, bawling roar,
heard only when roused by the scent of blood, was emit-
ted by old and young. It seemed as if the herds would
annihilate each other, and the boys were pale with
apprehension and a sense of guilt. Nothing could be
done but wait. " They'll kill each other. There
won't be a yearling left," said Lincoln.
3 1 2 Boy Life on the Prairie
For nearly thirty minutes the herds fought, then
panting, wet with sweat, and covered with grass and
dust, the two herds wore apart, and the boys, gaining
courage, darted in and forced them in opposite direc-
tions. The brindle bull was then discovered still fight-
ing, but weak and bloody. He had become separated
from his chief antagonist. As his herd moved off, he
sullenly, slowly followed, scorning to be hurried, and
the boys called it a " draw gan?e," and declared all bets
off, glad to find that no dead animals remained on the
field of battle.
As night drew on, the boys began to realize that they
were alone with a restless herd. It was two miles to
the shanty where they were to get their meals, and as
Milton and Lincoln galloped away, leaving Ranee to
keep an eye on the cattle, Lincoln said, " I hope it
won't rain to-night."
" I'm a little nervous myself"
They were very critical of the food at Mrs. Ander-
son's table. The butter didn't suit them, and the bread
was sour. They returned to Ranee in gloomy spirits.
While he went to supper, they rounded up the cattle,
and held them near the corral till he came back to help
force the reluctant beasts in.
As they unsaddled their horses and picketed them out,
the sky looked gray and lowering.
"It would be just our luck to have a three-days
soaker," said Ranee.
Just as they were going to sleep, a wolf set up a
clamor, and a thrill of fear shot through Lincoln's
The Battle of the Bulls
3^3
heart. He knew the wolf was harmless, but in his
voice was the loneliness and mystery of night, and the
boy shivered. The cattle stirred uneasily, and the horses
snorted ; but Ranee, who was the strong man of the
party, rose and spoke to them and they became quiet.
The rain did not come, and they found the cattle safe
when they awoke next morning, but their bones were
sore on account of their hard beds, and it was a long
way to breakfast and a mighty poor breakfast when they
sat down to it. Herding seemed to have lost something
of its glamour. However, as the sun rose and the blood
of youth began to warm up, the charm of the wild life
came back again.
The hard beds they soon got used to, but the bad bread
was a trial which each day made more grievous. They
were all accustomed to good cooking. Their food was
monotonous, but it was always tastily prepared. Mil-
ton gave in first. " I'm going home to get a square
meal," he said, as he swung into the saddle. Lincoln
was homesick, too, but dared not show it in the presence
of his commander.
Milton came back a week later with Owen, who
brought word that Lincoln was wanted to work in the
corn-field.
This laconic message brought back all the charm of
the wild, tree life on the prairie, which was growing more
beautiful each day, and Lincoln rode away homeward
joylessly. He knew all too well what it meant to
run a wheeled plough through the dust and heat of a
midsummer day.
314
Bov Life on the Prairie
To make matters worse, he was obliged to turn Rob
Roy over to Owen and ride a plough-horse on the
homeward journey. But it seemed good to get home, to
get a good meal once more, and to hear the familiar
voices. He had been three weeks with the herd, and
this was a prodigious long time to an imaginative bov.
It was good to sleep in a bed again without a hair's-
weight of responsibility, with no thought of the darkness
outside or the rising clouds in the west. Shingles had
their uses, after all.
MASSASAUGA
A COLD, coiled line of mottled lead,
He wakes where grazing cattle tread
And lifts a fanged and spiteful head.
His touch is deadly, and his eyes
Are hot with hatred and surprise.
Death waits and watches where he lies.
His hate is turned toward everything ;
He is the undisputed king
Of every path and meadow spring.
His venomed head is poised to smite
All passing feet — light
Is not swifter than his bite.
His touch is deadly, and his eyes
Are hot with hatred and surprise.
Death waits and watches where he lies.
315
CHAPTER XXI
THE TERROR OF THE RATTLESNAKE
This new pasture ground was filled with Massasaugas.
Hardly a day passed that the boys did not kill one or
more with their whips, and several of the cattle were
badly bitten during the first week. The bovs were
heedful where they set their feet, and never lay down in
the grass without a glance at the ground around them.
They seemed to know almost by instinct the kind of
herbage in which the reptiles were likely to be found.
Tales of their deadly fangs were not so common as
one might suppose, but one or two had made a profound
impression upon Lincoln. One was the minute account
of a boy who had been bitten while out after the cows
and who had run all the way home, heating his blood to
boiling-point, and diffusing the virus through every vein.
Before the doctor could be brought, the wounded one
was delirious with pain and fear, and died as the sun
went down.
Whiskey was supposed to be a sure cure if the \ictim
could be made drunk at once, and there were a great
many jokes current among the men about " an ounce of
prevention," etc. Each accused the other of taking a
drink every time a locust rattled, but it always seemed
a grisly subject for joke to Lincoln, especially after
Doudncy's nephew, Will, died of a bite. He was rid-
316
Terror of the Rattlesnake 317
ing home with his uncle one Saturday night, when they
overtook a big " Sauga " crossing the road.
" Wait, see me snap his head off," said Will, leaping
from the wagon.
" Don't do it. Let him alone, you fool," cried
Doudney.
The man had been drinking and was reckless. "Oh!
I've done it dozens of times," he called back, as he ap-
proached the serpent, which coiled and faced his enemy,
ready for war.
The reckless young man waved his hat before the
snake, and as he uncoiled and started to run, snatched
him up, but flung him to the earth with a curse of pain
and rage. The snake had sunk his fangs deep into his
hand, between the forefinger and the thumb.
With snarling fury, the frenzied man flung himself
on the snake, and literally tore him to pieces with his
hands. He foamed at the mouth as he cursed : " Bite,
will ye ! God damn you, bite me ! I'll show you."
He ended by grinding the snake under his heel.
Doudney sprang out of the wagon, and rushing up to
him, called out : —
" Stop, you fool. You'll die in thirty minutes if you
keep that up. Keep quiet. Give me your arm."
He bared the bitten arm, and put a tourniquet about
it, and opening his whiskey flask said, " Drink this,
every drop of it, or you're a dead man."
The young man began to realize what he had done,
and with a face made gray with fear, turned to Doudney
and gasped : —
3 1 8 Boy Life on the Prairie
" I can't. Get me to a doctor, quick. I'm going to die."
" Drink ! That'll keep you up till we can reach
help."
The man was a coward, and the reaction was almost
instantaneous. He was so weak he could hardly re-
turn to the wagon. Hastening his horses into a run,
Doudney turned to the nearest house, and there put his
nephew to bed and sent for the doctor. The whiskey
did not avail. He died before the doctor arrived.
These two cases were known to all the boys in Sun
Prairie, and they had been instructed not merely how to
avoid the snake, but what to do in case they were
bitten. Though Lincoln had no fear of them, they
awed him. They appealed to his imagination. Often
when he found them on the prairie (the horses always
found them first — they seemed to smell them) he dis-
mounted, and if the place were open, studied the
fearsome creatures. There was dignity in their slow
movement. They were not to be hurried, and there
was power in the poise of their flat, triangular heads, and
deep meaning in their jewel-bright eyes, and death was
in the flicker of each forked, black tongue.
They seemed to say : " Let me alone, and Lm harm-
less. Touch me, and I kill."
So long as he could see them, Lincoln had no fear;
but when they were hid in the deep grass, or when their
rattle sounded from a tangle of weeds, his heart grew
cold with the sense of being in the presence of death's
ambuscade. Somewhere that poised head waited. In
the shadow that mottled coil was slowl\ sliding.
Terror of the Rattlesnake 319
Often, as the herd was feeding quietly through a
meadow, a cow or a colt would suddenly leap aside in
terror of some unseen form, and the boys knew the cold
gray body of a " Sauga " had blocked the way. By
riding carefully about the spot in a circle, they often
found him curled and singing, and cut him to pieces
with their whips, eager to destroy him before he could
escape. These encounters always left them a little ex-
cited, and at night Lincoln sometimes dreamed of them,
especially of those which escaped into the weeds.
As a matter of fact their habits and habitations were
so well known, and so few cases of poisoning were
authenticated, that no one paid very much heed to tales
of horror — the case of Doudney's nephew was ques-
tioned by some, who said, " He had heart disease, any-
way. He wouldn't have died if he had been a well
man."
One hot June day, three boys came over the ridge
with tin buckets in their hands, seeking strawberries.
They were all barefoot and very noisy. They set to
work in the edge of a patch of hazel, where the berries
were especially large and fine.
Ranee was lying on his back under a popple tree,
resting, while Lincoln, sitting slaunch-wise in his saddle,
was watchino; the movement of the herd.
Suddenly a cry of mortal terror broke from one of the
berry-pickers. There was an instant pause, and then
scream after scream in rapid succession, each moment
weaker, till they died away in a whimper, like the cries
of a wounded dog.
320 Boy Life on the Prairie
Ranee leaped to his feet, just in time to see the other
boys scatter wildly, calling frenziedlv : —
" Rattlesnake ! Rattlesnake ! "
Ranee dug his heels into his horse, and was instantly
awav, Lincoln following at once.
As he rode up. Ranee saw a bov of about twelve
years of age sitting on the ground with his bare foot in
his hands, his face ghastly, his eyes stupid with fear, his
lips dry and twitching, his voice sunk to a gasping
moan. The snake was gone.
Leaping down, Ranee examined the foot. On the
instep were four small wounds, from which blood and a
light green foam issued. The width of the jaw of the
snake was indicated in the distance between the punc-
tures. The reptile was large, and had bitten the boy
twice.
"Shut up ! " said Ranee. " Keep still. Crying only
makes it worse. Link, give me a strap, quick," he
called, as Lincoln came galloping up.
As he held the boy's ankle tightly gripped in both his
hands. Ranee thought rapidly. It was three miles to
the nearest house, and eight miles to the nearest town.
The boy could not be moved eight miles, and he would
die before help could be brought, unless the poison could
be stayed in its course through the blood. He took the
strap, which Lincoln loosened from his bridle, and wind-
ing it round just below the knee, twisted it with a jack-
knife till the lad cried out in pain.
"Set it up tight," said Lincoln. "It's the only
chance."
Terror of the Rattlesnake 321
" Say, you remember the story about putting the
fellow in the mud ? " Lincoln nodded.
" Well, you go for help. I'm going to put the bov
into that puddle and hold him there. Here, you fellers.
Come here." The other two boys came cautiously up.
« Git, Link. Ride like hell ! "
Lincoln leaped to the saddle, and was off before
Ranee had time to speak a second time.
" Come here ! " commanded Ranee. " What you
'fraid of? Grab a hold here. The snake is gone.
We've got to get this boy into that puddle. One of
you hold my horse. You take hold here,"
Under his vigorous commands the larger of the two
boys took hold under the stricken lad's shoulders, and
they partially carried and partially dragged him to the
edge of the little pool. With swift and resolute action.
Ranee scooped out a hollow in the mud and forced the
boy's leg down into it, and began heaping the cool, ill-
smelling muck over him.
" Lie still, now. I won't drown you. You'll die if you
don't do as I say. Dig, dig ! " he shouted to the other lad.
" Sink him down. There, don't that feel good ? That
cool mud will draw the poison out. One o' you go cut a
big hazel bush. I'm going to keep the ' turnkey ' on him."
The touch of the cool mud, as well as Ranee's en-
couraging words, quieted the boy, and he lay gasping piti-
fully, his big set and staring eyes like some poor dumb
animal waiting the death stroke of his captors. The
tourniquet made him cry out again, but Ranee held it
with all his force.
Y
322 Boy Life on the Prairie
" It won't do no good if it don't hurt," he said.
For half an hour he held this ligature in the mud and
water, while the others were sinking their comrade deeper
in the muck. Sitting so, Ranee had a full realization
of the desolating power which lay in the little, white,
needle-pointed curved fangs of the Massasauga.
"He was in the path. I stepped on him," the boy
gasped in answer to a question, and Ranee could see
the sullen reptile striking once, and shaking loose with
a sinister curve of his neck, to strike again, and then, as
if knowing his poison sacks were empty, slipping away
into cover, leaving his victim to writhe and die.
Ranee's muscles ached with the strain, but he held on
grimly, changing hands as he grew numb. It seemed an
hour before a man came galloping over the ridge. It
was Anderson, the Norwegian, with whom they boarded.
" Hello ! " he said, as he galloped up. " Hae bacn
bit by snake ? "
" That's what," replied Ranee. " Come here and
take hold of this turnkey. I'm just about used up."
*' Ae got al-co-hol. Yimmy, haer, yo' take good
swig."
The boy took a mouthful of the burning stuff, but
could not swallow it. He spit it out with a crv : " I
can't. I can't ! "
" Batter yo' trv," persisted Anderson. " Hae baen
gude."
" Why didn't you bring some water to mix with it ? "
said Ranee. " Go get some quick. He can't drink
that stuff."
Terror of the Rattlesnake ^'^3
By the time the alcohol was diluted, the boy was
crazy with the pain of his wound and the cramp of his
position in the water, and refused to drink.
Anderson was for forcing it down his throat, but
Ranee stopped him.
The boys set up a shout. " Here comes somebody,"
Lincoln, followed by a wagon driven furiously, topped
the swell. The driver was swinging the reins, beating
the horses to still more furious pace. Link came float-
ing down the ridge, sitting his horse gracefully, making
the excitement seem only a part of a merry race.
As the wagon drew near, a shrill voice was heard in
weeping. Two men were holding a woman from leap-
ing out of the wagon. It was the mother of the boy
crazed with maternal fear.
Lincoln called out : " He's all right. Don't worry,"
'' You hear. He's alive. Be quiet now," said one
of the men, as he leaped to the ground. " Now come
down."
In a moment the three men and the frenzied mother
encircled the boy.
The father of the boy excitedly said : " What's he in
the mud for ? Take him out."
"That's all right. Leave him alone," put in one of
the other men, as he relieved Ranee. " Good idea."
The mother, kneeling by the boy's head, said over
and over, " Do you know me, Freddie ? "
Ranee rose and fairly staggered to his horse. His re-
sponsibility ended when the parents came. He watched
them while they dragged the boy out of the mud and
324 Boy Life on the Prairie
examined his swollen leg. In truth, it all began to
look like a foolish piece of business even to him. He
looked round him at the horses nibbling grass, at the
cattle peacefully grazing, at the shadow-dappled prairie,
and it all seemed a mistake, a dream. It could not be
that the boy was in the throes of dissolution. It could
not be that death lurked in the sun-bright grass and the
rustling hazel bushes. For a moment he felt hot with
shame for having done such a foolish thing. But the
moaning of the stricken boy helped him to remember
the wound, the oozing froth, and the terror of the
snake.
The mother climbed into the wagon, the boy was
laid in her lap, the father, holding the ligature, knelt be-
side him, and so thev drove awav, leaving Ranee and
Lincoln standing beside the pool with the Norwegian.
"Well — bote tem to eat; ae tank ae go home.
Batter yo go home too. Link."
"As soon as we kill the snake," replied Ranee.
Beginning in a narrow circle, the boys rode slowly
round and round, in a constantly widening course; but
the bush was too thick ; the snake had crawled away
deep in the tangle to wait till his fangs should once
more be charged with venom.
"They didn't thank you for putting that boy in the
mud, did they ? " remarked Lincoln, as they were rid-
ing away to supper. " It got his clothes dirty."
Ranee did not reply. He felt foolish and a little
hurt, also. Suppose it was not the very best thing to
do, he deserved a good word for his intentions, anyway.
Terror of the Rattlesnake 325
The next morning one of the men who had helped to
carry the boy came riding over the prairie. As he drew
near, he looked at Ranee closely.
"Are you the chap that put Fred into the mud ? "
Ranee hotly replied: "Yes, I am. What y' goin'
to do about it ? "
"You needn't get huffy. I just came over to say
that my sister, Mrs. Pease, wants to see you. The
doctor says you saved the boy's life, and she'd kind o'
like to do for you some way."
Ranee was suspicious and angry. " Well, you go
back and let me alone. The next time your darn boy
gets bit, he can go to hell. I did the best I could, and
I've been devilled about it ever since, and I'm sick of it.
Think I'm a doctor out here herdin' cattle for my
health ? " He turned his horse and galloped off, leaving
the stranger stupefied.
" I didn't mean to devil him," he said to Lincoln,
who was also turning away in sympathy. " The doctor
said the boy done the best thing that could a' been done.
Mrs. Pease did send me over here to get the boy."
" Well," said Lincoln, " you let him alone. He
don't want a woman slobbering over him. He did the
best he knew how, and that's all anybody can do."
When Ranee and Lincoln went home to help harvest,
the wounded boy had not yet risen from his bed. It
was reported that his leg was spotted "just like a snake,
and swelled so you can't see where his knee is." They
never saw the boy or his mother again.
As the autumn came on, the herding became serious
^26 Boy Life on the Prairie
business. Into beautiful gold and purple October, great
slashes of gray rain swept. There were days vyhen the
wind was northeast and the drizzle steady and pitiless.
It was damp and gloomy in the trail, the ground was
soggy under foot. The bridles and saddles were slip-
pery and the landscape sombre. On such days hours
stretched out like rubber, and night came cheerlessly.
The boys, unkempt and miserable, hoyered around a small
camp-fire, or sat by the kitchen sto\e in Anderson's
shanty, thinking how nice it would seem to be at home.
These rains ended each time in weather partly clear
and progressively colder. The sumach blazed forth in
beauty. The popple trees dropped their leaves and
stood bare in the whistling winds. The hazel thickets
were also bare and brown, and on the ground the nuts lay
thickly strewn. The barbs of the wild oats, twisted and
harsh, fell to the earth, and the stalks of the crow's-foot
stood slenderly upholding a frayed sprangle of empty
seed-cells. The gophers were busy storing nuts and
seeds, the badgers, heavy with fat, were seen waddling
along the ridges on warm days, or sitting meditatively
beside their dens, as if taking their last view of the land-
scape they loved.
The blackbirds, assembling in enormous flocks, loaded
down the branches of the aspen groves, and chattered
of the joys past as well as of the sunny days to come.
Prairie pigeons whistled by on m\sterious imperative
errands, curving over the hills like an aerial serpent. The
prairie chickens assembled in large flocks also, the young
no longer distinguishable from their elders. The grass-
Terror of the Rattlesnake 327
hoppers and crickets sang only during the warm hours
of the day — and long intervals of silence fell upon the
plain, when only the piping of the wind in the weeds
could be heard. One by one all the hardy autumn
plants ripened or were cut down by the frost until only
stern grays and drabs and sombre yellows and browns
remained upon the landscape.
There was something fine and prophetic in these days,
for all that. The moaning of the wind, the hurry of
the clouds, the blown birds hastening south, the harsh
sky filled with torn gray clouds, forecasting winter, made
the hearts of the herd-boys leap, for they anticipated re-
lease, and foretasted the pleasures of their winter games.
At last the order for return march came, and the four
inseparable boys started eastward with the cattle fat
and full of mischief. The beeves were cut out and sold
at Taylor City, and the young cattle hurried homeward.
Captain Knapp sold all his young stock, and as no one
else cared to engage the herd, neither Ranee nor Lincoln
returned to the range. Mr. Stewart set aside part of the
farm for pasture, and the boys put away their cattle-whips
and hung up their pouches. Each year the output of
butter increased and the production of beef diminished.
On every side the tame was driving out the wild. The
sickle soon swept every acre of meadow, and the reign
of the Massasauga was ended.
IN THE DAYS WHEN THE CATTLE RAN
It was worth the while of a boy to live
In the days when the prairie lay wide to the herds,
When the sod had a hundred jovs to give
And the wind had a thousand words.
It was well to be led
Where the wild horses fed
As free as the swarming birds.
Not yet had the plough and the sickle swept
The lily from meadow, the roses from hill.
Not yet had the horses been haltered and kept
In stalls and sties at a master's will.
With eyes wild-blazing,
Or drowsilv grazing.
They wandered untouched by the thill.
And the boy ! With torn hat flaring,
With sturdy red legs which the thick brambles tore,
As wild as the colts, he went faring and sharing
The grasses and fruits which the brown soil bore.
Treading softly for fear
Of the snake ever near,
Unawed by the lightning or black tempest's roar.
But out on the prairie the ploughs crept together.
The meadow turned black at stroke of the share,
328
Days when the Cattle Ran 329
The shaggy colts yielded to clutch of the tether,
The red lilies died, and the vines ceased to bear.
And nothing was left to the boys
But the dim remembrance of joys
When the swift cattle ran,
Unhindered of man.
And their herders were free as the clouds in the air.
CHAPTER XXII
OWEN RIDES AT THE COUNTY FAIR
The one break in the monotony of the farm's fall
work was the County Fair, which usually came about
the 20th of September. Toward this, Lincoln and his
mates looked longingly. By this time they were inex-
pressibly weary of the ploughing and cattle-tending, and
longed for a yisit to the town. There were always
three days of the Fair, but only two were of any amuse-
ment to the boys. The first day was always taken up
in preparation, getting the stock housed and the like;
the fun came on the last day with the races, though
Lincoln was always mildly interested in the speech-
making on the second day.
The older boys planned to take their sweethearts,
just as on the Fourth of July, and the wives and
mothers baked up dozens of biscuits, and baked chicken,
and made pies and cake for dinner on the grounds.
The country was new, and the show was not great, but
it called the people together, and that was something.
So most of the threshing-machines fell silent for a single
day, the ploughs rested in the furrow, and the men put
on clean shirts. The women, however, kept on work-
ing up to the very hour of starting for the grounds.
Their work was never done. After getting everything
330
Owen Rides at the County Fair 331
and everybody else ready they took scant time to get
themselves ready — all the others clamoring to be off.
The weather was usually clear and dry, cool of a
morning, becoming hot and windless at noon, but on
this particular day it was cold and cloudy, making over-
coats necessary at the start.
The four inseparable boys rode away together, their
horses shining with the extra brushing they had endured.
Ranee was mounted on " Ivanhoe," Lincoln rode " Rob
Roy," Milton " Mark," while Owen rode a four year old
colt which he called " Toot," for some curious reason,
while the rest of the family generally spoke of her as
" Kitty." She was almost pure blood Morgan, a bright
bay, very intelligent, and for a short dash very swift.
Owen was entered for " The Boys' Riding Contest " ;
the other three boys were all too old to come in, but
were going down with him as body-guard. It was a
goodly land to look at ; trim stacks of wheat stood four
and four about the fields. The corn was heavy with
ears, and the sound of the threshing-machine came into
hearing each mile or two. Only the homes showed
poverty.
The boys did not stop in town — merely rode through
the street and on down toward the Fair Grounds. At
the gate, where two very important keepers stood at
guard, the boys halted, and Ranee, after collecting
quarters from his fellows, bought the four tickets ; the
keepers fell back appeased, and the boys rode in, their
fine horses causing people to remark, " There are some
boys for the races, I guess."
^^2 Boy Life on the Prairie
The boys were all very proud of these remarks, and
galloped around the track to show oft" their horses and
to get the lay of the land.
" We mustn't wind our nags," said Ranee, after
making the circuit once or twice. " Let's tie up."
While the people were pouring in at the gates, the
bovs rode slowly round the grounds to see what was
displayed ; on past fat sheep and blooded stallions and
prize cows and Poland-China pigs ; on past new-fangled
sulky ploughs, "Vibrator" threshing-machines, and so
on. The stock didn't interest them so much as the
whirligig and the candy-puller, and the man who twisted
copper wire into "Mamie" and "Arthur" for "the
small sum of twenty-five cents, or a quarter of a dollar."
One or two enormous Norman horses, being a new
importation, commanded their attention, and they joined
the crowd around them and listened to the comments
with interest ; but the crowd, after all, was the wonder.
The swarming of so many people, all strangers, was
sufficient, of its own motion, to keep the open-eyed boys
busy. They were there, not to see hogs and cattle, but
the strange fakirs and the curious machines, and the
alien industries. A deft and glib seller of collar-buttons
and lamp-chimney wipers enthralled them, and a girl,
playing a piano in " Horticultural Hall," entranced them ;
at least, she so appealed to Lincoln and to Ranee — her
plaving had the vim and steady clatter of a barrel piano,
but it stood for music in absence of anything better.
Hitching their horses to the family wagons, which
had by this time arrived, the boys wandered about afoot.
Owen Rides at the County Fair ^33
Lincoln and Owen had on new suits. The Fair was
the time set apart for the one suit they were able to
afford each year. Sometimes it was bought on Fair
day, but usually a little before, so that the great day
should be free for other pleasures. Their suits never
fitted, of course, and Owen's was always of the same
goods precisely as Lincoln's, differing in size merely.
They were of thick woollen goods of strange checks and
stripes, the shoddy refuse of city shops which the local
dealers bought cheap and sold dear — being good enough
for country folks. As they were intended for all the
year round, they were naturally uncomfortable in the
middle of September and intolerable in July. Even on
this windy day, the boys sweated their paper collars into
pulp before they concluded to lay off their coats and go
about in their shirt-sleeves. As it was one of the few
occasions when they could reasonably be dressed up,
they were willing to suffer a little martyrdom for pride's
sake.
Lincoln's heart was full of bitterness as he saw the
town boys go by in well-fitting garments, looking com-
fortable even while in dressed-up conditions. His hat
troubled him also, for it was of a shape entirely unlike
anything else on the grounds. The other boys were
almost all wearing a hat with a tall crown and a narrow
rim, but his hat, and Owen's as well, was a flat-crowned
structure, heavy and thick, and to make matters worse,
it was too large, and Owen's, especially, came down
and rested against his ears.
Another cause of shame to Lincoln was the cut on
334 ^oy Life on the Prairie
his hair. Up to this time he had never enjoyed a "real
barber cut." Mr. Stewart generally detailed one of the
hired men to the duty, and the boys were, in very truth,
" shingled." Both had heavy heads of brown hair, and
after Jim Beane got done with them they had ruffles like
a pineapple, or a girl's nightgown. Ranee and Milton
had long ago rebelled against this kind of torture, and
employed the barber at least twice each year. Milton
declared on his thirteenth birthday, "No hired man shall
chaw my hair off again, and don't you forget it."
This Fair day marked another great advance in Lin-
coln's life. He ate no candy or peanuts, and by his advice
Owen limited himself to " home-made candy " and a
banana, which he allowed Lincoln to taste. Neither
of them had ever seen one before. "If you want to
scoop in that saddle, Owen, you keep well," Lincoln
said, every time Owen suggested trying some new drink
or confection.
Ranee was bitterly disappointed when he found him-
self shut out of the contest for the saddle, and was very
glum all the forenoon. Lincoln shared his disappoint-
ment, although he cared very little about his own part
in it. He believed Ranee to be the best rider in the
county, but did not expect to win a prize himself.
One bv one they met all their friends from Sun
Prairie and Burr Oak, and once they met "Freckles,"
the town bully, face to face. He made furious signs of
battle, and dared them to go over to the back fence with
him, to which Owen replied by putting his thumb to his
nose, and waving his fingers like a flag. " Freckles " was
Owen Rides at the County Fair 335
visibly enraged by this, but as the Sun Prairie boys were
in full force, and confident, he withdrew, uttering threats.
Wonderful to say, the boys were able to share in the
jolly dinner which their mothers arranged on the grass
between the wagons, over on the south side of the
grounds. The wagon-seats were taken off to serve
as chairs : a snowy-white cloth was spread as neatly as
on a table, and the entire Jennings family joined in the
feast of cold chicken, jelly, pickles, " riz " biscuits, dried
beef, apple pie, cake, and cheese. Lincoln had never
felt so well on a holiday, and his spirits rose instead of
sinking as the day wore on. Owen was fed with anxious
care by his mother. He was even allowed to drink a
cup of coffee as a special tonic.
Mr. Stewart declined to take the contest seriously,
but Mr. Jennings agreed that some provision should be
made for the older boys.
" I'll see the President of the Day," he said, " and
see if a special contest can't be arranged to follow the
boys' race."
The idea pleased everybody, and spread from lip to
lip, till it became a definite announcement.
Meanwhile various unimportant matters, like display-
ing sheep and cattle, and beets and honey, for prizes,
were going on, when Mr. Stewart came back where
Lincoln was observing the candy-puller for the twenti-
eth time. He said, " Lincoln, go get the team ; I've
entered you for the pulling match."
Lincoln's heart suddenly failed him, " Oh, I can't do
that before all those people."
^^6 Boy Life on the Prairie
"Yes, you can. Go hitch up."
As he drove his team through the crowd, with alter-
nate traces unhooked to drag the double tree, Lincoln
felt just as he used to feel when rising to recite a piece
in school on a holiday. He was queer and sick at his
heart, but something nerved him to the trial.
The crowd opened, and he swung the horses to the
stone-boat walled in by spectators. Dan and Jule were
not large, but they were broad in the chest, and loyal to
the centre of each brown eye, and they knew him. He
had the opinion that they could pull anything they set
their shoulders to, and as he gathered up the reins his
eyes cleared. He climbed upon the load. The Judge
said : —
" Keep quiet, everybody. All ready, my boy."
Lincoln's voice was calm as he said: "Steady now,
Jule. Chk-chk, Dan, steady now." The noble animals
settled to the load, obeying every word. Dan was a
little in advance, a few inches, with his legs set. " Get
down there, Jule," called the boy. The old mare
squatted, set her shoulders to the collar, lifting like a
trained athlete, and the stone-boat slid half its length.
The crowd applauded. " Bully boy ! "
"All right," said the Judge, "take 'cm off for a
minute. Anderson, it's your turn again."
Anderson, a Norwegian, with a fine showy team,
hitched on, but could not move it ; not because his
horses were not strong enough, but because they were
nervous and tricky. The audience jeered at him —
"Take 'em off; they're no good."
Owen Rides at the County Fair 337
Lime Gilman came next, and Lincoln lost his exulta-
tion as the big fellow winked at him. His team were
brown Morgan grades, as responsive to his voice as
dogs. They were the lightest of all the teams, but they
were beautiful to see as they swung to place. Their
harnesses were covered with costly ivory rings, and as
they wore no blinders, they eyed their master in love,
not fear. The crowd uttered a cheer of genuine admira-
tion as Lime heaved two extra rocks upon the load.
As he took the reins in one hand Lime began utter-
ing a pleasant, bird-like, chirping sound. Slowly, softly,
the superbly intelligent creatures squared and squatted
together, setting their feet fairly, flatly, and carefully on
the sod.
" Dexter, boy ! " said Lime, and at the soft word the
load slid nearly a yard.
" Ho ! that'll do, boys," called Lime, and said with a
smile, as he turned to Lincoln, " Try again. Link."
" It's yours," shouted the crowd.
" Oh, no it isn't," said Lime. " I know this boy and
his team ! "
A big, long-legged gray team took a second trial, but
though they tugged furiously, could not move the extra
weight. " They're up too high upon legs," said the
Judge, critically.
Anderson was out of the contest, so that Lincoln was
Lime's only rival. The boy had forgotten all his shy-
ness. He threw off his coat and hat, and said to the
Judge, —
" Pile on two more stones."
z
2^8 Boy Life on the Prairie
" Good for you, sonny ! " some one said as Lime
threw on one of the big flat Hmestone slabs. Again
Lincohi swung his faithful team in and hooked the
traces. As he climbed on the load and took the reins
in hand, he was tense with excitement ; he saw only
Lime's pleasant face and his father's anxious smile.
" Stiddy, Dan. Take hold of it ; w-o-oo-p, stiddy ! "
Again they settled to the task, their great muscles roll-
ing, their ears pointing, their eyes quiet. For a few
moments they hung poised —
" No-w^ Jule ! " shouted Lincoln, and the mare lifted,
strained to her almost best, but the load did not
move.
" Ho ! " shouted Lincoln, checking them so that they
would not become discouraged.
" Give it up. Take off a stone," cried a friendly
voice.
" Not much," said Lincoln.
Springing from the load, he drew the reins over Jule's
back, and again called on Dan to take his position, and
just as thev settled to their work, Lincoln brought his
hand with a sharp slap under Jule's belly.
" Jule ! "
With a tremendous effort the grand brute lifted the
boat six good inches, and the crowd clapped hands
heartily.
" That's enough. Unhitch," called the Judge.
It was now Lime's turn to swing into place.
'' Good boy. Link," he said as he passed.
Once more he swung his horses to the load, but this
Owen Rides at the County Fair 339
time he looped the reins over Dexter's brass-bound har-
ness, and took his place nearer his side.
Cbifp^ chirps chirp f
Again the brown team settled into place.
" Easy now, Dexter. Easy, Dave. Now then, boys,
all together. Get down^ hoy ! " With the simultaneous
action of shadows, the beautiful horses squatted and
lifted, guided only by their master's words. For nearly
half a minute they held to the work, their necks out-
thrust, their feet clutching the earth, steady, loyal,
bright-eyed, unwavering, pulling every pound that was
in them. Such action had never been seen on the Fair
Grounds, but they were defeated, — they had not the
weight necessary ; the task was too great.
They released their hold only when Lime spoke the
word, and the crowd was vociferous with admiration.
"That's what ye might call pullin'."
" Call it a draw. Judge."
" I'm willing," said Lincoln, who had expected the
browns to move the load, for he knew Lime's wonderful
horsemanship.
Mr. Stewart came forward, " We'll divide the
honors, Lime."
And the Judge so decided, while the spectators pressed
close around the brown horses, to feel of their sleek
coats and to look at their sturdy legs. In looks and
character no team on the grounds approached them.
As Lincoln rejoined the boys, they received him with
a touch of awe, because of his honorable public exhibition
of skill and the prize he had won.
340 Boy Life on the Prairie
" I knew old Jule would lift it," said Lincoln. " But
Lime's team scared me. I knew they could pull. Lve
seen 'em dig down on a load while Lime lit his pipe."
The ringing of the signal bell broke in upon the talk,
and a crier galloped through the grounds shouting, " Get
ready for ' the Boys' Contest.' "
" That's you, Owen," said Lincoln.
Owen stripped as for battle. He could not ride in
his lumpy, heavy coat, and his hat was also an incum-
brance. With hands trembling with excitement, Lin-
coln helped him set the saddle on Kitty, and wipe from
her limbs all dust and sweat. She shone like a red bottle
when the youngster clambered to his seat.
" Don't touch her with the whip," said Lincoln.
" Look out for the crowd at the home-stretch," said
Ranee ; but Owen was as calm as a clam, and rode forth
in silence, accompanied by his body-guard. Kitty
danced and fluno; her head, as though she knew some
test of her quality was about to be made. At the en-
trance to the track Lincoln and Ranee halted, and Owen
rode into the track alone, his head bare, his shirt-sleeyes
gleaming.
Five or six boys, on all kinds of ponies, were already
riding aimlessly up and down before the judges' stand.
Four of them were town boys, who wore white-visored
caps and well-fitting jackets. The fifth was a tall, sandy-
haired lad in brown overalls and a checked shirt. He
rode a " gauming " sorrel colt, with a bewildering series
of gaits, and he was followed up and down the track by
a tall, roughly dressed man and a slatternly girl of
Owen Rides at the County Fair 341
thirteen or fourteen, who repeated each of the old man's
orders.
" Hold him up a little ! " shouted the father.
" Hold him up a little" repeated the girl.
" Let him out a grain ! "
" Let him out a grain."
" Set up a little."
" Set up a little."
This was immensely entertaining to the crowd, but
interfered with the race, so the Marshal was forced to
come down and order them both from the track. This
was a grateful relief to the boy, who was already hot
with rebellion.
The bell's clangor called all the boys before the
grand stand, and the Judge said : —
"Now, boys, we want you to ride up and down past
us, for a few turns. Don't crowd each other, and don't
hurry, and do your prettiest."
A single tap of the bell, and the boys were off at a
gallop. The town boys, on their fat little ponies,
cantered along smoothly, but Kitty, excited by the noise
and the people, forced Owen to lay his weight against
the bit, which didn't look well. Sandy was all over the
track with his colt, pounding up and down like a dollar's
worth of tenpenny nails in a wheelbarrow. He could
ride, all the same, and his face was resolute and alert.
As they turned to come back, Kitty took the bit in
her teeth and went round the other horses with a wild
dash, and the swing of Owen's body at this moment
betrayed the natural rider; but he was only a bare-
34^ Boy Life on the Prairie
headed farmer's son, and the judges were looking at
Frank Simpson, the banker's boy, and Ned Baker, Dr.
Baker's handsome nephew. Their ponies were accus-
tomed to crowds and to the track and to each other,
while evervthing was strange to Sandy's colt and to
fiery little Kitty.
0\yen did not see his father and mother, but Lincoln
and Ranee kept near the entrance, and each time he
came to the turn they had a word of encouragement.
As the boys came under the wire the third time, the
Judge said : —
"When you turn again, go round the track — and
don't race," he said as an afterthought.
At every turn Kitty whirled in ahead as if rounding a
herd, swift as a wolf, a bright gleam in her eye, her ears
pointing. What all this see-sawing back and forth
meant, she could not tell, but she was ready for any-
thing whatever.
The town boys came about in a bunch, with Owen
close behind and Sandy over at one side, sawing at his
colt's open jaw, while his father yelled instructions over
the fence.
" I/ET HIM GO, SON ! "
" Let him go^ son" repeated the girl.
As they passed under the wire, some wag on the
stand tapped the bell, and hundreds of voices yelled, —
" Go ! "
The boys forgot previous warnings. Plying whip
and spur, they swept down the track, all in a bunch,
except Sandy, who was a length behind.
Owen Rides at the County Fair 343
" Where's Owen ? " asked Ranee.
"Wait a minute," replied Lincoln. "He'll show up
soon." As he spoke, the white sleeves of Owen's shirt
flashed into sight ahead of the crowd. The bay mare
was a beautiful sight then. She ran low like a wolf.
Her long tail streamed in the air, and her abundant
mane, rising in waves, almost hid the boy's face. He
no longer leaned ungracefully. Erect and at his ease,
he seemed to float on the air, and when at intervals he
looked back to see where his rivals were, Lincoln
laughed.
" Oh, catch him, will you ? Let's see you do it.
Noiv where are your fancy riders ? "
The slick ponies fell behind, and Sandy, yelling and
plying the "bud," came on, the only possible competitor.
He gained on Kitty, for Owen had not yet urged her to
her best. As he rounded the turn and saw that the colt
was gaining, he brought the flat of his hand down on
Kitty's shoulder with a shrill whoop, — and the colt
gained no more ! As he swept under the wire at full
speed, the boy had on his face the look of a Cheyenne
lad, a look of calm exultation, and his seat in the saddle
was that of the born horseman. Lincoln's heart was
big with pride.
" He's won it ! He's won it sure ! "
When the red ribbon was put to Simpson's bridle, a
groan went up from hundreds of spectators.
"Aw, no. The other one — the bare-headed boy ! "
" Stewart ! "
" Sandy ! "
344 ^^Y Life on the Prairie
A crowd gathered around the Judges, and Mr. Stew-
art and Mr. Jennings joined it. Talk was plainly in
Owen's favor.
"This is favoritism," protested Mr. Jennings. "Any-
body can ride those trained town ponies. The decision
lies between MacElroy's son and Owen Stewart. Put
your slick little gentlemen on those two horses, and see
how they will go through."
The crowd grew denser each moment, and Kitty was
led through up to the Judges as they stood arguing.
Owen did not know what it was all about, except that
he had not won the prize.
The Judge argued : " We were not deciding a race.
The specifications were ' displaying most grace and skill
at horsemanship.' "
*' How you going to decide ? You can't do it without
a change of horses. Owen will ride any horse you
bring him. Will your natty little men ride the bay
mare and the sorrel colt ? "
MacElroy and his daughter, by this time, had fought
their way through the crowd.
" This ain't no fair shake. I wouldn't a minded
your givin' it to the feller on the bay mare, but them
little rockin'-horse ponies — why, a suckin' goose can
ride one of them."
"Now this is my opinion," said one of the Judges.
" I voted for the first prize to go to Stewart, the second
prize to MacElroy, and let 'cm change horses and see
what they can do."
" That's fair. That's right," said several bystanders.
Owen Rides at the County Fair 345
The third Judge went on : " But^ I was out-voted.
Mine is a minority report, and can't stand."
The Chairman remained firm, notwithstanding all pro-
tests, but the second Judge, who was a candidate for
election to the position of County Treasurer, became
alarmed. He called Beeman aside, and after a moment's
talk the Chairman said : —
"Mr. Middleton, having decided to vote with Mr,
Scott, we have to announce that the first prize will go
as before to Master Simpson, the second to Master
Stewart, and the third to Master MacElroy, and this
is final."
Returning to his stand, he rang the bell sharply, and
again announced the decision, which was cheered in a
mild sort of way.
"Clear the track for the Free-for-all running race —
best two in three."
Lincoln helped Owen put the fine new bridle on Kitty
without joy, for young Simpson was riding about the
grounds on the saddle which almost every one said should
be Owen's.
Sandy rode up, the white ribbon tied to his sorrel's
bridle, a friendly grin on his face.
"I say, your horse can run five or six a minute, can't
she ? "
And Owen, who counted the bridle clear gain, and
held no malice, said : —
" I was scared one while, when I saw your old Sorrel
a-comin'. Fm dry. Le's go have some lemonade.
Link, hold our horses."
346 Boy Life on the Prairie
And they drank, Owen standing treat with all the
airs of a successful candidate for senatorial honors.
" Get out your horses for the four-year-old sweep-
stakes," shouted the Marshal as he rode down the track.
" Bring out your horses."
The boys put down their glasses hastily. " Oh, let's
see that," said Owen.
" Let's climb the fence," suggested Ranee, indicating
the high board fence which enclosed the ground, on
whose perilous edge rows of boys were already sitting
like blackbirds. From this coign of vantage they could
*■*■ sass " anybody going, even the Marshal, for at last
extremity it was possible to fall off the fence on the
outside and escape. Here all the loud-voiced wags were
stationed, and their comical phrases called forth hearty
laughter from time to time, though they became a nui-
sance before the races were over. They reached the top
of the fence by two convenient knotTholes, which formed
toe-holes, and the big fellows then pulled the smaller
ones after them.
It was a hard seat, but the race-course was entirely
under the eye, and no one grumbled.
The boys were no sooner perched in readiness for the
race than the Marshal came riding down the track,
shouting. As he drew near, Owen heard his name
called.
" Is Owen Stewart here ? "
" Yes ! " shouted Lincoln, for Owen was too much
astonished to reply.
*' Here he is," called a dozen \oices.
Owen Rides at the County Fair 347
The Marshal rode up : " You're wanted at the Judges'
Stand," he said. " Come along."
" Go ahead," said Lincoln, and as Owen hesitated, he
climbed down himself. " Come on, I'll go with you.
It's something more about the prize."
Owen sprang from the fence like a cat, at the thought
that perhaps the Judges had reconsidered their verdict,
and were going to give him the saddle, after all.
The other boys, seeing Owen going up the track be-
side the Marshal, also became excited, and a comical
craning of necks took place all along the fence.
" Here's your boy," said the Marshal, as he reached
the Judges' Stand.
" Come up here, son," called the Judge, and Owen
climbed up readily, for he saw his father up there beside
the Judge.
A tall and much excited man took him by the shoul-
ders and hustled him before a long-whiskered man, who
seemed to be boss of the whole Fair.
" Will this boy answer ? "
The Judge looked Owen over slowly, and finally lifted
him by putting his hands under his arms, then he asked
his weight of Mr. Stewart. The answer was satisfactory.
" Now, my boy, you are to ride this man's horse in
the race, because his own boy is too light. Do you
think you can handle a race-horse ? "
" Yes, sir," replied Owen, sturdily.
" All right, sir, if his father is willing, I can mount
your horse."
As they went down the stairs, Mr. Mills, the owner
348 Boy Life on the Prairie
of the running horse " Gvpsy," said : " You needn't be
afraid. When once she's off, ' Gyp ' is perfectly safe."
" I don't think he's afraid," remarked Mr. Stewart,
quietly. " You tell him what you want him to do, and
he .1 do it."
" Now there are two horses," Mills explained as he
got opportunity. " The bald-faced sorrel don't cut any
figger — but the black, the Ansgor horse, is sure to get
away first — for Gypsy is freaky at the wire. You will
get away a couple of lengths behind, but don't worry
about that — don't force the mare till you come around
the last turn."
At the barn Owen took off his coat and hat while
they led out the horse, a beautiful little bay mare, with
delicate, slender legs, and a brown eye full of fire. The
saddle was a low racing pad, and as they swung the boy
to his seat, the mare began to rear and dance, as if she
were a piece of watch-spring.
A thrill of jov and of mastery swept over the boy as
he grasped the reins in his strong brown hands. It was
worth while to feel such a horse under him.
"Let down my stirrups," he commanded. "I can't
ride with my knees up there."
They let down his stirrups, and then with Mills
holding the excited colt by the bit, he rode down the
wire.
Gypsy's peculiarity was that she could be started at
the wire only by facing her the other way, and it took
both Mills and the hostler to hold her. At the tap of
the bell, each time, the mare reared and whirled like a
Owen Rides at the County Fair 349
mad horse, and Mrs. Stewart trembled with fear of her
son's hfe. Lincohi was near her, and said, " Don't
worry, mother ; he's all right."
Twice a false start was made, and the horses were
called back. The third time they were off, the black
in the lead, the sorrel next, the bay last. As Gypsy
settled smoothly to her work, Owen had time to think
of his instructions. Just before him was the black,
running swiftly and easily, and he felt that Gypsy could
pass him. At the turn he loosened the reins and leaned
to the outside, intending to pass, but the jockey on the
black pulled in front of him. He then swung the bay
to the left to pass on the inside of the track, but again
the jockey cut in ahead, and looking back with a vicious
smile said, " No, you don't ! " It was " Freckles," and
the recognition took the resolution out of Owen, and
before he could devise a plan to pass they rushed under
the wire, Gypsy a length behind.
Mills was much excited and threatened to break the
jockey's head, — and asked that he be taken off the
track, — but the Judges decided that Gypsy had not
been fouled. Mills then filled Owen's ears with advice,
but all the boy said was : " He won't do that again.
Don't you worry." He was angry, too.
At the second start they got away as before, except
the sorrel ran for a long time side by side with Gypsy.
The two boys could talk quite easily as the horses ran
smoothly, steadily, and the jockey on the sorrel said : —
" Don't let him jockey you. Pass him on the back
stretch, when he ain't lookin'."
350 Boy Life on the Prairie
Owen awain loosened the rein, and the bay mare shot
by the sorrel and abreast of the black. Again the jockey
cut him off, but Owen pulled sharply to the left, intend-
ing to pass next the pole. For the first time he struck
the mare, and she leaped like a wolf to a position at the
flank of the black. Freckles pulled viciously in crowd-
ing his horse against the mare, intending to force Owen
ao-ainst the fence and throw him ; but the boy held his
mare strongly by the right rein, and threw himself oyer
on his saddle with his right knee on the horse's back,
uttering a shrill cry as he did so. In first leap the
mare was clear of the black, and went sailing down
the track, an easy winner — without another stroke of
the whip.
He now had a clear idea of his horse's powers, and
though he got away last, as before, he put Gypsy to
her best and passed the black at once, and taking the
pole, he held it without striking a blow or uttering a
word, though the black tried twice to pass. The spec-
tators roared with delight, to see the round-faced boy
sitting erect, with the reins in his left hand, his shirt-
sleeves fluttering, come sweeping down the inside course,
the black far behind and laboring hard.
There was something distinctly comic in Owen's
way of looking behind him to see where his ri\al
was.
Mills pulled him from the horse in his delight, and
put an extra five dollars in his hand. " I'll give you ten
dollars to ride Gypsy at Independence," he said,
"All right," said Owen,
Owen Rides at the County Fair 351
But his parents firmly said, " No, this ends it. We
don't want him to do any more of this kind of work."
Swiftly the sun fell to the west, and while the dealers
and showmen redoubled their outcries in hopes to close
out their stocks, the boys began to think of going home.
Out along the fences where the men were hitching up
the farm-teams, the women stood in groups for a last
exchange of greetings. The children, tired, dusty,
sticky with candies, pulled at their skirts. The horses,
eager to be off, pranced under the tightening reins.
The dust rose under their hoofs, whips cracked, good-
bys passed from lip to lip, and so, in a continuous
stream the farm-wagons passed out of the gate, to
diverge like the lines of a spider's web, rolling on in the
cool, red sunset, on through the dusk, on under the
luminous half-moon, till silent houses in every part of
the country bloomed with light and stirred with the
bustle of home-comers from a day's vacation at the
Fair.
Lincoln and Owen slipped off their new suits and
resumed their hickory shirts and overalls and went out
to milk the cows and feed the pigs, while Mrs. Stewart
skimmed the milk and made tea for supper. The boys
had no holiday to look forward to till Thanksgiving
came, and that was not really a holiday, for it came after
the beginning of school.
Next morning, long before light, they rose to milk
cows and curry horses again, and at sunrise the boys
went forth upon the land to plough.
CHAPTER XXIII
A CHAPTER ON PRAIRIE GAME
Lincoln Stewart, like other boys in Sun Prairie,
had the ambition to be a successful hunter and early
became a \ery good wing-shot. As the harvest drew
to a close, and even while it was going on, he brought
many prairie chickens to the house. The broods at this
time were about two-thirds grown and made very tempt-
ing dishes. Ranee Knapp never hunted them. He had
a queer notion that they were too innocent and helpless
to shoot. He never would kill a tame chicken for his
sisters, and refused to have any hand in the cock-fight-
ing which Milton and the other boys arranged for.
It is not easy to kill prairie chickens if you are a boy
of twelve and have no dog to find them for you. Lin-
coln kept his gun handy in the field during harvesting
and stocking, and whenever a covey was accidentally put
up he marked the place where they settled, in order to
return to them with his gun. He could seldom get
more than two shots, for his gun was a muzzle-loader,
and besides, a covey put up bv the hunter is apt to move
all at once, whereas with a good dt)g thcv can be put up
singly or in twos and threes.
352
A Chapter on Prairie Game 353
For the first year or two Lincoln was obliged to trust
to luck or to his skill in calling them. He could not
lift the heavy gun quick enough to shoot on the wing,
and so having scattered a covey he crouched in ambush
and waited.
The little ones have vanished like a handful of sand.
One after the other they have dropped into the deeps of
the tangled oats. Lincoln lies in the edge of corn,
watching, listening. The smell of ripe grain is in the
air, the beards of the uncut barley shine like burnished
gold. The corn speaks huskily now and then as if in
warning to the helpless birds. The sun is sinking redly
to the west. All is peaceful, fruitful, serene.
Now faint and far away comes a little wailing whistle,
a pathetic, sweet, down-falling cry, lonely, full of tears.
Nothing could be more helpless, more pleading, than this
sob of the baby grouse far away in the gloomy oat-
forest.
Lincoln repeats the note : Pee-ee-00-on ! phee-oo-oiv !
One by one, near and far, the note is taken up, and
the brood begins to return to the place from which it
flew, and out of the edge of the corn, not far away, the
mother-bird steps, and, standing there for a moment lis-
tening, begins to utter a low, clucking call : " Come^ my
dears^ come^ come^ come! All is well-ll-ll — very well —
verrrry well — n(rw — now — nffw — come to me — coine
to fue^ come ! "
It is evidence of the terrible power of the instinct to
kill, that Lincoln's fingers tingle with the desire to pull
the trigger, but he waits while the little ones assemble,
354 -^oy ^^^^ o^"^ ^^^ Prairie
in order to be the more murderous. In his heart a strug-
gle is going on. He feels that this faithful and gentle
mother should go free — and vet the primitive hunter in
him cries out for game. One by one the pleading voices
fall silent as thev see the mother, and at last only one
is left wandering in the jungle.
Lincoln lifts the muzzle of his gun, and takes aim —
the watchful mother sees it, and with loud flutter flies
away ; the little ones squat in the stubble, duck low,
and scatter again, and the boy finds a certain element
of relief mingled with his disappointment. Next time
he will be quicker on the trigger.
By the time he was thirteen he became able to shoot
on the wing. He missed a great manv, but managed,
after all, to bring down a bird now and then. He never
had a dog of his own, but occasionallv he went out with
Sam Hutchison, who had a big liver-and-white pointer
named Growler. It was a great pleasure to see the work
of this well-trained animal. With nose in the wind he
lopes over the stubble or along the edge of a swale, swift
and certain. Suddenly he stops short, with his head at
ritrht ann-les with his bodv, and feels the air. Then,
turning on his hind feet as on a pivot, with tail levelled,
he follows the scent as a sailor takes in a rope. His
feet rise and fall like the cranks on a machine, his head
is held to the wind, poised, horizontal, without motion.
His master knows everv sign of his dog. He can tell
bv the wav he puts down his feet how fiir awav the
game is, whether it is a covey or only a single
bird.
A Chapter on Prairie Game 355
Now the dog stops, rigid as bronze, one hind foot
hfted and held. He is upon them.
" Down, Growler," calls Sam.
The noble fellow sinks into the grass softly as melting
wax. If need be, he will hold the birds for an hour
without moving.
The hunters approach rapidly till within shooting
distance, and then, with weapons ready, move alertly
forward.
"Put 'em up, boy — steady, now ! " calls Sam.
The dog rises as slowly as he sank. He lifts one
forefoot and puts it before him, pushing himself, inch
by Inch, upon the birds.
IVhirr-rr — bang !
The first bird falls, and the dog waits for orders.
Sam reloads, while Growler waits immovably.
" Go on, boy ! "
Another rises and falls, then two who escape, then six,
and two fall. The faithful dog again waits while his
master reloads. He seems to know precisely what is
wanted of him. When all are ready, he begins again to
move, and, nosing the warm nests where the birds were
squatted, begins to search for scattered ones, while the
hunters follow within shooting distance. At last he
points out the ones that have fallen, and begins once
more to range the field.
Lincoln always liked the pointer best, he was so much
nobler in his action than the setter, who wiggled and
wormed among the weeds and grasses with great pains
and little dignity. The pointer covered so much more
356 Boy Life on the Prairie
ground in so little time. He made so many splendid
and dramatic pictures as he stopped, crouched, rose, felt
his way to his quarry. He added something worth while
to a sport which needed the aesthetic badly. The setter
seemed less clearly specialized for the sport. The pointer
had almost no other uses. He was not a house-dog,
knew nothing about retrieving, would not chase a pig,
ate enormously, had dim eyes, and altogether was a ma-
chine constructed for certain uses, and when driving to
his purpose was a glorious piece of mechanism — for
the rest he either slept, or pleaded for food.
With all that could trim and decorate chicken shooting,
Lincoln could not escape a feeling of remorse whenever
he saw a young bird lying limp and bloody at his feet.
They were so pretty and so helpless, and at last he came
to Ranee's conclusion, it was not sport, and he went no
more to the killing.
He had less feeling about ducks and geese — perhaps
because they were migratory and he did not see them
nest and breed. The ducks came back each fall in
enormous flocks, settling at night on the stubble-fields
to feed, but they were wary — not so vigilant as the
geese, but so difficult of approach that it was only at
the expense of long, wearisome creepings through the
dusk that the boys were able to get within shooting
distance ; and when they rose they were like a storm, a
great, roaring, dark mass lit by sudden gleams of white
as they turned. Occasionall\- in this way a brace or two
were secured.
At other times, by hiding near a feeding-place, by
A Chapter on Prairie Game 357
digging a pit and covering it with sheaves of grain or
bundles of grass, Lincoln was able to carry home a
greenhead or a teal or two. His mother had a preju-
dice against ducks and never liked to cook them, and,
in truth, they never tasted very good, and for this reason,
perhaps, the boys were less eager to kill a duck than a
goose.
Geese and cranes appealed to them as worth killing
because they were so big, so strong, and so wary. The
wild goose is not a foolish bird. He is, on the contrary.
a wise and skilful and
circumspect fowl. His
voice, capable of enor-
mous signalling power
and subtle alarm, is a glorious addition to the sounds
of the plain. In April he stirs the heart with thoughts
of spring — in autumn he makes the settler shiver with
sudden remembrance that winter is coming.
All wild geese are well led and well governed. They
camp like the redmen, with sentries posted, and no alien
sound escapes their notice. They know the difference
between the movement of a browsing cow and the creep-
358 Boy Life on the Prairie
ing approach of a hunter. The steps of the wolf and
the fox are distinguished and announced. When on
the wing they avoid all dwellings of men, or go by at
a height which renders them safe. In all ways they
seemed wise and watchful birds to Lincoln.
He never shot but one goose in all his life. Many
times he crept through the wet stubble — crawling on
his elbows and knees for a full half-mile, onlv to fail of
even a shot at the flock as it rose.
He dug pits and laid in the muddy bottom thereof,
till he was stiff with cold, all to no purpose. Their
watchful eyes detected some movement, the gleam of a
weapon or some sign of danger, — and the leader, utter-
ing a loud honk, swerved suddenly aside, and thev passed
on.
Bryant's stately and imaginative poem on the wild
goose was a great favorite with Lincoln. He loved the
march of those lines —
** Vainly the fowler's eye
Doth mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong.
As darkly painted on the crimson sky
Thy figure floats along."
There was something grand in these great migrating
birds. No one the boy had ever questioned had been
far enough north to find their breeding-places by "the
plashy brink or marge of river wide, or where the rock-
ing billows rise and sink, on the chafed ocean's side."
Their very flight was poetry, and the wild goose was
never a jest among them.
A Chapter on Prairie Game 359
The hired man one spring winged one with his rifle
and gave him to Lincoln, who clipped his pinions and
kept him alive, a sullen captive. With head held high,
he moved slowly about his corral, his eyes forever on
the sky, and when he saw a file of his people pushing to
the north, he shook his mutilated wings and shouted like
a captive chief. At such times Lincoln had a momen-
tary wish to set him free — perhaps would have done so
only for the bird's helplessness. After the geese had all
passed north the captive sank into silent endurance of
his lot, — uttering no sound except just before a storm, —
then rising lightly on his feet and beating his great wings,
he cried resoundingly to the heavens. Perhaps he was
thinking of the splendid storms which used to sweep over
his northern lake. Perhaps he acted instinctively as a
foreboding seer.
One day in autumn when the wind was cold and
swift from the north, a flock of returning geese came
swinging aslant on the blast, hastening southward. As
they came, " old Honk " became visibly excited. He
fixed his eyes upon the far-off harrow in the clouds,
and as its gabble reached his ear, he spread his wings
and uttered a peculiar, vibrant note — a cry that was at
once an alarum and a command.
The others answered, and the leader swerved a little
in his course. Again the captive spoke, and the leader
came round still more, making almost direct course over
the barn-yard. Lincoln, seeing their coming, ran for
his gun, but before he reached the house, the captive
bird started upon a waddling run, beating the air with
360 Boy Life on the Prairie
his wings. To his own surprise, he rose in the air and
sailed over the fence. The wind got under him, he
rose like a blown garment, uncertainly, and as he steadied
himself, his voice rang exultantly. The flock, circling
laboriously, seemed to wait for him ; he took his place
at the rear of the long arm of the harrow — the leader
cried, "O;/, o« / " and the captive was a free courser of
the air once more.
The best hunters killed few of the geese. Sometimes
with a rifle they picked one out of a flock in the fields.
Sometimes by stalking behind a cow they came within
gun-shot, and when the birds chanced to be sitting in
the open, the hunters were able to dash up with a team
within shooting distance before the lumbering fowls
could get fairly on the wing.
Lincoln never killed a crane — in fact, he never tried
to do so. They interested him profoundly. Their
shadowy, awkward forms perched in a row beside some
pool at dusk, their comical dances on a hillock in the
morning, but especially their majestic flight, made them
the most mysterious and splendid of all birds of the
plain. They could be tamed, for Sam Hutchison had
one nearly all summer. It stalked about, calmly in-
specting all things with its round, expressionless eyes,
as if to say, " This is a curious world — I'll stop for a
while and look into it."
It had a dangerous habit of picking at shining things, —
buttons, buckles, rings, and the baby's eyes, — and Sam
killed it one day just after it had nearly blinded his little
two-year-old girl. He tried to eat the dead bird, but
A Chapter on Prairie Game 361
confessed that he didn't like it worth a cent. " I'd as
soon eat prairie hay," he said, when Lincoln inquired
about it.
There were quails in the woodlands of the Maple
and Cedar rivers, and partridges also, but the boys sel-
dom secured more than one or two partridges — they
were difficult to shoot on the wing, and without a dog
it was nearly impossible to find them. Rabbits were
thick, and Mrs. Stewart had occasion very often to
make a pot-pie of these "jumping hens," as Uncle
Billy Frazier called them. As he entered the maple
woodlands, all the woodcraft he had unconsciously
acquired as a child, came back to Lincoln. He could
tell the difference between the tracks of various kinds of
mice and moles and squirrels. He knew by the rabbit's
footprints whether he had been feeding, or walking
abroad, or fleeing in fear. He was able to distinguish
the barking of the red squirrel from the gray, and knew
the habits of the white owl and the partridge, as well as
the quails — and yet, for all this, he was a poor hunter.
Ranee generally shot all the rabbits, while Lincoln
talked with the blue jays, or walked around a tree to
see a gray squirrel hide himself behind the trunk, or
followed him as he traced out his aerial trail along the
horizontal branches of the oaks. Neither of the boys
were really dissatisfied to return without game ; each
considered the day in the woods profitable, even if no
rabbit or partridge dangled at their belts.
Once they wandered all day in a November drizzle
which froze on the trees till they were heavy with superb
262 Boy Life on the Prairie
armoring. Toward night the sky cleared with a warm
western wind, and the heavily laden branches cracked
and sroaned, shakino; their glitterino; burden down on
the leafy ground, till the air was filled with a patter as
of flying fairy feet. Not one creature did the boys kill
that day — they tramped on and on, feeling the charm
of nature in this singular mood, not talking much, con-
tent to mix and be a part of the universal mystery,
passing thoughtfully from the rustling ranks of the red
oaks to the silence of maple ridges, where only the voice
of some weary branch broke the silence. Lincoln had
a delicious sense of being deep in the wilderness — like
" Leather Stocking," whose solitary life he loved.
Ranee was an indefatigable listener, and Lincoln was
sometimes a voluble talker, though he could be silent
as a cat in the woods. It made little difference to Ranee
which mood his companion was in ; he remained the
same unsmiling, almost taciturn youth.
They shot their rabbits on the run when they could,
because it was more sportsmanlike. The clearings
where the heaped brush lay unburned and roofed with
snow was the best hunting-ground. Softly approaching
these coverts, the boys leaped upon them suddenly, taking
the rabbits on foot as they fled to other shelter. They
missed a great many, but succeeded from time to time in
bagging one, and this one was worth a dozen shot stand-
ing. Squirrels they seldom cared to carry home, but
occasionally roasted them at a camp-fire in the woods at
noon.
As they grew older and wiser, they considered all the
A Chapter on Prairie Game
3(^3
game of the prairie too small, and they ceased to hunt.
They talked of grizzly bears and buffaloes and panthers
and cougars. One day in Lincoln's fourteenth year he
reached a decision. " I kill no more hens and cats," he
said, meaning prairie chickens and rabbits. " Anybody
can go out and kill these things. When I go hunting
now, it's got to be wolves or foxes or bears and buffaloes ;
now you hear me."
"Let's make a compact," said Ranee. "Four years
from now we meet on the plains."
". Done ! " shouted Lincoln, in the terms of the pirate's
usual oath.
But as they knitted their fingers together and swore,
there was a smile in Ranee's eyes. He had a suspicion
then that neither of them would ever get out of Cedar
County.
NOVEMBER
When the ground squirrel toils at gathering wheat,
And the wood-dove's sombre notes repeat
The story of autumn's passing feet ;
When the cold, gray sky has a rushing breeze
Which hums in the grass like a hi\c of bees,
And scatters the leaves from the roaring trees ;
When the corn is filled with a rising moon.
And the gray crane flies on his course alone,
Hastening south to the orange zone; —
Then the boy on the bare, brown prairie knows
That winter is coming with drifting snows
To cover the grave of the dry, dead rose.
364
CHAPTER XXIV
VISITING SCHOOLS
In some way, and for some educational purpose no
doubt, there had grown up a custom of visiting schools.
Whatever the obscure origin of this custom, the visits
were considered red-letter days by the boys and the
girls. The first invasion came as a complete surprise
to Lincoln at least.
One beautiful warm sunny day in midwinter — a
Friday it was — he sat humped over his spelling-book,
with his thumb in his ears, oblivious to the outside world,
and quite the last scholar to hear the sound of bells in
furious clash, accompanied by the clamor of many
voices in merry outcry, as two long bob-sleighs, packed
to the brim with boys and girls, dashed round the cor-
ner, and drew up before the door with a royal flourish.
The room was instantly in disorder. Excitable girls
began to giggle, shock-haired boys sprang to their feet
in defiance of rule, and crowded around the windows.
The teacher hurriedly smoothed his hair and dusted the
dandruff^ from his coat-collar, while loud knocking on
the door shook his nerves. At last he sternly said :
" Be seated ! Take your seats again ! "
In silent, delicious excitement the scholars returned
365
^66 Bov Life on the Prairie
to their places, and with eyes like onions waited the
coming of the visitors.
" It's the Grove School," said Ranee to Lincoln. The
teacher, bowing and smiling his suavest, opened the
door and invited his visitors to enter, with such show
of hearty hospitality as a man in his situation could
command. His collar was soiled, and he wore a long
linen duster to keep the chalk of the blackboard from
his black suit.
The visiting teacher led his tumultuous host with
smilino; dio;nitv. The bis; sirls came first, in knitted
hoods and cloth cloaks, their cheeks red with the touch
of the keen wind — their eyes shining with excitement.
Thev took seats with the girls thev knew, crowding
three in a seat. The boys followed, awkward as colts,
homely as shoats, snuffling, slyly crowding each other,
and every one of them grinning constrainedly. Thev
stood around the stove until the master pointed out
seats for them. At last they were all settled, and nearly
every seat held three explosive youngsters, ready for a
guffaw or a trick of any kind.
The visiting master was well known as the music
teacher of the township and a \'iolinist. He was a
small man, with a long beard and a pleasant hazel eye.
His name was Robert Mason Jasper, but for some
reason was always spoken of as "R. M. Jasper," not
Mister or Robert or Bob, but " R. M." He beamed
over the school with most genial good nature as he took
a seat beside his host. It was plain he liked young
people, and that they liked him.
Visiting Schools 367
To Lincoln the whole world had changed. The
monotonous routine was broken up. The crowded
seats, the lovely big girls from the Grove, the wiggling
boys of his own age, the temporary relenting of rigid
discipline, — all of these were inexpressibly potent and
significant. He could not fix his thoughts upon his
book though the master said, —
" Give attention to books now ! " Nobody really
studied for a moment. The big girls wrote notes, and
the big boys slyly chewed tobacco and whispered openly,
while Milton put his fingers to the tip of his nose till it
turned up, and threw his handsome face into shape like
Sim Bagley, whose eyes were crossed, and who had a
habit of winking very fast. These performances threw
Shep Warren and one or two other boys into paroxysms
of laughter, which the master made perfunctory efforts
to reprove. Hum Bunn had bored a hole through his
desk, and by use of a pen-stock and a pen was able to
startle one of the Angell boys.
There was very little reciting, for the teacher dared
call only on his readiest and most self-contained pupils.
The dullards had nothing to do but visit till the after-
noon recess, which came early and lasted a long time.
Then with a wild rush the boys broke into freedom.
The two schools joined at once in friendly rivalry. The
wrestlers grappled, the small boys fell into games of
" stink gool," or " crack-the-whip," or divided into
hostile legions, and snowballed each other with the
fury of opposing tribes of savage men.
Some few of the big boys and girls remained in the
368 Boy Life on the Prairie
school-house and flirted openly with each other, which
Lincoln considered rather soft, and Ben viciously said :
" I'd like to soak Bill Hatfield with a hard snowball."
Ranee shone gloriously in the games. His lithe,
supple body, his swift limbs, his skill in dodging and
wrestling, filled Lincoln's heart with admiration. He
led the games round to those in which his chum ex-
celled, such as " skinning the cat " and " chinning a
pole," which tested the strength of the arms and shoul-
ders. Ranee could chin a pole nearly twice as many
times as the strongest boy from Oak Grove. His
muscles were like woven wire, and his skin as white
as a girl's. The boys already man-grown found him so
agile and so elusive that they were eager to grapple with
him. They could crush him to the ground, but they
could not put him on his back and hold him there.
He shrewdly refused to wrestle " bear hug," or " side-
holt," but was quite ready to meet any of them in
" catch-as-catch-can."
Metellus Soper considered himself the " champion "
of the Grove School. He was only eighteen, but stood
five-feet-eleven in his stocking feet, and counted himself
a man at e\ery point. He could lift one wheel of a
separator, and throw a sledge as far as any man in the
township except Lime Gilman. At bear hug he could
down any youth in his school, and none of the Sun
Prairie boys cared to face him. They laughingly said,
in answer to his in\ itation : " Go away. I don't
want an\' truck with you."
At last Ben Hutchison consented to a "side holt,"
Visiting Schools 369
which was his choice. He flung Mett within the first
minute, and the Sun Prairie boys howled with joy.
They became silent again when Soper rose white with
fury, but outwardly calm.
" We'll try that again," he said menacingly.
" Guess I'll stop while my credit's good," Ben
laughingly replied.
" You try that again, or fight."
Ben was no coward. " Oh, all right — but play fair."
Soper was clearly the master, and as he put Ben on
his back twice out of three times, his anger cooled.
Looking round, he singled out Ranee.
" I want to take a whirl with you," he said.
Lincoln cried out, "Oh, take some one of your size,"
and a number of the others supported him.
Ranee stepped out. " I'll take you, rough and
tumble," he said quietly.
" Any way 't all," replied Soper, complacently.
Lincoln was numb with excitement as he saw his
hero facing his big and savage antagonist, but he knew
the marvellous resources of that slender body, better than
any one else in the world, and had no fear so long as
Metellus wrestled.
With a confident rush Metellus opened the bout, but
in the clinch found himself clawing Ranee's humped
shoulders, and hopping about on one foot, and an in-
stant later was hurled into the air, to fall on his shoulder,
with his cheek in the snow.
" Put him on his back ! " shouted Lincoln.
Ranee himself had slipped, and could not follow up
2B
2JO Boy Life on the Prairie
his advantage. Soper turned his face to the earth, and
was rising on his hands when Ranee sprang upon him
Hke a leopard. He was too light to hold the big fellow
down. Soper rose, taking Ranee with him, and reaching
round, seized him by the leg, and little by little worked
his long arms around his waist and flung him by main
force. Ranee landed on his hands and knees, with the
big fellow on his back. Soper's face was sneering and
confident. He had nothing else to do now but turn
Ranee on his breast. This was not so easy as he
thought. Again and again he lifted the boy, but some-
way couldn't manage him. He could crush him flat
against the ground, he could slide him and twist him and
double him up, but he could not put both shoulders
to the ground at the same time. His face grew set and
ferocious again.
"Damn your slippery hide, I'll smash ye ! "
" Go fair now," warned the boys.
Soper lay sprawling out to hold Ranee down, while
he devised some plan of action. Ranee, looking up,
saw Lincoln and smiled. For five minutes he had been
worried by the big bully, but he was not merely unan-
gered, he was laughing. Lincoln's heart leaped with
pride in him. The crowd complained.
" Aw ! Go ahead, Mett, don't lay there and tire him
all out. That ain't rastlin'."
Ranee, with a swift, sidewise movement, eluded the
grip of his antagonist, and throwing his right arm around
his neck, drew his head under till his bones cracked.
Soper uttered a snarl and tried to rise. He tossed
Visiting Schools 371
Ranee aside, but always the lad was on top. Now with
both hands clasped around his middle and his belly bend-
ing Soper's neck to the ground, now swarming over his
back, with legs stiffly resisting all efforts to draw him
under. Soper rose twice, but Ranee went with him
with the under-hold, and threw him again on his hands,
but could not turn him on his back, and Soper was
equally unable to draw him under.
The wild yells of the boys brought everybody out of
the school-house, and the teachers came over to see if the
boys were fighting. Ranee smiled at them to reassure
them, and the struggle went on.
" Why Mett," said his teacher, " what are you doing
there under this little boy ? "
" Don't bother him," said Milton ; " he's busy ! "
Soper was ominously silent. With a last desperate
effort he rose; Ranee, swarming all over him, and winding
his arms about him once more, threw him and fell upon
him to crush his back to the ground. Ranee twisted
belly downward, and the frenzied Soper returned to his
old methods to wear him out.
" Call it a draw, boys," said Jasper, and the rest took
the cue. "Let him up, Mett. Call it a draw."
But not till the teachers pulled him off would Soper
admit even so much as that. " This ain't ended," he
said, menacingly, to Ranee, as he put on his coat.
" I'm ready, any time," replied Ranee. " But I want
to tell you right now you've got to rastle fair, or I'll let
the daylight into you. I won't be mauled around by a
big bully like you."
372 Boy Life on the Prairie
And Aletellus did not reply. There was a note In
Ranee's voice which he had never heard before.
Late in the afternoon the teacher said : " Lay aside
books. We will now spell down. James Poindexter
and Henry Coonrod may choose sides."
Jim and Henry stepped out into the middle of the
floor and awkwardlv received the broom from the master.
Jim tossed it to Henry, who caught it in his right hand;
Jim then placed his hand above Henry's. Henry put
his left above Jim's, and so on until Jim's last hold
covered the end of the stick, and Henry could not secure
sufficient grip to sustain the broom. Jim chose first,
and laughing, crowding, whispering, and grimacing, the
two schools ranged along opposite walls of the room.
Lincoln's teacher pronounced the words, and the
battle began. There were twenty on each side, and the
(ew who remained in the seats quivered with excitement.
One by one the bad spellers dropped away. Jim and
Henrv both went down early in the strife, but Lincoln
stood side by side with Milton. "I can't wrestle for
shucks," he sometimes said, " but I can spell with any
of you." As each word was pronounced, Lincoln could
sec it as distinctly as if he were looking at the printed
page, and he spelled unhesitatingly on and on, until Jim's
battle line faded away, and only Ella Pierce, a slim,
homely little girl, remained, and then the Oak Grove
teacher took the book to see if his favorite scholar could
not win the contest.
Lincoln was exalted by the honors he had won, and
out of his mat of hair his brown eyes gleamed with
Visiting Schools 373
resolution. The sun sank low in the west, filling the
room with a light such as he had never seen before. He
had heard of this girl's power and had no sentiment in
the matter ; he intended to win. The hour for closing
was long past, but the interest in the contest continued
unabated. The scholars in their seats cheered unre-
proved by the masters. At last Milton went down on
" Cygnet, a young swan," and Lincoln stood alone on
his side. Lincoln hoped to win — he felt sure of win-
ning— till suddenly the teacher took up the dictionary
and began to pronounce new and strange words. Then
the light went out of the lad's eyes. He could not visu-
alize these words — he was feeling his way in the dark.
He stammered, hesitated, and went down, but Ella went
down on the same word, and in that Lincoln found some
comfort. The tension of the whole school found relief
in stormy thumping of fists and stamping of feet.
Technically the Grove won.
" School is dismissed," said the teacher, and bedlam
broke loose. With wild cries the boys crowded into the
entry way, and snatching caps and coats, escaped into
the open air for a last rush of play, while the big boys
brought the sleighs around, the Sun Prairie people
shrieking and chattering. Those of the Sun Prairie boys
who found sleighs going their way clung to the box-rim
and the end-gate, while standing on the heel of the run-
ners, and so stole a ride home. The bells clashed out,
the drivers shouted to their teams, and away the great
sleighs rushed, swarming with tittering girls and whoop-
ing boys.
374 ^<^y Life on the Prairie
Naturally this visit called for a polite return of the
call, and the boys began to arrange about the teams at
once, and would have gone to the Grove the following
Friday, only for the restraining word of the teacher,
who counselled a decent interval. But at last the great
day came. Sun Prairie School District filled three
sleighs and filled them full. Ben Hutchison furnished
one team, Ed Blackler another, while Ranee and Milton
joined horses to make the third. Lincoln rode with
them. Each one came to school that day dressed in his
best, and there was a pretence of recitations in the early
morning.
The day was cloudless, and the sun flamed in dazzling
splendor from the unstained snows of the prairie. The
boys raced horses, and the girls alternately shrieked with
laughter and sang, "•Lily Dale," "The One-horse Open
Sleigh," and "The Mocking-bird." The small boys
rode anywhere on the outside of the sleigh rather than
on the inside where they belonged, and were constantly
getting into trouble. At last the teams entered the
woodland, which was always beautiful and m\ sterious to
Lincoln, after the unshadowed sweep of the snow-
crusted prairie, and a few moments later drew up before
the door of the school-house, which was the largest and
best furnished of all the schools of the township. It
was used for church and for town-meetings, and Lincoln
always entered it with a measure of abasement.
It had an oro;an in a battered box, and " bou2;hten
desks," and a sort of stage at one end. Altogether it
seemed the next thin<r to the Rock Ri\cr Court-h(nise
Visiting Schools 375
to Lincoln. It was the aristocratic district of the town-
ship. Its girls were prettier and its citizens more
prominent in county politics. Sun Prairie stood next,
but was handicapped by its lack of woods and streams, as
well as by its comparative youth. To be invited to visit
Grove School was considered an especially desirable favor.
Lincoln sat in the corner and dreamed, while his eyes
explored every corner of the room, and noted the lines
on every face, and followed the motions of every scholar.
Under Jasper's direction they sang several choruses,
which made a most poetic impression on Lincoln, arous-
ing his ambition to distinguish himself. Ranee, as usual,
sat quietly in his seat, making no pretensions to be witty
or wise.
Mett Soper was vastly excited and could hardly wait
for recess to come before he challenged Ranee to have
It out.
" I don't care to rastle," said Ranee.
" But you've got to," said Metellus, laying his hand
on Ranee's shoulder.
Ranee leaped aside, and his face grew white, a danger-
some signal, as Lincoln knew.
" Keep your dirty hands off me," he said. " When I
say I don't want to rastle, I mean it."
Metellus followed him up. " I'll make you rastle or
fight."
The other boys became silent with excitement, for
Metellus was a boaster who carried out his threats.
Ranee was prepared for this. He whipped out a
knife and opened it.
376 Boy Life on the Prairie
"You big bully," he said. "If you touch me, I'll
kill you." His eyes burned with a most intense light,
and his face was set and old. "You're four years older
than I am, and I won't be mauled by you. Now that's
all. Leave me alone."
Metellus hesitated, and while he hesitated, the
teachers both came hurrying out.
" What's all this ? Ranee, put up your knife," called
his teacher, a tall, full-faced, gaily young fellow.
"I will when Mett Soper promises to let me be —
not till then," he replied doggedly.
" Shame on you, Metellus," said Jasper, " to persecute
a boy."
Metellus turned on his heel, muttering a menace.
Frank Wilbur slipped forward, and said, " Rather than
see Mett suffer for want of exercise, I'll try him a
whack."
Metellus couldn't well refuse, and so sullenly said,
" Name y'r holt."
" No holt at all is my holt," said Frank, who was a
tall, broad-shouldered fellow with a smiling hazel-gray
eye. He faced Mett, with his hands in his trousers
pockets, his head bare, and his shirt-sleeved arms akimbo.
"Put your hands in your pockets ! "
Mett squared off, but reluctantly, for he knew Frank's
skill. With right knees bent and toes tapping the ground
the two stalwart young fellows circled around each
other, feinting to draw a swing, swinging in the attempt
to trip. All the scholars of both schools gathered
around. Metellus was not without a following, and
Visiting Schools 377
besides, he was the champion of the school. There-
fore cheers went up for him as well as for Frank.
There were few boys who cared to wrestle in this way,
for when they fell they fell very hard. Metellus fought
gamely, but Frank caught him behind the heel at just
the right moment, and he fell with stunning force. He
rose slowly, a rigid look of pain on his face. " Now
try my holt," he said, but Jasper rang the bell, and the
match was postponed.
The teacher called on some of his pupils to " speak
pieces " after recess, and in return the teacher from
Sun Prairie brought forward Lincoln and Milton to
recite. Milton came first, and with calm and smiling
face rattled off a part of " Webster's Speech at Bunker
Hill," while Lincoln, with a great big chestnut burr in
his throat, and his heart beating like a flail, waited in
agony the teacher's call. Never before had such an
audience faced him. These restless, derisive young-
sters, and contemptuous big boys, and grown-up girls,
might well have appalled an old and practised speaker.
When he faced them, his lips were twitching, and his
tumbled brown hair seemed to lift in fright. His lips
were dry, and his voice as weak as a kitten's. He was
short, and his trousers were long, and rolled up at the
bottoms. His feet were large, and his boots larger. His
coat did not fit at any point, and altogether he was a
comical figure ; but he put his hands behind him and
began to recite " Lochiel's Warning," which was one
of his favorite selections. At first he could only speak
a line at a time, so short was his breath, but at last he
378 Boy Lite on the Prairie
gained in confidence, his voice deepened, his head lifted,
and he rolled out the bombastic thunder of" Lochiel's
scornful reply with such spirit that all listened. —
'•False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my clan.
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one.
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath.
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death."
And when he closed with the line, —
"Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame,"
he broke all records by making a gesture with his right
hand, while lifting his face in action suited to the words,
and the scholars stamped and whistled, and the teacher
said, "That boy is going to be senator some day."
It was a great triumph for him, and helped to estab-
lish his position among his fellows. He was getting old
enough also, at this time, to secretly desire the approba-
tion of the girls, though a single word from one of them
flooded him with bashful confusion. It seemed espe-
cially worth while to distinguish himself before the girls
of the Grove School-house. He had the true male in-
stinct— the daughters of alien tribes seemed lovelier
than those who dwelt in the tents of his own people.
It was dark before they had distributed all the girls at
their homes, and Ranee went home with Lincoln to
supper. It had been a good day.
:)c ^ :(: + :+: +
As the years passed, the homes of the prairie changed
for the better. Councill put on a lean-to, so did
Visiting Schools 379
Hutchison. Jennings added an ell, and Mr. Stewart
put up a new kitchen with a half-story chamber above,
which relieved the pressure a little. The garret above
the sitting-room was lathed and plastered also, and the
rooms below were papered. All of these improvements
made vivid impression on Lincoln's mind. There was
still no touch of grace, no gleam of beauty, about the
house. The wall paper was cheap and flimsy, char-
acters of pattern neutral if not positively harmful in
color. A few chromos hung on the walls — wretched
things even for chromos. These were the only adorn-
ments, and the homes around were not much different.
Nature was grand and splendid — the works of man
were pitiful.
The school-house changed only for the worse. Barns
were built first, houses improved next, and school-
houses last of all, though Sun Prairie was as public
spirited as any of the districts.
The boys did not perceive the absence of beauty, but
they were quick to note its presence. Nothing escaped
them. One of the girls who taught the school in sum-
mer cut some newspapers into pretty patterns and put
them over the windows, and when Lincoln entered the
room next time, the softened light impressed him favor-
ably. He took note also of every new touch of arma-
ment assumed by the girls — and this quite aside from
any idea of courtship. He saw it as color, as being
something pretty, and though he dared not use the
word " beautiful," it was in his soul as It was in the
soul of Ranee and Owen.
380 Boy Life on the Prairie
The girls worked out a moiety of their craving for
beauty on tidies and scarfs and wall-pockets, but these
the boys seldom saw, for they were ill at ease in parlors.
Lincoln only knew one, in fact, — the Knapp's, — and
that he visited very seldom. It had a dim light, — like a
sacred place, — but he had observed the "spatter-work"
and the worsted sewn into perforated cardboard, and
the faded carpet, and remembered them. The girls in
their best dresses awed him, however, and he escaped to
the barn as soon as possible.
His own mother was too hard-worked to do any
" spatter-work " other than churning or dish-washing,
and Mary was not yet old enough to begin ; therefore,
their home remained unadorned — except for the putting
down of a new rag-carpet which he helped to make by
tearing and tying old rags together during the long win-
ter evenings. Once his mother had a " rag party," and
the women came in to help on the carpet, and Lincoln
was so averse to meeting them that he remained at the
barn, and had Owen bring his supper to him. Later
on in the evening he slipped into the kitchen and sat in
the corner with Ranee and popped corn for the others
to eat.
This carpet glorified the sitting-room, when it came
back from the old Norwegian woman who wove it, and
once when the sun shone in upon it and a bird was
singing outside, the boy thought, " Our home is beauti-
ful, after all." But it was only the bird, and the sun-
shine on the floor!
As he grew older and the life of the prairie became
Visiting Schools 381
less free, Lincoln began to take a very vivid interest in
the social affairs of the Grove School-house. He attended
the meetings regularly and was to be found at all the
Grange suppers, donation parties, and surprise parties.
He often went to the dances, but did not share in them
— though he longed to do so.
For several years the aspect of the neighborhood had
been darkened and made austere by the work of an
" evangelist," who came preaching the wickedness of
the natural man and the imminence of death. Inevi-
tably there was a rebound from this rigid discipline a
couple of years later, and the people young and old met
during the winter as often as any excuse offered. Nearly
every week the Grange held an " open meeting and oyster
supper," which packed the Grove School-house to the
very doors. The boys seldom had a chance to eat
oyster soup, and considered it a heaven-sent privilege.
They gorged themselves upon it, and burnt little strips
of skin off the roofs of their mouths in their haste to
secure a second plate.
Oysters came from a far country, and could only be
transported in cans or in " bulk," as they called it.
"Oyster soup" was the only known way of using them,
and an "oyster supper" meant bowls of thin stew
with small crackers. The Grange suppers, however,
consisted of fried chicken, biscuit, cake and coffee, and
pie, always both mince and apple pie. The boys played
" pom-pom pullaway " all the evening and came to the
supper with the appetites of hired men. Lincoln at
such times felt quite sure that he was having as much fun
382 Boy Life on the Prairie
as any boy. Rock River was greater, but then no farmer
boy could reasonably hope to live in such a large town.
The lyceum came on Saturday night generally, and
the house was always crowded, no matter how cold the
wind. The stove was a big square box into which
some public-spirited soul rolled huge red oak "grubs,"
and the people entering hurried at once toward it and
there stood scorching their outside garments, while
shivering with the cold, which it seemed to drive in
upon them. The men were big as bears in their
huge buffalo overcoats, but the women were all badly
dressed, and many of them were thin-blooded and weary
with work and worry.
The girls wore hoods for the most part, and some of
them began to look wondrously prettv to Lincoln and
Ranee, but neither of them had the courage to speak to
one. Milton, however, was already a great beau and on
familiar terms with all who came. They said, " Hello,
Milt," and he replied, " Hello, Carrie," or " Hello, Bettie,"
in the same tone. The girls stood in awe of Ranee, and
though they seldom spoke to him, they were glad to be
able to happen beside him as they stood by the stove to
warm.
Ranee was secretly desirous of their good-will, but
his face was always dark and secretive in their presence,
and they grew nervous and whispered elaborate nothings
to each other in self-defence ■, these dialogues he took
to be derision of himself, and moved away. Metellus
Soper, who also desired the good-will of the girls, while
standing afar off, continued to seek a quarrel with Ranee,
Visiting Schools 383
and was always making coarse jokes in his presence.
Lincoln often shook with fear when he saw Metellus
edging toward Ranee. Soper was always present at
these lyceums and made himself conspicuous in foolish
ways, whereas Ranee was known to be a well-read boy
and capable of taking part in the exercises if he would.
Lincoln knew it would be a tragic battle if the two boys
met in anger.
There was always a debate on some such question as
this, "Was Napoleon a greater general than Caesar?"
or "Is gunpowder more useful than paper?" A great
deal of hem-hawing accompanied the debates, and the
judges solemnly voted at the end of the session, and one
by one momentous questions of this character were
settled. Before the debate it was usual to have some
recitations and essays, and there Milton shone large and
clear. He had a certain faculty in writing, and often
presented himself with an oration on some political
subject in harmony with his father's views — he had not
yet reached the point of asserting himself. Lincoln
also took part in the speaking, and occasionally made
a pronounced hit with some comic recitation from
Josh Billings or Mark Twain. He quite as often failed
by being too ambitious and attempting some poem
whose passion scared him and took his breath away just
when he needed it most. Owen had developed a gift
for singing, and with great calmness walked up to the
platform and piped away at some ballad which he had
derived from the hired hands or his Uncle David.
These evenings formed pleasant breaks in the monot-
384 Boy Life on the Prairie
ony of winter life, and the bovs who were old enough
and brave enough to take the girls were well satisfied
with Sun Prairie. The moon shone as brilliantly in its
season as anywhere in the world, and on moonless nights
the stars filled the heayens with innumerable dazzling
points of light, and the lovers, packed side by side in
long sleighs, sang cheerily on, unconscious of the cold.
At such times Ranee and Lincoln, riding in silence be-
hind some merry party, felt a singular twinge of pain.
They seemed left out of something very much worth
while — which was a sign and signal that they were
soon to leave boyhood behind.
It was at the lyceum that Lincoln acquired a definite
ambition. The most conspicuous and successful partic-
ipants in the exercises were the voung men and women
who were attending the Rock River Seminary at the
county town. Their smooth hands and modish dress,
their ease of manner, the polish of their speech, made a
powerful impression on the other Sun Prairie bovs.
Once or twice these "Seminary chaps" let fall a
contemptuous word about the lyceum debates which
opened the eyes of Lincoln to their absurdities. He
perceived that in the eyes of cultured Rock River these
old farmers were laughable, and once as he rode away
in the cutter with Rancc, he said : —
"I'm going to go to the Seminary myself when I'm
eighteen."
" I'm going to start in next year," said Ranee, and
the quick resolution of his voice made Lincoln gasp.
" Oh, you're coddin'."
Visiting Schools 385
" Not much I ain't ; what's the use going on here ?
Our teacher can't carry us any further. I'm going to go
to college and I'm going to do something else besides
farm. You can't do anything worth while without an
education — I've found that out."
" Will your father let you go ? "
" He'll growl at the expense, but I can fix that.
The boys tell me they can live for about two dollars a
week down there by " baching it," and we could cut
that down if we had to. It's settled so far as I'm con-
cerned. This is my last winter in Sun Prairie, now you
hear me ! "
Lincoln had never known Ranee to be so emphatic
in the utterance of his ambition, and it stirred him very
deeply. It seemed that he was about to be deserted by
his hero comrade.
" POM-POM, PULL-AWAY "
Out on the snow the boys are springing,
Shouting blithely at their play;
Through the night their voices ringing,
Sound the cry " Pom^ puU-aiuay ! "
Up the sky the round moon stealing,
Trails a robe of shimmering white ;
While the Great Bear slowly wheeling
Marks the pole-star's steady light.
The air with frost is keen and stinging.
Spite of cap and muffler gay ;
Big boys whistle, girls are singing —
Loud rings out, " Poin^ puU-awav ! "
Oh, the phrase has magic in it.
Sounding through the moon-lit air !
And in about a half-a-minute
I am part and parcel there.
'Cross the pond I once more scurry
Through the thickest of the fray,
Sleeve ripped off bv Andy Murray —
" Let her rip — Pom^ pull-nivay ! "
Mothcr'll mend it in the morning
(Dear old patient, smiling face !);
One more darn my sleeve adorning —
'■'-IVhoop her up ! " — is no disgrace.
386
" Pom-Pom, Pull- Away " 387
Moonbeams on the snow-a-splinter,
Air that stirred the blood like wine —
What cared we for cold of winter ?
What for maidens' soft eyes' shine ?
Give us but a score of skaters
And the cry, " Pom^ pull-away ! "
We were always girl-beraters —
Forgot them wholly, sooth to say !
O voices through the night air ringing !
O thoughtless, happy, boist'rous play !
0 silver clouds the keen wind winging ;
At the cry, " Pom^ pull-away ! "
1 pause and dream with keenest longing
Yor that starlit magic night,
For my noisy playmates thronging.
And the slow moon's trailing light.
THE BLUE JAY
His eyes are bright as burnished steel,
His note a quick, defiant cry ;
Harsh as a hinge his grating squeal
Sounds from the keen wind sweeping by.
Rains never dim his smooth blue coat.
The cold winds never trouble him.
No fog puts hoarseness in his throat.
Or makes his merry eyes grow dim.
His call at dawning is a shout,
His wing is subject to his heart;
Of fear he knows not — doubt
Did not draw his sailing-chart.
He is an universal emigre.
His foot is set in every land ;
He greets me by gray Casco Bay
And laughs across the Texas sand.
In heat or cold, in storm and sun,
He lives undauntedly ; and when he dies,
He folds his feet up one by one
And turns his last look on the skies.
He is the true American. He fears
No journey and no wood or wall —
And in the desert toiling voyagers
Take heart of courage from his call.
388
CHAPTER XXV
A MOMENTOUS WOLF-HUNT
The light from the faintly yellow east had begun to
fill the room, when the sound of a galloping horse,
rapidly approaching from the south, wakened Lincoln,
and then a whistle mingled with the trample of the
horse brought to a halt.
" That's Milt ! " he cried, leaping from his bed into
the frosty air, and hurriedly dressing.
He could hear some one stirring down below ; Mrs.
Stewart was on her feet. The smell and sizzle of sau-
sages came up from the kitchen, and the sound of the
cofFee-mill informed him as to the exact stage of break-
fast.
When Lincoln got outdoors, the horseman was at the
gate, seated statuesquely on a restless gray colt.
" Hello, Link."
" Hello, Milt."
" Ain't you up awful early for a Seminary chap ? "
" Oh, I guess I hain't lost all my staminy with one
term o' school," laughed Milt. He looked very bright
and handsome as he sat on his splendid young horse.
" Had breakfast ? "
"Yup."
389
390 Boy Life on the Prairie
" Well, I ain't, so you put Mark in the barn an' wait
a week or two, while I eat."
As he moved alongside, Lincoln looked at the gray
colt admiringly.
" Ginger, but he's a jim dandy. I didn't think you'd
ride him to-day. Ranee better look out."
" I'm riding to win, this time," replied Milton, as he
slipped from the colt, and led him into the warm, dark
stable. " Steady, — Mark, old boy, — steady ! "
" What horse you goin' to ride ? " asked Milton.
"Well, I don't know. Rob, I guess. Cassius is too
heavy for such work, don't you think ? "
" No. Cassius is the best. You see the main thing
to-day is, to have a horse that can hold out."
"What you got to shoot with?"
" A Colt's revolver that I borrowed from Lime Gil-
man."
" Well, I guess I'll have to confine my death-dealing
weapons to my vocal organs," said Lincoln, dropping
into long words, his favorite way of being jocose.
" Why so ? "
" That is, if I ride Cassius. Look at the eyes of
him," he exclaimed, pointing to a vicious sorrel, who
showed the whites of his eyes when he saw the lifted
hand of his master.
"Hoh!" shouted Lincoln, sharply, and the colt went
all of a heap against the manger, his eyes staring, his
body trembling, his wicked hind legs drawn under him.
" Look out, there," Milton yelled. Lincoln laughed
and called, —
A Momentous Wolf-hunt 391
"Wo-up, old man — stiddy now!" and the horse
untied himself and returned to his place. He quivered
under the hand placed fearlessly upon him, though Lin-
coln seldom struck him — it was merely the wild nature
of the brute. He had a strain of the bronco in his blood.
After a hasty breakfast, the boys went to the barn
and brought out the colts. Mark came first, snuffling
and alert, and Milton put one toe in the stirrup and
swung gracefully into the saddle. Lincoln followed
with Cassius, wild already, as if he smelled the game.
As Lincoln seized the pommel of his saddle, the
horse plunged and reared and flew away sidewise, but
the boy hung to the bridle and mane, and as he whirled,
leaped into his seat and had the wild brute in hand
before he could make a second rush. He was too good
a horseman to be irritated by high spirits in a horse.
It was a glorious winter morning. The sun had
made the sky red, but had not warmed the earth per-
ceptibly, had not yet lifted its full face above the long,
low bank of trees. A light snow was on the ground,
and the prairie stretched away to an infinite distance —
made more weirdly impressive by the clarity of the
atmosphere, which lifted distant hidden barns and houses
into view.
As they rode, the sun rose, and its rays, striking
along the horizon, converted the level prairie into a flat
basin, with the horsemen low in the centre. To the
east the line of timber which marked the Maple River
rose far out of its normal position. Ten miles to the
left, the larger and deeper forest (where the Rock was
392 Boy Life on the Prairie
sheathed like a sword in a scabbard ) seemed only three
or four miles away. Every house was doubled in height,
and from each chimney a thin column of smoke rose
straight into the air, like a slender elm tree.
" Will the boys be on hand ? " asked Lincoln.
" Oh, yes ! This snow'll bring 'em out. It was the
signal. We'll find 'em at the school-house."
Some miles to the north, and just over the state line,
a big square of wild land still lay. It was the property
of an Eastern syndicate, and was not on the market.
Upon it, as upon an island, the wolves and foxes and
badgers had taken refuge, and the boys had made several
more or less successful hunting trips " across the line,"
but Lincoln had never before taken part in them.
Ranee, who always had a hand in any expedition of
this kind, had taken part in two wolf-hunts, and was
the natural leader in the one on hand.
Milton and Lincoln rode steadily forward toward the
school-house, the rendezvous of the band.
"There's smoke a-risin' ! " cried Milton. "Some-
body's on hand, anyway — and there comes the rest."
Three horsemen could be seen making easy way
along a converging lane, and as his eye caught sight of
them, Milton rose in his saddle and uttered a wild
whoop, the sound, penetrating the still air, making a re-
markable change in the pace of the other horsemen.
Answering yells rose, and a fine race took place.
Lincoln let the rein loose on Cassius, and dug his heel
into his flank, and was ofi' before Milton's protest could
reach him.
A Momentous Wolf-hunt 393
Milton held Mark down to an easy lope, and watched
the race between Lincoln and the nearest horseman,
mounted on a black horse. Lincoln was a little nearer
to the goal, but had a ravine to cross ; and though the
iron-sided Cassius did his best, the black turned in just
a neck ahead.
When Milton cantered calmly up to the crowd on
the leeward side of the school-house, they all yelled
derisively.
" He ain't any good, that gray horse ! "
" He's all show ! "
" Why didn't you let him out ? "
" You'll find out why, later in the day," responded
Milton, coolly ; " when the rest of your horses are all
winded, Mark'll be fresh as a daisy."
" By jingo ! That's a fact. Didn't think of that,"
the rest replied,
Milton dismounted and found a place for his horse
in the little shed, which had been built, after prodigious
trouble, by the neighborhood. Inside he found the
fellows sitting around the big box-stove, drinking coffee
out of a big tin dipper, and eating hunks of sausages
and bread, which they toasted in the open door of the
stove, on their jack-knives.
The coft'ee being disposed of, the question of proceed-
ing came up.
" Where's Ranee ? "
" He's coming, I guess," said one of the boys at the
window. " Yes, it's him coming licketty-split,"
Ranee turned up soon, riding Ladrone, no longer
394 ^oy Life on the Prairie
young, but as swift as ever. The boys all swarmed
out to meet him.
" Hello, cap ! We'd about give you up."
" Want some coftee. Ranee ? "
"No, climb onto your horses."
A scurry to mount followed, and in half-a-jiffy a
dozen boys were seated on their restless horses, impatient
to be off.
" What you got to shoot with ? " asked Ranee.
Frank Wilbur held up a shot-gun, Milton flourished
his pistol, Cy Hurd had a rifle, and each of the others
had a gun of some sort.
" All right. Now we must be off. Keep behind me and
don't race and don't make too much noise. We strike
for the big popple grove. Already — into line. March."
He wheeled his horse and rode away at an easy gal-
lop, followed by his laughing, jostling troop, along the
road, between fields, leading to the north. The day
promised to be bright, the snow was just right, deep
enough to aid in detecting the wolves, and not so deep as
to interfere with the speed of the horses.
It was about ten o'clock Ranee pulled up on the edge
of the range. " Now, then, Lincoln, you take Milt and
Cy, and strike into that patch of hazel bush to the right,
and remember, if you start a wolf, don't try to run him
down, unless you're close onto him. He'll run in a
circle — and while you're after him, fire a shot to let us
know, and we'll cut across lots. When we strike his
trail you pull right off, and cut across behind us. If he
turns to the right or left, let us know."
A Momentous Wolf-hunt 395
It was exhilarating to breathe the keen prairie air, to
feel under one's thigh the powerful swing of muscles
firm as iron, to know that at any moment a wolf might
start up from the brush. The horses caught the excite-
ment and champed their bits impatiently, and spurned
the glittering snow high into the air. Soon a shot
was heard, and wild yells from the right division. A
moment later, out from behind a popple grove loped a
wolf, followed by a squad of horsemen. Instantly all
of the captain's commands were forgotten. Everybody
joined pursuit, whooping, laughing, firing, without an
idea of order.
The wolf was surprised, but seemed to grasp the sit-
uation. In less than ten seconds the whole troop were
in a huddle and riding fast, except Ranee, who was
now on the extreme left, cutting diagonally across.
He fired his gun to interrupt his mob of excited hunters,
and rode right into their front and yelled.
" Halt ! Hold on there ! "
He was very angry, and they pulled up instantly. He
waited till they all came back around him.
" Now, what kind of a way of doing business is that ?
How many wolves are you going to kill by winding
every horse in the crowd the first jump ? You'll kill
more horses than wolves. Now listen to me : We
don't want more than three horses after the wolf at the
same time. The others must cut him off. Don't be in
a hurry — wait and see where he's heading."
The boys were silent.
" Milt and Lincoln were all right. They started the
396 Boy Life on the Prairie
game. But the rest of you were all wrong. Now, the
wolf is in that big tow-head there. Cy, you go to
the right, and. Milt, you go to the left, and I'll take the
centre, and we'll see if we can go at this man-
fashion."
In a few minutes they had partially encircled the
grove and were moving down on it. Again the wolf
broke cover, and started to the left. He was not aware
of Milton and Lincoln, because they were hidden by
another bunch of aspen, and Lincoln gave a wild whoop
as the yellow-brown grizzled creature darted around the
grove, almost under his feet, and entered the brush
before the boy could collect himself.
Cassius leading, the party of four rushed into the
brown hazel patch, a rushing, snorting squadron. The
brush impeded and bewildered the wolf, and he doubled
on his track, bursting out on the prairie again, at an
oblique angle to the course of the other horsemen.
The chase became magnificent. The wolf seemed
to float along the ground, his long tail waving, his ears
alert. Ranee was riding like mad, to intercept him, and
the wolf didn't seem to understand, — but he did: just
as Ladrone seemed upon him, he disappeared. Ranee
reined sharply to the left, and waved his hat to Lincoln,
who comprehended the situation. The wolf had en-
tered a deep ravine, which ran to the southeast, and
was doubling again, seeking his den.
" He's going back ! " shouted Milton, letting Mark
out for the first time. The grand brute, snorting with
delight, slid over the ground, light as the wolf himself.
A Momentous Wolf-hunt 397
The rider sat him as if he were standing still, but exult-
ing to feel the vast power and pride of his horse.
" See that horse run ! " shouted Lincoln, in delight.
The majestic colt swept down upon the wolf, as if all
eyes were upon him, and his honor at stake. Milton
could see the head of the wolf then. It seemed as if
Mark must run him down, so certainly equal were the
distances, but Mark thundered down the slope and into
the swale a few rods in advance. The wolf whipped
out behind, — Milton fired twice, — but the fugitive
kept on. He reined Mark sharply to the right, with
unabated speed, and rode back up the slope, on a wide
curve, waving his hat to show the way the wolf had
gone.
But the others had seen the change in course, and
were driving down on the wily fugitive in a body. Ed
Blackler was in the lead, his shot-gun ready, guiding
his horse by the pressure of his knees. He was upon
him with a rush, and fired. The wolf leaped into the
air, rose, avoided the rush of the black, and started into
the brush. Now was Lincoln's opportunity, and strik-
ing Cassius with the flat of his hand, he swept upon the
wolf like a whirlwind. The wounded beast fell under
the feet of the wild-eyed Cassius, who would have tram-
pled fire in his excitement.
When Milton rode up to the circle of panting horses
and excited boys, Lincoln was handing the tail to Ed
Blackler, and Ranee was saying : —
" The ears are yours. Link. That crazv old fool of
yours did the business."
39^ Boy Life on the Prairie
The boys were deHghted with the result. Everybody
praised the superb run made by Mark, the good shoot-
ing done by Ed Blackler, and the mad courage of Cas-
sius, who bore the marks of the wolf's teeth on his
legs.
" Now we'll strike for Rattlesnake Grove, and go
through every patch of hazel brush on the way," com-
manded Ranee. But it was high noon before they
started another wolf, and he (or she) popped into a den
just as Ranee was drawing near enough to shoot. The
ground was too hard to dig him out.
About this time they began to look for the commis-
sary cutter, which they had left far behind, and forgotten
until now. They were hungry. One of the riders was
ordered to ride back to a swell, and signal the approach
of the "supply train." In the meantime the others, after
blanketing the horses, began to collect dry limbs, and to
build a fire in the centre of one of the groves.
It was a fine moment as they grouped themselves
around the smoking fire, toasting sausages on hazel
twigs and drinking coffee. Nothing could be seen but
trees, gray skv, and the blanketed horses. They resem-
bled a camp of brigands. At last the captain said, —
" Fall in, everybody."
Lincoln saw the next wolf standing on the north side
of a little round grove, listening intentlv, his head on
one side, his steel-like muscles tense and quivering. He
was looking away, and Lincoln whispered regretfully to
Milton, " Oh, for a rifle ! "
" Ride onto him with y'r pistol."
A Momentous Wolf-hunt 399
Milton was cautious: "No, wait; there's Cy Hurd,
he's got a rifle. Why, he don't see him ! the donkey !
Hay ! there he is ! "
At Milton's shout the wolf gave a prodigious leap,
and set oft' across the open plain, followed by Cyrus
Hurd and his squad. Ranee was far to the east.
Hurd fired his revolver as he rode, and soon the three
divisions were riding furiously, side by side, nearly half a
mile apart : Cy in the lead, but losing as the wolf laid
himself to the work. It was a long chase, and one by
one the fellows reined in, till only Ranee and Blackler
at the right, and Lincoln and Milton at the left, and Cy
Hurd in the centre, were in the race.
Cy knew that the wolf would surely turn to the left,
and pressed him hard, therefore, till he dropped into a
deep ravine, running at right angles to the course. He
pulled up short, unable to tell which way his game had
gone, while both of the wing divisions pressed on at
full speed, each expecting to intercept the cunning
beast.
Milton was satisfied the wolf had not time to pass, so
turned sharply as he entered the ravine, and thundered
down to the right. He soon reined up, and was stand-
ing irresolute when the wolf came sailing around a bend
in the gully. Milton will never forget the cool, cunning,
yet astonished look in his eyes. He seemed a piece of
faultless machinery doing its work without noise, fric-
tion, or waste of power.
Milton fired twice as the animal floated up the bank,
Mark after him. On level ground above, the wolf was
400 Boy Life on the Prairie
no match for the colt, and twice turned as his pursuer
thundered upon his heels. The last time he gained
time to cross the ravine again, and when Milton and
Lincoln reached the level again, he was ten rods away,
and running like the wind, apparently undisturbed.
" Nffiu^ Mark ! " yelled Milton, and for the first time
in his life Mark brought out all his powers. With nos-
trils expanded, and wide eyes full of fire, he spurned the
loose snow, in a glittering shower, into the eyes of Cas-
sius, close behind him, with Lincoln yelling like a Sioux.
Now Cassius's reserve power began to tell. Slowly he
drew ahead of Mark, who was worn with his previous
race. With wild head gauming, Cassius tore down upon
the now wholly desperate animal. Cassius, compara-
tively fresh, could overhaul the wolf, but Lincoln knew
the wolfs tricks, and allowed the horse to gain but
slowly, inch by inch. He was but a few rods in ad-
vance, and running silently and apparently easily, the
play of his muscles concealed by his long hair. The
pace was terrific, and Cassius tugged no more at
the rein ; he was running his best, his breath roaring.
The wolf, almost under his feet, had a curiously calm
expression, not scared, not angry ; then something hap-
pened. The earth shook, the sky turned black, and
strange noises filled the air, faint and far away.
When he had time to think about these singular
phenomena, Lincoln perceived that he was lying on the
ground, and that the boys all in a group were shooting
the wolf. He turned his head and saw Cassius gallop-
ing wildly in a circle, the stirrups pounding his ribs.
A Momentous Wolf-hunt 401
Then he thought he would get up, but one leg felt
numb and heavy, and he sank back on the ground, just
as the boys caught sight of him, and came riding up.
He waved his cap and gave a feeble shout, to show
that he was not dead.
Milton reached him first, looking very queer.
"What's the matter ? Hurt ? "
"I guess my leg's banged up a little; it's numb.
Where's my horse ? "
"We'll take care of the horse," said Ranee, as he
dismounted. "Somebody get that cutter, quick. Catch
the horse and take his blanket off. We'll need it to
wrap Link up in. He's hurt pretty bad, I reckon."
There was a horrible limpness in one leg which
Ranee saw and shuddered at.
The leg began to pain him a good deal, but Lincoln
said : " I guess I ain't hurt very much. The snow kind
o' broke the force of the fall." But he groaned when
they lifted him into the cutter, and the boys were badly
scared. Ranee got in with him, and the others fell in
behind — a melancholy train. Ranee wondered what
Lincoln's mother would say when she saw Cassius being
led riderless down the road. They were a long way from
home, and when the road permitted it. Ranee drove hard.
He stopped at John Moss's house for some extra blank-
ets, and Bettie came out to see the wounded boy.
" I'm all right," he said, though his chin trembled.
"It don't hurt — much — now."
Bettie tucked him in nicely, but took the side of the
wild animals, girl fashion : —
2 D
402 Bov Life on the Prairie
" It serves you right " (she didn't realize how badly he
was hurt) " to go chasing those poor little wolves all over
the prairie. How do you s'pose you'd feel to have a
whole raft of Indians ridin' down on top of you^ and
shootin' pistols and yellin' ? "
" Wouldn't feel much worse'n I do now," he said,
with a wan smile.
One by one the hunters dropped ofF till only Ranee
and Milton and Cv were left to take the wounded com-
rade to his home.
"Milt, you ride — ahead — and tell mother — I'm all
right," said Lincoln ; and Milton spurred on, obediently.
It was long after dark when Milton knocked at the
door and Mrs. Stewart came to the door. Something
in his face alarmed her instantly. " Where is Lincoln ?
Is he hurt ? "
" Not very bad, I guess. Cassius fell with him.
He's comin' in the cutter."
"Tell Duncan, quick. He's in the barn. I've ex-
pected that colt would do something."
When Lincoln felt his mother's arm round his neck,
his e\es were dim with tears. He had never seen her
look like that, so white and drawn. Mr. Stewart was
verv grave, also, as he lifted his son out of the sleigh,
for the limp leg was plainly broken.
" Saddle Rob," he said to Milton, " and get a doctor
as quick as the Lord'll let you." Milton was in the
saddle and clattering down the road before his chum
was fairlv in his bed. Ranee stayed with him till the
doctor came.
CHAPTER XXVI
LINCOLN GOES AWAY TO SCHOOL
Lincoln had known little about sickness up to this
time, and the sickness and confinement which followed
produced a great change in him. To be stretched on a
bed like a trussed turkey, helpless and drawn with pain,
while Owen and Tommy, blowsy with health, were
enjoying the sun and air, was very hard to bear. For
many days he lay in his mother's dim little room, unable
even to turn himself, his bones weary and sore with
contact with the mattress, till his ruddy color faded out,
his arms grew thin, and his hands almost translucent.
The hearty, noisy boy became as weak and dependent
and querulous as a teething child.
It was a wonderful trial to him. It taught him
patience and self-reliance, for he was necessarily a great
deal alone. His mother had her work to do, and so did
Owen and his father, but Tommy, with his queer little
ways, came to be a great solace to him. Ranee and
Milton and Shepard Warren, and others of his school-
mates came of a Saturday to see him, sliding into the
room awkwardly to say, —
" Hello, Link, how are you .? " but they only stayed
a few minutes and vanished into the outer sunlit world
from which he was barred. Their hearty dislike for
sickness made his lot all the harder by contrast. Each
403
404 Boy Life on the Prairie
day the outside world seemed farther away and more
beautiful to him.
Sometimes lying alone, with all the family absent, he
heard the jingle of sleigh-bells, and the singing of young
girls, and his heart grew sore and he wept. In the
sound of those young voices lay all the splendid winter
life, from which he was shut out, and which it seemed
he was never again to join. He sometimes reproached
them in his heart for being so unmindful of his pain
and weariness.
His brain was very active — too busy, in fact, for his
good. Hopes, aspirations, plans, hardly articulate here-
tofore, now took shape in his mind. He was sixteen
years of age, and in his own mind quite grown up, and
the question of an education had come to dominate all
others. He did not like farm work. The mud and
grime and lonely toil connected with it made each year
more irksome, while the town and other trades and pro-
fessions grew correspondingly more alluring. Again and
again, when they were alone. Ranee and he had planned
ways of escape together.
Captain Knapp was secretly pleased to have his boy
ambitious, but hoped to keep him with him in spite of
education. He had yielded the fall before, and Ranee
was attending school in Rock River Normal School,
intending to fit himself to teach. Milton had also
secured this privilege, but Mr. Stewart held out.
" You have all the education you need," he said, " if
you're going to farm, and I don't intend to fit you to
be a shyster lawyer in a small town."
Lincoln goes away to School 405
All these things the helpless boy turned over in his
thoughts as he lay stretched on his bed. The coming in
of Ranee or Milton added fuel to his fire, for they were
full of talk concerning their school life. Their hands
were growing soft and supple, their best coats being
worn every day fitted better, for the boys accommodated
themselves to the garments. They wore standing
collars and fashionable ties, and their shoes were polished,
and all these changes were eloquent of a world where
hands were somethino; more than hooks with which to
steady a plough or push a currycomb. " I'll be with
you next year, boys, or bust a tug," he said resolutely.
Mrs. Stewart sympathized with him in the way of
mothers, but knew too little of the world to believe
that her boys could earn a living in any other way than
by farming. She counselled patience, saying, " Things'll
come around by and by," which was a favorite phrase
with her.
As soon as he was able to write, Lincoln composed a
letter to his Uncle Robert, who was a carpenter and
joiner in Ripon. To him Lincoln unconsciously ap-
pealed with boyish directness, telling of his hurt, and
of his hope of being able to go to the Seminary the
coming year. A few days later, he was surprised and
deeply pleased to receive a letter in reply, in which his
uncle said, "Times are slack just now, and I think I'll
run out and see you."
The following Tuesday he came, a big, red-bearded
man, like his brother Duncan in some ways, but gentler,
more meditative. He was a good deal of a student,
4o6 Bov Life on the Prairie
and had been a notable fiddler in his youth, but had
given it up because it made him discontented with
sawing and hammering. " A4y theory is, if you can't
do the best thing in life, do the next best," he said once
in speaking of life's problems.
He had visited his brother's family several times since
their removal to the prairie, for he was very fond of
children, and had none of his own. He often remarked
of Lincoln, "He'll be an orator — this lad," and this
time he came with a definite proposition to make con-
cerning his fa\orite nephew.
" See here, Duncan," he said, almost at once, " you've
a discontented, ambitious boy on your hands. He don't
like farming, he's just at the age when a schooling is
necessarv. Why not let him come home with me .''
He can go to school in season, and help me at my trade
during vacation. Marv and me have no children at all,
and you have three and more a-comin'. You couldn't
hold this boy more than five years more, anyway, and I
can do for him at small expense what you don't feel
able to do at all."
The good mother was at first profoundly saddened by
this proposal, but Robert assured her that Lincoln could
come home any time she sent for him, and gradually she
came to the point of consenting. Duncan took a very
practical view of it. He had held two very spirited
arguments with Lincoln, wherein the boy declared with
great emphasis : " I will not wear out my life milking
cows. I hate it. Part of farming I like, but I am go-
ing to have an education in something else beside hauling
Lincoln goes away to School 407
out manure." Duncan knew that his boy was leaving
him, anyway, and that Robert would be made happier by
having Lincoln come into his lonely life. He had
Owen and Tommy, and Owen, at least, had promised
to follow in their father's footsteps.
It was an anxious moment when the result of their
argument was communicated to Lincoln. He was sit-
ting in an easy chair, with his school books beside him,
as his father and mother came in from the kitchen.
His mother had tears in her eyes, but his father merely
blew his nose as he said, —
" Well, Lincoln, we've decided to let you go home
with Robert as soon as you're able."
As he looked at them in stupefaction, his book
slipped from his fingers, and his mother came over
and, stooping down, kissed his hair, and put her arm
about his neck. Tears were on his own cheeks as he
said, —
" I won't go, mother, if you don't want me to."
Then Duncan said, " Come in, Rob ; we've told
him."
Robert Stewart came in briskly. '<• Well ! Well ! "
he said loudly. " What's all this crying about ?
We're not going to put him in jail. Come now, if
you're going to take it so hard as all that, I back
out."
But this sadness was only momentary, after all. Mrs.
Stewart resumed her serenity of manner, and nothing
further was said about the matter, so far as the parents
and the boys were concerned.
4o8 Boy Lite on the Prairie
After a few days' visit Robert returned to Ripon, sav-
ing just as he was leaving, " Now take care of yourself,
boy, and be ready to come on in April."
There was another moment of sadness when he told
Ranee and Milton about it. Ranee looked very glum
and said nothing, but Milton cried out : —
" Criminv ! that's a deadner on us. I thought sure
you'd be with us next spring. Well, it's a good chance
for you. You can go to college now, sure."
*' That's what I will," Lincoln stoutly replied.
He was able to read now, and life began to be less
wearisome. He read — read anything — the Toledo
Blade^ The Ledger^ The Saturday Nighty " Ivanhoe,"
"The Farmer's Book," Milton — anything at all. As
he began to grow stronger he set himself to study, going
over his books in earnest, to keep fresh in them. He
thought of nothing else but the new life opening up for
him. Sometimes he was sad at the thought of leaving
home, and there came moments when the great world
outside seemed about to open up for him. He grew
rapidly in intellectual grace during these months of
confinement.
At last when the sun of March had melted the snow
from the chip-pile, he crawled forth into the open air
for the first time, the ghost of his old-time self, a pale,
sad boy on crutches, with big, wistful brown eyes sweep-
ing the horizon. The prairie chickens were whooping
on the knolls, ducks were again streaming northward,
and the hens in the chip-pile were caw-cawing as of
old. On the south side of the house a little green grass
Lincoln goes away to School 409
shone in the sun. It was all so beautiful, so good to
see and hear and feel, that the boy was dumb with
ecstasy. It was as if the world were new, as if no
spring had ever before passed over his head, so sweet
and awesome and thrillingly glorious was the good old
earth. The boy lifted his thin face and big sombre
eyes to the sky, his nerves quivering beneath the touch
of the wind, the downpour of the sun, and the vibrant
voices of the flying fowl. Life at that moment ceased
to be simple and confined — at that moment he entered
upon his young manhood.
The prairies allured him as never before, as the day
for leaving them drew near, but at the thought of part-
ing from Ranee and Owen and his mother, a big lump
filled his throat. Why was it that an act so wise, so
beneficial as this one seemed, should now become so
filled with painful sacrifice ? He puzzled and suff'ered
over this. It lessened the pain only a hair's weight to
say, " I'll be back at Christmas." The present sorrow
outweighted all future promise of joy.
Seeding was in full drive on the Saturday when he
went over to say good-by to Ranee. The sky was
softly, radiantly blue, and two cranes were weaving
wondrous patterns against a radiant cloud, wheeling
majestically, uttering their resounding notes — the walls
of heaven seemed to vibrate to their calls ; frogs were
peeping in the marshes, the chickens were beginning
their evening chorus. Robins were singing from the
tops of the Lombardy poplars which he had planted.
The boy's heart was big with emotion, and as he stood
4IO Boy Life on the Prairie
waiting for his comrade, it seemed as if he could not
say the cruel words, "good-by."
Ranee saw him afar off and waved a hand, but he
was driving the seeder and was obliged to watch his
wheel-track closely. He wheeled his machine before
he spoke.
"You don't look like a workingman. I didn't
know it was Sunday," he said, with a smile.
Lincoln's eyes did not lighten. " I am going to-
morrow," he said, looking away on the plain.
Ranee made no reply till he had filled the seeder-box
with wheat. " I thought it was next Monday."
" No, Pm going to-morrow."
" Well, I wish I was going, too."
" I wish you was," was all Lincoln could say, and
then they were silent again.
" When you coming back ? "
" Oh, Christmas time, I guess."
There was another silence, then Ranee said : " Well,
this won't do for me." He took up the reins. " Write
and let me know how you like it."
"You bet! You must write, too."
" All right, I will. G'wan, Bill ! " and he was off
for another round.
Lincoln walked away with the pain in his throat
growing more intolerable each minute. It was as if
he were about to die and leave the beautiful world and
all his loved ones behind.
All wept when he said good-by next day. His
mother clung to him as if she could not let him go, and
Lincoln goes away to School 411
at last fairly flung him away, and ran out of the room.
The trip on the railway train, the return to his native
State, helped him to take the obstruction out of his
throat, but some subtle presence instructed him in these
words : " Ton are leaving the prairie forever."
LADRONE
And, " what of Ladrone " — do you ask ?
Oh ! friend, I am sad at the name.
My splendid fleet roan! — The task
You require is a hard one at best.
Swift as the spectral coyote, as tame
To my voice as a sweetheart, an eye
Like a pool in the woodland asleep.
Brown, clear, and calm, with color down deep,
Where his brave, proud soul seemed to lie —
Ladrone ! There's a spell in the word.
The city walls fade on my eye — the roar
Of its traffic grows dim
As the sound of the wind in a dream.
My spirit takes wing like a bird.
Once more I'm asweep on the plain,
The summer wind sings in my hair ;
Once again I hear the wild crane
Crying out of the stemming air;
White clouds are adrift on the breeze,
The flowers nod under mv feet,
And under my thighs, 'twixt my knees.
Again as of old I can feel
The roll ot Ladronc's firm muscles, the reel
Of his chest — see the thrust of fore-limb
And hear the dull trample of heel.
412
Ladrone 413
We thunder behind the mad herd.
My singing whip swirls Uke a snake.
Hurrah ! We swoop on like a bird,
With my pony's proud record at stake —
For the shaggy, swift leader has stride
Like the last of a long kingly line ;
Her eyes flash fire through her hair ;
She tosses her head in disdain ;
Her mane streams wide on the air —
She leads the swift herd of the plain
As a wolf-leader leads his gaunt pack,
On the slot of the desperate deer —
Their exultant eyes savagely shine.
But down on her broad shining back
Stings my lash like a rill of red flame —
Huzzah, my wild beauty ! Your best;
Will you teach my Ladrone a new pace ?
Will you break his proud heart in a shame
By spurning the dust in his face ?
The herd falls behind and is lost.
As we race neck and neck, stride and stride.
Again the long lash hisses hot
Along the gray mare's glassy hide —
Aha, she is lost ! she does not respond.
The storm of her speed's at its best —
Now I lean to the ear of my roan
And shout — letting fall the light rein.
Like a hound from the leash, my Ladrone
414 Boy Life on the Prairie
Swoops ahead —
We're alone on the plain !
Ah ! how that wild li\ ing comes back !
Alone on the wide, solemn prairie
I ride with my rifle in hand,
My eyes on the watch for the wary
And beautiful antelope band.
Or sleeping at night in the grasses, I hear
Ladrone grazing near in the gloom.
His listening head on the sky
I see etched complete to the ear.
From the river below comes the boom
Of the bittern, the trill and the cry
Of frogs in the pool, and shrill crickets' chime.
Making ceaseless and marvellous rhyme.
But what of his fate F Did he die
JVhen that terrible tempest was done ?
When he staggered xvith you to the Ught^
And your fight with the Norther ivas won^
Did he live like a guest ever rnoreF
No, friend, not so. I sold him — outright.
What ! sold your preserver^ your mate^ he who
Through ivind and ivild snoiv and deep night
Brought you safe to a shelter at last F
Did you^ when the danger had end^
Forget your dumb hero — your friend?
Ladrone 415
Forget ! no, nor can I. Why, man,
It's little you know of such love
As I felt for him ! You think that you feel
The same deep regard for your span.
Blanketed, shining, and clipped to the heel.
But my horse was companion and guard —
My playmate, my ship on the sea
Of dun grasses — in all kinds of weather,
Unhoused and hungry sometimes, he
Served me for love and needed no tether.
No, I do not forget ; but who
Is the master of fortune and fate ?
Who does as he wishes and not as he must ?
When I sold my preserver, my mate,
My faithfullest friend — man, I wept.
Yes, I own it ! His beautiful eyes
Seemed to ask what it meant.
And he kept them fixed on me in startled surprise.
As another hand led him away.
And the last that I heard of my roan.
Was the sound of his shrill, pleading neigh!
O magic west wind of the mountain,
0 steed with the stinging mane,
In sleep I draw rein at the fountain,
And wake with a shiver of pain ;
For the heart and the heat of the city
Are walls and prison and chain.
Lost my Ladrone — gone the wild living —
1 dream, but my dreaming is vain.
CONCLUSION
When he next saw Sun Prairie, Lincoln was twenty-
four years of age, a full-grown man, with a big mustache.
Shortly after he went to Ripon his father's younger
brother died, and Duncan returned to the homestead in
Wisconsin, and Lincoln had never made his promised
visit to his friends on Sun Prairie.
It was a changed world, a land of lanes and fields and
houses hid in groves of trees which he had seen set out.
No one rode horseback any more. Where the cattle
had roamed and the boys had raced the prairie wolves,
fields of corn and oats waved. No open prairie could
be found. Every quarter-section, every acre, was
ploughed. The wild flowers were gone. Tumble-
weed, smartweed, pigweed, mayflower, and all the
other plants of semi-civilization had taken the place of
the wild asters, pea-vines, crow's-foot, sunflowers, snake-
weed, sweet-williams, and tiger-lilies. The very air
seemed tamed and set to work at the windmills which
rose high above every barn, like great sunflowers.
Ranee met him at the station, and together the two
young men rode up the lanes which they had known so
well. It was mid June, and the corn was deep green
and knee high. The cattle in the pasture, sleek and
heavy, did not look up as the teams rolled by. "They
416
Conclusion 417
are not much like the cattle of the range," said Lin-
coln. "It seems a long time ago, don't it ? "
Ranee smiled in his old-time fashion, and slowly
said, "Seems longer to me than to you. I've spent all
my vacations at home."
Lincoln sighed a little. *' I wish I had taken Madi-
son instead of Ripon, but it was a ground-hog case.
How do you like teaching ? "
" First rate. It gives me time to read, and pays as
well as anything I can get into."
"Do you go back to Cedarville next year? "
" No ; since I wrote you I've got a better thing. I go
as assistant principal of the Winnesheik High School."
" That's good. I hate teaching. It looks now
as though I'd have to be a shyster lawyer, as father
says ; but I'm going into politics a little. They're
going to run father for county treasurer, and that will
put me in line for promotion. That's Old Man Bacon's
place. Old man must be dead. He never would fix
up like that."
"Oh, Lime Gilman did that. He's moved in on the
old man. Old Bill fell and hurt his back, and can't do
anything but just hobble around."
" That's hard lines for him ; what a worker he was !
I'd like to see Marietta. Is she as handsome as ever ? "
"Pretty near. Lime takes care of her. They have
the best furniture in the township. Lime is the same
easy-going chap that he used to be."
As they approached the old place, Lincoln's heart
beat distinctly faster. It was like rediscovering a part
41 8 Boy Life on the Prairie
of himself to retrace his steps. He could shut his eyes
and see every slope, every ravine, every sink-hole; but
when he came opposite the house, it was less familiar
than he had hoped. The trees had grown prodigiously.
The Lombardys towered far over the house and barn.
The wall was shaded by the maples he had planted, and
the wind-break had become a grove. Something mystical
had gone out of it all. It was not so important as his
imagination had made it. It was simpler, thinner of
texture some way, and he drove on with a feeling of
disappointment.
The great change of all lay in the predominance of
the dairy interest. The wheat-fields were few and small,
the pastures many, Lincoln spoke of this.
"Yes," replied Rancc, "when the wheat crops began
to fail, all these changes came with a rush. The country
went from grain to cows in a couple of years. I used
to notice a difference every year when I came home.
Less wheat, more cows."
"That's Hutchison's place; looks very much the
same. Ben at home ? "
" No, Ben went to Dakota. There's a big exodus
just now for the Green River valley. Hum Bunn —
you remember Hum and our fight? — well, he's out
there, and Doudney and the Dixons and Peases. Milt
thought of going, but he married Eileen Deering and
got a county office, and that settled him."
" I heard about that. Milt will take care of himself.
He'll joke his way into Congress sure as eggs raise
chickens, as Old Man Doudney used to say."
Conclusion 419
The country looked rich and tame. Every acre was
cultivated, — all loaded with hay or corn or timothy; no
sign of the prairie grass existed. Along the lanes clover
had taken root, the hazel bushes had been cut down
by the grading-machine.
" I'd like to see a strip of wild meadow. Is it all
gone.''" asked Lincoln.
"I don't know of any — not a rod. There may be
some off to the north where we used to hunt wolves.
We might go and see."
" Let's do it. It would do me a heap o' good to see
some of the good old weeds and grasses. I suppose a
fellow'd have to go clear to the Missouri River to see a
vacant quarter-section."
"I don't believe there is any vacant land in the state
— there may be some in the extreme northwest, over
beyond the Coon Fork. Last year brought a tremen-
dous rush of settlement, and I hear everything was taken
clear throuo-h to the line. Norwegians came in swarms.
Well, there's the Knapp place — not so much changed ;
trees have grown up, that's all."
Lincoln began to smile. " I used to stand very much
in awe of your sisters. Is Agnes at home ? "
"Yes. Bess is in Dakota. She married Ed Bartle."
*' I remember your writing to me about it. I used to
think they were the handsomest women in the world."
" Owen, I hear, is a great sprinter," said Ranee, after
a little pause.
"Owen is all right," said Lincoln. "He's 'short
stop ' in the college nine, and has held first place on the
420 Boy Life on the Prairie
two hundred and twenty yards course for three years.
He's actually had his name in the Chicago papers and is
quite set up about it. He's a good all-round athlete,
but not a bit ambitious otherwise."
" I'd like to see the boy. He was a queer little josy
when we all rode horses on the prairie. By the way,
do you ride ? "
" Haven't been on a horse since I left here."
" Neither have I. It might be a curious job to dig
up some saddles and ride out to-morrow."
" Good ! I'm with you."
As they drove into the yard, Captain Knapp came
out to see them. He looked much older than Lincoln
had expected, but he held his place much better than
most of his old acquaintances. Lincoln had grown
to him, but not beyond him. He was very cordial in
his quiet way, and led his guest to the house, where
Agnes, a pale, thin girl of twenty-eight or thirty, stood
to meet them.
She was very pretty in spite of her pallor, and met
Lincoln with outstretched hands.
"We had almost given up expecting you," she said.
As they sat talking that evening, Lincoln was aware
of curious changes in his own mind. The familiar
voices of these friends sank deep into his old self.
Agnes seemed two persons. At one moment he saw
her with the eyes of his awestruck boyhood, and the
next she was a pale young woman, almost painfully shy
in his presence. Captain Knapp was as aloof as ever.
He, too, had grown. His deep black eyes, his slow,
Conclusion 421
thoughtful voice, his well-chosen words, kept him in his
place — a man of really deep thought and serene out-
look on the world.
The parlor was unchanged except that mixed with
the spatter-work were some engravings which Ranee
had sent home from time to time. Ranee slept in the
same room on the east side of the house, and when
Lincoln looked in, he had a return to his old boyish
timidity before his hero.
He lay awake till late, musing over the many changes
eight years had brought to Sun Prairie. Change was
going on just as fast during the six years he had lived here,
but he had not observed it. Coming back in this way,
all the deaths, births, marriages, and departures made up
a long list which saddened and bewildered him. It was
as if some supporting, steadying hand had been with-
drawn, and the wheels of life had hurried suddenly in
their courses. This was an illusion, but he could not
brush the thought aside.
In the talk that followed next day, he learned that
many of the younger sons were away at school or had
become successful professional men. The prairie had
seemingly turned out a large number of bright minds.
The Grove district had done as well.
In the afternoon Ranee took Lincoln out to the barn,
and after some search dug a couple of rusty saddles out
of a barrel, and with a look of mingled sadness and
amusement said : —
" From the looks of these saddles the rats thought
we were done with them. I guess they're right. It
422 Boy Life on the Prairie
would lame us, anyhow, to ride these big horses ; if
we had Ladrone and Ivanhoe, the case would be dif-
ferent. I guess we'll have to drive."
Ladrone and Ivanhoe ! As he spoke these words,
Lincoln's heart leaped and his throat swelled. The
plain with all its herds, grasses, wild-fowl, and fruits,
were associated with those words. Both those beauti-
ful creatures were dead and their saddles covered with
rust. Nothing else could have spoken as those dusty,
rusty, rat-eaten pieces of leather.
Both boys were silent as they rode away on their
search for a little piece of the vanishing prairie. They
drove along dusty, weedy lanes, out of which the grass-
hoppers rose in clouds. Big hay-barns and painted
houses stood where the shacks of early settlers once
cowered in the winds of winter. Pastures were where
the strawberries grew, and fields of barley rippled where
the wild oats once waved. The ponds were dried up ;
the hazel bushes cut down ; not even a single tree
of the tow-heads existed, except along somebody's line
fence.
The king-bird was still on the wing, haughtv as ever,
and a few gophers whistled. All else of the prairie had
vanished as if it had all been dreamed. The pigeons,
the plover, the chickens, the vultures, the cranes, the
wolves — all gone — all gone !
At last, along a railway track that gashed the hill and
spewed gravel along the bottom of what had been a
beautiful green dip in the plain, the two friends came
upon a slip of prairie sod.
Conclusion 423
Lincoln leaped from the carriage with a whoop of
delight and flung himself into the grass.
"Here it is! Here they are — the buffalo berries,
the rose bushes, the rattlesnake weed, wild barley, plums
— all of it."
Carefully, minutely, the prairie boys studied the flowers
and grasses of the sloping banks, as they recalled the
days of cattle-herding, berrying, hazel-nutting, and all
the other now vanished pleasures of boy life on the
prairies, and on them both fell a sudden realization of
the inexorable march of civilization. They shivered
under the passing of the wind, as though it were the
stream of time, bearing them swiftly away ever farther
from their life on the flowering prairies. Then softly
Ranee quoted : —
" We'll meet them yet, they are not lost forever ;
They lie somewhere, those splendid prairie lands.
Far in the West, untouched of plough and harrow.
Unmarked by man's all-desolating hands."
A NEW EDITION
ROSE OF DUTCHER'S COOLLY
BY
HAMLIN GARLAND
Cloth. i2mo. $1.50
WILLIAM DEAN HO WELLS
" I cherish with a grateful sense of the high pleasure they have
given me Mr. Garland's splendid achievements in objective
fiction."
THE CRITIC
" Its realism is hearty, vivid, flesh and blood realism, which
makes the book readable even to those who disapprove most
conscientiously of many things in it."
THE NEW AGE
"It is, beyond all manner of doubt, one of the most powerful
novels of recent years. It has created a sensation."
KANSAS CITY JOURNAL
"After the fashion of all rare vintages Mr. Garland seems to
improve with age. No more evidence of this is needed than
a perusal of his ' Rose of Butcher's Coolly.' One might sum
up the many excellences of the entire story by saying that it
is not unworthy of any American writer."
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
^ Fifth Avenue
NEW YORK
THE TRAIL OF THE GOLD SEEKERS.
A RECORD OF TRAVEL IN PROSE AND l^ERSE.
BY
HAMLIN GARLAND,
Author of "Rose of Diitcher^s Coolly^'' etc,
12mo. Cloth. $1.50.
Chicago Evening Post : It is safe to say that never again will
the North witness such a furious rush of men as that which took
place between August, 1897, and June, 1898. The wild places
are rapidly being settled, and the last great march of pioneers
has probably taken place in America. No one is likely to write
a finer lyric of the (Klondike) trail than Hamlin Garland's record
of travel in prose and verse.
Philadelphia American : It is the one book on that subject
that will survive all those that have been written. ... It is
evident that, though Mr. Garland didn't bring any gold back
with him, he brought something infinitely better, and it is all
contained here in this handy little volume.
Inter-Ocean : This volume deals in facts, and for this it is
valuable, but to the general reader it is much more than that.
It is a charmingly told story, abounding in incidents and descrip-
tions, and never a dull page.
Boston Saturday Evening Gazette : He gives some admira-
ble and most vivid sketches of Western character, and seems to
have come in contact with a rare number of originals whom he
describes with rare art and humor. It is a most readable and
entertaining book.
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
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