1
The eastbound train had gone shrieking through Brailsford Junction
pulled by two engines to buck the drifts. Bundles of Madison papers
were tossed from the baggage car as the train passed, and the
engineer had waved at Nat Cumlien, the station master.
Now in a corner of the station half a dozen rosy-faced young
rascals fought and laughed as they stuffed their paper sacks.
"Wish I had about ten kids," thought Stud, watching the boys while
waiting for the long over-due four-thirty-nine from Chicago. "Six
or eight sons and a batch of girls."
He sighed as he looked out at the unexpected November blizzard.
The telephone wires sang a high monotonous tune. Snow drifted in
rippled waves over the tracks and the cinder piles beyond. The
station windows rattled in the forty mile gale and the telegraph
instrument kept up its incessant, monotonous tattoo.
"Gol darn! There never was nothing in my life I wanted like a lot
of youngsters. Big strapping boys to help me with the cows and
crops. Good looking girls to help Sarah."
He spat reflectively at the roaring stove, shifted his position on
the bench.
"Peter's a good boy, and he certainly ran that thrashing machine
slicker than a greased pig. But now he's figuring on spending all
his mortal days in a trailer factory."
He couldn't make the boy out, always mooning around and sighing.
Not mean nor hard to handle, but with a head full of silly ideas.
Maybe all he needed was to sow his wild oats.
Peter'd make a good enough farmer if he'd put his mind to it. He
was smart enough, and strong enough, and a real good worker. But
Stud doubted that he would ever see the boy back on the farm again.
He wished he had a dozen big sons, strapping fellows who could
handle a quarter section at sixteen. He wished it were as easy to
get human young ones as it was calves, colts and lambs.
Why, if a mare didn't foal you tried another mare. If a cow didn't
calve you turned her into beef steak. And any stallion, bull or
ram could serve half a hundred females of his species.
"Wish I had a harem," thought Stud; "I'd get me all the children a
man could want. We've got enough victuals to feed about forty on
that farm. I'd breed 'em big and feed 'em plenty. It'd be a sight
for sore eyes to see my litter."
Stud was awaiting Early Ann's train from the big city. She would
be getting off the cars any time now all rosy and fresh and pert
with her tongue running away with her and her feet fairly dancing.
Young, healthy, and going to waste. What was the matter with young
fellows these days, didn't they know a good thing when they saw it?
Early Ann was just what Stud needed around the farm: a good little
filly that'd make a good mare.
"Shoot, such a way to talk," thought Stud, spitting at the glowing
stove. "Can't breed humans like you breed cattle. Got to think
about marriage vows and morality and all that sort of business."
Nevertheless the thought stayed with him,--how he was getting along
in his forties and how he wanted more boys. Often that winter he
would stop work in the snowy fields where he was husking corn to
look out across the frozen lake and sigh.
"Four-thirty-nine'll be another half hour late," said Nat Cumlien,
coming out of his cage to throw half a hod of soft coal into the
stove. "Got some big drifts down near Janesville."
"Four-thirty-nine ain't been on time in ten years, drifts or no
drifts," said Stud.
"Well, I do my best," said Nat.
He went out onto the platform and changed the lantern, threw a
couple of bundles of hides and some milk cans onto the truck, came
in blowing on his fingers and brushing off the snow.
"Whew, that'd freeze the ears off a brass monkey," said Nat. He
retired to his cage and his game of solitaire.
After an eternity the big headlight cut through the snow and the
muffled whistle shook the windows. Stud hurried out to the platform
as the train wheezed in and ground to a stop. Early Ann jumped
off, laughing and squealing. He carried her baggage to the cutter
and they streaked home through the storm to the accompaniment
of jingling sleigh-bells and creaking snow beneath the polished
runners. Deeply covered with robes and sharing each other's warmth,
they shouted to each other above the storm.
It was good to be home again, good to be turning in at the
Brailsford gate with the windows of the farmhouse shining on the
snow. Stud hurried off to unhitch while Gus helped Early Ann with
her bundles.
Sarah stood on the back stoop shivering and wiping her hands on her
apron.
"Welcome home, Early Ann," she cried.
"Here I am safe and sound, Mrs. Brailsford. I had a wonderful time."
"Did you see the stock yards?" Gus wanted to know. "Or Sears,
Roebuck's?"
"It'll take a year to tell all I saw," said Early Ann. She went
into the warm, lamp-lit kitchen fragrant with the smells of pie
and coffee and roasting meat. They had a surprise for Early Ann.
Gus had caught a raccoon in one of his traps. They were having a
raccoon supper with sweet potatoes and corn bread.
"Hope it tastes as good as it smells," said Early Ann. "Here, Mrs.
Brailsford, let me help with everything."
"Change your dress first, child."
Throughout supper she regaled them with the wonders of Chicago: the
room she had had six stories above the street with electric lights
and a brass bed, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running
water. She had lived like a queen. She had slept until eight
o'clock every morning, and once she had taken her breakfast in bed.
"And you should see the limousines and street cars, and boats on
the river! They got bridges that lift up, and buildings five times
as tall as the windmill," said Early Ann.
"Did you see the Board of Trade?" Stud wanted to know.
"No I didn't," the girl admitted, "but I saw a woman smoking a
cigarette, and couples doing the tango on a glass dance floor. It
was lovely the way they served food, with white napkins and pretty
glass and silver."
"I'm so glad you went," Sarah said. "It'll be something to think
about until the day you die."
"Such pretty dresses in the stores," said Early Ann. "I sure do
wish you could have been along, Mrs. Brailsford. I bought myself a
new corset and.... Oh, I shouldn't."
"Don't mind me," said Gus.
"There was a big parade for Emmeline Pankhurst who came all the way
from London to talk about woman suffrage, and I was as close as
across this room from her. She looked like a fighter all right."
"She's a criminal," said Gus, "she oughta be hanged."
"She's a great leader and a fine woman," said Sarah, quietly.
"They'll treat her like a real saint before she dies."
"And everybody was all aflutter about General Booth coming to town,
and I went to a drama called 'Lead, Kindly Light.' It was awful
uplifting."
When she couldn't think of another thing to tell them, Early Ann
brought some packages to the table.
"This is for you, Mrs. Brailsford."
Sarah opened the pretty box with trembling fingers, saying, "You
shouldn't have done it, Early Ann. I don't deserve a thing." And
when she found silk stockings in the box she started to cry.
"Why, I never had a pair of silk stockings in my life," she said.
"I'll have to watch you, now you got silk stockings," said Stud.
"You'll be running off with Vern Barton or somebody the first thing
I know."
Sarah looked through the silk at the lamp and rubbed the smooth
stuff against her cheek. She kept them treasured in her bureau
drawer, but never wore them to the day she died.
The present Early Ann had bought for Gus was a set of arm garters
and matching green tie. The hired man grinned like a Cheshire cat
when he opened the box.
Stud was given a magnificent, fancy white vest of imported
bird's-eye weave with detachable pearl buttons.
"Never seen anything so classy in all my born days," said Stud,
slipping into the vest. He put his watch in the watch pocket,
draped his gold log-chain across his middle, and paraded in front
of the kitchen mirror, holding up the lamp to get the full effect.
"That's mighty nice of you, girl," said Stud. "I reckon I ought to
kiss you for that."
"Stanley," said Sarah, in laughing disapproval, "I reckon you
better not."
Early Ann said she would keep Peter's present until she saw
him. Meanwhile she had one more gift for the entire family. She
unwrapped a small stereopticon on which she had squandered seven
dollars. Sarah put up a sheet at one end of the kitchen, while
Early Ann lighted the coal-oil lamp in the little black box and
blew out all the other lights in the room. There in the warm, dark
kitchen they spent two magic hours. Over and over again they called
for "Rock of Ages," "Niagara Falls," "The Statue of Liberty," "The
Sinking of the Maine" and "The Washington Monument." Altogether
there were twenty-four slides in full color.
"Next time you go to Chicago you got to take me," said Gus, pouring
Early Ann another mug of cider.
* * * * *
It was not until Early Ann saw Peter, and gave him the gold watch
she had bought him, that she told the other side of her trip to
Chicago.
"I was scared half the time and so lonesome. I felt like coming
home on the first train. I didn't know a single soul and the city
was so big and noisy. You don't catch me going to Chicago all alone
again."
"And I'll bet you spent all your money," Peter growled accusingly.
"I got two hundred and three dollars left," said Early Ann,
averting her eyes. "I feel kind of wicked when I think how I've
squandered ninety-seven dollars. But I ain't going to spend one
more cent until the day I'm married. I've got to have something
left to help set up housekeeping."
"Who you going to marry?" Peter asked.
"Oh, I got a fellow," lied Early Ann. She wanted to egg him on, and
she was a trifle disappointed at the casual way in which he had
taken it.
2
One windy November afternoon when Stud and Gus were cutting
firewood in the grove beside the lake, Stud looked across the bay
and was surprised to see smoke streaming from the chimney of the
old hunting lodge on Lake House Point. The blizzard, which had
flung ten-foot waves against the crumbling cliff, had stripped the
leaves from oak and elm and maple, sent them in cascades down every
ravine and gully, left the old building naked to the eye.
"Looks like we got a neighbor," said Stud.
"Better not monkey with my mushrat traps."
"What'd you do?"
"Pepper his behind with rock salt from the old ten gauge."
"You talk big," Stud admitted. "Why don't you mosey over and see
who it is?"
"Not me," said Gus. "It ain't healthy."
Stud grinned. He knew that Gus would rather sleep in a cemetery or
break a looking-glass than set foot on Lake House Point.
Long ago the limestone bluff had been the stronghold of Indians.
Later a small colony of Mormons, hated alike for their polygamy and
their horse-thieving, had made the Point their hide-away until
chased from the country by the indignant settlers. In the eighties
a club of rich Chicago duck hunters had put up the present lodge
where shortly before the turn of the century a bloody murder had
occurred. No one went near the lodge now. The porches were drifted
deep with leaves, the old boathouse was strewn in whitened planks
the length of the beach. The bluff was overgrown with sumac, ivy
and grapevines. Scrub oak extended from the edge of the cliff to
the marsh behind the Point.
Old women, children and hired hands believed implicitly that ghosts
could be seen at the broken windows of the lodge and in the rotting
halls and paneled rooms. Stud scoffed at all these old-wives'
tales, but admitted he would rather live on his own side of the bay
than on that bluff with its unpleasant memories.
"Might be that feller," suggested Gus.
"The one prowling around here nights?"
"Might be."
"Might be, but probably ain't."
Possibly Gus was right. Stud had an uneasy feeling that a man
by the name of Joe Valentine was living in the lodge, trapping
perhaps, catching fish, stealing a few chickens.
Stud had heard of Joe Valentine from Timothy Halleck who in
tracing Early Ann's claim to the Horicon farm had run across Joe's
trail. Later Early Ann herself had admitted the existence of this
stepfather, and had confessed to Stud that it was Joe who had been
annoying her. She told Stud something of her early life, her days
with Joe and her mother in the shack near Rockford, Illinois, her
mother's death, and her flight from her stepfather.
She said she had been ashamed of Joe, of his treatment of her
mother, and of his attitude toward _her_. She had wanted to
forget the past, to live where no one would know that she was the
illegitimate child of Bung Sherman, or the stepdaughter of Joe
Valentine.
Stud thought of Joe as more of a nuisance than a menace.
Nevertheless he was determined to investigate his new neighbor on
Lake House Point.
Other matters intervened. Ulysses S. Grant had acquired a taste for
chicken, and almost every unlucky fowl who got into his pen was
caught by the wily boar and eaten alive. Stud had to put chicken
wire outside the planks of the boar's pen to save Sarah's flock
from destruction.
Then there was the problem of Peter and Maxine Larabee. Stud was
of the opinion that the boy would never be a man until he learned
the facts of life first-hand, but Sarah was worrying herself into
another nervous breakdown. Stud made a futile trip to town. Peter
was belligerent and uncommunicative. Stud was outwardly bellicose
but secretly sympathetic. The net result was a widened breach
between father and son, although Stanley led Sarah to believe that
he had put some sense into the boy's head.
Brailsford had momentarily forgotten his plan to investigate the
old hunting lodge when one morning--the day before Thanksgiving--he
found a man setting a trap at the end of a hollow log just out of
sight of the house over the crest of Cottonwood Hill.
"Trying to catch one of my 'coons?" Stud asked amiably.
The man whirled to face him, his hand on his sheath knife.
"Nothing to fight about," said Stud. "What's your name?"
"Joe Valentine."
"You ain't the fellow who's moved in over on the Point?"
"That's my business," said Joe.
"I'll make it my business. You been prowling around here quite a
bit lately."
"I got a right to catch my living," said Joe. Every night he looked
across the bay at the glowing windows of the Brailsford farm,
thought of his stepdaughter over there, all the good things to eat.
"I got a right," he said.
"I got a right to run you off my land."
"You ain't got a right to Early Ann."
"Get off my place before I get mad," Stud said. He had his
womenfolks and cattle to think about.
Joe whipped out his knife and prepared to spring. Like sticking a
pig, he thought. Like the time his father killed his kitten with a
butcher knife. He had buried the cat and put flowers on its grave.
After a few days he dug it up to see if it had gone to heaven.
Joe leapt. Stud sidestepped, put out his foot. Joe tripped, fell
into the bushes, turned a complete somersault and was up again,
knife in hand.
"You're going to hurt yourself with that knife," Stud said. "We
don't fight with knives in these parts."
Stud never gouged or bunted, but he could see that anything went
with Joe Valentine.
Joe sprang again. His knife slashed empty air. Simultaneously
something like a sledge hammer hit him behind the ear. He
staggered, whirled.
More careful now, the men feinted, maneuvered, circled for
advantage.
Joe doubled over as though caught with pain. Stud rushed. Joe
tossed a handful of snow and fine gravel into Stud's eyes.
Half-blinded, Stud leapt back. He felt the knife rip into his right
shoulder and the blood wet his shirt. Bright blood sprinkled the
dirty snow.
Now Stud was fighting in earnest. As Joe came on, Stud aimed a kick
at the knife arm, missed, fell. Joe tried to hamstring the fallen
giant, was lifted bodily into the air by a great backward kick.
They were up again, feinting and charging. Stud grabbed the knife
arm in a clinch, held it as in a vise, slugged with his other fist
Joe's head and body. Joe brought up his knee. Sickness swept over
Stud in a great wave.
They were rolling on the ground now, panting and straining,
tearing up the bloody snow and gravel. Stud caught Joe's arm in a
hammer-lock. Joe screamed in pain, dropped his knife. Stud grabbed
for a full Nelson, and Joe slipped out of his grasp like a snake.
Stud kicked the knife out of reach as they leapt to their feet.
They slugged, sweat and panted. Two men on a hilltop overlooking
the world. Murder in their hearts.
Joe was quicker and more slippery, a tricky boxer, fast with rabbit
punches, kidney punches, jabs below the belt. Stud had the power of
a bull, was tireless and able to take almost limitless punishment.
He sent haymakers crashing to Joe's lantern jaw, heart, and solar
plexus. His shoulder was throbbing, but he battled on.
Joe made a crying sound through his torn lips. Suddenly he was
afraid. He turned and ran down the hill through the hazel brush,
sobbing, breathless.
Stud did not follow. He watched Joe Valentine bee-lining for Lake
House Point. Slowly he doubled his right arm and felt the huge
bicep.
"That's the last we'll see of Joe Valentine," he told the giant
cottonwood. He chuckled as he strode back toward the house.
3
With silos full, full haymows, bins of grain; with sheds loaded to
the last beam with tobacco; with the farm shipshape and bright with
new paint they faced the coming winter.
The provision cellar was loaded with earthenware crocks of
pickles, sauerkraut and preserves; glasses of jelly; mason jars of
cherries, applesauce, plums, pears, raspberries, and strawberries.
The smokehouse reeked of ham and pleasant hickory smoke from
morning until night. Hams hung in the cellar beside the slabs of
bacon, and the small white ears of popcorn. In a dry bin with a
wooden floor were hickory nuts and walnuts by the bushel with a few
pecks of butternuts and hazel nuts to furnish variety.
Apple cider in brown jugs, wild grape juice in tight bottles, with
just a gallon or two of blackberry cordial in case of sickness
lined the lower shelf of the can cupboard. There were bins of sand
for carrots, beets and celery. Pie pumpkins in one corner, hubbard
squashes in another.
And although Stanley Brailsford longed for more children, wished
that Sarah could have better health, and mourned the rift which
was slowly arising between himself and Peter, he had much to be
thankful for as he said the blessing over his Thanksgiving dinner.
Above all he thanked God most devoutly that he was the strongest
man in Southern Wisconsin and could provide for and protect his
womenfolks and cattle.