we were going. In a short while we got our suit-cases and we were off,
but as we drove past the freight depot, the stranger we had noticed
came down the steps and asked us to let him ride out with us. I really
felt afraid of him, but Mrs. O'Shaughnessy thinks herself a match for
any mere man, so she drew up and the man climbed in. He took the lines
and we snuggled down under the robes and listened to the runners,
shrill screeching over the frozen surface.
We had dinner with a new settler, and about two o'clock that afternoon
we overtook a fellow who was plodding along the road. His name was
B----, he said, and he pointed out to us his broad fields and herds. He
had been overseeing some feeders he had, and his horse had escaped, so
he was walking home, as it was only a couple of miles. He talked a
great deal in that two-mile trip; too much for his own good, it
developed.
For the first time since B---- climbed into our sleigh, the stranger
spoke. "Can you tell me where Mrs. Belle B---- lives?" he asked.
"Why, yes," our passenger replied. "She is a member of our little
flock. She is slightly related to me, as you perhaps noticed the name,
and I will show you to her house."
"Just how is she related to you?" the stranger asked.
"That," the man replied, "is a matter of protection. I have _given_ her
the protection of my name."
"Then she is your wife, is she not?" the stranger asked.
"You must be a stranger in this country," the man evaded. "What is your
name?"
But the stranger didn't seem to hear, and just then we came opposite
the residence of the Bishop, and the man we had picked up in the road
said, "That is my home, won't you get out and warm? My wife will be
glad to get acquainted with you ladies."
We declined, as it was only a short distance to the house of the man
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had come to see, so he stayed in the sleigh to show
the stranger to the house of Mrs. Belle B----. I can't say much for it
as a house, and I was glad I didn't have to go in. The stranger and
B---- got out and entered the house, and we drove away.
Next morning, as we returned through the little village, it was all
excitement. Bishop B---- had been shot the night before, just as he had
left the house of Mrs. Belle B----, for what reason or by whom no one
knew; and if the Bishop knew he had not told, for he either would not
or could not talk.
They were going to start with him that day to the hospital, but they
had no hopes of his living.
When we came to Mrs. Belle's house, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy got out of the
sleigh and went into the house. I could hear her soothing voice, and I
was mighty glad the poor, forlorn woman had such a comforter.
* * * * *
I was so _very_ glad to get home. How good it all looked to me! "Poop
o' Roome" has a calf, and as we drove up to the corral Clyde was trying
to get it into the stall with the rest. It is "Poop's" first calf, and
she is very proud of it, and objected to its being put away from her,
so she bunted at Clyde, and as he dodged her, the calf ran between his
feet and he sat down suddenly in the snow. I laughed at him, but I am
powerfully glad he is no follower of old Joseph Smith.
Mrs. Louderer was enjoying herself immensely, she loves children so
much. She and Clyde hired the "Tackler"--so called because he will
tackle _any_ kind of a job, whether he knows anything about it or
not--to paper the room. He thinks he is a great judge of the fitness of
things and of beauty. The paper has a stripe of roses, so Tackler
reversed every other strip so that some of my roses are standing on
their heads. Roses don't all grow one way, he claims, and so his method
"makes 'em look more nachul like."
A little thing like wall-paper put on upside down don't bother me; but
what _would_ I do if I were a "second"?
Your loving friend,
ELINORE RUPERT STEWART.
XXVI
SUCCESS
_November, 1913._
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
This is Sunday and I suppose I ought not to be writing, but I must
write to you and I may not have another chance soon. Both your letters
have reached me, and now that our questions are settled we can proceed
to proceed.
Now, this is the letter I have been wanting to write you for a long
time, but could not because until now I had not actually proven all I
wanted to prove. Perhaps it will not interest you, but if you see a
woman who wants to homestead and is a little afraid she will starve,
you can tell her what I am telling you.
I never did like to theorize, and so this year I set out to prove that
a woman could ranch if she wanted to. We like to grow potatoes on new
ground, that is, newly cleared land on which no crop has been grown.
Few weeds grow on new land, so it makes less work. So I selected my
potato-patch, and the man ploughed it, although I could have done that
if Clyde would have let me. I cut the potatoes, Jerrine helped, and we
dropped them in the rows. The man covered them, and that ends the man's
part. By that time the garden ground was ready, so I planted the
garden. I had almost an acre in vegetables. I irrigated and I
cultivated it myself.
We had all the vegetables we could possibly use, and now Jerrine and I
have put in our cellar full, and this is what we have: one large bin of
potatoes (more than two tons), half a ton of carrots, a large bin of
beets, one of turnips, one of onions, one of parsnips, and on the other
side of the cellar we have more than one hundred heads of cabbage. I
have experimented and found a kind of squash that can be raised here,
and that the ripe ones keep well and make good pies; also that the
young tender ones make splendid pickles, quite equal to cucumbers. I
was glad to stumble on to that, because pickles are hard to manufacture
when you have nothing to work with. Now I have plenty. They told me
when I came that I could not even raise common beans, but I tried and
succeeded. And also I raised lots of green tomatoes, and, as we like
them preserved, I made them all up that way. Experimenting along
another line, I found that I could make catchup, as delicious as that
of tomatoes, of gooseberries. I made it exactly the same as I do the
tomatoes and I am delighted. Gooseberries were very fine and very
plentiful this year, so I put up a great many. I milked ten cows twice
a day all summer; have sold enough butter to pay for a year's supply of
flour and gasoline. We use a gasoline lamp. I have raised enough
chickens to completely renew my flock, and all we wanted to eat, and
have some fryers to go into the winter with. I have enough turkeys for
all of our birthdays and holidays.
I raised a great many flowers and I worked several days in the field.
In all I have told about I have had no help but Jerrine. Clyde's mother
spends each summer with us, and she helped me with the cooking and the
babies. Many of my neighbors did better than I did, although I know
many town people would doubt my doing so much, but I did it. I have
tried every kind of work this ranch affords, and I can do any of it. Of
course I _am_ extra strong, but those who try know that strength and
knowledge come with doing. I just love to experiment, to work, and to
prove out things, so that ranch life and "roughing it" just suit me.
THE END
* * * * *