night, even in the summer time. And what it is in winter let train hands
on the Texas Pacific declare. But in the warmer season, when northers
have ceased to blow, it has an intoxicating, thrilling quality only
comparable to the breath of the higher South African veldt. It is good
to be alive then, and the glory of the morning is an excellent and
moving glory since it wakes one to swift activity and the very joy of
being. For long months I had worked upon a ranch in the Southern
Panhandle, and now felt healthy energies stirring within me. In Western
America the very blood of life is unrest; to remain is difficult; the
difficulties of motion are its joys, though hardship and privation be
the migrant's life for ever. For me the ever-present prairie grew a
little dull; for sheep were sheep always, and there were mountains afar
off and strange, bright rivers and the dark, odorous forests of the
north. Though my boss was of the order that remains and accumulates
wealth he understood when I declared that I must go or die. On the third
day hereafter he and an old confederate "Colonel" (discharged as "Full
Private" doubtless) and I and a Mexican sheep-herder moved southward
towards the railroad. We travelled on horseback and in a two-mule buggy,
and with the movement discontent dropped away from me and all was well
with the world, even though I knew not what weeks or even days should
bring me. That night we camped thirty miles from the ranch and thirty
from the little town we called a city, which had grown up in the
sand-dunes by the banks of the Texan Colorado. We lighted our scanty
fire at sundown. It was a typical camp of the later days upon the high
prairie, and a not untypical set of men. Our talk was of horses and
steers and sheep and of Virginia, whence our grizzled colonel came, and
the Mexican sat and smoked and said nothing, save with his beady,
brilliant eyes, as he made his yellow papers into flat _cigaritas_. And
at nine o'clock silence and sleep fell upon us while the mules and
horses champed their dry fare beside the buggy. For me the sleep of the
just was my due, for I had worked hard that day. Yet I woke suddenly
before the dawn, and woke all at once, refreshed and alive. It was still
dark and yet I knew it was not properly night, for the time sense in me,
measured healthily by refreshment, told me of the passage of time, and I
arose from my blankets. As I walked out among the shadows softly my
companions made no motion, and the horses whinnied coaxingly, as though
I were still the guardian of their provender. The wind was cool, even
cold, as it blew from the north, and on every side the vast prairie
stretched like a mysterious dark green sea, with here and there a shadow
heaving itself out of the infinite level. I walked lightly with a happy
sense of detachment and well-being, almost with the feeling of a quiet
resurrection.
Elsewhere and in cities one awakes reluctantly; the trumpet of the Angel
of the Day is heard with deaf ears; but here in the keen coolness, the
vast greenness, the infinite interspace of prairie betwixt city and
city, I was awake and keen and cool as dewy grass, and as peaceful as
the stars even before the Day blew her horn upon the verge of a far
horizon. This was summer, but it was not dawn yet; the year was young
even in August because this was night; and I was part of the hour and
the year. It was well with the world and well with me as I left the camp
and marched snuffing the air like an antelope and with as keen a joy.
And as I walked I was aware again that it was not night, for there was a
Day-spring in the East, a pale glow like a whitish mirage, and star by
star the night departed, till I stayed and looked back to the west and
saw the silent waggon under which my sleeping comrade still lay
unconscious of the hour. And slowly, very slowly the Glory of the
Morning broke out of bondage and covered the glory of the night until
the pallor of the new-born day was fine pale gold, and the gold was
under-edged with rose, and the rose grew insistently and shot upward
like a great corona upon the eclipsing earth. And as I stood, balancing
lightly upon my light feet, bathed with dew, I moved my lips and greeted
Day without conscious words, being even as my own ancestor, who perhaps
had no words of greeting. And so upon that solitude the day was born
like a new miracle with only one visible worshipper, and the sun rose up
like a star and was then a convexed line of fire, and presently it ate a
little into the prairie; and the world was light and rose and green and
very near me, so that I sighed a little and then walked back briskly to
the camp and raised a loud shout, not to the sun, but to my fellow-men.
For the Glory had departed and there was the work of the day to be done.
THE END
_Colston & Coy. Limited, Printers, Edinburgh._