A hundred and sixty-five measured yards from the big pine in the meadow,
there was an icy spring. It bubbled out of sand so white that it seemed
to have great depth, and the overflow made its own little watercourse
that trickled into the creek. The spring was four feet wide by two and a
half deep, and Joe and Ellis made the watercourse a dividing line to
separate the land they took for themselves.
Joe went to the south, so that the great pine was on his property, and
he chose very carefully. A man needed enough land, but not too much and
Joe fronted his hundred and sixty acres on the creek. He wanted eighty
acres of the meadow for crop and pasture land, and he ran his property
back to the top of the slope so that he had eighty of timber. In
addition, he allowed ten acres for the road that would one day parallel
this creek. Snedeker had been right. The creek headed out two and a half
miles away and throughout its length was natural meadow land that needed
no clearing. Emigrants hadn't claimed it as yet because of the Indian
danger, but nothing could keep them from coming here when the threat
subsided. Some, sure of their ability to defend themselves, might come
anyway.
Ellis laid out his claim just as carefully, with a judicious selection
of meadow and timber, and between the two of them they owned a half mile
of timber and a half mile of meadow. It was much more land than they
needed for the present and as much as they were likely to need in the
future.
Joe worked with a happiness and contentment he had never known before,
and his pleasure was complete when baby Emma made a slow recovery. She
remained frail and she could not be as active as the other children, but
Emma nursed her carefully and watched her closely. She might have
traveled on, but all of them had lost all desire to travel. They had
chosen their home and they were happy with it, and the fact that it
meant working from the time the sun rose until it set again was accepted
as a part of things. There was a vast amount of work and never enough
time. However, next season there would be only routine farm tasks and
more leisure.
He stood back on the ridge and chopped cleanly a slender pine whose
ruffled top towered fifty feet above him. Joe chopped the last strip of
wood that held the pine erect and rested his ax on the needle-carpeted
ground while the pine swayed on its stump and fell. He wiped his
sweating brow. A little distance away he heard Ellis chopping a tree,
and Joe grinned.
There were as many trees as anyone could possibly want, but many were
centuries-old giants with massive trunks. They were too big for two men
to handle or for mules to drag, and splitting the trunks would mean a
great deal of work and require a lot of time. There was simply no time
to spare, so they had to search through the forest for trees that needed
no splitting.
Expertly, knowing precisely where to strike, Joe trimmed the branches
from his tree and cut the trunk in half. He fretted as he did so, and
wished that he were two men so he could do twice as much. They were
still camped in the meadow and a house was of the utmost importance. But
crops were necessary too, and every day at two o'clock Joe had stopped
all other work so he could plow. He let the felled tree lie where it was
and went to seek Ellis.
Joe had distrusted this slender young man at first, but he had come to
love him as his own. Ellis was still inclined to be reckless and
impulsive, but reckless impulse was the birthright of youth. However,
Ellis rose when Joe did and worked until it was too dark to work any
more. Ellis was striving toward a cherished goal. He and Barbara had set
no definite date but they wanted to be married before the summer was
over. But rather than build two houses when there was so much to be
done, it had been agreed to build just one with a room for the young
couple. They'd build a house for Ellis and Barbara when autumn brought
some relief from other work.
Ellis was trimming another pine when Joe found him. For a moment Joe
watched, taking sheer delight in the supple rhythm of the youngster's
physical efforts. Ellis had the rippling grace of a cat, and Joe thought
of his lovely daughter. Their marriage was right and good, as it should
be. Ellis turned to Joe and grinned.
"Loafing again, huh?"
"If you did half as much work as I do, the house would have been
finished yesterday."
"You and Hercules!"
"That's right," Joe agreed. "How about hauling some of this timber while
I work a bit more on the foundation?"
"Sure thing."
Axes swinging from their hands, they left the timber and descended into
the meadows. They had already selected the site for both houses, with
Joe's and Emma's on one side of the spring and Ellis's and Barbara's on
the other. However, due to the slope it had been necessary to level the
sites and the only tools they had for such work were picks and shovels.
Joe glanced down at his new farm.
Since this was to be a permanent home, and not just an overnight stop,
Emma and Barbara had busied themselves making it a comfortable one.
They'd rearranged the fireplace, made a table from a log Joe had split
for them, and even cushioned the chunks of logs that served as chairs.
Now, while the children threw stones into the creek so they could watch
the resulting splashes, Emma and Barbara were planting more vegetables
in the garden Joe had plowed. Tad, Joe thought wryly, was probably
fishing.
A vegetable garden had been first in order of importance because there
was little need to worry about the animals. The grass was tall and rich
and their discarded beds, thoroughly dried, as well as other grass Joe
had mowed already made a respectable hay stack. As soon as they got
time, if they ever did, Joe and Ellis would cut more. This season the
mules, the horse and the cow, could winter on hay. Next year there would
be grain.
Joe had plowed his vegetable garden near the creek, and it had been a
back-breaking job. First he had mowed all the grass as short as
possible, let it dry, raked it up, and added it to the hay stack. Then
it had required all the strength in Joe's arms and all the power the
mules had to turn the tough sod. Joe had plowed and cross plowed,
turning the sod under. But all the labor had been worth while.
The earth was rich, with very few stones, and already seedlings were
sprouting in it. Joe had purposely made the garden big enough not only
to supply his family, but also to provide a surplus which he hoped to
sell at Camp Axton. He couldn't imagine Major Dismuke planting any
gardens. Regulations didn't cover them.
Joe and Ellis walked down to the garden. Kneeling in the soft dirt,
patting a hill of corn in with her hands, Barbara might have been some
lovely young wood sprite as she glanced up at Ellis. Joe left them
alone--young lovers are not partial to sharing even one moment with
anyone else--and walked over to Emma.
There was something new about Emma, a deep and enduring quality rising
from both strength and happiness. She had conquered her shattering
fears, and her face showed the sweetness of her new self confidence. Joe
smiled down on her.
"By this time next week, darling, you'll be a housekeeper again."
"Oh Joe! I can hardly wait!"
"The logs are all cut. We can start building this afternoon. Of course
the furniture will be rough at first; Ellis and I will have to make it.
But if our crops are good next year, and I don't see how they can fail
here, we'll go into The Dalles or Oregon City and buy everything new.
That's the money Elias Dorrance would have had if we'd stayed in
Missouri."
She said, dazedly, "It's--it's hard to believe, isn't it? We've been
through so much, and now we're _here_! We're here, Joe--all of us!"
He bent to kiss her. "Well, this isn't building a house. I'd better get
busy."
He turned back toward the building site and as he did Ellis went to
bring the mules in. Joe felt a little sorry for him. Remembering his own
courting days, he knew that nothing was as fascinating or as important
to Ellis as Barbara, but Ellis was aware of the necessity for getting
things done. He was young in years but he had a sense of responsibility.
Joe caught up his pick and shovel and went to work.
They had planned a combined kitchen-living room and three bedrooms; one
for Ellis and Barbara, one for Tad and his brothers, and one for Joe and
Emma. Baby Emma would share with her parents until Barbara and Ellis
moved into their own house. Then she would have their room.
The main room would be in front, facing the creek, and the only door
would also be there. The rear would be divided into bed rooms. Until
there was time to lay puncheons, the floor would necessarily be dirt and
Joe had taken a cue from Snedeker's post. Though they would not have
Snedeker's advantage in looking through small windows from a raised
floor, the windows would be small and so placed that everything around
the cabin could be seen from them. Thus, in the event of an attack, they
would be able to shoot in any direction.
They had dug into the slope at the rear and leveled it out to the front,
but it was not exactly level. Joe drove stakes at either end, stretched
a cord between them and laid his level on the cord. He loosened dirt
with the pick, scooped it up in the shovel and threw it down the slope.
Ellis came with a drag of logs, left them beside the excavation and went
back for more. Joe got down on his hands and knees, leveled a small hump
and was satisfied. He leaned his pick and shovel against the wagon, took
his ax out of the tool box and began notching logs.
Once the building started, it went swiftly. Still working from dawn to
dark, Joe and Ellis built up the walls, laid the roof poles, and covered
the roof with shakes. Joe made a stone boat, a flat sledge and hauled
clay from a bed that was about a mile up the creek. While Joe and Ellis
worked on the inside partitions, Emma and the children started chinking.
The youngsters worked so enthusiastically on the lower cracks that in
places there was more clay than log.
Summer was well under way when they had their first visitor.
He came riding up from the Oregon Trail, a thin sliver of a man on an
enormous white horse. But though he was thin, he was a strong man.
Muscles rippled smoothly beneath his homespun shirt, and his smile was
pleasant. He slid from his big horse and spoke with a pronounced New
England twang.
"Howdy, folks."
"Hello!" Joe said warmly.
The thin man extended his hand. "My name's Winterson, Henry Winterson. I
live--" with a gesture of his thumb he indicated the entire west
"--about four miles out there."
"We're the Tower family," Joe introduced the individual members, "and
this is Ellis Garner."
"Glad to know you!" Winterson acknowledged. "Glad to know you!" He came
to Barbara. "Woo-hoo! Double glad! If I wasn't already married to
Martha, you wouldn't get away!"
"Careful," Joe grinned. "Barbara and Ellis are figuring on being married
before very long."
"Well, strike me down! We not only got close neighbors but there's going
to be a wedding! Martha will be plumb out of her mind when she hears
that! When's the big day?"