"The Drifter".
And Spring came back to the Northland. The trees and bushes commenced to
bud. As if by magic the brown winter tints of the water and frost bogged
prairie were transformed into a daintily colored green carpet by the
sprouts that the slumbering grasses sent forth into the balmy air, while
here and there a venturesome flower spread its multi-colored petals
towards the warming rays of the sun, and lastly the song birds, the
infallible sign of nature's complete resurrection, came home from the
Southland and rebuilt their storm-torn nests amid the warbling of
gladsome notes, their jubilee song of happiness and satisfaction.
With these signs of the re-awakening of Nature there came to me the
strange "Call of the Road". Heretofore it had never come as strongly as
it came at this time, when after a long and monotonous winter's toil the
rattling trains as they shot over our section, the darting birds as they
foraged their subsistence, and even the thumping of the wheels under our
hand car seamed to beckon me to follow their example and move away.
Although I tried with might and main to resist its call, gradually the
bunk house became a dungeon, the endless prairie a prison, and the
Dakotas themselves became entirely too small to hold me, and when the
pay car stopped to hand me my month's wages, I could no longer withstand
the temptation to follow the "Call of the Road" and be up and gone. It
was a hard matter for me to bid Foreman McDonald and his family
farewell, and the last promise I made before I left was, that should
circumstances permit I would find my way back in the fall to again take
my place with the section crew, that until then would be held open for
my return.
I drifted to Saint Paul and then down to hustling St. Louis, and from
there to beautiful San Antonio, and when the binders cut wide swaths
into the ripening, top-heavy, golden grain on the banks of the Rio
Grande, I found myself back in my chosen element, toiling long hours
during the day in the harvest field, and then until way into the night
dancing the fantastic fandango with dark eyed Mexican Senoritas, to the
accompaniment of twanging guitars and squeaking mouth organs, and
staking my come-easy, go-easy earnings against the "Monte" layouts dealt
by swift-handed Mexican Senores, who had crossed the river from the
Mexican side for the double purpose of helping to harvest the wheat and
trimming, by means of "sure thing" games, the American harvesters.
Then came the harvest dance, the festival which indicated that upon the
ranch the harvest had been finished, and that I was no longer wanted.
So I drifted northward, following the ripening wheat, ever toiling, ever
squandering, and always attending the harvest dance which celebrated my
exit.
When the inclement weather set in, for want of something better to do, I
drifted back towards the lone prairie section reservation to take my
place in the ranks of those who tamp the ties and tighten the
"fish-plates," which hold the rails together.
I had hoboed a freight train as far as the water tank, that stood a
scant six miles east of the section reservation, and now I walked
leisurely through familiar scenery towards my former winter home, hoping
every minute to surprise Foreman McDonald and his crew at work on the
track. That day, however, they happened to be repairing on the other end
of the section, so I managed to slip unobserved up to the front door of
the "big" house, where intending to surprise Mrs. McDonald by my
unexpected return, I knocked on the front door. To our mutual delight
Mrs. McDonald opened the door, and after giving me a glad welcome, asked
me into the house. She soon had one of her best meals steaming in front
of me, having correctly surmised that a man riding freight trains and
walking six miles, needed a hearty repast. Although I was more than
anxious to inquire about many items of interest, especially if my long
journey had not been made in vain, as my place might have been filled by
some other fellow in search of employment, she seemed to completely
ignore my presence, for she was only in the dining room during the brief
moments when she placed the filled plates upon the table.
I finished my dinner, and then, uninvited by Mrs. McDonald, but just as
she had taught me a year ago, when I helped her to do the chores about
the house while convalescing from my freezing experience, I carried the
soiled dishes into the kitchen. Noticing that she was still in full
mourning, I made careful inquiries as to whether any trace had been
found of the missing child during my absence, to which she sadly
replied that nothing had ever become of the land-wide search that had
been made. Her apparent reticence caused my curiosity to mount high, and
I followed up my question by pleasantly inquiring as to Foreman
McDonald's present state of health. She looked at me with an expression
of terror in her eyes, as if my words had stabbed her to her heart, but
did not answer, and a moment later she could not answer had she wanted
to, for heart-broken sobs choked her voice, but she beckoned to me to
follow her to the front porch and there she pointed her trembling finger
in the direction where they had buried my pal, Peoria Red, and there I
could plainly see three small, white crosses. Steeled by the many other
woes that she had during a long and dreary year borne with fortitude,
she temporarily overcame her weakness, and with a clear voice she
counted: "One, two, three," and then the poor woman paused, it seemed
the strain had almost been too much for her, and then in a faltering,
almost inaudible voice she continued: "Peoria Red, Helen McDonald, Henry
McDonald," and then collapsed.
I carried her limp, unconscious form into the parlor, and after some
efforts managed to bring her out of the faint, and when she had fully
recovered so as to withstand the ordeal, she slowly repeated to me the
story of her summer's experience, how Foreman McDonald, unable to be
without his Helen, had wasted to a shadow of his former self; and in
August had died of a broken heart, and how only the thoughts that upon
her own frail self had now devolved the duty to provide for their three
small sons had given her the strength to resolve not to succumb to a
like fate. Her voice brightened when she told me that in all her misery
there had come one tiny streak of good fortune to her, a poor, helpless
widow cast upon the mercy of the world with three children. The new
section foreman, whom the company had sent to fill the vacancy caused by
Mr. McDonald's death, proved to be a crusty, old bachelor of perhaps
sixty-five who no doubt appreciating a few extra comforts at his age,
gladly consented to have Mrs. McDonald remain and continue taking charge
of the section house, and the boarding crew, in return for a small
stipend and a shelter for herself and her fatherless children.
When in the evening the new foreman and the crew came home from their
work, Mrs. McDonald spoke a word in my favor, and although there was no
need of an additional laborer, the new foreman, after he had heard my
story, engaged my services.
Until the thawing of the snow I faithfully worked upon the section, but
when Spring again set in with full force, there came another attack of
the strange fever that drove me onward every year, and, following the
"Call of the Wanderlust", I left for the South, having again promised
that with the approach of winter I would be on hand to fill my place
with the section crew.
I drifted along with the harvest, but after the wintry storms that swept
over the endless expanse of the plains had twisted off the last leaves
which the autumn had burnished to a fiery red, and the nights became too
chilly to make out-of-door camping a pleasure, I found my way back to my
North Dakota section reservation, which I now considered my regular
winter quarters.
I arrived at the section house almost at the time when the hand car was
due to return for supper, and intending to surprise Mrs. McDonald,
knowing that in all the world it would be the poor widow who would give
me, a homeless harvester, a glad welcome, I slipped almost noiselessly
up to the porch and knocked on the door, but no answer came to my
repeated knocks. Then I tried to open the door, which during Foreman
McDonald's time had never been known to be locked, and to my surprise I
found it bolted. Thinking that perhaps the widow had gone to purchase
provisions, I walked around to the rear of the building and tried every
door, but found that all of them were locked. A miserably starved black
cat, that made a ten foot leap when she first espied me, was the only
sign of life on the place, while the many rag-stuffed broken window
panes plainly indicated that great changes had been made at the "big"
house since my last departure. There was something uncanny in the
silence about the place, and a strange gloom seemed to have settled over
everything that foreboded to me only evil happenings.
For want of something better I resolved to await the return of the
section crew from their day's work, and walked back to the front of the
house and took a seat upon the steps. I casually glanced across the
tracks to where my pal, Peoria Red, was sleeping his eternal sleep, and
I was almost stunned by surprise when instead of the three crosses which
I had left behind when in the Spring I drifted to the Southland, I
counted five of those ill-omened messengers of death. In vain I tried to
solve the riddle of these added graves, and was about to cross over to
the grave plot beyond the tracks, hoping to find some inscriptions upon
the new crosses that would give me a key to the new tragedies that I
knew must have caused their presence, when the hand car with the
returning crew came into view, and forgetting all other matters, I
walked down to the tool house to meet it and was soon cordially welcomed
by my old comrades who had "held down" their jobs through the hot summer
months.
The same foreman, who had taken Foreman McDonald's place was still in
charge of the section reservation, and he good naturedly ordered the
crew to take proper care of me at the bunk house, where quickly a hot
supper, which the laborers cooked and served themselves, was made ready,
a welcome meal for a man who had not tasted a mouthful since the early
morning.
After supper had been cleared away and everything had been made snug
about the house, my chance came to inquire why I had found everything
about the reservation topsy-turvy, as compared with former days, and I
especially inquired as to the well-being and whereabouts of Mrs.
McDonald and her three youngsters, and the following is the
information one of the laborers gave me:
[Illustration: I walked around to the rear of the building where a
miserably starved cat, that made a ten foot leap when she first espied
me, was the only sign of life on the place.]
Mrs. McDonald, with the assistance of her three sons, who had grown into
strong lads, had given to the crew of the section house the same
motherly care that characterized those days when yet her husband's
presence and praises spurred her on to make her best efforts. Every
school day she saw her boys ride off to the school house in the early
morning upon ponies she had purchased for them, as the school was five
miles south from the railroad.
Amid the work of the household and the enjoyment that her three sturdy
sons gave her, as they fairly adored their mother and did everything to
cause her to forget the sorrowful past, gradually the deathly pallor of
Mrs. McDonald's face and the lusterless eyes with their heavy black
rings beneath them, gave way to red cheeks and the same brilliancy that
were hers when she was yet the proud mother of baby Helen. Some days,
especially when the darkness had hidden those ominous crosses from her
vision, she would sing the songs she used to sing in the days of her
happiness, which showed to us rough laborers the fight this weak woman
was waging with herself trying to forget, for the sake of her sons,
those many sad days which had been hers, so that her mourning for things
that had been, would not embitter their future.
Almost unawares the Summer followed the Spring, and soon came the glad
days for the school children--the annual vacation of the schools--and
the three sons of Mrs. McDonald came home to rest from their studies.
Gradually unrest, especially in Joe and Jim, the twins, could be noted,
as they found time hanging heavily upon their hands. They begged the
foreman to permit them to work with the section crew during the months
of their vacation, but as they had not sufficient strength to do the
strenuous work required of a section laborer, the foreman had to refuse
their request. Then they tried to find employment amongst the scattered
ranches which here and there commenced to break the monotony of the
prairie, but as the planting had been finished long ago, and the harvest
would not commence until after school had re-opened, their appeals were
in vain. Then they discovered that we had stacked a lot of useless,
decayed railroad ties in the backyard of the section house, and they
reduced these into stove lengths. After this task had been finished,
despair seemed to have taken hold of the boys as there was nothing for
them to do to occupy their time.
Idleness breeds mischief. One morning when their good mother wondered
why Joe and Jim did not show up at the breakfast table, she sent Donald,
her eldest boy, upstairs to arouse them. He returned and reported that
they were not in their room. Her hasty investigation proved that they
had not only not occupied their beds, and their savings bank had been
emptied of its contents, but the broken-hearted mother was nearly
frantic when she found that her thoughtless sons had disappeared without
leaving even a short note apprising her of their intentions, or at least
bidding her a brief farewell.
This was the last and most cruel blow an unkind fate had inflicted upon
poor, suffering Mrs. McDonald, and it was days before they were sure
that she would not succumb. In the meantime the foreman and every other
friend of the sorrow-stricken widow put every bit of legal and police
nachinery they could command into motion, trying to find at least a
trace of the twins, and although for weeks they searched far and wide,
not a single clue as to their whereabouts was found, nor was a single
line or letter received from them by their mother, who prayed for weeks
for this favor of Heaven, while at the same time her very appearance,
her returned pallor and her lusterless eyes told far better than any
words how this last calamity was slowly but none the less certainly
eating out her heart.
It was almost a month after their disappearance that the bereaved,
helpless and hopeless mother received her first clue as to her sons
whereabouts. A freight train had been held up on the siding on account
of a bad washout, and the crew, finding itself short of provisions had
come up to the section house and had requested Mrs. McDonald to prepare
for them a meal. While they were dining, one of the brakemen caused Mrs.
McDonald to fall into a dead faint when he in a rough but jocular way
remarked to her: "I bet you, Mrs. McDonald, that your Joe and Jim are
having the time of their lives down in Minneapolis, as I haven't seen
them around the reservation since the night I found them hoboing my
train into Grand Forks, although our train has passed through here many
times since that day. They told me then that they were bound for the
"Twin Cities" to pick up a fortune. Have you heard from them lately,
Mrs. McDonald? Are they prospering?"
The police authorities of Saint Paul and Minneapolis were notified, and
although correspondence was exchanged, nothing was accomplished. For two
more months Mrs. McDonald waited in vain, hoping against hope that at
least they would send a letter to appease her piteous fears as to their
fates, while in the meantime she faded away to a mere shadow of her
former self, and then suddenly decided to quit the reservation forever.
It seemed as if she wished to tear herself away from the place which had
brought to her such merciless misfortune. She decided to move into
Canada, in those days a newly discovered Eldorado, to which all those
turned who were willing to work and to hustle while tempting fickle
fortune.
On the evening preceding the day Mrs. McDonald and Donald were to
depart, after we had finished our suppers, we presented her with a purse
of fifty dollars, that we had made up among ourselves, as a token of the
high esteem in which we held the unfortunate woman, and too, to assist
and cheer her on the journey into an unknown land. Then we filed back to
our bunk house, and while we sat about its single room, the gloom that
seemed to hold us, spoiled all desire to open a conversation, as the
widow's departure meant the loss of one who had been almost a mother to
us rough and homeless laborers. Just as we made ready to retire someone
knocked on the bunk house door, and thinking that perhaps some wandering
tramp had the nerve to bother us at this late hour in the night, we
roughly ordered the intruder to be gone. Instead of going, the knocks
continued, and angry at the persistence of the person, we pulled the
door open, and to our complete surprise found that it was Mrs. McDonald
who had knocked for admission. Realizing the great honor she was
conferring upon us, we politely bade her to enter and asked her to be
seated. She was attired in the dress in which she intended to make the
journey on the following day, and its sombre black of deepest mourning,
aided by the yellow light of our lamp, transformed the pallor of her
haggard face into an almost ghastly white. We patiently waited for her
to open the conversation, of course expecting that she had come to thank
us once more for having presented her with the purse. It was some time
before she could find her voice and then in the saddest tone that weaver
heard, she begged of us strong men, as the last favor she would ever ask
of us, to make for her two more white crosses, the same as stood above
the other graves, and to deliver them to her in the early morning, and
then, as if this last humble request had completely shattered her
nerves, she tottered, an almost lifeless wreck, out into the moonlit
night.
None of us uttered a single word, it seemed we had been stunned by the
solemnity of the poor widow's request, but we opened the bunk house door
to see that no harm befell her upon her trip back to the "big" house. To
our surprise, instead of going to the section house she tottered over to
where Foreman McDonald lay buried, and we saw her pray long and
earnestly by the little mound that held his remains; then she arose and
wearily dragged herself to the place by the railroad track where little
Helen's garments had been found, and here once more she sank upon her
knees in prayer, and then staggered back towards the "big" house,
where, just before she entered the gate of the fence surrounding the
yard, she knelt a third time to utter a prayer. While we silently stood
and watched and pitied the poor broken-hearted woman, she heavily keeled
over. We rushed to her side to give her assistance, and found she had
fainted away, but in her unconsciousness she muttered the words "Joe"
and "Jim", and we readily understood for whom her last farewell prayer
had been offered.
We carried her into the section house where we revived her, and then we
returned to the bunk house and until late into the night sawed, hammered
and whittled those two crude crosses into shape, supposing Mrs. McDonald
intended to take them with her into Canada, to keep as a memento of her
sad experiences.
In the morning after we had been served with breakfast, we handed her
the crosses which we had carefully wrapped in paper so that upon her
journey their ominous outlines would not recall unpleasant memories and
cause her needless anguish. Then we went back to the bunk house to await
the arrival of the train and assist in loading aboard the bagggage that
Mrs. McDonald was to take with her into Canada. Only a few minutes had
elapsed, when to our surprise, the foreman called us to the door and
commanded us to follow him, Mrs. McDonald and Donald, who carried the
two crosses we had made for his mother.
We followed them to the little graveyard upon the right-of-way, and
while we stood by bareheaded, frail Mrs. McDonald planted the two new
crosses at equal distances from the other three, and we saw that upon
one of them was written "James" and upon the other "Joseph." After she
had scattered prairie flowers over all the graves, we offered up silent
prayers, and then with not a single dry eye in our sad procession, we
returned to the reservation.
In the afternoon we flagged the westbound passenger train, and after
wishing her God speed, we tenderly placed the sobbing widow and Donald
aboard, bound for the then little known and undeveloped western section
of Canada, and when the tail end of the train passed us, a sportily
dressed fellow, who, with other passengers, was sitting upon the
observation platform of the last Pullman, upon perceiving those plain,
white crosses, which glared so conspicuously above the green sward of
the prairie to the right of the train, while he pointed his finger
derisively in their direction, made some remarks to the other
passengers, and laughed. He did not know the story of the tragic events
which caused their presence nor that under four of the little crosses
the hopes and happiness of poor Mrs. McDonald lay buried.
[Illustration: Five crosses look over the railroad tracks]