Hillas nodded. Smith grinned. "Dan's right. Blood will tell, even to
damning the rest of us."
He sat down on the bench. "I understand more than I did, Hillas,
since--you crawled back after me--out there. But how can you stand it
here? I know you and the Clarks are people of education and, oh, all the
rest; you could make your way anywhere."
Hillas spoke slowly. "I think you have to live here to know. It means
something to be a pioneer. You can't be one if you've got it in you to
be a quitter. The country will be all right some day." He reached for
his greatcoat, bringing out a brown-paper parcel. He smiled at it oddly
and went on as if talking to himself.
"When the drought and the hot winds come in the Summer and burn the
buffalo grass to a tinder and the monotony of the plains weighs on you
as it does now, there's a common, low-growing cactus scattered over the
prairie that blooms into the gayest red flower you ever saw.
"It wouldn't count for much anywhere else, but the pluck of it, without
rain for months, dew even. It's the 'colors of courage.'"
He turned the torn parcel, showing the bright red within, and looked at
the cupboard and window with shining, tired eyes.
"Up and down the frontier in these shacks, homes, you'll find things
made of turkey-red calico, cheap, common elsewhere----" He fingered the
three-cornered flap, "It's our 'colors.'" He put the parcel back in his
pocket. "I bought two yards yesterday after--I got a letter at Haney."
Smith sat looking at the gay curtains before him. The fury of the storm
was dying down into fitful gusts. Dan stirred, looked quickly toward the
bed, then the window, and got up quietly.
"I'll hitch up. We'll stop at Peterson's and tell her to come over." He
closed the door noiselessly.
The traveler was frowning intently. Finally he turned toward the boy who
sat with his head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed.
"Hillas," his very tones were awkward, "they call me a shrewd business
man. I am, it's a selfish job and I'm not reforming now. But twice
to-night you--children have risked your lives, without thought, for a
stranger. I've been thinking about that railroad. Haven't you raised any
grain or cattle that could be used for freight?"
The low answer was toneless. "Drought killed the crops, prairie fires
burned the hay, of course the cattle starved."
"There's no timber, ore, nothing that could be used for east-bound
shipment?"
The plainsman looked searchingly into the face of the older man.
"There's no timber this side the Missouri. Across the river, it's
reservation--Sioux. We----" He frowned and stopped.
Smith stood up, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. "I admitted I was
shrewd, Hillas, but I'm not yellow clear through, not enough to betray
this part of the frontier anyhow. I had a man along here last Fall
spying for minerals. That's why I'm out here now. If you know the
location, and we both think you do, I'll put capital in your way to
develop the mines and use what pull I have to get the road in."
He looked down at the boy and thrust out a masterful jaw. There was a
ring of sincerity no one could mistake when he spoke again.
"This country's a desert now, but I'd back the Sahara peopled with your
kind. This is on the square, Hillas, don't tell me you won't believe
I'm--American enough to trust?"
The boy tried to speak. With stiffened body and clenched hands he
struggled for self-control. Finally in a ragged whisper, "If I try to
tell you what--it means--I can't talk! Dan and I know of outcropping
coal over in the Buttes." He nodded in the direction of the Missouri,
"but we haven't had enough money to file mining claims."
"Know where to dig for samples under this snow?"
The boy nodded. "Some in my shack too. I--" His head went down upon the
crossed arms. Smith laid an awkward hand on the heaving shoulders, then
rose and crossed the room to where the girl had stumbled in her vigil.
Gently he touched the darkened streak where her shoulders had rubbed and
blurred the newspaper print. He looked from the relentless white desert
outside to the gay bravery within and bent his head, "Turkey-red--calico!"
There was the sound of jingling harness and the crunch of runners. The
men bundled into fur coats.
"Hillas, the draw right by the house here," Smith stopped and looked
sharply at the plainsman, then went on with firm carelessness, "This
draw ought to strike a low grade that would come out near the river
level. Does Dan know Clark's address?" Hillas nodded.
They tiptoed out and closed the door behind them softly. The wind had
swept every cloud from the sky and the light of the Northern stars
etched a dazzling world. Dan was checking up the leaders as Hillas
caught him by the shoulder and shook him like a clumsy bear.
"Dan, you blind old mole, can you see the headlight of the Overland
Freight blazing and thundering down that draw over the Great Missouri
and Eastern?"
Dan stared.
"I knew you couldn't!" Hillas thumped him with furry fist. "Dan," the
wind might easily have drowned the unsteady voice, "I've told Mr. Smith
about the coal--for freight. He's going to help us get capital for
mining and after that the road."
"Smith! Smith! Well I'll be--aren't you a claim spotter?"
He turned abruptly and crunched toward the stage. His passengers
followed. Dan paused with his foot on the runner and looked steadily at
the traveler from under lowered, shaggy brows.
"You're going to get a road out here?"
"I've told Hillas I'll put money in your way to mine the coal. Then the
railroad will come."
Dan's voice rasped with tension. "We'll get out the coal. Are you going
to see that the road's built?"