PRAIRIE LAND
The afternoon that has just been described was typical of the days
that were to follow as the immigrant party laboured its slow
pilgrimage into the Farther West. True, they entered on the very next
day a district having some pretence of settlement, where it was
sometimes possible to secure shelter for the women and children under
hospitable Mennonite roofs. The peculiar housekeeping principles of
this class of settlers, however, which involved the lodging of cattle
and horses in the same building with the human members of the family,
discouraged too great intimacy with them, and for the most part the
new-comers preferred the shelter of their own tent. They soon emerged
from the Red River Valley, left the vast, level, treeless plain
behind them, and plunged into the rolling and lightly wooded Pembina
region. Here clumps of small willows and, where repeated fires had
not destroyed them, light bluffs of slender poplars afforded a
measure of protection, and from the resources of the few scattered
settlers already in the country they were able to replenish their
supplies of fodder for the stock, and even to add to their own
larder. Fortunately the wind continued to blow from the north, and,
although the sun shone with astonishing fierceness in the middle of
the day, the snow thawed but little and the trail remained passable.
Other parties of settlers, wending their way westward to the region
where homesteads were still available, or moving in to lands located
the previous year, were overtaken; and again the party were
themselves overtaken by more rapid-moving immigrants from behind, so
that in the course of four or five days their cavalcade stretched far
ahead and far to the rear. Acquaintanceships were made quickly--no
one stood on ceremony; and as the journey wore on the Harrises began
to feel that they already possessed many friends in the country, and
that life on the prairie would not be altogether lonely.
After numerous consultations with McCrae, Harris had arranged that
his immediate destination should be in a district where the scrub
country melted into open prairie on the western side of the Pembina.
The Arthurses, who were also of the party, had homesteaded there, and
Fred Arthurs had built a little house on the land the year before.
Arthurs was now bringing his young wife to share with him the
privations and the privileges of their new home. A friendship had
already sprung up between Mrs. Arthurs and Mrs. Harris, and nothing
seemed more appropriate than that the two women should occupy the
house together while Harris sought out new homestead land and Arthurs
proceeded with the development of his farm. It was McCrae, whose
interest in every member of the expedition was that of a father, that
dropped the germ of this suggestion into Arthurs' receptive ear, and
it was with paternal satisfaction he found the young couples speedily
work out for themselves the arrangements which he had planned for
them all along.
After the crossing of the Pembina the party began to scatter--some to
homesteads already located; others to friends who would billet them
until their arrangements were completed. As team after team swung out
from the main road a certain sense of loss was experienced by those
who were left, but it was cheery words and good wishes and mutual
invitations that marked each separation. At length came the trail,
almost lost in the disappearing snow, that led to Arthurs' homestead.
A quick handshake with McCrae, Ned Beacon, and the doctor, and a few
others who had grown upon them in the journey, and the two young
couples turned out to break their way over the little-used route that
now lay before them.
Darkness was settling down--darkness of the seventh night since their
departure from Emerson--when, like a mole on the face of the plain, a
little grey lump grew on the horizon. Arthurs rose in his sleigh and
waved his fur cap in the air; Harris sent back an answering cheer;
the women plied their husbands with questions; even the horses took
on new energy, and plunged desperately through the frozen snow which
one moment supported their weight and the next splintered in broken
ice-cakes beneath them. Slowly the mole grew until in the gathering
shadows it took on indistinctly the shape of a building, and just as
the rising moon crested the ridge of the Pembina hills the travellers
swung up at the door. Arthurs had carried the key of the padlock in
his hand for the last mile; everybody was out of the sleighs in a
moment, and the next they were stamping their cramped feet on the
cold wooden floor of the little shack. Arthurs walked unerringly to a
nail on the wall and took down a lantern; its dull flame drove the
mist slowly down the glass, and presently the light was beating back
from the glistening frost which sparkled on every log of the little
room.
"Well, here we are in Hungry Hall," said Arthurs. "Everything just as
I left it." Then, turning to his wife, "Come, Lil," he said. "Jack,
perhaps you have an engagement of your own." He took his wife in a
passionate embrace and planted a fervent kiss upon her lips, while
Harris followed his example. Then they sat down on the boxes that
served for chairs, amid a happiness too deep for words...So the
minutes passed until Mrs. Arthurs sprang to her feet. "Why, Mary,"
she exclaimed, "I do believe you're crying," while the moisture
glistened on her own cheek. "Now, you men, clear out! I suppose you
think the horses will stable themselves? Yes, I see you have the box
full of wood, Fred. That's not so bad for a start. Leave some
matches, and say, you might just get our boxes in here. Remember
we've lived in these clothes for the best part of two weeks."
The young men sprang to their task, and as soon as they were out of
the house the girls threw their arms about each other and wept like
women together. It was only for a moment; a quick dash of the hand
across the eyes, and both were busy removing coats and wraps.
The door opened, and their "boxes," as well as other equipment from
the sleighs, were carried in, and the men disappeared to the little
stable at the back of the house. After several attempts the girls
succeeded in starting a fire in the rusted stove, and soon its
grateful heat was radiating to every corner of the room. As they
busied themselves unpacking dishes and provisions they had
opportunity to take observations of the new place that for one was to
be home and for the other a very welcome haven in a strange land.
The house was built of poplar logs, hewed and dovetailed at the
corners with the skill of the Ontario woodsman. It was about twelve
by sixteen feet in size, with collar-beams eight feet from the floor.
The roof was of two thicknesses of elm boards, with tar-paper
between. The floor was of poplar boards. The door was in the east
side, near the south-east corner; the stove stood about the centre of
the east wall. The only window was in the south; six panes of
eight-by-ten glass sufficed for light. Through this window another
lantern shone back from the darkness, and the flickering light from
the stove danced in duplicate. A rough board table sat under the
window; a box nailed in the south-west corner evidently served as
cupboard. No tools or movables of any value had been left in the
place, Arthurs having stored such effects with a neighbour, some
dozen miles away, lest they be stolen from the cabin by some
unscrupulous traveller during his absence.
"I like the plan of it very much," said Mrs. Arthurs, after a general
survey of the room. "Don't you think Fred has shown good judgment in
the design? This"--indicating the door--"will be my reception-room.
And this, a little further in, is the parlour. The kitchen and pantry
are right at hand--so convenient for the maid in serving, you know.
And then our rooms. Fred and I will have the long room in the
north-west wing, while you, of course, will occupy the guest-chamber
in the northeast. Do not be alarmed, my dear; if the silence of the
prairies weighs too heavily upon you we shall be within call. The
bath may be reached from either room with equal convenience."
Both laughed, but Mary, more serious and sober-minded, was already
slicing ham and greasing a frying-pan. "We need water, Lil--get some
snow while I find the tea. The bread is hard, but there'll be coals
presently, and we shall have toast. Lucky there were baked potatoes
left over from last night's camp; they'll fry up fine along with
this--" But already Lil was outside gathering snow.
She returned in breathless excitement. "Oh, Mary, I've just had a
great thought. All my wedding china--presents, you know--is in that
box, and I have my wedding clothes, too. Have you yours?"
"Of course. But why--"
"Why, dear, don't you see? The men are busy shovelling a path into
the stable. It'll be an hour yet before they are in. Let's put on our
wedding dresses, and set the table with our best dishes and best
linen, just for a kind of post-nuptial. Let's!"
"But ham and fried potatoes!"
"And toast. Didn't you promise toast? And tea. And I'll wager there's
some jam among provisions. Oh, let's hurry."
An hour later, when the hungry men returned after making their horses
and cattle comfortable, they stopped in amazement at the sight that
confronted them. Snowy linen, delicate china, and sparkling glass
returned the soft light from one of those great lamps such as are
bought only for presentation; and beside the table, like fairies
spirited from a strange land, stood two beautiful women, robed in the
delicate draperies of their bridal hour. Exclamations of surprise
were drowned in a flood of tender associations, and never in palace
or banquet-hall did sweeter content and happiness reign than among
these four young pioneers as they sat down to their first home-served
meal in the new land.
The days that followed were days of intense activity for both men and
women. There was much to do, inside and out. In the interior of the
little house an extraordinary change was wrought; simple draperies
and pictures relieved the bareness of the walls; shelves were built
for the accommodation of many trinkets dear to the feminine heart; a
rag carpet covered the centre of the floor; plain but appetising
dishes peeked enticingly from behind the paper curtain that now
clothed the bare ribs of the cupboard; and a sense of homeliness
pervaded the atmosphere. The two men, in their own realm, had found
much to occupy them, although for some days the range of their
activities was limited owing to the necessity of giving the horses a
much-needed rest before putting them back into the harness.
A week had passed, and no sign of life, other than that of the little
party itself, had been seen about the Arthurses' homestead, when one
day Harris's eyes already becoming keen to the prairie distances,
espied a dark point on the horizon. It grew slowly from a point to a
spot, from a spot to an object, and at length was defined as a man on
horseback. Presently Aleck McCrae drew up at the door.
"Hello, farmers," he cried, "how goes the battle? An' the good wives?
Building a little Eden in this wilderness, I'll warrant. Tell them to
put another name in the pot, an' a hungry name at that. I haven't
seen a white woman's meal I don't know when."
The friends gathered about the old-timer, plying him with questions,
which he answered or discussed until the meal was over, holding his
own business quietly in the background. But, with supper ended, his
pipe in his teeth and his feet resting comfortably in the oven, he
broached his subject.
"Ready for the road in the morning, Jack? Don't want to break up your
little honeymoon, y' know, but the month is wearing on. Nothing but
horseback for it now, an' they do say the settlers are crowding up
something wonderful. The best land's going fast. Most of them will
hold up now, with the roads breaking, but by slipping out on our
horses we can locate an' file before the real spring rush opens. You
should get some kind of shelter up before the frost is out of the
ground, so's to lose no time from ploughing once the spring opens."
Harris needed no urging, and in the early morning the two men, with
blankets and provisions, started out on horseback for the still
farther West. The snow was now going rapidly; water stood in a
thousand pools and ponds on the face of the prairie, or ran with
swift noiselessness in the creeks and ravines, although the real
"break-up" of the streams would not occur until early in April. By
avoiding the sleigh-trails and riding over the open prairie fairly
sound footing was found for the horses and a good opportunity given
to observe the land. Harris soon found that more judgment was
required in the selection of a prairie farm than he had supposed, and
he congratulated himself upon having fallen in with so experienced a
plainsman as McCrae. On the first day they rode over mile after mile
of beautiful country, following the survey stakes as closely as
possible, and noting their location from time to time by the
lettering on the posts.
"This is good enough for me," said Harris at length, as their horses
crested a little elevation from which the prairie stretched away in
all directions, smooth as a table. "Isn't it magnificent! And all
free for the taking!"
"It's pretty to look at," said McCrae, "but I guess you didn't come
West for scenery, did you?"
"Well, what's the matter with it? Look at that grass. If the soil
wasn't all right it wouldn't grow native crops like that, would it?"
"The soil's all right," answered McCrae. "Nothing better anywhere,
an' you can plough a hundred and sixty acres to every
quarter-section. But this is in the frost belt. They get it every
August--sometimes July. Shouldn't wonder but it'll be all right in
time, when the country gets settled up, but most homesteaders can't
afford to wait. We've got to get further West yet, into the higher
land of the Turtle Mountain slopes. I know there's good stuff there
that hasn't been taken."
And so they pressed on, until, in the bright sunshine, the blue line
of the Turtle Mountain lay like a lake on the western horizon. Here
McCrae began paying more minute attention to the soil, examining the
diggings around badger holes, watching out for clumps of "wolf
willow," with always a keen eye for stones and low-lying alkali
patches and the general topography of the quarter.
"This is more rolling country, with more land broken up by sleughs
an' creeks, but it's good stuff," he said. "It's early to make
predictions, but I'll risk one guess. There are two classes of people
coming into this country--men who are looking for wheat land, nothing
but wheat land, an' men who want some wheat land an' some stock land.
I predict that in twenty-five years the wheat farmers will be working
for the mortgage companies, an' the stock farmers will be building up
bank accounts. Now stock must have water, an' if you can get natural
shelter, so much the better. A creek may break your land a little,
but it's worth more than it costs."
Many times in their explorations they passed over sections that
Harris would have accepted, but McCrae objected, finding always some
flaw not apparent to the untrained eye. Once, where a little river
had worn its way across the plain, they came on a sod shack, where a
settler was already located. "Nice spot," said McCrae, "but too
sandy. His farm'll blow away when he breaks the sod. There's an easy
crossing there' though, an' perhaps he thinks the railway will hit
him when it comes. That's all a gamble. It may go north of the lake;
if it does we only bet on the wrong horse. We've got to take our
chance on that."
But at length they rode over a quarter where McCrae turned his horse
and rode back again. Forward and back, forward and back, they rode
the whole hundred and sixty acres, until not a rood of it had escaped
their scrutiny. On the south-east corner a stream, in a ravine of
some depth, cut off a triangle of a few acres' extent. Otherwise it
was prairie sod, almost level, with yellow clay lying at the badger
holes. Down in the ravine, where they had been sheltered from fire,
were red willows, choke-cherry bushes, and a few little poplars and
birches; a winding pond marked the course of the stream, which was
running in considerable volume. Even as they stood on the bank a
great cracking was heard, and huge blocks of ice rose to the surface
of the pond. Some of these as they rose turned partly on their edge,
showing two smooth sides.
"Good!" exclaimed McCrae. "There's some depth of water there. That
pond hasn't frozen solid, or the ice wouldn't come up like that. That
means water all winter for stock, independent of your well--a mighty
important consideration, which a lot of these land-grabbers don't
seem to reckon on. Now there's a good quarter, Jack. I don't say it's
the best there is; they'll be opening up new land that'd make your
teeth water twenty-five years from now. But we can't explore the
whole North-West, an' you're far enough from the railroad here. This
coulee will give shelter for your stock in raw weather, an' there's a
bench looks at though it was put there for your little house. There's
light timber to the north, fit for fuel an' building, within fifteen
miles, an' there'll be neighbours here before the summer's over, or
I'm no prophet. What do you say?"
"The quarter suits me," said Harris. "And the adjoining quarter is
good stuff too. I can take pre-emption right on that. But there's
just one thing I'm in doubt about."
"What's that?"
"How I'm going to square it with you for the service you have given.
My cash is getting low, and--"
"Don't worry about that. I generally size up my customer an' bill him
accordingly. If he has lots of money, an' seems likely to part with
it foolishly, I put as much of it as I can in safe keeping. But there
isn't any money fee as far as you're concerned. Fact is, I kinda
figure on trading this bill out with you."
"Trading it out? How?"
"Well, I expect to be roving this country, east an' west, for some
years to come, an' I've a little policy of establishing depots here
an' there--places where I can drop in for a square meal an' a sleep
an' a bit of Western hospitality. Places, too, if you like, where
there are men to say a good word for Aleck McCrae. How's that suit
you?"
Harris took his friend's hand in a warm grip. He rightly guessed that
McCrae was not bartering his services for hospitality, but was making
it easy for Harris to accept them by appearing to bargain for a
service in return. So they shook hands together on the side of the
bank overlooking the little coulee, and as they looked in each
other's eyes Harris realized for the first time that McCrae was still
a young man. A sense of comradeship came over him--a feeling that
this man was more of a brother than a father. With admiring eyes he
looked on McCrae's fine face, his broad shoulders, his wonderful
physique, and the question he asked sprang from his lips before he
could arrest it.
"Why don't you get married, Mac?"
"Who, me?" said McCrae, laughing; but Harris detected a tone in his
voice that was not all happiness, and the thought came to him that
McCrae's craving for hospitality might root deeper than he supposed.
"It's a long ride to the land office," continued McCrae, "an' you
can't file a minute too soon. We'd better find a corner post an? make
sure of the number of this section, an' put as much road behind us as
we can tonight."