The third day out the harvesters reached the scene of action in the
grain fields, and by noon of that day had found employment, the entire
party being engaged for the season with promise of work for their
horses. This was indeed an agreeable surprise. They had expected to
remain in the same neighborhood, but to be employed together was more
than they had hoped for.
The afternoon of the same day they drove to the home of their employer.
Here the scene that greeted them was something of a disappointment to
them, as the home of the wheat grower was but little better than their
own desert shacks, save that it had one redeeming feature, an abundance
of water. A well, surmounted by a large windmill, was located near the
center of a large enclosure, and was the attraction for a number of
horses and cattle. A few lazy hogs wallowed contentedly in the mud
beneath the long watering trough, into which flowed, with fitful gushes,
at each stroke of the slender pumprod, a stream of pure cold water,
which was consumed by the waiting stock or allowed to overflow at will
from the trough. The large barn, the dilapidated machine shed, and the
typical home of the wheat grower was complete. No, not complete. There
was yet another object. It was located in the further corner of the barn
yard. It was an old wagon, with huge frame mounted upon it. This frame
was covered with flimsy, dirty canvas, and had a stovepipe protruding
from the top. From a door in the back, three narrow rickety steps
reached down to the ground as if inviting one to enter, and at the same
time daring them to take the chance. Off to one side was a pile of
sagebrush, with a broken handled axe near by, and a barrel of stale
water with a tin cup hung by a piece of wire over its chime, two tin
basins laying upon the ground, while to a nail driven in the corner post
of the canvas covered structure hung a piece of sack twine with a
twisted aluminum comb dangling at its ends, and a dirty towel which the
constant action of the wind kept from becoming rigid and stiff. This was
the "cook house," where the toilers were to get their meals during the
harvest.
With faint misgivings at the uninviting prospects the strangers,
beholding the broad acres of grain now just turning to gold on the high
ground, and gradually shading to a dark green in the swails and hollows,
and extending over from one and a half to two or three sections of rich
land, asked themselves why conditions were not better.
The men already engaged at harvesting on this wheat ranch not yet having
come in from their day's work, our party cared for their horses and
strolled about the place, wondering at the absence of signs of life, but
being unfamiliar with such conditions, among the stalks of heavily
headed grain that reached to their shoulders, and taking the plump, well
filled heads in their hands, fondled them lovingly, and their minds
went back to their own desert homes, to their lonesome wives and
children, and asked themselves if the time would ever come when their
land would produce such a bounteous yield, and thought with proud
satisfaction of how, in case of such an event, they would remain at home
and enjoy the sweet sound of the harvest machinery as it garnered for
them and theirs.
Wonderingly they waited for someone to come, some friendly voice to
greet them, if not in profuse welcome, to at least tell them where they
were to put their few effects and where they were to receive the
accommodation that, being strangers, they had every reason to expect.
They had brought their blankets, it was true, but it was with the view
to using them while camping out. They little realized that, had they not
brought them, they would have been provided with little more
accommodation than a beast of burden.
The sun went down and they sauntered back to the barn yard, where they
had left their wagon, and loitered around it with a fondness due the
only familiar object in sight. Still no one came. From the grain field
the clicking of the sickle as it mowed down the grain could be plainly
heard, wafted from afar on the rapidly cooling twilight breeze. Travis
Gully arose from his seat on the wagon pole as if moved by some
uncontrollable impulse, and going around to the side of the wagon, threw
back the rolls of blankets and drew forth the old canvas telescope grip.
Taking it fondly in his rough hands, he knelt beside it on the ground,
unloosened the straps, removed the tablet and envelopes, and taking from
his overall pocket a stub of a pencil, resumed his seat and began to
write, with a slow cramped movement, the first letter home. Slowly he
poured out from his own burdened heart the cry of a distressed soul.
The remaining members of the party, realizing that this was to be the
anxiously looked for first news, sent loving messages to their homes. No
mention was made of the tiresome trip, of the forbidding aspect of their
first employment; just a letter of encouragement, reassuring them of
their success, and hopes for a profitable season and safe return.
"Simple enough," you might say, but oh! what relief to the pent up
feelings of those sturdy homebuilders.
Think, if you can, of what might have been written and read between the
lines, of the anguish and uncertainty that was tugging at the heart
strings of each of them, knowing, as they did, the conditions under
which they had left their families; out alone on the desert, realizing
that they, themselves, knew absolutely nothing of the duties they would
be called upon to perform on the morrow, and tell me if you do not agree
with me when I say that there, in the evening shades, under environments
that would try the strength of the bravest, was not endured to the
fullest extent, misery.
The letter was finished, and after placing it in the envelope, Gully sat
with it in his hand and gazed thoughtfully at the address. The iron
molder lit his pipe and moved off in the direction of the barn; the
professor and the soldier arose and strolled to the well; all silent,
lost in their own thoughts, the nature of which can only be guessed.
The sudden opening of a door at the main house aroused them from their
reverie, and turning in the direction of the noise, they saw a woman
come out and secure an armful of stovewood and reenter the building. In
a few moments a dense smoke was emitted from the stovepipe, an
indication that supper was being prepared. Darkness was fast obscuring
the landscape, and from the distant field the conversation of the men
returning from their work could be plainly heard, and mingling with it
were the sounds of rattling chains and creaking harness. Upon their
arrival at the barnyard, and while some of the horses were still
drinking at the well, a man was seen to emerge from the house bearing a
lighted lantern, and go to the barn, where other lanterns were lighted
and carried about by the men.
Our friends went to the barn and upon making their presence known, were
greeted with a tired "Howdy do" from the workers, as they unharnessed
and distributed grain among their horses.
The owner of the wheat ranch, for it was he who had come from the house
with a lighted lantern, came hurriedly up, and after pointing out a row
of empty stalls, instructed the strangers to put their horses inside.
This they gladly did, after which the lanterns were hung on pegs outside
the barn and the workmen disappeared in the darkness. Our friends,
hearing sounds at the well, went there and found several of the men
stripped to their waists, washing the dust and perspiration in the
trough and drying their faces on large red handkerchiefs with which they
had mopped their faces during the heat of the day. As they completed
their ablutions, they disappeared, until there was but one who, upon
raising his streaming face from its immersion in the trough, inquired of
our friends: "You fellows had supper." Upon being assured they had not,
he advised them to "wash up, and come on down to the cook house," the
location of which was easy, owing to the light which shone through the
canvas cover, bringing out in bold relief the silhouette figures of
several men seated at the table, with elbows in the air, working
industriously, making way with generous portions of food, as was
indicated by the shadows of dark objects before them.
Thoroughly tired and hungry, not being accustomed to waiting until this
unseemly hour for their evening meal, they followed their new
acquaintance and mounted the rickety stairs leading up to the entrance
of the cook house. They were astonished at the arrangement of the
interior; every available inch of space was taken up and made to serve
some purpose. The forward end of the canvas structure was partitioned
off and used for a kitchen--the rear portion, with a table running the
full length, served as the dining room--while boards, fastened with
hinges to either side, could be either raised or lowered, doing duty as
seats. The sides of the structure was so arranged that the upper portion
could be swung outward and propped, thus being converted into awnings
and at the same time affording ventilation. Immediately over the table
and drawn up to the top of the canvas canopy by means of a rope fastened
to each corner, and running through pulleys, was a woven wire bed
spring. This could be lowered at night and was the sleeping place of "my
lady," the cook, a haggard, sad-eyed individual, the widow of an
unfortunate homesteader who, unable to endure the hardships of a
pioneer, had gone to his reward the summer before.
When the first two members of our party had entered the cook house the
rest were compelled to remain outside until some of those who had
finished vacated, for when the table was filled those who went in first
had to remain seated until the last one who entered had finished his
meal.
The food was abundant and good, well cooked and served, when you take
into consideration the difficulties under which it was prepared, and was
eaten by the tired and overworked harvesters in a manner indicating a
complete indifference to after effect. When supper was finished, there
being no opportunity for gaining information, the hour being late, our
friends returned to their wagon, unrolled their blankets, and lay down
to ponder over this unheard of way of treating hired help. But not for
long. Being fatigued to the limit of human endurance, they fell asleep,
with the faint sound of the clatter of tin pans and cups that emanated
from the cook house and the incessant rattle of the windmill dinning in
their ears.