I have often wondered, as no doubt many of my readers have, what there
is in a man's nature that makes him blush and feel ashamed of doing a
little act that is in every respect perfectly natural, and one, that if
publicly known, would raise him in the estimation of his fellow men, and
yet while condemning himself for his weakness, his heart actually throbs
with the pleasure he derives from doing as he has done.
The first day on their return journey from the harvest field was a
joyous one, the relaxation from the strain and the diversion acting as
an elixir. Freed from the noise of clattering machinery out upon the
highway, and relieved of the sight of miles of brown fields of stubble,
our friends rejoiced at the sight of the desert with its thousands of
acres of bunch grass and sagebrush that stretched far ahead of them to
the foothills, there to be met by the dark green shade of the mountain
pine and fir, above which shone in all its glittering splendor the
eternal snow on the mountain peaks. They spoke in endearing terms of the
mighty wilderness as theirs, as if little realizing that the small
portion of that vast domain to which they actually held claim was
insignificant.
They had chosen a different route by which to make their return, one
that led them through a small village situated at the edge of the
desert. It was here that the last night out from home was spent, and
here too was demonstrated the peculiar traits of man's character
referred to at the opening of this chapter.
After the establishment of the camp for the night and after the team had
been cared for, Travis Gully was noticeably restless, and at length
wandered away from his companions and entered the village store. No
thought of his own disheveled appearance entered his mind. It was of the
dear wife and little ones he thought. The morrow would see him with
them, and the long summer's watching and waiting would be at an end.
What more natural than that he should wish to take some little token to
the children and to her, who had borne the burden of the long summer's
separation that they might retain their homestead?
He thought of her as he had last seen her, as she stood at the camp near
the well, struggling to withhold the tears that he know too well had
flown many times since he left. He recalled the pitiful effort she had
made to dress for the occasion of his departure; of her brown dress, her
best dress, the one that had been carefully made, stitch by stitch, in
preparation for their long journey from their old home to the land of
promise; how it had withstood the days of constant wear while she was
cramped up in the tourist coach, being whirled away across the
continent, and how guardedly she had spread the cloth upon her lap to
protect the precious fabric from being soiled by the touch of many
little fingers made greasy by clutching the huge sandwiches of fried
chicken, ham and cheese, with which the spacious hamper, their traveling
companion, was bounteously provisioned; and how after their arrival, and
while seeking a suitable location, it had been subjected to countless
brushings and spongings, until at last it bore all too plainly the
evidences of the hard usages to which it had been called up to submit.
And yet, it was still her best.
She should have a new dress, one that he himself had bought, and without
hesitating he approached the expectant merchant to make known his wants,
and here his confusion was made evident. Never having made a purchase of
this nature, he was at a loss as to quantity, quality and color. After
numerous suggestions from the over-anxious merchant a selection was
made, the required number of yards guessed at and measured off. Then
after purchasing a small carton of animal crackers and some peanuts and
candy for each of the children, he paid the amount of his purchase, and
with his precious bundles tucked beneath his arm sought the camping
place.
As he approached the camp fire around which his companions were seated,
he was seized with a desire to hide his bundles lest they might jeer him
good-naturedly about his extravagance. He tried to reach the wagon by a
circuitous route to avoid observation until he had hidden his bundles.
In this effort he was partially successful, but the others had seen him
in time to arouse their suspicions, and they accused him of buying a new
suit. To this he entered a strenuous denial, but looked guilty and felt
uncomfortable the remainder of the evening. He did not join in the
conversation that followed his arrival, but sat, as the firelight died
down, and watched across the barren waste for the first twinkling light
that might give evidence that human beings inhabited this vast region
of hidden possibilities.
Thus he sat long after the other members of the party had gone to bed,
sat dreaming, as his watchful gaze centered on the darkened space made
more dense by the rays of the fitful flicker of the dying fire, space
that for the lack of distinguishable form might be likened unto a
yawning cavern, a bottomless abyss, whose only known content was stygian
darkness. Was it into the unsatiable maw of this monstrous dungeon by
night and inferno by day that he had allowed himself and loved ones to
be drawn; unwittingly, it was true, but as irrestistably as a disabled
craft into the vortex of some mighty whirlpool, carried around and
around the outer circle, fascinated by the charm of the smooth gliding
movement. Suddenly the arc of the circle decreases, and looking further
toward the center, other objects are seen, but it is noted that they
seem to be moving more rapidly. Why this increased speed? Is the goal in
sight, or has their proximity to the desired end given them a vantage
view? Ah! they will keep speed with the large object just ahead of their
craft; perhaps they can learn what motive drew them to this delightful
place. But a moment, a pause, a quiver and a plunge downward; one mighty
wail of despair, followed by a gurgling sound of gluttenous
satisfaction, and they realize too late their fate. Casting a
despairing look backward to warn those in sight not to follow, but on
they come, heedless of their warning, offering themselves unconscious
sacrifices to the ever increasing demand for new territory for new
outlets, for the ever populated districts of the world.
It was the same old story. The pioneer fighting the first great fight,
blazing the trail and marking the route with suffering, tears and even
death, that future generations might follow at their ease.
Travis Gully wondered if he, as its helmsman, had allowed his craft to
be drawn into dangerous waters, bearing with him his family, the
precious passengers whose lives had been intrusted to his care. Had he,
at the first narrowing of the circle, gone and left them in this vast
wilderness. Was it justice? Were they safe? A few more hours would tell.
And let the conditions in the future be what they may, he would never
leave them again. With this resolve, and with a feeling of comfortable
assurance that his leaving would not again become necessary he, with one
more look to see that his bundles remained where he had hidden them,
went to his rest.
Taking advantage of an early start, the following morning the party was
well on its way when the sun shone above the jagged ridge of hills that
marked the eastern boundary of the desert, shown as mellow and as soft
as the spring sunshine in their old eastern homes. The lateness of the
fall season had robbed it of its brassy glare and the cool wind that had
swept over the valley during the night had driven out the quivering heat
units with which the blistering sands had been surcharged.
The drive home was a pleasant one and good progress was made. Everyone
was intent on locating at the very earliest possible moment the
windmill, surrounded by its village of glistening white tents, that they
were sure could be seen for miles. Numerous windmills were in sight far
across the plain, but none that they could distinguish as the one
marking their journey's end.
As they drew nearer to their homes, and after they had reentered the
road over which they had made their outward trip, evidence of a changed
condition was everywhere apparent. New houses, their unpainted outer
wall reflecting the bright sunrays, could be seen for miles; hundreds of
acres had been cleared of sagebrush, and small mounds of white ashes
surrounded by charred ends of brush over which the reawakening bunch
grass waved, showed where the bonfires had been made. In some instances
many acres had been plowed and harrowed, made ready for the sowing of
grain that would immediately follow the first of the winter's rains.
This evidence of advancement gladdened the hearts of our worthy friends
and speculation was rife among them as to the probable value of land
under these changed conditions.
In their eagerness to reach their homes no stop was made for lunch.
Water for their horses was obtained from a newly made cistern at the
edge of a large area of newly plowed land. Evidence of a recently
abandoned camp was near at hand, but no sign of life. The journey was
resumed after watering the horses and in a short while familiar objects
could be pointed out, and in some instances their individual homes could
be located. There was the old windmill, its weather stained wheel and
vane contrasting strangely with other windmills that glittered with
their newness on adjoining sections, the old landmark that had withstood
the onslaught of the terrific wind and sand storms for years, warped by
the intense heat of the blistering desert sun, drawing with tireless
energy the cool sparkling water from the depths of the well over which
it stood guard, and beckoning to the chance wayfarer to come and partake
of its refreshing draughts. Thus it had stood, known as "The Windmill,"
the friend of every stockman, homesteader, land owner or wandering
Indian that chanced its way since the day, many years ago, a progressive
sheep man, seeing the value to his herds of this extensive grazing
ground, had caused to be hauled for many miles, across mountain, stream
and plain, the machinery for its erection, for the establishment of this
oasis in the desert. Unconscious of the fact that he was erecting a
monument to himself and a source of comfort and blessings to hundreds of
human being for many years to follow.
Upon their arrival at the windmill they were disappointed to find that
the tents were gone; the party of surveyors had left the field. The only
remaining evidence of their having been there was an occasional white
stake driven into a mound of earth, marking a corner, or an iron pipe
with a brass cap on which was recorded the elevation above sea level.
The busy groups of men, the hurrying camp wagons and pack trains, were
missing, so the anxiously awaited information as to the probability of
irrigation in the near future was not to be gotten.
The families of the homesteaders having been informed of the day and
time of their probable arrival, had assembled at the well to greet them.
Travis Gully's wife and three of his children were there. Being unable
to find the horses that had gotten loose upon the range, they had walked
the three miles to the well to meet him. Ida, the eldest girl, had
remained at home to care for the youngest child, who was too small to
take the trip.
Here, at the same place where they had assembled a few months before,
they separated and went to their several homes. A neighbor whose horses
had been taken on the trip to the harvest field assisted Gully and his
family to reach their home. As they approached the house the children
who had been left at home came running out to greet them with joyous
shouts of welcome.
Thanking his friend for the ride, Gully threw his blanket roll from the
wagon and sprang down, seized his boy in his arms, lifted him high on
his shoulder and marched triumphantly into the house. His wife having
taken possession of the canvas grip, and with the rest of the children
eagerly crowding around, they followed him. A shaggy tramp dog who had
come unbidden, a self constituted guardian of his family during his
absence, came from beneath the kitchen table, sniffed suspiciously at
Gully's overalls, and scenting no evidence of danger, wagged his tail in
approval and returned to complete his nap. The three chickens of which
Joe was the proud owner, feeling that some event of importance was
taking place, crowded noisily around the door.
All these little incidents were unnoticed by the tired father who, now
being seated, was in a fair way of being smothered by the demonstrations
of his devoted children. Boisterously they crowded around and over him,
plying him with a constant volley of questions and recitals of
happenings during his absence. The mother, forgetting for the time the
long months of anxious waiting, beamed with satisfaction on this happy
scene. Curiosity to know the contents of the canvas grip soon aroused
the children, and after Gully had emerged from the mass of clinging arms
and tangled locks, he directed Joe to bring the grip to him.
Upon receiving the grip, and with his children seated around him on the
bare floor, with eager and expectant faces, he opened it, and as he
handed each their little bundle they scampered away to investigate its
contents. He handed his wife the package he had brought for her and
asked if she could guess its contents? After several attempts to do so,
all of which ended in failure, she opened it, and realizing at a glance
the nature of his gift, she was speechless with pleasure, and with her
eyes filled with tears, she threw her arms about his neck and laughed
with girlish glee. For the first time in the course of their married
life Minnie Gully had a glimpse of her husband's heart.
It was a happy family that gathered around the supper table that
evening. After the meal was eaten and the dishes removed the smaller
children brought their boxes of crackers, cut in grotesque forms of
various animals, and arranged them in rows to correspond with their idea
of a circus parade, of which they had once seen a picture. The mother
and two eldest girls unrolled the goods for the dress, and holding it to
the light, admired its beauty and discussed how it had best be made.
Gully sat silently smoking his pipe, enjoying for the first time a
feeling of absolute independence. He was in his own house, on his own
land, with funds to provide for the winter, and being undismayed by the
failure of his first effort on his homestead to raise a crop, dreamed
peacefully of the future.
Late into the night, long after the excited children had gone to sleep,
Gully and his wife sat and planned for the expenditure of the sum he had
earned during the harvest season. They talked of the many requirements
of the children, of the supply of provisions that would be necessary to
do their family until spring. Feed had to be purchased for the two
horses with which it had been necessary for him to provide himself when
he came upon the homestead. If the snowfall was light the amount of feed
required would be correspondingly small, but should the snow become
sufficiently deep to hide the bunch grass it would be necessary to feed
the whole winter through. Thus they planned, making numberless lists of
necessary purchases, and after comparing the amount required with the
funds on hand, revised and readjusted the list until finally giving up,
bewildered but happy, they went to their rest.