Chapter 8 No.8

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.

* * *