f B6RKSLJT 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of 
 \. CAUFOiNiA 
 
HAPPY VALLEY 
 
On the Immigrant Trail 
 
HAPPY VALLEY 
 
 A Story of Oregon 
 
 By ANNE SHANNON MONROE 
 
 Author of " Making of a Business Woman " 
 
 The first farmer was the first man and all historic nobility 
 rests on possession and use oj land. Emerson. 
 
 Illustrated by 
 
 J. ALLEN ST. JOHN 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1916 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 Copyright 
 
 A. C. McClurg&Co. 
 1916 
 
 Published May, 1916 
 
QJo mg 
 
 ELIZABETH MONROE STORY 
 
 Whose rare spirit of happy helpfulness 
 has made her as my very right hand 
 
 424 
 
Get leave to work 
 
 In this world tis the best you get at all; 
 For God, in cursing, gives us better gifts 
 Than men in benediction. God says, "Sweat 
 For Foreheads;" men say, "Crowns;" and so 
 We are crowned, 
 
 Ay, gashed by some tormenting circle of steel 
 Which snaps with a secret spring. Get work, get work; 
 Be sure tis better than what you work to get. 
 
 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I At Two Forks i 
 
 II Old Man Clark 14 
 
 III Mother Lattig 26 
 
 IV Big John Regan 36 
 
 V Susie of the Star Eyes 51 
 
 VI The Coming of Bullpit 69 
 
 VII Pa s Settlers 81 
 
 VIII Drink Does Its Work 90 
 
 IX The Little Hired Girl in 
 
 X Good News 116 
 
 XI Bad News 128 
 
 XII Bullpit s Revenge 150 
 
 XIII The Well 156 
 
 XIV The Rescue 179 
 
 XV Blue Ribbons 184 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 XVI Leppies, and Other Things 201 
 
 XVII Sorrow in the Valley 211 
 
 XVIII "Worrying Wrong" 232 
 
 XIX What Red Tape Does 242 
 
 XX Lizbeth and Confidences 252 
 
 XXI The Dance at the Schoolhouse 258 
 
 XXII Dark Hours 277 
 
 XXIII Waiting for Spring 283 
 
 XXIV The Old Home Back East 298 
 
 XXV Mother Inn 3" 
 
 XXVI Coyote Butte Ranch 315 
 
 XXVII The Railroad at Last 324 
 
 XXVIII Everybody s Back 335 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 On the Immigrant Trail Frontispiece 
 
 Old Man Clark 20 
 
 Mother Lattig 44 
 
 Bullpit 70 
 
 The Book-farmer 84 
 
 Van Vader 106 
 
 Sol Sneed 123 
 
 Lizbeth 189 
 
 Old Sody 204 
 
 Uncle John Regan 212 
 
 Raz Poole 240 
 
 Leeda 273 
 
 Susie 38 
 
BOOK I 
 
Happy Valley 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AT TWO FORKS 
 
 1 AWOKE that morning in the gray, dusty, little 
 cattle town of Two Forks with the terror of 
 life shaking me like a palsy. My lips and tongue 
 were parchment. A scum ridged my teeth. My 
 whole body was loathsome. I tried to sink into 
 unconsciousness, but my senses were maddeningly 
 alert. 
 
 I turned over in bed and fixed my gaze on the 
 wallpaper. It was yellowed with age, blistered, 
 and cracked. The design, a sickly, greenish vine 
 which wriggled its way around a brown lattice, 
 seemed a drunken, staggering thing. I traced the 
 design to where it began and ended, began and 
 ended, in dizzying reiteration. A cracked blister 
 moved, a small brown bug crept horridly out from 
 underneath. I shivered back into the sleazy bed 
 ding, and tried frantically to fix my eyes on some 
 thing less nauseating. 
 
 1 
 
Happy Valley 
 
 There was a spidery washstand, and on it a bowl 
 and pitcher of white enamel badly scaled. Beside 
 the stand stood a rusty pail, ready for whatever 
 might be emptied into it. I shrank more deeply 
 under the bedding, and my eyes went on another 
 search of the room for something humanly endura 
 ble. The pale-green window-shade was a mass of 
 cracks the light pitted it like smallpox and be 
 neath it a coarse lace curtain hung in dejected and 
 slovenly unevenness. I looked to the ceiling. It 
 was stained and streaked from many spillings of 
 water in the room above. A big fat blowfly moved 
 heavily across. 
 
 A laugh startled me. It came from the lobby 
 outside. I sat up, wide awake, but almost instantly 
 lay down again; my head was too heavy. Anger 
 filled me it was the Ratter s laugh. I would 
 know that laugh in a thousand a mean, tri 
 umphant, I ve-got-you, little sneak of a laugh which 
 was a perfect expression of the hard, cold, tight, 
 little wart of a man from whom it emanated. It 
 was all his doing the three-days spree. He had 
 insisted on a drink. I hadn t had a drink for over 
 a week. I had known that if I could only get away 
 from the town to the ranch where there was no 
 saloon I could hold out. He had insisted, and I had 
 been a fool for the thousandth time. 
 
At Two Forks 
 
 There was a loud banging on the door, then the 
 Ratter s voice : " Starting ! " 
 
 "Well, start!" I retorted. 
 
 The triumphant laugh was repeated, then, 
 "Knocked out?" I didn t answer. 
 
 He waited a minute, then jerked open the door. 
 " You ve got a half-hour," he said sharply, and went 
 away. I smelled frying ham and boiling coffee. 
 The odor gagged me. I drew the sheet over my face. 
 
 There was a second banging on the door. " We re 
 starting at once. Come now or don t!" 
 
 " Go and be damned ! " The steps moved away. 
 
 I was not again disturbed. Sulky, now, I lay 
 inert under the bedding. I had defied some one I 
 felt better. I had defied the Ratter. But why 
 couldn t I have defied him three days earlier? The 
 old, weary sickness again filled me. Over and over 
 it had been the same story. Go where I would, it 
 would always be the same. The thing had caught 
 me first at Technical College I was taking the 
 course in civil engineering and I was expelled. 
 It had got me again at law school; I was again 
 expelled. I began to study privately in my grand 
 father s office, and then after six months of going 
 straight there had to be that confounded party cele 
 brating my twenty-first birthday with wine and 
 toasts, winding up with a debauch on my part which 
 
Happy Valley 
 
 had ended things for me. My grandfather had 
 thrown me bodily out of his life. He had given me 
 a ticket to Two Forks, a scrap of paper calling for 
 a chance at a drawing in a land-selling scheme, and 
 one hundred dollars in cash. 
 
 The old Judge s lip had trembled when he hurled 
 these things at me, and his face had purpled. He 
 had been proud of me. I was his only grandson. 
 He didn t think so much of his granddaughters, my 
 sisters. I was named for him, as had been my 
 father. My father had been the first keen disap 
 pointment of his life; drink had killed him before 
 he entered his forties. Then the old man had cen 
 tered his hopes in me and I was going the same 
 gait, only faster. He was through with me. He 
 as good as said so the night of the party when I 
 made a fool of myself before his guests. He said 
 it again when he handed me my transportation to 
 this out-of-the-way corner of the West. 
 
 This was his way of getting rid of me. He had 
 no hope, he had expressed none. But he must get rid 
 of me in a way to save his pride. It was generous 
 enough. My grandfather was not a rich man, for 
 he had had us all to bring up and educate according 
 to his rather expensive standard of education, and 
 many of us to bury. I was sorry for him, for if I 
 truly loved any one on earth it was he. But I was 
 
At Two Forks 
 
 sorrier for myself, for I didn t want to drink. I 
 wanted to do anything else but drink. 
 
 Ennis had come in that morning when I was push 
 ing my clothes into a suitcase Ennis, blue- white, 
 frail of body, and big-tayed. She took them all out 
 and repacked, smoothly and properly. 
 
 " Billy," she said, with a sharpness in her voice 
 which I knew to be a disguise of her real tenderness, 
 " don t you feel too badly about it. You can t help 
 it, really ; it s in your blood. It s in all our blood," 
 she went on; and seeing that I was startled, "not 
 the drinking, but the scars of it. We can t help the 
 freaky things we do. It s that that makes me so 
 nervous and see things in the dark, I know it s that. 
 And it s that that makes Claire so queer ; makes her 
 talk so often of pleasant little things like suicide and 
 going insane; makes her stay in bed for days at a 
 time with hysteria." 
 
 "Ennis, you don t mean " 
 
 "No, Billy, Claire doesn t drink, but it s the 
 drink s scars. It s as if some one had taken a hot 
 poker when we were all little babies and sort of 
 seared our brains over. There s the scar ; and some 
 things are not in us that are in balanced folks; 
 they re seared out. We re all queer." 
 
 "Not Grandfather," I said. I had worshipped 
 my grandfather since the days when I had ridden 
 
Happy Valley 
 
 on his foot before the living-room fireplace, and 
 afterward, leaning against his knee, had watched 
 the fire s reflection on the brass andirons while he 
 told me wonderful tales. The old brass andirons 
 and my grandfather s massive white-crowned head 
 were inseparably woven into the happy memories 
 of my childhood. My sisters had always been ner 
 vous and finicky. My mother had died early my 
 mother, always a pale, frightened woman, sitting 
 behind closed blinds and looking down the path that 
 led out of our yard to the street, clutching now and 
 then at her chair arms in an attitude of fearful wait 
 ing. My grandfather was the one solid rock of 
 pride in my family. 
 
 " No, his father didn t put it on him ; but he put 
 it on the rest of us. Billy, I am older than you, and 
 I can remember a lot that has been kept from you. 
 He drank fearfully in his young days, but he was 
 the kind that can drink and continue clear-headed. It 
 never interfered. But Papa was very different. 
 You don t remember him so well, Billy. He was 
 like Grandma s people; like you, slender and deli 
 cate, all nerves and temperament. Grandpa himself 
 taught Papa to drink; Mamma said so. Grandpa 
 thought it was the way to do, to get him used to it 
 as he grew up, then he would always drink like a 
 gentleman. But he was of a different temperament 
 
At Two Forks 7 
 
 and he couldn t stand it, Billy, so he went down. 
 How he suffered! I can see him now, in delirium 
 tremens, the house all shut up tight and dark to 
 keep people from knowing Mamma always called 
 it being * sick I can see him now, Billy. I would 
 slip past into his room when no one was watching 
 and watch him as he felt his way round the room, 
 moving his long, thin fingers fingers just like 
 yours, Billy over the walls, trying to find a way 
 out. He thought he was bound in by thousands 
 of tiny wires, and if he could only get his finger on 
 the right wire and follow it to the end, he could 
 get out. 
 
 " It was tragic and it was true. He was bound 
 by wires that led back to his father ; his own father 
 laid those wires about him. And now they ve wound 
 on till they ve caught you. There is no way out 
 unless we could follow them clear back to the begin 
 ning. There isn t any way, Billy, for he tried so 
 hard, and you are just like him, but not nearly so 
 strong. Billy, I want you to promise me just one 
 thing don t ever marry. Let s just die off, all 
 that is left of us. Don t fasten the wires about any 
 one else." 
 
 All at once I understood my sister Ennis as I 
 never had before her sharpness, her cynicism, the 
 unexpected leavetaking of John Hale several years 
 
8 Happy Valley 
 
 earlier, and her life since then devoted to "nerves" 
 and my grandfather s household. The under 
 standing brought me out of hot anger to hotter 
 tears. I sat limp on the bed while she finished 
 packing. 
 
 " I promise," I whispered, " but I ll make good 
 out West." 
 
 I took the suitcase from her. " I ll go on a ranch 
 and make good," I chokingly whispered. 
 
 Ennis s face, at last softened by a gentle sadness 
 through which glimmered a faint ray of hope, now 
 came before me. Someway that ray of hope came 
 strongest through the chaos of impressions. To keep 
 it alive, to make it lighten her pinched face and send 
 away all the shadows that had been the ambition 
 that had held me steadfast on the four days trip 
 across the continent, had held me on landing at 
 Ossing, on the long stage ride from the railway sta 
 tion to Two Forks, and then 
 
 It had all come from meeting the Ratter, I told 
 myself, but my inner self told me that that was a 
 lie. Always I must meet some one it came from 
 the devil of thirst within me. 
 
 I reached over to the old split-bottom chair for 
 my coat and drew out my wallet. It was empty 
 save for a slip of paper that gave me the title to 
 eighty acres of land, ninety miles south of Two 
 
At Two Forks 
 
 Forks. I ran my hand into my trousers pocket and 
 brought out some silver and two gold pieces 
 eighteen dollars and seventy cents. 
 
 Again I cursed the Ratter, and again deep inside 
 I knew that I and not the Ratter was to blame. I 
 thought back over the past few days. From the 
 railway station at Ossing we had motored all day 
 and all night, crossing two ranges of mountains. At 
 daylight we had reached Two Forks, the gray, 
 dusty, little cattle town. At breakfast I met the 
 Ratter. It developed that he was the man I had 
 come West to see, a clerk who would conduct the 
 drawing for the Great Western Improvement Com 
 pany, from whom my grandfather in some idle 
 moment had purchased a ticket. 
 
 The company, he was told, had been given a land 
 grant by the government for service in building a 
 wagon road through the inland empire of Oregon. 
 They had subdivided this land into tracts ranging 
 from twenty to two hundred acres, and the only 
 uncertainty with a ticket holder was which parcel 
 he would draw. The drawing had taken place and 
 I had been lucky, winning eighty acres. It had 
 seemed a good omen, and I was in high spirits, 
 until I noticed the queer, silent smiles of men who 
 stood in little knots about the street corners. I 
 made inquiries. Oh, yes, the land was there all 
 
 
10 Happy Valley 
 
 right. Yes, the title was sound, a straight patent 
 from the government to the company. I asked no 
 further questions. I meant to take a chance and find 
 out what the smiles meant later. Perhaps they were 
 smiling at my clothes. Well, I smiled at theirs. If 
 cowboy-land was lazily quiet and dustily uneventful, 
 it was at least true to fiction in dress. And then I 
 had met the Ratter again, and being blue, became an 
 easy victim. 
 
 Again I counted my money. I wondered why 
 they had left me that much. Of what use was 
 eighteen dollars and seventy cents to a man stranded 
 in a dead little cattle town two hundred miles from 
 a railroad? It probably would not more than pay 
 my hotel bill, if the rumors of prices out West were 
 true. Unable to stand my own thoughts any longer, 
 I got up and washed and dressed and went out into 
 the lobby. 
 
 The hotel keeper, old Van Vader, sat in a dilapi 
 dated armchair before a rusty heating stove, his 
 head hunched down between his shoulders, his long 
 chin sunk between the sharp knuckles of his two 
 hands, his long, bleached-out, sandy mustache curled 
 around his fists like some giant beetle s pincers. I 
 took a vacant chair opposite him. At the same 
 moment the outside door was pushed open and a 
 big, blustering man burst in. A seven-passenger 
 
At Two Forks n 
 
 touring car had stopped before the door, and other 
 men were getting out. 
 
 " We want an extra early dinner and we want it 
 damn quick, see?" said the stranger, charging 
 up to Van Vader, who had not changed his posi 
 tion. 
 
 " Hustle, man ! We ve got the price ! " He jan 
 gled coin alluringly in his pocket. 
 
 Van Vader lifted his chin just sufficiently to work 
 his jaw. " I guess you ve tied up at the wrong 
 stall." His chin went back to his knuckles. 
 
 The stranger opened his eyes wide, came close, 
 frowned, then whirled and strode out, damning 
 the country. The big car buzzed on down the dusty 
 street. 
 
 Van Vader again lifted his long chin from his 
 knuckles. " Guess you ll be wantin somethin to eat, 
 boy. How d an egg, poached tender, set on your 
 stummick?" He got up and ambled toward the 
 dining-room. Surprised, I followed him. He tied 
 on his apron and pushing open a swinging door, 
 went into the kitchen and poached an egg. He also 
 brought me a cup of thick black coffee. I drank it 
 all, though it was as bitter as only long-standing, 
 much-boiled coffee can be. Also I ate the egg. And 
 then some way I felt better about the dusty little 
 town and the Ratter and myself and the whole 
 
12 Happy Valley 
 
 world. I wanted to see my ranch. I d make good 
 yet. 
 
 " I wonder," I ventured to old Van, back in his 
 armchair and his knuckles, "if I could get a horse 
 and overtake the Rat Bullpit ? " 
 
 "You wantin to overtake Bullpit?" He lifted 
 his chin and spoke lazily in an altogether casual tone. 
 
 "Yes, if you think I could manage to keep the 
 right road." 
 
 "There s just one main-traveled road south." 
 
 I pulled out my watch, a handsome one, my twen 
 ty-first birthday gift from my grandfather. I knew 
 with what precise care his exquisite taste had se 
 lected it. But there was no other way. 
 
 " I m short of cash, but if I could leave this watch 
 with you and get a horse " 
 
 He again lifted his chin from his knuckles, this 
 time twisting his head on his neck with a gesture of 
 pointing. " Sol s eatin hay in the corral out back ; 
 you ll find a saddle on the fence." 
 
 I thanked him, but his chin had again sunk be 
 tween his knuckles, and already into his eyes had 
 come a far-away look such as I have seen in the eyes 
 of a puma, blinking in the sun in a park cage as he 
 dreamed of his wilderness home. My words were 
 wasted. 
 
 When I came around to the door with the horse, 
 
At Two Forks 13 
 
 a long-legged, lanky buckskin that had never seen 
 currycomb or brush but had spirit, Van Vader met 
 me with a parcel. " You ll need grub. Follow the 
 main road south. About twenty miles out you ll 
 come to a well-traveled road leadin off to the left; 
 it goes to the Q ranch. Bullpit might stay there 
 tonight ; otherwise you ll find him on the main road 
 that leads on over .Wind Mountain into Happy 
 Valley." 
 
 "If I don t see him I ll inquire," I answered 
 glibly, from my mount. 
 
 He smiled a queer, slow smile and turned back 
 into the hotel. 
 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 OLD MAN CLARK 
 
 FOR a long time I rode moodily, seeing nothing. 
 At last the country began to edge in. Ahead 
 was a yellow, dusty road that wound endlessly and 
 monotonously through a vast plain of yellowish- 
 gray sagebrush. I looked back ; already Two Forks 
 was out of sight. There was nothing on the land 
 scape except an undulating grayness that billowed 
 interminably to far-away, purple mountain ranges 
 which were pierced here and there by snowy peaks. 
 For hours there came no change, nothing to show 
 that I approached the place for which I had started. 
 The hills before me seemed no nearer, those back 
 of me did not recede. I might have been on a tread 
 mill. At long intervals I passed deserted cabins 
 built of upright boards, surrounded by a small clear 
 ing. A dead jack rabbit lay here and there, and 
 occasionally a live one scampered through the brush. 
 Every few paces meadow larks would fly up from 
 the brush, spilling liquid notes on the still air in a 
 perfect abandon to joy. " It is spring, it is spring, 
 they seemed caroling. 
 
 14 
 
Old Man Clark 15 
 
 My brain began to lose its mugginess. I liked the 
 air there was a tang in it. The sky was clear of 
 clouds, blue, and very high. A golden light lay 
 shimmering like a live thing over the desert. I got 
 into a swaying, rhythmic, sing-song motion with the 
 country. The shimmer of the air, the forever undu 
 lating plains, the mystic, retreating hills, my horse 
 loping steadily with long, easy gait everything 
 seemed moving in perfect rhythm. The earth was 
 loping along too, and the sky and all of us, loping 
 along through space together. Once I reined in 
 my horse to listen. There was not a sound in the 
 whole universe, not another human being. 
 
 It was well after sunset before I thought of eating 
 and then I found that I was hungry. I saw a cabin 
 and decided to stop for the night. There was no 
 sign of life. I got down and knocked loudly. There 
 was no answer. I opened the door and stepped in 
 the cabin was empty. There was a bunk against 
 the wall in which was some very old hay. On a 
 small, rudely constructed table was a candle, and on 
 a shelf were some empty cans and dust. Dust every 
 where. A yellowed scrap of paper tacked to the 
 wall above a small mirror performed hospitality s 
 rites : 
 
 "Welcum stranger drink lite etc harty sleep 
 sound." 
 
16 Happy Valley 
 
 I whistled as I accepted my host s invitation, and 
 went out to unsaddle and hobble Sol. At the rear 
 of the house the ground was marshy, and over the 
 moist earth was a white crust. I went on and dis 
 covered a spring. Water poured ceaselessly from 
 many tiny fountains. It had a slick, sweetish taste, 
 suggesting soda and borax. I led Sol over for a 
 drink. He put down his head thirstily, blew in the 
 water, took a few tasting sips, and then tossed his 
 head defiantly. He elected to thirst. I staked him 
 near that he might change his mind if so inclined, 
 then returned to the cabin and started a fire. I 
 opened my lunch. There was bread and butter, 
 bacon, and coffee. Soon the bacon was sizzling, and 
 the coffee boiling in one of the tomato cans. I ate 
 ravenously. 
 
 The next morning I got an early start. Though 
 stiff and sore I was in good spirits. I would find 
 my man, I would locate my ranch, I would build a 
 cabin and make good. Somehow, I would make 
 good. 
 
 In a couple of hours I reached Wind Mountain. 
 I decided to climb to the top and if I did not see 
 my party, go back to the Q Ranch. I rode on. From 
 the top of the mountain I looked on to another vast 
 valley that swept off to far low-lying hills. This 
 valley was walled to. the right with rocky ridges 
 
Old Man Clark 17 
 
 from which extended long, low, finger-like buttes. 
 It had more individuality than the other valley. A 
 few miles off I made out a rig of some kind in a 
 cloud of dust, very likely Bullpit. I rode on down 
 the mountain, urging my horse to make the best 
 speed possible down the steep, rutty incline. Now 
 that I was actually nearing my ranch I was pos 
 sessed by an impatient eagerness to see it. In an 
 hour I came up with the party. 
 
 The Ratter sat crouched down on the front seat 
 of the hack, his hands lazily holding the lines. The 
 four men with him had each settled back within 
 himself in an angry sort of silence, a very different 
 sort from the singing silence which filled the desert. 
 
 As I rode alongside, Bullpit drew up. An amused 
 smile twisted his lips. " So," he greeted me. The 
 others stared moodily and made no sign. They did 
 not look happy. I laid it to the dust which filled the 
 hack, the wind blowing it in their faces. 
 
 "Can you locate me?" I asked, determined to 
 keep my temper with the Ratter. 
 
 He looked around at his men. "Can I locate 
 him? " He seemed to think it a great joke. 
 
 " Locate hell ! " The voice exploded from a linen 
 ulster. 
 
 The Ratter laughed. Oh, he had had an amusing 
 trip, the Ratter ! He asked for the slip I had got 
 
18 Happy Valley 
 
 in the drawing, and consulted a blue print. "In 
 luck," he announced to the others, who remained 
 wrapped in dust and anger. "Not more n two 
 miles from here. It won t put us back much. We 
 can t more than make the Q Ranch tonight, any 
 way." Presently he turned the horses out of the 
 road into the sagebrush, through which they crushed 
 their way as easily as through a way of straws. He 
 drove on until he came up against the rim rock that 
 walled that side of the valley, then got out and 
 began looking for a corner. I got down and helped. 
 
 " Here it is," he announced. " You sure picked a 
 winner begins here and covers eighty acres of as 
 good rim rock as there is in the country." He went 
 off into a spasm of laughter. 
 
 I stood looking at him, every fibre of my being 
 tingling with rage. I wanted to spring on him, seize 
 his thin, working little throat and choke him to 
 death. A querulous voice called, " Come on, come 
 on, we ve wasted time enough on this damn 
 country." 
 
 The Ratter shrugged. " I didn t make the coun 
 try." He seemed washing his hands of the whole 
 matter. "I didn t sell you your tickets." He re 
 turned to his rig. I heard him chuckle as he guided 
 the horses back through the crunching sage to the 
 main road. 
 
Old Man Clark 19 
 
 I sat down on a boulder and watched the dust roll 
 up the mountain side. Had it been anyone but the 
 Ratter ! There was nothing for which to return to 
 Two Forks but I had old Van Vader s horse I 
 had left my watch on his register it was his horse. 
 No, I could not go back to Two Forks not yet. 
 Maybe there was another way out of the country. 
 Maybe if I should ride on south through the valley 
 I would come to another town; somewhere there 
 must be another town and Vader had my watch. 
 It was a valuable watch, heavily jeweled. It was 
 worth many times the old buckskin horse. Never 
 theless, it was his horse and saddle I decided at 
 last to ride on through the valley. I still had some 
 lunch. I could not go back to Two Forks, not at 
 once; I could not face the Ratter with his mean, 
 triumphant laugh, and the half -veiled smiles of the 
 townspeople who had known all along. 
 
 It helped, just mounting again and feeling the 
 long, easy lope of old Sol. I must have ridden fully 
 ten miles down into the heart of the valley when I 
 saw a smoke rising ahead of me, and soon I made 
 out a team, a wagon, and men. The team was feed 
 ing. Three men were moving about the fire. A 
 cattle outfit, I decided, and rode on. 
 
 "Hello, stranger! Won t you light?" An old 
 man greeted me, a bronzed, rough, red-necked, squat 
 
Old Man Clark 21 
 
 old man with a heavy, square jaw and deepset eyes 
 that twinkled good-humoredly. I sprang to the 
 ground. They were cooking dinner. The other two 
 looked silently at me, after a brief nod. Both were 
 young, slender, and heavily tanned. 
 
 " May I share your fire ? " I untied my lunch. 
 
 "Better share our dinner; cooked enough for a 
 dozen, Ed has; family man; used to cookin for a 
 full house." The old man laughed enormously at 
 his joke. Ed stirred potatoes solemnly; the other 
 grinned. I ran my hand into my pocket for money, 
 then remembering the cross-fire of the morning 
 before between Van Vader and the man with " the 
 price," withdrew it. This was not a country where 
 money could buy all things on all occasions. 
 
 "I shall be glad to do so," I said. "I m not 
 much of a cook." 
 
 " New to these parts ? " the old man asked, then 
 quickly added, as though his question had been an 
 indiscretion, " Some takes to cookin natural and 
 some don t, and that s all there is to it. My second 
 girl, Ed here s wife she never took to it. Her 
 mother blames me; says I made a boy of her; she 
 can ride with any buckaroo from here to Texas, 
 barrin none. She s right there with the ridin and 
 ropin and brandin and wranglin , but when it comes 
 to makin biscuit, oh my ! " He doubled up in a con- 
 
22 Happy Valley 
 
 vulsion of laughter while the tears rolled down his 
 cheeks. " But Ed now," he twisted his head toward 
 Ed, "her man, he can make biscuit. She drawed 
 right when she drawed Ed." There was distinct 
 pride in his voice. " Ed " colored, and became very 
 busy with the eats. He opened a Dutch oven, set 
 out a pan of flaky biscuit, and told us to help our 
 selves. There were fried bacon and potatoes. It 
 seemed to me the best food I ever tasted. 
 
 When we finished eating we continued to sit 
 around the dying fire in that comfortably lazy state 
 of mind induced by a hearty meal for which you are 
 a little bit more than ready. 
 
 I had noticed the old man s check on himself after 
 starting to question me, so I took the cue and asked 
 no questions; but I wondered about them. My 
 curiosity was to be satisfied. With a final drawing 
 of his blue flannel sleeve across his mouth, and a 
 thoroughly satisfied expression, he gazed about him. 
 
 " Boys," he said, " you can go on if you like. The 
 old man stops right here." 
 
 The young men looked at each other, then off at 
 the expanse of country in which they were as a pin 
 prick. The other one, whom they called Jim, spoke. 
 "What s good enough for Dad s good enough for 
 
 me." 
 
 Then Ed : " Drive in your stake, Dad." 
 
Old Man Clark 23 
 
 " They ain t no choice, boys," the old man went 
 on. He dug his stubby fingers into the soil. " It s 
 good dark loam, and moist underneath all through 
 this valley, I imagine. It ll dry farm somethin 
 great. We re at about the center, where a town d 
 naturally come. When a railroad pulls in, it ll hit 
 along the center. I ain t particular, boys, you choose 
 first." 
 
 "You re the oldest, Dad, you first." 
 
 The old man drew out a blue-print map and 
 spread it on the ground, weighting it down at the 
 corners with stones. The two young men seriously 
 studied it and then gazed about them. I was mys 
 tified. How could one select one particular little 
 spot in that waste of land? It looked hopelessly 
 vast and vague to me. Ed pulled a dime from his 
 pocket and giving it a whirl, it landed on the blue 
 print, where it spun around and came to rest. All 
 three heads bent. He lifted the coin and proclaimed 
 the section number. It had fallen, strangely, on the 
 section where we sat. That decided the matter. The 
 old man went to the wagon, took out a stake, and 
 drove it down. "This one s mine," he said. The 
 boys then tossed up for the next choice. It fell to 
 Jim. He took the three hundred and twenty acres 
 adjoining the old man on the right. Ed, with the 
 caution of a true Scot which I later found that 
 
24 Happy Valley 
 
 he was walked about and studied the distant 
 landscape. 
 
 " Seems to me there s a bunch of different green 
 off toward that butte," he said, nodding to the west. 
 " Must be water there. Fd somehow feel more sure 
 with water." 
 
 " That s close enough neighbors for real pioneer- 
 in ," said the old man, " and plenty close to the rail 
 road when it gets in. Can t be more n four or 
 five miles at the most, and might be less. Better ride 
 off and take a look at it. If a man wants water, 
 water he d orter have. I always like the center of 
 the valley, myself; someway got a hankerin after 
 the center; every man to his hankerin ." 
 
 "If a fellow should want to irrigate " began 
 Ed. 
 
 "But we was all going in for dry farming," in 
 terrupted Jim. 
 
 " A fellow might want to irrigate," persisted Ed. 
 
 " Now, Ed, you just take Baldy and go along and 
 look at that land. Jim and me ll smoke and rest and 
 read the evenin paper when the boy brings it 
 round." He chuckled over his joke. " Tomorrow s 
 time enough to start back; never was a better day 
 than the one comin ." 
 
 Ed started for his horse, then turned back to me. 
 "Won t you come along?" 
 
Old Man Clark 25 
 
 " Yes, go along," urged the old man. " And what 
 might be your name, son? " 
 
 "Brent; Billy Brent." A foolish whim struck 
 me. I wanted the old man to call me Billy. 
 
 " Take along the ax and the blue print," he called 
 to Ed. " And Billy, you get a couple of stakes from 
 the wagon." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MOTHER LATTIG 
 
 ED fell slowly into talk, but by the time we 
 reached the watered land, he had told me all 
 about themselves. He and Jim were the old man s 
 sons-in-law. The three had been working in lumber 
 mills in California, but the mills had closed down. 
 The old man had spent most of his life pioneering. 
 He had fought potato bugs in Texas, prairie dogs 
 in Kansas, and chinch bugs in Oklahoma. 
 
 He had lived in San Francisco the past five years, 
 where his two older daughters had married and 
 where his youngest, Susie, had been going to school. 
 No, he hadn t any sons, but Susie was as good as a 
 boy any day. She was only sixteen, but she was a 
 great girl. Well, when work had closed down, the 
 old man, who had been restive right along living in 
 town, got the pioneering fever bad, with the result 
 that all three finally got it, pooled their possessions, 
 realized as much cash as possible, and started out 
 to find a place in which to pioneer. He and Jim 
 were willing enough, for work was uncertain in the 
 
 26 
 
Mother Lattig 27 
 
 mills, and it took all a man earned to live, especially 
 with a growing family. 
 
 Neither of the younger men had had much ex 
 perience except in heavy timber they were en 
 gineers by trade. They had, altogether, about two 
 thousand dollars in cash. They had been traveling 
 for over a month through Northern California and 
 Eastern Oregon and they had inspected about all 
 the government land there was. Neither he nor 
 Jim knew much about soils, but Dad did, and they 
 were staking his judgment on the throw. Dad said 
 this soil was a top-notcher for dry farming. 
 
 He also said that a railroad would tap this great 
 inland empire soon. There had been pieces in the 
 papers about it recently ; in fact, that was what had 
 finally got them all started the talk of a railroad. 
 The Merriman people had kept Eastern Oregon bot 
 tled up for over a quarter of a century, but their 
 own interests would be better advanced now by 
 development. It was the last West, and it contained 
 fifty-six million acres, a few million of which was 
 the finest wheat land in the whole world, not barring 
 Canada; to say nothing of billions of feet of white 
 pine on the inland mountain slopes, unknown wealth 
 in coal, oil, soda, borax, and God knows what else. 
 
 Nothing had been developed because it was shut 
 off from markets. Mountains closed it in a per- 
 
28 Happy Valley 
 
 feet barricade on the west, north, and east. There 
 was said to be but one possible pass on each of these 
 sides, and these were controlled by the Merriman 
 people. The Northern Pass, Roaring Canyon, was 
 a terrific gorge one hundred miles long and narrow, 
 with perpendicular walls of stone, in many places 
 two thousand feet high. It would be expensive rail 
 roading, but they would go to it all right trust the 
 Merrimans. Why, hadn t they passed surveying 
 crews and seen them running lines with their very 
 own eyes ? A surveyor was like the first swallow 
 it meant the rest was coming. 
 
 Besides according to Dad they could make it 
 without a railroad for a while, anyway. It was 
 a stock country and they could make it on stock. 
 They meant to raise grain and start with a few pigs 
 and some cattle. Other settlers would come in. All 
 you had to do, Dad said, was to start a settler move 
 ment and others would follow. The whole country 
 would be settled up in no time. They had found it 
 in the raw but for the big cattle ranches which aver 
 aged one hundred miles apart, and they would have 
 their pick. 
 
 "We ll use tents on the start-off," he explained; 
 and finally, " Married ? " It was his first question. 
 I remembered Ennis s last request and my readily 
 given promise. 
 
Mother Lattig 29 
 
 " No," I answered, " and not going to be." For 
 the first time, someway, I cared. 
 
 He drew his mouth into a one-sided smile as 
 much as to say he understood they all talked that 
 way but he only said, " Homesteadin* would be 
 right down lonesome for a bachelor. Most of the 
 deserted homesteads were deserted by bachelors, 
 Dad says." 
 
 We found an immense spring gushing from the 
 side of the butte and forming a considerable pool, 
 on top of which floated water cress, green and fresh 
 and peppery. The water was crystal clear and as 
 cold as ice. Also it was good sweet water. Our 
 horses filled up like camels. So did we, lying flat on 
 our stomachs. The land lay high and level as a 
 table, overlooking the whole vast valley. I wanted 
 to climb the butte, which wasn t over two hundred 
 feet high, and see what lay on the other side. 
 
 " This being watered," Ed said, " cuts me out of 
 getting three hundred and twenty. I can take only 
 one hundred and sixty, watered. Wish I could have 
 the whole table." 
 
 "Isn t there another government act?" 
 
 " Desert ; but you can t take land that s watered 
 under the desert act; that s what it means youVe 
 got to get water on it." 
 
 " Perhaps it is not all watered," I suggested. We 
 
30 Happy Valley 
 
 rode around the butte and Ed suddenly reined in his 
 horse. From the chimney of a cabin not a mile 
 away smoke issued. "So I ve a neighbor," he 
 exclaimed. " Suppose we call and pass the time o 
 day." It matters who your neighbor is when you 
 have just one. 
 
 We halted before a small weather-grayed cabin 
 of upright boards and Ed slid to the ground and 
 rapped on the door. Heavy footsteps crossed a 
 board floor, the door was pulled open, and a large, 
 swarthy-skinned woman completely filled the space. 
 Coarse, unbrushed black hair framed her big face, 
 while her coal-black eyes were set in rims fiery red 
 from crying or dust. She wore a green-checked 
 gingham apron which hung full from a belt and 
 above it was a man s jumper of blue denim. She 
 kept one hand under her apron. 
 
 " Me got no money, me got no money," she cried 
 out in broken guttural tones. She seemed to be 
 Hungarian. 
 
 " Neither have we," Ed answered, seeing she was 
 frightened. "We re your new neighbors; three 
 families of us are settling in your valley; we ve 
 come to make a friendly call." 
 
 " Neighbors ? " She bent closer and peered into 
 Ed s face. "You my neighbors? You come frye 
 by me ? Oh ! mine gootness neighbors ! " She 
 
Mother Lattig 31 
 
 spoke rapidly, and in her excitement she drew her 
 hand from under her apron. She had a gun. 
 
 "We sure are," Ed answered. "I m locating 
 over there on the plateau." He pointed proudly to 
 his piece of land. " I m your neighbor all right, and 
 there s others." 
 
 "Neighbors! Oh! mine gootness neighbors!" 
 She dropped the gun and seizing her apron in both 
 hands threw it to her face and began to sway and 
 sob. The gesture displayed two stocky overall- 
 encased legs. " Ah, God, neighbors ! " came in thick 
 gutturals. Then as abruptly she threw down the 
 apron and made a rush at Ed and clung to him, 
 sobbing and swaying and hugging him. 
 
 I got down from my horse. Ed didn t smile. I 
 hadn t felt like smiling, even at the two stout legs 
 beneath the huge apron. 
 
 " And what is your name ? Ed McKenzie ? Dat 
 fine; and yours Billy Brent? Come in, Ed Mc 
 Kenzie; come in, Billy Brent. Neighbors, ah, 
 God ! " She backed into the room and shooed out 
 the cat; she pushed the dog, a lazy, white hound, 
 out of the way. We followed her in. 
 
 "Better pick up your gun," Ed said. The sug 
 gestion served to take her mind off the appearance 
 of neighbors. With tears streaming down her big, 
 good-natured face, she picked up the gun, all the 
 
32 Happy Valley 
 
 time backing about, mindful now of her overall 
 exposure to the rear. 
 
 " I hear you come," she explained, now laughing 
 and crying together, while she pushed forward 
 chairs for us, "and I say, Some one come kill me/ 
 I see gun. I take heem down. I don t cannot shoot. 
 I turn heem dis way and I turn heem dat" she 
 illustrated, bending her huge body over the small 
 pistol. " I pull on dis and I pull on dat. I press 
 heem screw. I jam heem here and I jam heem 
 dere. But he don t cannot go. Once I scared at 
 sheep man. I take heem down. I pull on some- 
 dings. He go off queek like dat! I put heem 
 away and I say I never touch heem again! And 
 here today once more no, never again!" She 
 pushed the gun viciously back onto a shelf. A rifle 
 stood in the corner. 
 
 " Do you live here all alone ? " I asked. It didn t 
 seem possible. 
 
 "My boy Tom he go to mills for lumber; leave 
 me all alone. He leave plenty grub. He say, Mud- 
 der, I be back soon, but if I don t come, I be back 
 pretty soon. De days and de nights come and 
 he don t cannot come. One day de wind he blow. 
 Ah, God, he never blow before, he never blow after. 
 I open door queek, and I shut heem queek ! I can 
 not got no place to go. I stay in de house, and he 
 
Mother Lattig 33 
 
 rock, and I cry. Ah, God, how much water I drop 
 down onto de ranch! I go to bed. I get up. I 
 tink mebby my boy come. Mebby not. I don t 
 cannot know. I tink I die and when he come I 
 be all gone. De sheep man come. He say my boy 
 hurt at mill. He not bad hurt. He come pretty 
 queek now. He send grub. Dat been " She 
 got up and, forgetting her overalls, lumbered over 
 to the wall where she had cut notches in the strip 
 ping, and slowly counted. " Dat been forty days 
 now and he don t cannot come." The tears gushed 
 from her eyes and she began again to sway and 
 sob, again having recourse to her apron; almost at 
 once she sprang up and lumbered over to the door. 
 She seemed under the necessity of acting everything 
 out. 
 
 "I get up in de morning, and I go to de door, 
 and I bow deep, and I say, Good morning, Mr. 
 Mountaing, and I wait but he don t cannot an 
 swer." She shook her head sadly. "And I turn to 
 de east, and I say, Good morning, Mr. Mountaing, 
 and he don t cannot answer; and I turn to de west 
 and I say, Good morning, Mr. Mountaing, and he 
 don t cannot answer. Ah, God, I all alone ! " The 
 tears poured down her swarthy cheeks, but before 
 either of us could speak, she remembered her hos 
 pitality, and drawing one hand after another over 
 
34 Happy Valley 
 
 her eyes, she turned a bright look on us. " What 1 
 tink ? I get supper for my neighbors. Where have 
 gone it my manners, I hope!" 
 
 We insisted that we had been fed, and then ex 
 plained that we must get back to camp. Ed told her 
 about his father-in-law. 
 
 "And a woom?" she asked, "old like me?" 
 Her face twitched with eagerness. 
 
 "Yes, the best woman on earth, my wife s 
 mother. And there s my wife and Jim s wife and 
 Susie. We will all be living here soon." 
 
 "You come pretty queek?" She all but clung 
 to us. 
 
 " As quick as possible." 
 
 "You go Two Forks way?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then mebby you see my boy, yes? You tell 
 heem hees mudder most dead, yes ? You got garden 
 seed, yes? I lika get some." She hurried down 
 the steps, and swept her arm about a cleared patch. 
 " I clear all heem wid my two hands, yes. I lika 
 garden seed. You see my boy, yes?" 
 
 We agreed to find her boy and then remembered 
 that we didn t know her name. 
 
 " Lattig. Nish Lattig. You come back queek ! " 
 
 She stood mopping her eyes with her apron as we 
 rode off, and neither of us smiled at the two stout 
 
Mother Lattig 35 
 
 kegs of legs encased in their overalls. Ed was silent. 
 As we neared camp and the cheerful greeting of the 
 old man came to us, he sighed deeply. " I can t do 
 it," he said. " I can t take Lil off to a place all alone 
 like that. I ll just file alongside the old man where 
 she ll be close to her mother." 
 
 " Then," I said, " do you mind my filing on your 
 plateau?" 
 
 " Take it, and luck." He held out his hand. 
 
 Some way I felt awfully close to Ed. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 BIG JOHN REGAN 
 
 I UNSADDLED Sol and turned him into the 
 corral, then went at once into the hotel. Van 
 Vader sat as I had left him four days earlier, his 
 long chin sunk between his knuckles, his straw- 
 colored, beetle-pincer mustache hooping the whole. 
 
 " Mr. Vader," I said, " I ve returned your horse, 
 and I am going to ask another favor. I want to file 
 on a homestead and I ve got just about the filing 
 fee. Will you continue to hold my watch for my 
 board bill and horse hire so I can file?" 
 
 He dislodged one fist, ran it into his pocket, pulled 
 out my watch and held it out to me. My heart went 
 down I wanted that land with the spring on it. 
 I particularly wanted that spring. " Awful careless 
 about leavin your things round," he drawled. 
 " Make yourself at home, boy, and pay when you 
 can." 
 
 "But Mr. Vader" 
 
 He continued to hold out the watch. " Better be 
 gettin over t the land office. There s others has 
 
 36 
 
Big John Regan 37 
 
 went down that way lately that may have film 
 intentions." 
 
 "If I could get a job at something; you haven t 
 a clerk " I stopped. The office register lay open 
 on a kitchen table for anyone to use who had the 
 habit. Van s wife was chambermaid and waitress 
 and he was cook. 
 
 " What can you do ? Ever shof e ? " 
 
 A chauffeur and my grandfather, old Judge 
 Brent, one of the most brilliant lawyers in his state ! 
 
 "Regan was in here from the Q Ranch a few 
 minutes ago wantin a shofe. He d like s not give 
 you a chance if you are a good one. If you can t 
 shofe he might send you to a shoffin school. He 
 has others." 
 
 " Thank you. I ve driven my own car since I was 
 sixteen." He eyed me queerly, then resumed his 
 chin-knuckle position and his puma gaze into space. 
 I instantly regretted my speech. "I will do any 
 thing I can get to do," I added quickly. 
 
 "Then put your watch in your pocket and go 
 file," he said, sharply. 
 
 When I returned a half -hour later with a docu 
 ment from Uncle Sam, which made me tentative 
 owner of one hundred and sixty acres of sagebrush 
 land, a group of stockmen had formed in the lobby. 
 In the center was a large, heavy man with a massive 
 
38 Happy Valley 
 
 head showing shaggy, dark hair beneath a wide, 
 black hat which was pushed back from his forehead, 
 and a broad, beaming face, every line of which pro 
 claimed the utmost good humor. He was recount 
 ing an experience he had just had with a cattle 
 trader whom they all seemed to know, and who had 
 sworn off drinking. 
 
 "By the gushins, John, them s good cattle," he 
 says to me. " Not very good, Jim," I says, " you ve 
 been stringing out the hay on em. " By the gushins, 
 John," he says, " I didn t think you d notice that." 
 With that he stamped into the house, and demanded 
 of his wife the little brown bottle; but he couldn t 
 wait for her to get it; he goes and gets it himself, 
 and he pours out a drink and drinks it down, and 
 he says, "By the gushins, if I d a had a drink I d a 
 asked John fifty cents apiece a hundred more on 
 them cattle; and by the gushins, he d a paid it 
 too." 
 
 A roar of laughter greeted the last words. Van 
 Vader, grinning gleefully, at length remembered me 
 and performed the rites : " Brent, shake hands with 
 John Regan. Brent s the homesteader I was tellin 
 you about." 
 
 The man s grip was firm and his deep-set, blue- 
 gray eyes looked penetratingly into mine. Then he 
 laughed a funny little chuckle, and I thought to 
 
Big John Regan 39 
 
 myself he was certainly the most good-natured man 
 on earth. All at once, as he again looked steadily 
 into my eyes, I felt that I wouldn t want to fail him 
 and be anywhere around when he found it out. The 
 others filed into the dining-room. 
 
 " Got you run into the bunch already, have they ? " 
 he said in a low, kindly voice. " Well, there s noth 
 ing like a piece of land." 
 
 " That job at shoffin ," Van Vader drawled out, 
 just barely lifting his chin, " is took." I was disap 
 pointed, for all at once I wanted to " shofe " for this 
 man. 
 
 " Where s your land ? " asked Regan. 
 
 I handed him my document. 
 
 " You must be pretty close to old lady Lattig." 
 
 "There is one section between us, sir." 
 
 " You d like to go on your ranch now ; you d like 
 to go on your ranch right now," and he repeated, 
 eying me steadily. " Yes, you d like to go on your 
 ranch right now." 
 
 "I would, Mr. Regan." 
 
 " I thought so. Now, why can t we fix it up first- 
 rate ? Tom Lattig is just getting around from a bad 
 fall at the lumber mill up in the mountains. He 
 won t walk much for a spell. The thing is for you 
 to take his team and lumber and supplies and go 
 down and stay with his mother till he is fit for ranch 
 
40 Happy Valley 
 
 work again. He can t pay you anything, but you ll 
 have your board and your time for grubbing sage 
 brush; and he d feel safe about his mother. Yes," 
 he eyed me with an intent steadiness that some way 
 fixed responsibility on me, " he d feel safe about his 
 mother." 
 
 " That would suit me," I said, " except that I owe 
 Mr. Vader a little bill. If he will keep my watch " 
 I pulled it out again. Van Vader removed the prop 
 from his chin to wave the watch away. 
 
 Regan chuckled. " Van hasn t got much use for 
 time," he said mildly. " No, Van hasn t got much 
 use for time." 
 
 I was still troubled about it and I suppose my 
 face said as much. Regan held out his hand. 
 " You re an asset, Mr. Brent. We need young men 
 to settle up the country. And when you re in debt 
 you ve got a responsibility most as good as a wife. 
 Just leave it on the books. We ll see Tom Lattig 
 and get the thing fixed up." 
 
 He started with quick decisiveness toward the 
 door. 
 
 " I am sorry to trouble you," I said. " Perhaps 
 I can find him." 
 
 "No trouble at all. Tom s right out here in 
 my car." Tom Lattig was the stockman s new 
 chauffeur. 
 
Big John Regan 41 
 
 I had never handled four horses before and 
 the job took my closest attention. The leaders 
 were steady pullers, but the other team had been 
 driven only once in harness, and but for the heavy 
 load of lumber they would have played smash 
 with the outfit. As it was I had to keep my eyes 
 constantly on them. My wrists ached, and all 
 my back muscles were sore. At the end of three 
 days I came in sight of the cabin. I had made 
 just two purchases, a choice variety of garden 
 seed for the old lady Lattig and a pair of 
 overalls. 
 
 She came plumping heavily through the sage 
 brush to meet me. I knew that she had recognized 
 the horses, and had mistaken me for her son. I 
 dreaded the moment she should discover her mis 
 take. I couldn t hurry the fagged horses, but she 
 could hurry. Her great weight charged along, car 
 ried by mother-wings. When quite close, she 
 stopped in the road, her hands on her hips she 
 now wore a regulation woman s dress with its 
 proper skirt and waited. When she recognized 
 me she threw her apron to her face in a gesture of 
 terrible anguish. 
 
 "Tom s all right; he s got a job," I called to her. 
 "He s sent me down with his load." 
 
 " He not all dead? " The apron was thrust away 
 
42 Happy Valley 
 
 from her face, as the deep guttural voice made the 
 demand. 
 
 " He s very much alive, with a fine, spanking new 
 job of driving Mr. Regan s big seven-passenger tour 
 ing car," I explained. And as she came closer, 
 " His leg isn t quite sound yet for ranch work, so 
 I m to be your boy for a while. Yes, he is all right 
 on my honor. He sent you this." I reached 
 down and handed her Tom s note. She climbed up 
 and, settling comfortably on the fresh-smelling pine 
 boards, tore open the envelope. The tears began to 
 pour down her cheeks as she recognized the writing ; 
 she swayed back and forth in an agony of delay as 
 she laboriously spelled out each word. All through 
 the reading she continued to ejaculate : " Ah, God ! " 
 "Ah, my boy!" He had evidently kept from his 
 mother till now the seriousness of his injury. I 
 drove on steadily and a silly lump rose in my throat. 
 To have some one love a fellow and cry about him 
 like that! 
 
 By the time we reached the cabin the old lady 
 was laughing as heartily as she had cried, and tell 
 ing me of her experience with a badger which she 
 had beaten to death with a piece of sagebrush. She 
 hurried into the cabin to prepare supper, very much 
 excited over having some one to cook for. I un 
 hitched the horses, then threw the lumber off the 
 
Big John Regan 43 
 
 wagon. I don t think I was ever so utterly ex 
 hausted in my life as I was that night. The cabin 
 had a lean-to, and here the old lady stowed me away, 
 in Tom s bed. It was merely a set of springs, 
 padded with quilts, that rested on four spaghetti 
 boxes, but a more welcome bed I never had. 
 
 The next morning I was awakened by my hostess 
 appearing in the doorway with a gun over her 
 shoulder. Had she suddenly gone mad ? Stiff and 
 sore as I was, I sat up instantly. 
 
 "You show me how to shoot heem," she said. 
 " I ask my boy, he laugh, but bimeby when he come 
 home, I shoot, so, and he don t cannot laugh no 
 more." 
 
 I took the rifle and initiated her into the intrica 
 cies of loading, putting it on safety, taking it off, 
 promising that after breakfast we would have a 
 shooting match. She was intensely excited over the 
 prospect and hurried away to the frying of ham and 
 the making of coffee. 
 
 Later I visited my ranch. It looked mighty good 
 to me. The elevation gave it a beautiful outlook 
 over the great wide valley and the spring water was 
 the finest I ever drank. From the top of the butte, a 
 gradual climb of about two hundred feet, the view 
 of the whole country was superb. And best of all, 
 it was mine, my own soil, the first thing I had ever 
 
44 
 
 Happy Valley 
 
 owned that hadn t been handed me outright by my 
 grandfather. I felt as proud, pacing my lonely 
 butte, as any captain ever felt on the deck of his 
 ship. I went down at 
 last and walked over 
 my plateau, selecting a 
 site for the cabin. Nat 
 urally, it must be near 
 the spring. The rim 
 rock should furnish 
 building stone. I 
 wanted to build solidly. 
 The homestead cabins 
 of upright boards 
 looked poverty-stricken 
 and perishable. I meant 
 to stay, to stay forever 
 in this land where the 
 air had a tang in it and 
 everything was at its 
 beginning. The prospect of homesteading brought 
 back all the thrill of adventure that had passed out 
 of my life with Diamond Dick literature. I was 
 a boy again under a tree in the old orchard, seeing 
 into a wonderland of enchantment and freedom. 
 The whole outlook delighted me and Mother Lat- 
 tig could cook! How she did it I cannot imagine, 
 
 Mother Lattig 
 
Big John Regan 45 
 
 but the savory soup and the delicious stew she had 
 evolved from the most ordinary ingredients the 
 evening before had been a revelation to me. 
 
 I decided to locate my house at the foot of the 
 butte Coyote Butte, Mother Lattig called it, be 
 cause the coyotes collected there nightly to howl 
 then returned to the Lattig ranch. The old lady 
 stood waiting for me in the doorway. She was 
 broadly beaming now she was not alone, and she 
 was to have neighbors. 
 
 Three weeks later I saw two white spots moving 
 slowly through the sagebrush from the south and I 
 knew that our neighbors were coming in. I called 
 the old lady to the doorway to see for herself. She 
 stood there, shading her eyes and gazing hard at the 
 white spots ; she began to cry and then to laugh ; I 
 wondered if she would be able to endure the joy of 
 having a "woom" in the valley. To help control 
 her overflowing emotions I suggested that she get 
 dinner ready for them. "They will be good and 
 sick of camp fare," I said. " You cook up a great 
 pot of goulash and I will ride out to meet them and 
 extend the invitation." 
 
 " How many ? " she asked, her eyes kindled to 
 two points of flame. 
 
 She knew, but she must have it all over again. 
 " Let s see," I began, counting them off on my fin- 
 
46 Happy Valley 
 
 gers, "old man Clark and his wife and Ed McKen- 
 zie and his wife and two children and Jim Urdahl 
 and his wife and four children and and Susie." 
 
 "That s thirteen bad luck!" 
 
 " We ll change it. I ll eat with them. I m empty 
 now thinking of that goulash." 
 
 "Maybe dey bring someone else, too. Who s 
 Susie?" 
 
 " Susie is old man Clark s youngest daughter." 
 
 "She not married, no?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Mebby bimeby she marry my boy Tom, den I 
 have whole heaps of grandchildren yes?" 
 
 I don t know why I resented this, but I was aware 
 of feeling resentful. Why did everyone have to 
 marry or talk of marrying? " Susie is only a child," 
 I said irritably. " She s just sixteen." 
 
 " Child ! huh ! Pretty queek she grow up," and 
 the old lady went in to start her cooking, tossing 
 meanwhile an imaginary baby in her arms. 
 
 It was not necessary that I sit down with our din 
 ner party to change the luck. The Clarks had, 
 somewhere in the wilderness to the south, picked up 
 Bullpit. As near as I could make out, the last load 
 of suckers the Ratter had carted down into his rim 
 rock proposition had left him with a disinclination 
 for further "ratting" of that order. Nosing a 
 
Big John Regan 47 
 
 spring-filing boom, he had abandoned his party and 
 joined the Clarks to look over the home-steading 
 opportunities of Happy Valley with a view to lo 
 cating future homeseekers there. He had been 
 traveling horseback but had apparently handed his 
 horse over to Susie. She rode gaily into the Lattig 
 enclosure, slipped to the ground before her mount 
 was at a standstill, and dropped the reins over his 
 head in western fashion. Then she joined me for 
 the walk up to the door, where the old lady, held 
 steadfast by her interpretation of decorum, was 
 tugging at every string of etiquette that held her in 
 her eagerness to greet a "woom." 
 
 Susie rode in the loose, swinging, relaxed man 
 ner of one who has grown up in a cattle country; 
 I liked her at once, and when she sprang to the 
 ground and joined me instead of Bullpit, I liked her 
 still better. She resembled her father she was 
 short, strong, and muscular, and as straight as an 
 arrow, with a quick energetic walk and a perfectly 
 self-reliant air. She was extremely fair, in spite 
 of long exposure to sun and dust ; she had that firm, 
 thick, white skin that does not tan or burn, and her 
 hair was flaxen. But her eyes were dark blue and 
 deep set, the lids caught down oddly at the corners, 
 and fringed with black lashes. They twinkled like 
 stars when she laughed. Really, she was a surpris- 
 
48 Happy Valley 
 
 ingly pretty girl, just emerging from childhood, and 
 older than most girls of sixteen. I could see that 
 she was already amusing herself with Bullpit. Her 
 joining me had not indicated a preference for me so 
 much as a preference for teasing. 
 
 Mrs. Clark looked all her husband claimed for 
 her "the best woman on earth" motherly, ex 
 pansive, capable, and wholesome; while the other 
 women, the wives of Ed and Jim, were younger edi 
 tions of their mother, forever busy with one or 
 another of the eternally active tow-headed children. 
 I felt at once that there was a quality in Susie which 
 the rest of her family lacked. I couldn t quite place 
 it. It might have been that she had had better 
 advantages, having been in a city school the past 
 five years. This had modified the type, no doubt. 
 Even her dress had a distinctly individual air. She 
 wore a chic little blue middy-blouse, a short blue 
 serge skirt, and just above her small pink ears rested 
 huge bows of blue ribbon. She had nice slim ankles 
 and small feet well shod in flat school-girl shoes of 
 tan. I thought to myself that even Ennis could not 
 object to Susie, and then I dismissed the thought. 
 What was Ennis to Susie, or Susie to Ennis? 
 
 I did my best to treat Bullpit cordially, for I knew 
 he was really not to blame for the rim rock sale, 
 and neither was he to blame for my recent debauch, 
 
Big John Regan 49 
 
 which I chose to forget altogether. And at all events 
 he would soon be going on to Two Forks. 
 
 All through dinner old man Clark talked and 
 laughed and told quaint stories on his family, and 
 every time Mother Lattig passed his way he would 
 pat her broad back, and say, " Oh, but she s a fine 
 woman, a woman who can cook like that ! There ll 
 be stars in her crown." And then he d have another 
 helping of goulash, and brag about how much he 
 could still eat. Mrs. Clark declared she would have 
 to get the recipe or there would be no keeping him 
 at home, and Susie wanted to know, prettily, 
 if she could come over sometime and learn 
 how to make all those interesting Hungarian 
 dishes. 
 
 "I would have graduated in domestic science if 
 we had stayed in town," she said, proudly. " I d had 
 two whole years in high school." 
 
 "And you ll have your domestic science yet, 
 honey," said her mother consolingly. 
 
 "Yes, with the best teacher on earth, her ma," 
 said old Clark with paternal firmness. The mother 
 shot him a reproving look, and Susie s head went up 
 a trifle more erectly; her tiny, pointed chin went 
 into the air, and I knew at once that her ambition 
 for further education was a bone of contention in 
 the family. 
 
50 Happy Valley 
 
 " We ll have a graded school here in no time ; just 
 you watch my smoke," bragged the old man. 
 
 The next morning I rode on to the group of 
 homesteads with the men and helped pitch tents and 
 start a temporary camp, while the women remained 
 with Mother Lattig. We left them looking at the 
 garden. It was freshly planted. No green shoots 
 were yet showing, but there were the little ridges 
 of soil that indicated where the seed had gone into 
 the ground, and empty paper bags stuck over stakes 
 at the end of each row indicated what had been 
 planted, and it was all very exciting. Never before 
 in its age-long evolution from rock had human hand 
 disturbed this soil. 
 
 When we returned that evening, I heard news. 
 Bullpit had decided to take up the land between 
 mine and Mother Lattig s, and had gone on to Two 
 Forks to make his filing. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 SUSIE OF THE STAR EYES 
 
 ONE spring day when a boy of nine or ten, 
 having played hooky from school, I ran off 
 to a park not far from home where a creek bubbled 
 joyously over gleaming white stones, and tadpoles 
 were to be found. I waded, caught tadpoles, and 
 finally lay on the bank with my feet dangling in the 
 water, and gazed up at the yellow-green of the 
 young leaves. It was a world of golden haze, all 
 dreams and sweet unreality. 
 
 I remember feeling, when the sun went down and 
 I knew that I must go back home, that I had stolen 
 a day out of dreamland. The contrast with the 
 world I must return to, a fearsome woman-world 
 where half -hidden phantoms of disaster were for 
 ever casting gloomy shadows, brought such a sense 
 of horror and dread that I could scarcely force 
 mysel f to go back . The fear o f the whipping I should 
 receive the double whipping, for I should catch it 
 both at school and at home was nothing to the 
 dread of that gloomy, trouble-haunted household. 
 
 The spring in Happy Valley brought back to my 
 
 51 
 
52 Happy Valley 
 
 mind the long-lost day of my boyhood. I expe 
 rienced the same gloriously unhampered sense of 
 personal freedom and timelessness ; it was a time 
 less world in a dateless eternity. Day after day 
 I grubbed sagebrush, which, on the suggestion of 
 Mother Lattig, I stacked for winter fuel, and eve 
 ning after evening I returned to the Lattig cabin 
 tired to the point of exhaustion, hungry, smelling of 
 earth and sweat, but with a clean soul-and-body 
 washed feeling. I was tired in every cell, a healthy 
 animal tired. I ate ravenously and greedily, hardly 
 pausing between mouth fuls, and I was glad to fall 
 on to my bed immediately after supper. We seemed 
 far removed from the world that had always been 
 such a trouble, the world that worried and sobbed 
 and prayed and blamed and cared. Nobody here 
 worried. Each one was tremendously busy. It was 
 a veritable ant-heap of industry; no one had time to 
 worry; each one just worked and sang. 
 
 I went over to the Clark settlement, which Susie 
 had dubbed Tenttown, frequently, helping now and 
 then with water hauling, well-digging, fencing, and 
 excavating for the dug-outs. Mrs. Clark cooked for 
 the whole settlement, her married daughters grubbed 
 sagebrush with their men, and the tow-headed, sun- 
 bleached youngsters rolled about happily in the dust. 
 Susie filled in everywhere. While the men were 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 53 
 
 digging the well she drove every other day to my 
 spring for water. She handled a team skillfully and 
 easily, her firm, strong, young wrists never seeming 
 to weaken under the strain. Often she would grub 
 sagebrush with her father nearly all day, and go for 
 water late in the afternoon. Darkness would fre 
 quently come on while she was still miles away, and 
 to guide her the home folks would start a sagebrush 
 fire. Night after night the young girl, alone in an 
 eternity of space, with nothing in nature to fix direc 
 tions, would rivet her eyes on the column of lurid 
 smoke and by it bring her team safely in. 
 
 She had her play times. As the bunch grass in 
 creased, wild horses and cattle began straying into 
 Happy Valley. It was the greatest sport in the 
 world for her to rope a wild pony and break him to 
 the saddle. I would watch her as the pony bucked 
 her off a dozen times, while her family, looking on, 
 doubled up with laughter over her performance. It 
 was the kind of "play" they had all been bred to, 
 and Susie was only going back to the sports she 
 remembered as a child. It never seemed to occur to 
 anyone to check her. It was a part of life as they 
 knew life and accepted it, and as I began to accept it. 
 
 I saw another side to Susie. She had her own 
 small tent which stood beside her father s. One day 
 she invited me in when entertaining the babies dur- 
 
54 Happy Valley 
 
 ing a windstorm. It was a pathetic little corner of 
 girldom. She had pinned her foolish trinkets on the 
 walls. There were kodak pictures. Here was a 
 group of high school boys and girls, caps atilt, look 
 ing saucy ; there a fishing excursion with her father ; 
 and in many different attitudes, snapshots of a very 
 good-looking youth with a pensive expression, and 
 his camera swung over his shoulder. There were 
 dozens of fancy candy boxes, cushions with high 
 school monograms, pennants, ball game souvenirs 
 and horns. She had, too, a music box, a poor, little, 
 cheap affair that stuttered through most of its reper 
 toire, and for which the babies clamored whenever a 
 windstorm blew them indoors. When I asked for 
 music, she rather disgustedly explained that all the 
 records but one were scratched, the babies having 
 used them for spinning plates in her absence. She 
 didn t think I would care for the one good one, but 
 she would put it on if I said so. I said so. It was 
 a foolish love song: 
 
 Some one to love and cheer you 
 
 Sometimes when things go wrong; 
 Some one to snuggle near you, 
 
 Some one to share your song. 
 Some one to call you sweetheart, 
 
 After the day is done; 
 Some one to kiss you, 
 
 Some one to miss you 
 Just some one. 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 55 
 
 " Take care of that one, Susie," I said, when she 
 ran to snatch the record off at the finish. 
 
 She flashed about on me. "You re laughing 
 at it!" 
 
 "I never felt less like laughing in my life." I 
 think, young and inexperienced as she was, she real 
 ized that I spoke more seriously than the occasion 
 warranted. Sometimes I would feel suddenly sick 
 with sadness when with these natural, wholesome 
 people. I don t try to explain it, but I was so apart 
 from it all. Susie didn t say anything more, but 
 she looked about for a perfectly safe place to stow 
 away the record out of reach of forever prying little 
 fingers. 
 
 They were working strenuously at Tenttown to 
 get in a garden, for already it was evident that their 
 problem was one of too many mouths to feed. Fre 
 quently more frequently than they had counted 
 on one of the men had had to knock off work and 
 go to Two Forks for supplies. Once a horse went 
 lame and the supplies were delayed. 
 
 When I went over to Tenttown for a visit they 
 had been living on beans for a week. They had run 
 entirely out of flour, potatoes, bacon, and prunes, 
 the main diet of the homesteader. But they were 
 cheerful about it and laughed over Mother Clark s 
 attempts at variety in beans. They were cheerful 
 
56 Happy Valley 
 
 but hungry. Susie rode back to Mother Lattig s 
 with me and we borrowed sufficient provisions to 
 last till Ed should return. They were counting on 
 a good summer garden and a large root crop to 
 help out the coming winter. I marveled at their 
 cheerfulness, for this ground had never before 
 been broken, and how did they know it would 
 raise a garden? Everything was an experi 
 ment. 
 
 Mother Lattig was deeply concerned over her gar 
 den. It was not so much an economic necessity with 
 her as a veritable passion for making things grow. 
 She was up by daylight and worked endlessly over 
 the tiny spears of green. She knew every little leaf 
 and all but named them. The garden was almost 
 the sole subject of conversation between us. And 
 then one morning I was awakened by a series of 
 bellows, and rushing to my window, I saw her stand 
 ing beside her garden, a picture of desolation. I 
 pulled into my overalls and ran out to see what had 
 happened. 
 
 "The damn jack rabbits!" she exclaimed, and 
 broke into a volley of vituperative abuse. 
 
 Every little green leaf and spear had been bitten 
 off close to the ground. They had waited, the 
 thieves, till lettuce and onions and radishes were 
 worth their raid. The old lady continued her lamen- 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 57 
 
 tations, cursing, sobbing, and praying all in one 
 breath. 
 
 "We must get word to Tom to send you some 
 rabbit wire," I suggested. 
 
 She turned the full volley of her outraged feelings 
 on me : " Yes ! one week to get heem word, mit luck ; 
 mebby he gone to Portland; mebby to Salt Lake; 
 mebby to San Francisco ; you don t cannot tell where 
 he go in beeg car ; then one week to get wire to Two 
 Forks and one week to get heem down here ; and all 
 dese weeks my leetle garden ah, God!" The 
 throaty gutteral imprecation told her despair. 
 
 I was deeply perplexed. I suggested riding over 
 to Tenttown and asking Mr. Clark what we had 
 better do. If the rabbits had nosed out our garden, 
 they would theirs. It was a community problem. 
 Our old man had been cheerful about the rabbits, 
 pointing to the wild cabbage that grew, crisp and 
 peppery, at the roots of the sagebrush. Mother 
 Lattig had used it for salad and seasoning. There 
 were tons of it and it should have satisfied the rab 
 bits. I repeated, as she didn t hear in her loud wail 
 ing, my suggestion to ride over to Tenttown for 
 advice. 
 
 " You don t cannot fence out rabbits mit advice," 
 she cried, dropping her apron and throwing out her 
 huge arms with a gesture of despair that would have 
 
58 Happy Valley 
 
 been the envy of a grand opera star. "We don t 
 cannot do nuttings ! Ah, God, my leetle garden ! " 
 She began to moan and sway and sob afresh. 
 
 "All the same," I said, " I ll ride over to see Mr. 
 Clark." 
 
 I found Tenttown in equal if more restrained 
 distress. The whole settlement down to Ed s young 
 est boy stood about a ruined garden. It was as if 
 the rabbits had held off, planning a concerted raid. 
 The wretches hadn t been satisfied to fill their 
 plaguey little bellies, but had nipped off and left to 
 shrivel up row after row of young green sprouts, 
 every one of which had been watched with the 
 closest interest from its first brave breaking through 
 the virgin soil. 
 
 " Well, that settles it. We ve got to have rabbit 
 wire," Jim announced. Jim seldom talked, but when 
 he did it was to some purpose. "We had oughta 
 seen that from the start." 
 
 "We gotta have more n rabbit wire; we gotta 
 have settlers," proclaimed the old man, turning 
 away from the scene. 
 
 "How will settlers help?" I asked. Some way 
 I resented settlers. I didn t want the world to move 
 into my paradise. 
 
 " Settlin up the land just naturally drives em 
 away. They die off every few years anyway, but in 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 59 
 
 between they thicken up. Every female rabbit means 
 an increase of seventy that year. It s a problem that 
 has got to be fought with settlers." He looked 
 calmly over the immense sea of sage, in the center 
 of which we were as a few drops. " Yes, we gotta 
 have settlers." 
 
 "But right now," said the practical Jim, think 
 ing of his four gaping mouths and a long year 
 ahead, " we ve got to have a garden." 
 
 "If it ain t too late to plant again," said Ed, 
 "we d better one of us go in for rabbit wire." 
 
 "Is it so expensive?" I asked. 
 
 "It s price will be just doubled by the time we 
 get it down here," Ed informed me. " And that ll 
 be two weeks at the latest. I could go to Two Forks 
 and telegraph." 
 
 "Cash is getting mighty low," Jim murmured, 
 and Susie heard. 
 
 " Dad, let me! " she demanded, walking up to the 
 stout old man, her erect little head proudly in the 
 air. 
 
 " Susie, you re gettin to be a plum nuisance," 
 the old man remonstrated, turning away. 
 
 "I could earn four a week, and besides, you 
 wouldn t have to feed me. And the four would 
 keep you and Ma so s you could go on working on 
 the ranch. If you stop and go to work, where ll the 
 
60 Happy Valley 
 
 ranch be a year from now ? We ll just be fed, that s 
 all, and what s the use ! " She followed him up. 
 
 " Susie, you re more trouble than all my money/ 
 the old man again remonstrated, and bit a piece off 
 a wild cabbage leaf. 
 
 "Mr. Brent, don t you think I m right?" She 
 turned appealingly to me. "A lady up at Two 
 Forks wants someone to take care of her baby and 
 will pay four dollars a week. Oughtn t Pa let 
 me go ? " 
 
 It was a sudden shock; I had not thought of Susie 
 in this class. I spoke sharply. " By all means, no ! " 
 Immediately I was ashamed of my words but 
 Susie, a domestic in another s house! 
 
 " Susie s not a-goin ," her mother said stubbornly, 
 coming over and putting her strong, brown, hard, 
 old arm about the girl, crushing in her clean, white 
 middy blouse. "I had Susie for myself and I m 
 a-goin to keep her for myself. When Clark got 
 this pioneerin fever, I says, You can set me down 
 anywhere so long s I have my children about me. 
 That s what I said and that s the terms I come in on 
 and Susie s not a-goin !" 
 
 "Hurrah for Mother Clark," I cried, exultant 
 over the firmness of her chin. 
 
 " Of course Susie ain t," said Jim. But the prob 
 lem of finance remained just where it was. The 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 61 
 
 rabbit wire was an expense not counted on. The 
 two thousand dollars had evidently dwindled more 
 rapidly than had been expected, and to buy rabbit 
 wire would leave the cash so low as to make pioneer 
 ing risky. One or more of the men would have to 
 go away and get work in order to finance the others. 
 
 I rode home late that afternoon, Susie going 
 blithely along to console with Mother Lattig. She 
 was naturally a merry-hearted girl, and she belonged 
 to a family that met its problems by hard work in 
 the open, and when not at work, forgot the prob 
 lems. She still wore her perky-blue bows over her 
 ears, but the ribbons had been washed many times 
 and were quite faded. I thought of asking Ennis 
 to send her some fresh ones, and then I forgot 
 Ennis. It was strange the way I felt toward my 
 family during all those idyllic spring days in the 
 great desert country. I wanted to shut them out. 
 I was glad that we had no regular mail, glad there 
 were no home letters for me. Ennis occasional let 
 ter 1 would lay aside, dreading to open it, dreading 
 its tone of waiting helplessness, dreading the cloud 
 it invariably threw over my spirits. I didn t want 
 any contact with life as I had known it. I wanted 
 only this. 
 
 When we rode up to the cabin at sunset we saw a 
 funny sight. A rope dangling with tin cans, bottles, 
 
62 Happy Valley 
 
 and bells was stretched around the small garden. 
 Susie sprang down from her pony and ran at once 
 to Mother Lattig. 
 
 The old lady had been resourceful. She flopped 
 down on the ground to demonstrate her idea. 
 
 " I work heem like dis," she explained. " I bring 
 out my blankets. I sleep here mit my dog Deck 
 and my gun. I put my hand over de rope like 
 so I stay awake, and when Mr. Rabbit come, 
 I shoot heem. And when I go to sleep, I roll so," 
 she illustrated it graphically, " and I set up de noise 
 mit de bells and cans, and Mr. Rabbit, he white- 
 livered coward, he run, like so ! " She sat suddenly 
 up and made a swift pass of one grent brown hand 
 over the other. 
 
 Susie sat down beside her, seriously impressed. 
 It was no time to laugh. " I wonder now if we can 
 do that, too," she said. "Our garden is so much 
 bigger." She sprang up. " I ll ride home quick, 
 and rig up a fence like that for ours. Mrs. Lattig, 
 you re a genius." 
 
 " A genius ? What for is a genius ? I don t can 
 not know your languages." 
 
 " A genius," I said, " is a person who thinks and 
 acts instead of waiting for someone to show him 
 how." 
 
 " Then I suppose I m a copy cat ! " Susie whirled 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 63 
 
 about on me, her little pointed chin, that some way 
 wouldn t take on sunburn, up in the air. 
 
 "You re an angel," I said, impulsively; and 
 immediately wished I had not. 
 
 "Then I ll fly back to angeldom with the good 
 tidings," she said glibly, though she blushed. I 
 helped her to mount, realizing it was wholly 
 unnecessary. 
 
 The old lady insisted on keeping her vigil alone, 
 so I went to bed early, meaning to wake at mid 
 night and relieve her. But I did not wake till morn 
 ing, and then not till she came gloriously triumphant 
 to my door. 
 
 " De rabbits did not get one leetle leaf ! " she said, 
 her deep throaty voice breaking with exultation. 
 
 Every night thereafter she kept watch. The little 
 garden recovered, put out another installment of 
 leaves, and came on its singing way up through the 
 earth. But soon the vigil began to wear on Mother 
 Lattig. After grubbing sagebrush all day, she was 
 tired out at night and she could not keep awake. 
 "My Deck, he can t keep awake either," she com 
 plained, shaking her head woefully. "It ees hard 
 for Deek." 
 
 But still she would not allow me to relieve her, 
 and I came to see that that garden was something 
 very particularly her own. She was like a mother 
 
64 Happy Valley 
 
 with a sick child; she could not relax her vigilance 
 even when another watched. So I left her to her 
 charge and went on with my daily grubbing and my 
 nightly sleeping. 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Clark had sent an order for 
 rabbit wire. He had decided to fence thirty acres. 
 The rope fence with its bangles of tin cans was 
 keeping the rabbit hordes down, but it was too 
 primitive a method to have permanent value. 
 
 And then I heard good news. The experimental 
 station of the State Agricultural College would sup 
 ply barley seed to homesteaders for planting twenty 
 acres. I wanted the seed dreadfully. I wanted to 
 see what my soil would do. And here I must con 
 fess to a piece of cowardice. I was afraid to go 
 to Two Forks to get the seed. I was afraid to break 
 back into that world I had known. Susie asked me 
 why I didn t take one of the horses and ride in. 
 
 " Well, you know I am here to look after Mother 
 Lattig," I evaded. 
 
 " I will go over and stay with her." 
 
 " That isn t fair to your mother." 
 
 " Mother would want me to. Please go." 
 
 But I decided to do without the seed for the pres 
 ent and to continue grubbing. " It s hardly any use 
 planting without rabbit wire," I said. 
 
 Susie sighed. Everything these days began and 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 65 
 
 ended with rabbit wire. Our first question had been, 
 will things grow? They grew. Next, can we get 
 in enough garden truck and roots to see the people 
 and horses through the coming winter? The seed 
 had been procured and planted, and everything 
 had sprouted; and then there had to appear the 
 rabbits ! 
 
 I gave up all idea of planting that season, but I 
 did begin to worry about cash. I must have at least 
 a tent on my ground by September to comply with 
 the government s requirement of residence. Where 
 would I get the money ? 
 
 One evening in June I found old man Clark work 
 ing harder than I had ever seen him work before, 
 though I had come upon him digging a well, plow 
 ing, grubbing, and breaking outlaw horses; he was 
 trying to write a letter that would meet his ideal of 
 just what such a letter should be. 
 
 "I m writin to the biggest newspaper in Oregon 
 to them discontents walkin the city streets, tellin 
 em about homesteadin . I want to tell em I ll 
 locate any man free who ll come into the country 
 with a settled purpose to make a home ; to take up 
 Uncle Sam s dare that you can t do it. I want to 
 make it plain that I m just a-wantin the country 
 settled, and that it ain t no picnic, but pioneerin 
 right, and that if they ll come into Happy Valley, 
 
66 Happy Valley 
 
 we ll help em get a start and put em on as good a 
 piece of land as they is, without charge." 
 
 I sat down at the table, where he had pushed aside 
 a fresh baking of bread, and took the pen from him. 
 Susie leaned on her elbows on the other side of the 
 table, and I noticed that her ribbons were very much 
 faded. Susie must have some new little perky bows 
 to top her pretty pink ears. 
 
 " Well, man, write," the old man prompted impa 
 tiently, and with a start I bent to the task. Susie 
 and her father watched every stroke of the pen, as 
 they had every other task since coming into Happy 
 Valley. There were few privacies in the Clark 
 compound. 
 
 When I had finished, the old man read the letter, 
 and his eyes lighted up. " My, but that s great. 
 That ll fetch em." 
 
 Susie leaned against her father s shoulder and 
 read it with him. " Can t he write good, though? " 
 she exclaimed, looking her admiration. 
 
 The foolish praise pleased me there was so 
 little among these people that I could do "good." 
 Mother Clark turned out her last baking of bread, 
 and leaned over " father s " shoulder. She sighed 
 and shook her head. "It s nice to be a scholar," 
 she said. " Susie, she always wanted to be a 
 scholar" 
 
Susie of the Star Eyes 67 
 
 "And she ll be one yet," declared our old man. 
 "We ll have a graded school in here in lessen a 
 year. Susie shall be a scholar. You watch my 
 smoke ! " 
 
 Susie was still gazing at me with admiration in 
 her fair face. An old trouble had stirred. She 
 sighed and looked away. The letter was sent off 
 with Ed, who was going to Two Forks for the 
 rabbit wire which they figured must be there by 
 that time. 
 
 The first answer the old man got from his public 
 letter rather alarmed him. He was game he 
 wouldn t own up, but eight children! He looked 
 at the six rolling around in the sagebrush, all 
 healthy and fat with monumental appetites and 
 he thought of eight ! 
 
 "It wouldn t be so bad if they didn t get so 
 all-fired hungry," he said, ruefully scratching his 
 stubby-bearded face. 
 
 "You goin to let em come, Pa?" Mrs. Clark 
 was a steadying force for this pioneer enthusiast. 
 She was plainly against it. 
 
 "From this letter, they re already on the way 
 the letter s two weeks old. It s a Dutch name 
 Schrieber." I had the letter now. 
 
 "If they ve got money enough holy smoke!" 
 He interrupted himself and sprang to his feet. 
 
68 Happy Valley 
 
 "Eight added to six makes fourteen, and all we 
 need s ten!" 
 
 "Pa, have you gone clear out of your head?" 
 
 " And Susie makes fifteen ! " 
 
 " Pa, what are you drivin at ? " 
 
 " You bet I ll let em come. We got our school ; 
 now all we need s a teacher ! " 
 
 " School ! " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 And the thought flashed into my mind, " I ll teach 
 it it will supply the cash for my residence/ 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE COMING OF BULLPIT 
 
 BEFORE I formed the thought into words, 
 galloping hoofs came to a stop before the tent. 
 There was a loud halloo, and Susie, with the children 
 at her heels, ran up the steps of the dugout to see 
 who it was. They pushed back the tentflap : Bullpit, 
 astride his horse, smiled down on the group Bull- 
 pit, in a ready-made spring suit of reddish brown, 
 with new brown leather leggings that gave his thin 
 flat calves a chubby roundness, a golden brown tie 
 beneath his receding chin, and a jaunty imitation 
 panama hat thrust back from his forehead, display 
 ing his thick, coarse, red hair. 
 
 He wore fringed gauntlet gloves, and he carried 
 a shiny new whip, while a coil of stiff new rope was 
 looped about his saddle horn. He was distinctly 
 decked out. For whose benefit? My eyes rested 
 quickly on Susie. She stood on the step, gazing up, 
 evidently pleased with his very shiny appearance. 
 
 "Well, I ve come home." He dismounted with 
 engaging showiness. He thrust back his coat and 
 ran his hand into his pocket, displaying a waistcoat 
 
 69 
 
70 
 
 Happy Valley 
 
 of straw-colored brocade. His entire attitude said, 
 " Some get-up, eh ? Some class to this caller, eh ? " 
 
 He turned quickly and un 
 tied a gunny bag from his 
 saddle, from which he pro 
 duced a very pink box of 
 candy for Susie. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Bullpit, 
 come right in," Mother 
 Clark said, while the old 
 man went off into a peal of 
 laughter. "Coin to home 
 stead in them clothes?" he 
 asked. 
 
 The children were 
 greedily attached to Susie who had retreated into 
 the tent and was untying the knot with some diffi 
 culty. 
 
 " No, my pack animal is along." He waved his 
 hand grandiloquently as though he had said my 
 cortege. We looked back and saw a very discon 
 solate and plainly ribbed mule nibbling at the grass. 
 Bullpit then came down the steps slowly, making a 
 pause at each step, all self -consciousness, principally 
 of his leather calves. " My friend," he said, smiling 
 but shaking a finger at our old man, " I ve got a 
 crow to pick with you. What kind of a neighbor 
 
 Bullpit 
 
The Coming of Bullpit 71 
 
 are you, anyway, running a man out of his lawful 
 business ? I ve a mind to sue you." 
 
 Our old man was plainly taken aback, for under 
 the bantering was a current of seriousness. 
 
 "I had a fine lot of settlers ready to come in 
 would have netted me one hundred dollars apiece 
 for locating them. I meant to bring them all down 
 here, neighbors for you, give Happy Valley the 
 benefit. And now you come out with that offer to 
 locate any man free who wants to come in and 
 my business vanishes like ." He puffed and ges 
 tured into the air in an airy manner. But his eyes 
 came quickly back to our old man who, for once, 
 was silent. 
 
 " Tough on a chap," he shrugged his shoulders, 
 " to see his business go up in smoke. Specially after 
 I d spent some little money getting them interested, 
 getting them in the mood to come way off down 
 here. I said to them, I says, * It s a long distance, 
 but there are compensations; that s just what I 
 said. I said, Look at me. I ve got this whole 
 inland empire to choose from, and where do I go 
 to take up land ? Why, right down in the heart of 
 Happy Valley beside old man Clark ; that s what 
 I said. And they would have come, and paid the 
 fee gladly; it s worth it; it s charged all over, and 
 more. And I d a done white by em too, mighty 
 
72 Happy Valley 
 
 white. I d a brought em in and taken em back in 
 automobiles to do their riling, that s what I would 
 have done. But " he again shrugged and made 
 the gesture significant of all having gone up in 
 smoke. "You re wanting to play philanthropist, 
 Mr. Clark. You re wanting to take care of other 
 folks families, while yours ." He cast his eye 
 about the dilapidated tent, already pitted with holes 
 where sparks from the cookstove had lighted. 
 
 " But that s the way with some men," he shrugged 
 again. " Me now, I m different. I m there as quick 
 as the next one to lend a helping hand, but I don t 
 drag my my family if I had a family in the 
 mire with me while I m holding out the helping 
 hand. In other words, I mean to make a home 
 down here in your midst, a good home, for a good 
 woman. The kind of a home a man has a right to 
 ask a nice girl to share; that s what I mean to 
 do, and I needed the money, but ." Again that 
 expressive shrug and gesture. 
 
 Our old man was clearly nonplussed. He sat 
 down on a barrel head and rested his chin in his 
 hands. 
 
 " I m right down sorry, Bullpit," he said, at last. 
 "I m dinged if I m not right down sorry. I never 
 thought of doin another out of his job. I just 
 thought." 
 
The Coming of Bullpit 73 
 
 Bullpit sprang blithely up he had perched on 
 the corner of the table and turned his leather calves 
 well out and slapped our old man familiarly on 
 the shoulder. " Never you mind, old man, I ll pull 
 through some way. I ve brought in supplies enough 
 to last me till I ve established residence and got a 
 little plowing done, then I can go back to town and 
 get a job at any old thing. But I did want to stay. 
 Gosh, but the air s sweet down here ! " 
 
 He strode to the tent opening and looked up to 
 the square of out-of-doors, then turned suddenly as 
 though dismissing Elysium. " But we ll let bygones 
 be bygones" he thrust out his hand to our old 
 man "and not say another word about it. Not 
 another word; no, not another word." He fanned 
 the air with his refusals, but he needn t have been 
 so persistent, for poor old Clark had nothing to 
 say. 
 
 " Where are the settlers now ? " asked Susie, look 
 ing at him levelly, her sharp little chin well up, the 
 candy box still unopened. I could see she was net 
 tled by the position her father had been put in, 
 though she hadn t quite analyzed the matter. As 
 for myself, I wanted to take the wretched little wart 
 and nip him off the face of our fair Valley. 
 
 " Pa never was one to look out for number one," 
 Mrs. Clark commented pepperly. "It ain t Pa s 
 
74 Happy Valley 
 
 way. Of course, he could have charged them one 
 hundred dollars apiece, too. But it ain t Pa s way." 
 
 Bullpit turned jauntily on her. " Soft, soft, my 
 dear Mrs. Clark. You couldn t get one hundred 
 after they got down here. You have to have them 
 deposit it at Two Forks to your credit before you 
 take them to see the land. Then if they file, it s 
 yours. You wait till they get down here all alone, 
 unpiloted, and what strings have you on their 
 hundred? No, Pa couldn t have worked it." 
 
 "Where are the settlers now?" persisted Susie, 
 her little pointed chin still up. 
 
 "Why, don t you see " Bullpit floundered and 
 looked about from one to the other, " don t you see 
 well, just naturally when I found myself done out 
 of " he counted it on his fingers "one, two, 
 three, four, five yes, five hundred dollars 
 enough to have started me beautifully on my home 
 stead over by our friend here" he gestured to 
 ward me "I naturally, you see, felt pretty sore 
 and done up, don t you see, and I just got together 
 my traps and came along. I left the settlers to do 
 as they pleased." 
 
 "Pa s settlers?" 
 
 "Well, yes, they d seen that letter in the paper, 
 and they just bundled up and came without waiting 
 for further word." 
 
The Coming of Bullpit 75 
 
 " Then they weren t your settlers ; they were 
 Pa s." 
 
 " They d have been mine, don t you see? For 1 
 am at every stage watching for newcomers. They d 
 have come anyway, as it was in their blood, the land 
 fever. They ve been thinking about it all year 
 and longer no doubt. That letter just started 
 them coming this way." 
 
 " Still, after all, they were Pa s settlers." 
 
 He made his expressive gesture and again 
 laughed. 
 
 " Pa s settlers ; by all means, have it that way." 
 
 "That s the way it is." Susie persisted, her chin 
 higher; but her mother said, "Come, come, Susie, 
 don t argue," and Bullpit went over and asked her 
 for a chocolate cream. She pointed to the floor 
 where the pink box was a center of interest for six 
 besmudged, messy youngsters. I turned away to 
 hide a smile. Some way, I felt better. 
 
 But the next minute my satisfaction vanished. 
 Clark was telling Bullpit of his plan for a school. 
 It seemed that by reason of certain school land sales, 
 all they had to do to get a good-sized piece of school 
 money was to organize a district. With the eight 
 children on the way, we would have fifteen pupils, 
 and a district required but ten. Our old man was 
 for organizing the district as soon as the settlers got 
 
76 Happy Valley 
 
 in. They could throw up a shack of the lumber 
 Tom Lattig had sent down to build a cabin on his 
 mother s homestead, then they could move the old 
 lady into the new shack so she could protect her 
 claim, and rent the present cabin of her for a school- 
 house. The old lady must get on her land pretty 
 soon; the son would be mighty pleased to have his 
 neighbors put up the shack and move his mother 
 into it, and thus make it possible for her to keep her 
 obligations to Uncle Sam, who required residence as 
 well as cultivation. It would work out beautifully. 
 All he needed now was a few more settlers, and the 
 man with his eight children who, he thought from 
 the tone of the letter, was already on the way, was 
 a godsend. 
 
 All through his recital Bullpit kept interjecting, 
 A capital idea!" " Such resourcefulness !" "Clark, 
 you re a wonder ! " " If we had more settlers like 
 you." 
 
 Finally he said, "And how much do you figure 
 you can pay the teacher? " 
 
 "Well, I don t know yet just what s comin to 
 us, but judgin from what I heard up at Two Forks 
 about the school funds, we ought to be able to pay 
 sixty dollars a month for three months now, then 
 toward next spring, mebby three more months. I d 
 say not less than sixty dollars. It ll be hard, mebby, 
 
The Coming of Bullpit 77 
 
 gettin a teacher, a right good teacher, to come 
 down here and teach a pioneer school and live in a 
 tent." 
 
 Bullpit was thoughtfully pulling at his lower lip, 
 making it now into a coal scuttle, now letting it go 
 back in its accustomed buttonhole. " Urn, yes, that 
 will be some problem, getting a teacher to come 
 down into homestead land and live in a tent. Um 
 yes." Suddenly a brilliant idea struck him. He sat 
 up as straight as a jumping jack pulled by its string, 
 while his eyes flashed. I noticed how red the rims 
 were. " How d I do ? " The old man looked at him 
 queerly, not taking him seriously. 
 
 " But no, I wouldn t ask for it. It would be too 
 much like saying, You ve done me out of my own 
 business, now help me out a little with your patron 
 age. No, it would be too much like that. I wouldn t 
 ask any favor of any man, much less a man that 
 might feel sort of obliged to grant it. No, I won t 
 give it another thought." He got promptly up and 
 strode bravely toward the door, then turned. "I ll 
 go on to my homestead. I want to get settled before 
 dark. The latch string will always be out to all the 
 Clarks, and a welcome as big as a barn over the 
 door. Good-bye for the present ! " 
 
 He ran up the steps very much as a vaudeville 
 performer runs off the stage. 
 
78 Happy Valley 
 
 " Wait, wait, Mr. Bullpit." It was Mother Clark. 
 She began wrapping up a loaf of her warm bread 
 and pushing it into a flour sack. " Take this along 
 to save you bakin tonight." 
 
 He turned, and a beatific smile, all recognition of 
 a sweetly gracious act in a world otherwise hard 
 and cold, swept over his red face. "Ah, but that 
 is dear of you." 
 
 He now spoke directly to me for the first time 
 since his blow-in. " I presume you are nicely set 
 tled with a good little house on your homestead, 
 Brent?" 
 
 " No," I informed him, " I have not yet established 
 residence/ 
 
 " No ? " he frowned, and then smiled. " But there 
 is still so much land, one is comparatively safe. 
 However, Uncle Sam must be obeyed or we will get 
 in trouble, specially with land with a spring on it. 
 Very attractive, that spring. Well, once more, 
 adieu." He was gone. 
 
 Susie rose straight up from the midst of the 
 messy kids, her eyes flashing. " Pa, you re not 
 going to let him teach our school ? " 
 
 "Why, no, honey, I hadn t thought about who d 
 teach it. We ll be regular. We ll let it be known 
 we want a teacher, and then choose the best out of 
 the applicants. That s the regular way." 
 
The Coming of Bullpit 79 
 
 "Because, if you were ." Her eyes were 
 militant. 
 
 I spoke. " I had thought of making application 
 myself," I said, " But Susie rather scares me." 
 
 " I wish you would ! " cried Susie, turning on me. 
 "I d love to learn to write like you!" 
 
 "Now, why didn t you speak right up when we 
 first talked about it?" demanded Mother Clark re 
 gretfully. " I know how Pa is when he thinks he s 
 injured a man, and it ll be just like Pa ." 
 
 The old man threw his hands to his head as 
 though fighting away buzzing hornets, and made for 
 the door. "We ain t got no district yet, or no 
 schoolhouse, or no pupils, or hello!" 
 
 He stopped short off on the top step and we all 
 ran up back of him. There were not enough 
 changes of scene on our landscape to miss even one. 
 There, not a mile away, was a white prairie 
 schooner, and coming down the far mountain side 
 were three white specks that meant others. 
 
 " Settlers ! " cried the old man, in a voice that 
 choked. "Settlers!" 
 
 Mother Clark, standing beside him, her arms 
 folded in her apron, and her eyes fixed on the far 
 distance, said, "I wonder if there s any women!" 
 
 And Susie, "I hope there s some girls my age!" 
 
 I had stepped outside the tent, and now turned 
 
so Happy Valley 
 
 back to the little group in the doorway. The tent 
 looked so small, the people so few, and the land so 
 mighty ! 
 
 " Billy ain t sayin nothin ," the old man noticed. 
 
 "I m hoping for children; for I m in earnest 
 about wanting that school," I told him. Susie, turned 
 quickly to me with a happy smile. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 PA S SETTLERS 
 
 OUR old man sized up our first settlers well 
 enough for all practical purposes: "They 
 ain t very pretty and they got odd ways about em, 
 but they ll do." 
 
 They certainly weren t pretty. An old man drove 
 the first outfit that drew up before the Clark tent. 
 He was no older, perhaps, than our old man, but oh, 
 so sad. His eyes were big and mournful and mostly 
 on the outside of his face. His mouth was wide 
 and thin and drooped pitifully at the corners. He 
 continually chewed, working his big, flat, angular 
 jaw, and this produced a sort of rotary motion of 
 his long nose. He wanted to know, before getting 
 down, how much we charged for meals. Our old 
 man took it as a huge joke, and slapped his stout 
 thighs and laughed till I thought he would explode, 
 while the settler solemnly chewed on, working his 
 jaw and his nose. 
 
 On the seat beside him sat a man who had not 
 lifted his head from a book he was reading. He 
 seemed bent on finishing the chapter. He was clean 
 
 81 
 
82 Happy Valley 
 
 shaven, small, dark, slick, and neat in spite of the 
 dust. I could imagine him near the entrance of the 
 Emporium at home, saying, " This way, ladies." At 
 last he lifted his head, and apparently discovered for 
 the first time that the team had stopped, that a tent 
 was before him, and that a group of human beings 
 had some way been belched up from the earth to a 
 spot within the focus of his eyes. He took us in 
 without surprise or question, carefully marked the 
 place in his book, laid the book beside him on the 
 wagon seat, and asked, " Have we, then, arrived?" 
 
 "Yes; conductor a little slow about callin the 
 station," our old man answered, chuckling. " Alight, 
 friends; get down and come right in; mother ll 
 give you some hot coffee and fresh bread, and I 
 guess there s some ham and potatoes that won t go 
 bad, eh, mother? Get down, friends; get down." 
 
 The old driver chewed on. "First, I want to 
 know what it s going to cost me. Food for self 
 and one-half the team. My friend here pays for 
 himself and the other half." 
 
 " Not a copper, friend ; not a copper. Get down, 
 get down; you must be stiff with settinV 
 
 The old man climbed out with a spryness of which 
 I would not have believed him capable. His com 
 panion took another look at his book, then got down 
 reluctantly. 
 
Pa s Settlers 83 
 
 "My name s Sneed; Sol Sneed. And this is Mr. 
 Howard, who I fell in with at Ossing. We joined 
 forces and shared expenses. I m from up Vermont 
 way, and Howard s from Boston. We re here to take 
 up your offer to be located, free; you understand, 
 free ! I d like it in writing." 
 
 Again our old man went off into a spasm of 
 laughter, while Mrs. Clark s head went up stiffly, 
 and Susie looked to me with a twinkle in her eyes. 
 
 "Come, Susie," said her mother, starting down 
 the steps. "We ll get dinner goin ." 
 
 I offered to peel the potatoes, but Susie shook her 
 head. " You d peel em too thick ; we have to almost 
 scrape em; my goodness, but I ll be glad when the 
 new ones come and we can have enough potatoes at 
 any rate." She ran down the steps. 
 
 I turned to the man from Boston, who had again 
 picked up his book and was deep into it. I think he 
 had not cast a solitary glance at the country, the 
 tent not even at Susie. 
 
 [ Good yarn?" 
 
 He lifted his small, steady, black eyes, and re 
 garded me as the dirt under his feet ; no, he had not 
 looked at the dirt under his feet. I must find 
 another figure. Never mind ; he looked at me, and 
 after a long stare vouchsafed the information : " It 
 is Bledstoe on Dry Farming. I am told that this 
 
84 
 
 Happy Valley 
 
 section has thirteen inches of rainfall ; Bledstoe says 
 thirteen inches is enough for dry farming ; I am told 
 that this is mostly sagebrush land with very little 
 greasewood; Bleds 
 toe says that is the 
 proper land for dry 
 farming ; I am told 
 small grains will do 
 well here; accord 
 ing to Bledstoe " 
 
 "Why, yes; 
 they ll do fine; we 
 have enough 
 samples coming on 
 to demonstrate 
 that. Come on out 
 and see our little 
 experimental sta 
 tion. The rabbits have taken a good deal of it, but 
 you can see that everything is coming on thriftily, 
 even the vegetables." 
 
 He followed me rather regretfully, his finger still 
 keeping his place in Bledstoe. He gazed at the 
 garden ruefully, and the fence bothered him. 
 
 " Bledstoe says nothing about fencing of this 
 peculiar nature." 
 
 He seemed to want to dispute the fence, and yet 
 
 The Book-farmer 
 
Pa s Settlers b5 
 
 it was there. I turned away to hide a smile, and 
 saw Susie watching us from the back of the tent. 
 Throwing her wicked hands to her wicked mouth, 
 she ran on around the tent, out of sight, to hide her 
 amusement. I sobered as best I could and gave my 
 attention to our settler. 
 
 " Bledstoe possibly has left out many of the facts 
 of pioneering," I suggested. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I shall be governed by Bledstoe ! " 
 he defied me. " I think I have read everything writ 
 ten on dry farming. You possibly do not know the 
 advantages of Boston s public library." 
 
 " Possibly not," I murmured, and followed him, 
 for he had turned away from our fence and headed 
 back toward the tent. 
 
 Our old man was talking with Sneed, who seemed 
 gloomier than ever, and laying before him his idea 
 of the valley s settlement. " The main road through 
 the country," he said, "bein right along here and 
 already established, decides the trend of travel; it 
 will all come this way. There s a considerable val 
 ley on south that ll be settled later. Naturally, 
 settlers will make for the center of the valley. You d 
 have a chance to sell supplies to all those comin and 
 goin , and if I see things right, there s goin to be 
 right smart of a settler movement this spring; then 
 there s the sheep men; they buy supplies in big 
 
86 Happy Valley 
 
 quantities, and now they have to go to Two Forks 
 for everything. They d be glad of a store down 
 here." 
 
 A store! Was our old man crazy? Or did his 
 eyes really see true? Howard was not listening. 
 He had found a soap box and lost himself in 
 Bledstoe. Susie called dinner. 
 
 Sol Sneed limbered up and was the first one down 
 the steps, his nostrils working at the smell of food. 
 He pulled up a keg and sat down. Mother Clark 
 got the rest of us seated in some way, and our old 
 man started the dishes around the table. I saw now 
 the advantage of the continual motion plan of Sol 
 Sneed s jaw. The amount of ham and fresh bread 
 and boiled potatoes and cream gravy that that caver 
 nous jaw could handle, and that cavernous maw put 
 away was tragic for a homesteader. I wondered if 
 he had a family, and if they took after him and 
 if he had a good bank account. 
 
 The Book- farmer, for such Susie called him 
 and such he remained ate absent mindedly, after 
 having asked politely for a napkin. Once, some time 
 afterward, he said to me, "It s peculiar, isn t it, 
 what a fondness all these people have for cream 
 gravy. I find it I might almost say indigenous 
 to the country. Everywhere, they are eating this 
 peculiar thickened substance known as cream gravy. 
 
Pa s Settlers 87 
 
 I would like to look it up that s the drawback of 
 being so far from a library; I would like to look 
 up the foods of pioneer peoples, and see if there is 
 anything about pioneering that makes the stomach 
 crave this odd dish." 
 
 "It s just possible," I suggested, "that the fact 
 of one cow to supply thirteen people, including six 
 children, to say nothing of guests, has some bearing 
 on the butter supply, and that cream gravy thus 
 becomes a substitute not so much chosen as thrust 
 on the pioneer." 
 
 He looked at me doubtingly, and said, " Possibly," 
 but without a flicker of light in his face. 
 
 Ed and Jim were both busy plowing, so, after 
 dinner, I went with Mr. Clark and our settlers to 
 look for land. They knew no more than I had about 
 finding corners, or choosing soil, and but for a con 
 stantly suspicious attitude on the part of Sol Sneed, 
 who seemed under the hallucination that someone 
 was going to do him out of something, were easily 
 located. Our old man was pretty cute about it, 
 locating Sneed some distance to the north of Tent- 
 town. He suggested that, as our friend was to put 
 in a small store of supplies, he had better be to the 
 north of the valley s center in reach of settlers who 
 might come down over the mountain and turn east 
 or west rather than south. This located him fully 
 
88 Happy Valley 
 
 seven miles away, which was certainly near enough 
 to old "What s-in-it-for-me," a name Susie gave 
 him and which stuck. The Book-farmer took the 
 first piece suggested to him. He accepted Mr. 
 Clark s word, and that of Bledstoe. He was midway 
 between Tenttown and the Lattig ranch. 
 
 We found another prairie schooner when we re 
 turned that afternoon, bringing our Dutch friend 
 Schrieber, with his eight children and his stout wife. 
 Already he was out skirmishing, digging into the 
 soil, examining the sagebrush, tasting an outcrop 
 ping of whitish powder to determine what kind of 
 salts it contained, and on the scent of greasewood. 
 He had decided on his land for himself, preferring, 
 as had Clark, the center of the valley and three hun 
 dred and twenty acres, to a smaller ranch nearer the 
 hills with possible irrigation. He would be a close 
 neighbor to the Clarks. 
 
 " Right here I ll shtop mit me," he informed us. 
 
 Mother Clark, untiring in her hospitality, was in 
 the midst of a still larger boiling of potatoes, frying 
 of ham, and stirring of cream gravy. The eight 
 children ranged from three to sixteen years, and 
 Susie was happy over a girl just her age. She and 
 little Dutch Leeda were already on terms of inti 
 macy. Leeda was quaint and squat, with big, 
 solemn, blue eyes and two tightly braided pigtails, 
 
Pa s Settlers 89 
 
 and each of the other little daughters of Dutchland 
 was modelled after Leeda. 
 
 There is certainly character in dress. Some 
 way, Susie never looked ordinary or commonplace. 
 Though the blue ribbons were faded almost white, 
 perky bows still perched jauntily above her ears, and 
 though her middy blouses had had many washings, 
 they carried a certain air all their own. I wondered 
 if Leeda, in Susie s bows and middies, wouldn t 
 really be quite a pretty girl; and I wondered just 
 what poor little Leeda s fitted basque of dull red 
 cashmere would do to Susie. 
 
 Luckily, the Dutchman had money. He indicated 
 that he had enough to start ranching comfortably. 
 He wanted to buy two good teams his had gone 
 lame on the way so he and Leeda could each 
 drive a team grubbing and plowing. It was late, 
 but he meant to get in a garden and a good root crop 
 for the coming winter. I was already accustomed 
 to the capability of the Clark women folks, so I was 
 not shocked at the Dutchman s matter of fact state 
 ment regarding Leeda. It was evident why he said 
 Leeda instead of his wife. A ninth little Dutchman 
 would soon add himself to our population. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DRINK DOES ITS WORK 
 
 coming of the Dutchman worked a hard- 
 A ship for me. I lost the use of Tom s horses. 
 Mother Lattig, always with a shrewd eye for busi 
 ness, had been much concerned over the prospect of 
 having to winter- feed her two teams, when they 
 were doing no work to earn their board. So she 
 sold them to the Dutchman, and I now had to make 
 my trips to Tenttown afoot. This was particularly 
 unpleasant owing to Bullpit s presence. He had set 
 up a small brown government tent, and was digging 
 around it with a show of grubbing sagebrush. He 
 came often to Mother Lattig s and succeeded in 
 stirring up my ire with his continual reminders that 
 I had not established residence and that I had only 
 till the first of September to do so. This in the face 
 of the forty acres which I had cleared while he had 
 merely set up a tent, nettled me. But it also pricked 
 my sleeping content. It was perfectly true that I 
 must establish some sort of residence by the first of 
 September or any other settler coming in would 
 have a right to jump my claim. Besides a tent or 
 
 90 
 
Drink Does Its Work 91 
 
 a cabin, the law required that ten acres should be 
 broken up ready for a crop. I had, however, a year 
 in which to do this. It was useless to put in a crop 
 without rabbit wire. If I could get the school, the 
 one hundred and eighty dollars would meet all these 
 requirements. I could think of no other way for I 
 was not capable of earning that amount of money 
 in two months. I would not apply to my grandfather 
 save as a last resort. 
 
 Mother Lattig was delighted to accept the propo 
 sition of our old man to build her new cabin that we 
 might rent the present one for a schoolhouse. I 
 helped with this, doing my first carpenter work since 
 manual training days. We moved Mother Lattig 
 into the new cabin on her own land, two feet away 
 from her son s residence, and proceeded with some 
 of the smoother boards to make benches and desks. 
 In a few months the benches would come out and the 
 cabin would once more be the legal home of Tom 
 Lattig, whom the government permitted to be away 
 from his ranch to earn his living so long as his 
 " family " remained on it. The old lady had four 
 hundred dollars from the sale of her horses which 
 she told me she had buried. Sometimes I was 
 tempted to ask her to lend me money enough to buy 
 a tent, but I hadn t the nerve. To borrow money 
 of a woman and when I had learned that she 
 
92 Happy Valley 
 
 made the money with which she came west cooking 
 in a Hungarian restaurant in New York well, I 
 couldn t do it. 
 
 It is difficult to explain the horror that came over 
 me at the very thought of leaving Happy Valley. 
 I had been three months homesteading, and I felt 
 healthy in body and mind. The air, always with a 
 tang in it, had also a rough sort of character. It 
 was like a big, bluff, well-meaning friend who caught 
 you up on all your shortcomings and made you not 
 only ashamed of them but able to forget them. Even 
 the wind, which blew steadily and fiercely at times 
 for days on end, sending sand particles biting into 
 face and eyes and hands, even the wind had a toning 
 influence. There was nothing soft and tender about 
 this sagebrush country. There was nothing that 
 petted and humored, nothing that nurtured defects. 
 It was a strong, sturdy, battling country that fairly 
 challenged one to fight. And always when at peace 
 it was such a powerful peace. Sometimes when I 
 would climb to the top of my butte, and throwing 
 myself on the ground, look away to the vast spread 
 of country, it would come to me as a huge canvas 
 which God had stretched all empty and bare, wait 
 ing for man to paint there his pictures. And as 
 I would lay with half -closed eyes, watching and 
 dreaming, there would rise before me interminable 
 
Drink Does Its Work 93 
 
 fields of waving grain, cattle grazing on all the hills, 
 and here and there not too close together sub 
 stantial farm houses, each sending tall columns of 
 smoke up into the still air. A quick batting of the 
 eyes, a sharp look around, and there would be the 
 vast canvas, cleared for another picture. Nothing 
 was ever in the way of one s dreaming. 
 
 My long day of hooky from the world s troubled 
 school was undoubtedly too idyllic to last. I knew 
 that it could not last. I must make some kind of a 
 move. I must get money. But to pry myself loose, 
 to thrust myself out of Arcadia, was more than I 
 had the will to accomplish alone. 
 
 And so in the goodness of Providence, Bullpit 
 was sent to do the prying. He came over one noon 
 when I had been resting from a hard morning s 
 work. 
 
 "You know you could sell a relinquishment for 
 a pretty good price," he said, reading my problem. 
 " Ranches with springs of sweet water are not ,so 
 plenty now. I could get you a right good price, 
 then you could take up three hundred and twenty 
 out in the center there and dry farm." 
 
 " My ranch is not for sale," I said sharply. 
 
 "Have it your way," Bullpit shrugged. "I 
 thought you needed the money. Of course if you re 
 in funds I ve nothing to say. Only you act queer 
 
94 Happy Valley 
 
 for a man in funds; you ain t doing much toward 
 establishing residence by the first of September." 
 
 " It didn t seem to take you long," I retorted with 
 a nod toward his insignificant little tent. 
 
 "It ain t the improvements you make, it s how 
 well you keep within the letter of the law that 
 counts." 
 
 " You think your tent would satisfy Uncle Sam 
 better than my forty acres of clearing?" 
 
 " The letter of the law calls for residence, and a 
 tent is accepted as residence. The amount of crop 
 ping don t count, that is, beyond the ten acres 
 required each year." 
 
 " You d better get busy on your ten acres then, as 
 you respect the law." 
 
 Bullpit always annoyed me, even when, as in the 
 present instance, he was really suggesting a prac 
 tical way out. But I didn t want a ranch out in the 
 valley ; I wanted my own ranch here on the plateau, 
 with Coyote Butte nosing down onto it. The spring 
 alone was worth a fortune to me. It was the best 
 water I ever tasted, clear and cold and pure and 
 satisfying. I must have drunk gallons of it, daily. 
 It seemed to quench my thirst as no other water 
 did. And it was sufficient for irrigation. 
 
 I loved my ranch, I would not give it up. All 
 thought of appealing to my grandfather was dissi- 
 
Drink Does Its Work 95 
 
 pated by a letter from Ennis. She informed me 
 gloomily that she had had to dismiss the maids and 
 was doing the housework as best she could with 
 Claire s help. Claire was so mortified over their 
 reduced circumstances that she would see no one. 
 Grandfather had lost heavily on some investments 
 and he was breaking. No, I could not write to him. 
 Besides he had taken no interest in me since I had 
 left home. I understood better, now, his bitterness 
 toward me. He had needed help and he had relied 
 on me and I had failed him. I did my best to 
 put him out of mind, and turned to my personal 
 problem. By getting on my own feet, only, could 
 I manage ever to help him. 
 
 I had hoped some of the new settlers would need 
 an extra hand, but so far they were self-sufficient. 
 The Dutchman had money, but also he had his pri 
 vate corps of little Dutchies. He had filed on a 
 desert claim of three hundred and twenty acres ad 
 joining his homestead, and had bought another three 
 hundred and twenty with scrip, so that now he had 
 nearly a thousand acres. Early and late he and 
 Leeda worked with the teams, while his younger 
 children stacked sagebrush for winter fuel. Tent 
 ing had appealed to all the settlers. Lumber would 
 have to be hauled over one hundred miles, which 
 made it costly to say nothing of the time and the 
 
96 Happy Valley 
 
 wear and tear on teams. And the main thing was 
 to get the soil speedily into a crop. The Dutchman 
 was intent on summer fallowing. He was able 
 to buy such tools as he needed and put his labor 
 directly into his soil. He would soon have a fine 
 ranch. 
 
 Clark and his boys were not so well fixed. I 
 could see that uneasiness over the lack of ready cash 
 was beginning to shadow their blissful adventure. 
 They had got rabbit wire and they had thirty acres 
 in potatoes and other root crops. The garden was 
 doing exceptionally well. The rabbits had made 
 only a sort of thinning out that would have had to 
 come sooner or later. Mother Lattig had invested 
 in rabbit wire and had also saved her garden. The 
 country was doing wonderfully, living up to our 
 highest hopes. If only we had a little capital ! 
 
 It was August before I summoned the nerve to 
 put my problem plainly to Mr. Clark. I walked 
 over to Tenttown one morning and found Susie en 
 gaged in taming a young coyote. One of the men 
 had caught it in a trap, and Susie, who couldn t bear 
 to see anything killed, had plead for its life. The 
 flaxen headed babies were gathered about, in awed 
 delight. Her father, she told me, was helping the 
 Book- farmer. 
 
 I walked back to his place. He had made a good- 
 
Drink Does Its Work 97 
 
 sized clearing and our old man was helping him 
 plow. He was going to summer fallow, preparatory 
 to sowing winter wheat. Nothing could induce him 
 to plant so much as an onion or a head of lettuce 
 until after the first fallowing. It was the advice of 
 the book. He had been a mixer of drinks back of 
 a Boston soda fountain, and mixing drinks does not 
 give one the muscle needed for holding a plow 
 steadily from sun up till sun set. He was glad to 
 have help. 
 
 Another thing which had kept the Book- farmer 
 unendingly busy was his need to follow the exact 
 rules laid down in summer camp books for estab 
 lishing his tenting quarters. I must confess to a 
 wave of pure envy when I beheld his neat, well- 
 staked tent and its orderly interior. Most of the 
 settlers lived and worked out of doors and used 
 their tents merely as a protection from the wind and 
 for such necessities as cooking and sleeping. With 
 the Book-farmer the program of life within his tent 
 was as exact as that without. Nothing was omitted. 
 
 I took our old man to one side and had a serious 
 talk with him about the school which was to begin 
 in September. He had organized the district which 
 was thirty miles long, but it was regular, with 
 funds, and had been approved by the county court. 
 
 Our old man scratched his stubby chin and ap- 
 
98 Happy Valley 
 
 peared troubled. " There ain t a livin thing in the 
 way of it but Bullpit," he confessed. " He s been 
 hammerin away about that school all summer. 
 If it hadn t a been for doin him out of his 
 locatin fees and his askin first ding it all, 
 I d like mighty well to see you teach that school, 
 Billy." 
 
 I knew they had appointed three directors, Clark, 
 the Book-farmer, and the Dutchman. I looked over 
 to the Book- farmer methodically plowing, and 
 doubted my appeal to him. We were not congenial 
 spirits. I thought of the Dutchman. I had not 
 been at much pains to cultivate his friendship, he 
 being always busy. I remembered now that Bullpit 
 had ridden over and helped him plow on several 
 occasions. My prospects looked doubtful. 
 
 " You got a certificate ? " 
 
 " No, but I don t think there will be much trouble 
 about that. I am rather fresh from school, and 
 scholarship was never a bugbear to me." 
 
 "That s right. I d put money on your scholar 
 ship any day; that letter you wrote, now say, 
 Billy, I got it ! You re pretty sure of your scholar 
 ship. Bullpit mebby is and mebby isn t. You ll 
 both have to take the examinations. Why, man, 
 you ll have to be gettin right up to Two Forks. 
 You both go take the examinations, and I pledge my 
 
Drink Does Its Work 99 
 
 word to the one that makes the best grades. That s 
 no more than fair ! " 
 
 I agreed that that was fair. 
 
 "And I ll bring our friend here over to my way 
 o seein it; he would kind o respect grades, the 
 Book-farmer," he added with a sly smile. 
 
 " I think he would," I agreed. 
 
 " Then go to it, and here s luck, boy ! " He thrust 
 out his horny hand. I grasped it. " Another thing, 
 you d oughta bring a tent down with you from Two 
 Forks for you ll just about get back in time to estab 
 lish residence by the first of September. I ve sighted 
 more homesteaders comin in lately than you could 
 shake a stick at. That watered piece of yours will 
 look good to a man who don t understand dry farm- 
 in*. I wouldn t run no risk if I was you. I d 
 bring a tent along down." 
 
 "I ll do that," I said. I remembered my watch 
 and made up my mind to hock it in town for a tent. 
 Surely I could get a tent for it. Then the steady 
 blue-gray eyes of the cattleman who had put the 
 Lattig-mother responsibility on me, came back and 
 I felt cheered. If I could do nothing else I would 
 appeal to him, to the man who had said that young 
 men were an asset. 
 
 Every one was working full blast and every horse 
 in our settlement was in use so it was a waste of 
 
100 Happy Valley 
 
 time to attempt to borrow a mount. I hiked it, 
 Mother Lattig providing a generous lunch. I had 
 never told her how short of money I was, and with 
 her countrymen a one hundred mile hike was not 
 unusual. She gave me just one commission. I 
 think it had to do with the welcoming of the Dutch 
 baby, an event she was looking forward to with 
 the keenest interest " a leetle babee in Happy Val 
 ley Ah God!" 
 
 Van Vader gave me a hearty welcome. "Well, 
 now, you ve got some tan, and some flesh s managed 
 to stick to your ribs," he said, scarcely disturbing 
 his knuckles. 
 
 "But I m as poor as ever/ I returned, drawing 
 up a chair. " Mr. Vader, help me out. Who can I 
 hock this watch to for some cash?" 
 
 "What you need o cash, homesteadin ? Grub?" 
 
 " No, not grub ; but a cabin, you know, or a tent ; 
 and a bed and a chair and stove you know, the 
 usual thing. Mr. Vader, what about Mr. Regan? 
 Do you suppose he would lend me fifty dollars on 
 my watch ? " 
 
 " He s Uncle John to most every one hereabouts, 
 but I do know as I ever heard of his lendin money 
 on personal effects." 
 
 " Is there any one else you can suggest ? " 
 
Drink Does Its Work 101 
 
 "I gotta first-rate tent out back, ain t doiir 
 nothin, and a camp stove that you re plumb wel 
 come to. You can return it when you get your 
 cabin built." 
 
 " Mr. Vader, did you ever hear of a thing called 
 self respect? Do you want to take mine entirely 
 away?" 
 
 " We re needin settlers. It s just as John Regan 
 said; he d sa^ r to give you the outfit, and you keep 
 the watch; I d not get mixed up with any cash if I 
 was you. I d just keep the watch." 
 
 " And continue stacking up a board bill with you," 
 I added. I felt resentful. Why wouldn t Vader let 
 me hock my watch ? I knew, under it all, his idea, 
 and I resented his lack of faith. Without cash a 
 man can not very well drink. Already the fumes 
 of liquor from the bar room were stealing over my 
 senses. Already the Lattig cabin, the plateau ranch, 
 the little Tenttown settlement seemed far away, 
 misty, and unreal. 
 
 I left the hotel and went up to the Court House 
 to look up the County Superintendent of Schools 
 and find out about the examinations. They would 
 begin the following morning and last for three days. 
 On my return to the hotel I met Bullpit, brushed 
 and shining, and smelling of perfume and whiskey. I 
 sat down opposite Van Vader, and Bullpit joined us. 
 
102 Happy Valley 
 
 " Have something on it," he invited, nodding to 
 ward the door across which was scrawled in curlicues 
 the word " Bar," " just to show there s no bad feel 
 ings. We re after the same job, Van, and the best 
 man gets it. Neat little contest Pa Clark s pulling 
 off between his favorite sons. Come, have some 
 thing, Brent." 
 
 I shook my head; at the same time I felt like a 
 fool clinging to Van Vader as to a l : fe line. Was 
 I a man or a baby that I couldn t stand on my own 
 feet! 
 
 Van Vader said nothing. Bullpit drew up a 
 chair. Our feet all pointed toward the rusty red, 
 cracked stove, the target for many chews. I sud 
 denly got up, but there was no place to go. I could 
 walk the length of the one main street of the little 
 gray cattle town and pass the swinging doors of five 
 saloons and three hotels, each with a bar. There 
 was no club, no loafing place, nothing but the empty, 
 dusty street and the limitless gray plains. I went 
 to the door. A huge wall of dust cut off distance 
 a wind storm was rising. I turned back to the 
 stove. It was now three o clock. It would be nine 
 before I could with any sort of reason go to bed. I 
 wondered if there was a public library where I might 
 read away the afternoon. 
 
 I went out into the howling wind, the door bang- 
 
Drink Does Its Work 103 
 
 ing behind me, and ducking my head and holding 
 fast to my coat, pushed down the street. The loaf 
 ers were all in doors, the post-office was full of men 
 waiting for the daily stage. I was not interested 
 in the mail. Ennis letters usually filled me with 
 uneasiness even before I broke the seal ; and though 
 I tried to tell her about ranching and the ranch 
 people in a way that would interest her, I never felt 
 that she understood or was in the least interested. 
 She was interested in me I was her brother 
 but not in my way of living. I saw a newspaper 
 office I would try that. A foreman was busily 
 sorting type before a hand press. I asked for the 
 editor; he jerked his head toward a door. I pushed 
 it open. The editor sat at a desk, writing a thin, 
 nervous, wiry man of middle age, with a long red 
 dish mustache streaked with gray. He looked up 
 and I liked his face. 
 
 " I m looking for something to read," I said. " I 
 wondered if there was a public library in town." I 
 picked up a newspaper. "This will do, if I may 
 loaf here awhile." 
 
 "Make yourself at home. Let s see, you re 
 Brent, aren t you ? " 
 
 " Yes, homesteading in Happy Valley. I m here 
 to take the school examinations. I ll be glad when 
 they re over and I can pull out." 
 
104 Happy Valley 
 
 " I d like to do that myself, get away on a ranch 
 for a while. Any news from Happy? We re just 
 about to go to press." 
 
 I told him of our new settlers and the plan for a 
 school to begin in September. He wrote. 
 
 "You re to teach it?" 
 
 " Don t put that in," I hastened to say, "I hope to 
 teach it. The teacher is not yet elected." 
 
 The office was restful; the editor was a man of 
 education, a gentleman. His atmosphere radiated 
 that. I sat on, while he wrote, and read every line 
 of the little sheet, including an ad of Van Vader s 
 in which he maintained that he served good " clean " 
 meals. At length the editor carried his stuff in to 
 the foreman. 
 
 " That s done for a week," he said, returning with 
 an air of relief. I wondered how so small a paper 
 could be so great a burden. I spoke of John Regan 
 the loan was still on my mind. 
 
 "The only thing against John Regan," said the 
 editor, " is that he is so damned good ; but he s so 
 damned fine you can overlook that. Come, let s get 
 something to drink," he added, pulling into his coat. 
 
 I do not know why I couldn t speak plainly to this 
 man whom I liked and who was intelligent, about 
 the effect of liquor on me. I dissembled. I ran my 
 hand into my pocket and drew out several dimes and 
 
Drink Does Its Work 105 
 
 nickels. " My entire cash fortune," I said. " Fm 
 not spending money." 
 
 "It s on me," returned the editor. "What s a 
 drink more or less? It ll be on you next time, 
 perhaps." 
 
 I liked the man, and I was terribly lonesome. 
 The thought of his closing that office and setting me 
 adrift again in the dilapidated town with Bullpit 
 haunting my trail was more than I could face. I 
 wanted to stay with the editor who some way 
 harmonized. He was real company; I went with 
 him. 
 
 Any man cursed with a craving for liquor will 
 understand what followed. I don t expect sympa 
 thy only understanding. The editor was of my 
 class in more ways than one, unfortunately for him. 
 To have a companion of like nature gave a diabolic 
 luxuriance to the abandon to drink. He told me, 
 half drunk, his troubles, chief of which were his 
 sprees between issues of the paper, and I suppose 
 I told him mine. And then we would have another 
 drink on it. Had it only been some one s duty to 
 haul us out and chain us to our beds but no, it 
 could not have been done after the first drink. Noth 
 ing could have saved that night. I don t believe 
 there is any influence, any appeal on earth, that can 
 hold a man s lips away from liquor after a first 
 
106 
 
 Happy Valley 
 
 glass an alcoholic s, I mean until he is soused 
 and stupefied with it. 
 
 Four days later, I crawled out of my blankets at 
 Van Vader s, nauseated and exhausted. Though it 
 was scarcely daylight I 
 dressed and dragged out to the 
 lobby. Van Vader sat there in 
 his usual attitude. I flung 
 myself down in a chair op 
 posite. 
 
 "Better eat somethin ," 
 he said. "How d 
 an egg, poached 
 tender, and some 
 strong coffee, set?" 
 I suppose I was 
 a maudlin fool. His 
 Van Vader patience something 
 
 I don t know 
 
 what but any way, the tears rolled down my 
 cheeks. I could not control them. 
 
 "Shoot me, don t feed me," I said, bitterly. 
 
 Take your gun and shoot me." 
 
 But already he was ambling toward the kitchen. 
 
 The large fly-specked calendar on the wall marked 
 
 this day as the first of September. I had lost my 
 
 claim that is, if any one wanted to make me lose 
 
Drink Does Its Work 107 
 
 it. I had not established residence, and further 
 more, had I the time, I could not now establish resi 
 dence, for during that idiotic four-days spree my 
 watch had gone, and I had in its place only an old 
 gun that I had acquired, I know not how. I hadn t 
 the nerve to accept Van Vader s tent, and I had no 
 way of getting it down to the ranch should I take it. 
 My plan to raise money on my watch had included 
 hiring a pack animal. But I now had nothing to 
 pawn, no resources. 
 
 But as I ate Van Vader s egg, "done tender," I 
 began to come out of the blackness, and to wonder if 
 there wasn t even yet some way. I remembered 
 the lean-to of Mother Lattig s cabin. We had un 
 joined it, meaning to move it over to the new cabin, 
 but we had not finished the job. I knew if I told 
 the old lady of my predicament, she would permit 
 me to haul the lean-to over to my ranch, and this 
 would meet Uncle Sam s requirements for the pres 
 ent. If, then, I could only get back to my ranch, I 
 could manage to save it. I wanted a drink from 
 my spring. More than anything on earth I wanted 
 to lie flat and drink till I was full of clear, cold, pure 
 spring water; to drink for days. As thirsty as I 
 had been for liquor, I was still more thirsty now 
 for my spring. I must go at once. I thought of 
 the two days walk; no, I was not up to it, and 
 
108 Happy Valley 
 
 besides, some one might get my ranch; I knew 
 Bullpit was watching it. No doubt he had a man 
 ready to do the jumping. The thought of Bullpit 
 aroused me to words. 
 
 "Bullpit about?" I asked Van Vader. 
 
 "Left this mornin , bout two a. m., he and an 
 other party and a pack mule two hours on the 
 road now." 
 
 I sprang up. " Who was the other man ? " 
 
 "A newcomer in these parts; dark, with waxy 
 skin and yellow in the whites of his eyes." 
 
 " For God s sake, Van, let me have Sol. I ll get 
 him back to you if I have to bring him in and walk 
 back to Happy Valley. Lend me old Sol ! " 
 
 He gestured toward the front of the hotel. " He s 
 waitin . I lowed you d be wantin to get back to 
 the ranch." 
 
 "Van Vader, how can I ever " I couldn t fin 
 ish it ; I held out my hand. 
 
 " He s oily from not bein rode none. He ll stand 
 some pretty hard ridin ," he said, mildly, and as I 
 went through the lobby like a streak, he sank again 
 into his chair to await later breakfasters. 
 
 I mounted Sol and went out of the sleeping town 
 on the run. Bullpit and his man were after my 
 claim. I knew it as well as if I had been told it in 
 so many words. It would mean a worth-while 
 
Drink Does Its Work 109 
 
 piece of money to Bullpit to put a man on my 
 watered land with forty acres cleared. They were 
 after my spring, my butte, my high, level plateau 
 that looked on to the vast valley from where pic 
 tures came and faded, came and faded. They were 
 after my day from school, my long day of hooky 
 from the big world-school of care and fever and 
 worry. I rode madly, pushing poor Sol, who was 
 not so "oily" as he might have been, to his utmost. 
 After some hours of this, I realized that I could 
 not afford to kill my horse. He and he only 
 could get me there. I slowed down. And then I 
 fell back on the comforting fact that I had a gun. 
 I was in a mood to kill. I felt murder, a desire to 
 murder, rise up in my throat like a gorge, choking 
 me. I wanted to kill Bullpit in cold blood, kill him 
 with my own hands. I examined the gun; it was 
 loaded. I spurred poor Sol and rode on faster. I 
 must get him. I would throw the man off my ranch. 
 I would not give it up my ranch my spring 
 my butte and then I felt weak and sick and the 
 cold sweat broke out all over me. I knew I hadn t 
 the energy to run a dog off my ranch. 
 
 I made a detour through Happy Valley by the 
 rim rock avoiding Tenttown. Poor old Sol was 
 equal only to a walk now, and he could make as 
 good time through the sagebrush as by the road. 
 
110 Happy Valley 
 
 At sunset I reached my butte. From the extreme 
 right I carefully picked my way along its length. I 
 was feverish and dizzy. I had just one idea, to 
 reach my spring, then my gun. A long deep drink 
 from the spring and I knew I should be strong, 
 strong enough to shoot. I rode around the nose of 
 the butte, and stopped abruptly. Beside the spring 
 was a tent, newly staked, and back of it hung a 
 clothesline from which depended a man s washing 
 overalls and shirts. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LITTLE HIRED GIRL 
 
 1 TURNED quickly back to the right of the butte 
 for I did not want to be seen. I was weak and 
 trembling. My strength had endured only for the 
 ride. I knew if I could reach the spring back of 
 the tent and get a good drink my hands would be 
 come steady, steady enough to shoot. The first 
 thing was to reach the spring. The claim jumper 
 might not recognize me. He might mistake me for 
 some thirsty traveler. 
 
 I sprang to the ground, dropped Sol s bridle over 
 his head, then walked around the nose of the butte 
 and approached the spring from the rear of the tent. 
 I lay down and drank long, deep, satisfying 
 draughts. I rested some moments, lifting my hand 
 now and then to test its steadiness. At length I 
 felt equal to the undertaking. My hand was steady, 
 my feverishness gone. I was cool and sure of my 
 self and sure of my purpose. I would go to the 
 tent and order the claim jumper off the ranch. If 
 he resisted I would shoot him down like a dog. 
 
 I walked quickly to the tent, and seizing the flap, 
 drew it back. Just within, holding a rifle to her 
 
 111 
 
112 Happy Valley 
 
 shoulder, sat Susie. We faced each other s guns. 
 
 " Susie ! " I cried, dropping mine. 
 
 " Billy ! " she sobbed out, and throwing down her 
 rifle, burst into crying. I took her in my arms as 
 I might have Ennis had she been that kind of a 
 sister. She clung to me and sobbed frantically. Her 
 tears wet my dusty shirt front, they wet my skin. 
 At last she stopped crying and feeling in all her 
 pockets for a handkerchief I gave her mine she 
 mopped her face, then laughed. 
 
 " Oh, but I m glad you ve come ! " 
 
 " But what does it mean ? Tell me what you have 
 done," I demanded. 
 
 "Well, when you didn t come yesterday, and it 
 was so near the first, I got scared about your ranch ; 
 so this morning I got pa to help me take down my 
 tent and we brought it over and set it up the bed 
 and stove and everything and I put out a wash 
 ing to make it look like real homesteading, then I 
 went home. After lunch, we saw Bullpit go past 
 Tenttown with another man and a pack horse, and 
 they didn t stop to see us, so I knew they were up 
 to something. 
 
 "I told pa I would go shoot some rabbits for 
 chicken feed. I set off on Baldy, and when I got 
 here they were examining the spring, and when I 
 dismounted and started into the tent, the strange 
 
The Little Hired Girl 113 
 
 man spoke so so horrid that I was frightened. I 
 went right in though, and Bullpit came and said this 
 was all nonsense, that I was not of your family and 
 was just wasting my time that I couldn t hold 
 your ranch in your absence and and then I 
 said I I worked for you, that I was your 
 hired girl. And he laughed and threw back his head 
 and laughed some more ; and the man said, Pretty 
 little hired girl, won t you work for me? Won t 
 you get us some dinner? And of course I didn t 
 have anything here to cook and they knew it it 
 was a catch and I said I had been washing and 
 was tired, and they d better go on to Mr. Bullpit s 
 ranch as maybe he had some food there though he d 
 been away a good many days. 
 
 "Well, they left, but by and by the man came 
 back alone; and he came blustering up to the tent, 
 and he said, See here, little girl, you don t want to 
 go mixing in this trouble, and there may be trouble. 
 You d better saddle up and ride along home. And 
 I was so mad, I flew about as quick as a flash and 
 grabbed my gun before I thought for I had 
 brought it just to fool pa, and I said, If you re so 
 afraid of trouble, you d better run along yourself; 
 we re not afraid of it, we pioneers. And he got 
 white and mad, but he went, and I ve been sitting 
 here ever since and and when I heard you in 
 
Happy Valley 
 
 the brush I thought it was the man and when you 
 went to the spring I was sure of it and when you 
 drew back the flap I oh, what if I had shot!" 
 
 Some way I couldn t say a word. I could only 
 mechanically pat her cheek, and stroke her fair hair, 
 for inside of me a perfect torrent was raging. A 
 girl had done this thing for me me and what 
 did I deserve at the hands of any girl ! 
 
 We both heard steps at the same moment, I think, 
 for we both jumped guiltily, and Susie went to the 
 stove and began to pile in sage at an alarming rate. 
 I remained where I was. A big, heavy, hairy hand 
 pulled back the tent flap and a man stood there, a 
 white, waxy-skinned man with bluish lips, big, even 
 teeth, and a thin black mustache. 
 
 "Well?" I said, and my hand went to my hip. 
 
 He smiled sneeringly. 
 
 I stepped nearer him. " Susie, my my hired 
 girl, has told me of your visit. It is rather irregu 
 lar down here. We are peace-loving people. I 
 think you will like the climate better farther south, 
 and possibly there are other springs. I think," I 
 repeated, and pulled my gun on him, " you will like 
 the climate farther south ! " 
 
 I was perfectly steady now and strong. I looked 
 steadily into his evil, black eyes, and noted that the 
 whites had a yellowish hue. Everything about him 
 
The Little Hired Girl 115 
 
 was waxen and yellowish. His eyes fell before mine, 
 he turned a shade paler, and backed away under my 
 gun to where his horse stood grazing. When he 
 had mounted and spurred his horse, I returned to 
 the tent. 
 
 " Now, Susie," I said, assuming command, " you 
 had better ride home right away. And what I think 
 of all this what I think of you what all this 
 means to me Susie, some day I may be able to tell 
 you. But if you had just pulled a man bodily out of 
 a boggy marsh, and helped him plant his feet once 
 more on solid earth, you wouldn t have come any 
 nearer saving a life than you have today." 
 
 " Why, Billy, I only saved your ranch ! " she came 
 back blithely, her attack of nerves completely gone. 
 She began to pin on her hat. The little blue bows 
 above her ears were so very pale now and I had 
 not so much as brought her a ribbon from town! 
 Oh, I was in the depths and I was in the clouds ! 
 
 She rode off, singing an air I had heard many 
 times from the one unscratched record in Happy 
 Valley: 
 
 Some one to love and cheer you, 
 Sometimes when things go wrong; 
 
 Some one to snuggle near you, 
 Some one to share your song. 
 
 Just some one. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 GOOD NEWS! 
 
 WHEN I heard that Bullpit was to teach the 
 school, naturally I was not surprised. Nei 
 ther was I surprised to learn shortly after that the 
 story of my spree had gone the rounds of our set 
 tlement. I knew that it must, and I nerved myself 
 to face it. I dreaded it, and yet a strange peace had 
 fallen upon me. I was back on my ranch I had 
 my spring. And Mother Lattig, with much volu 
 bility, many tears and deep convulsive laughter over 
 the story of Susie s stand against the claim jumper, 
 had boxed my ears because I had not let her know 
 that I was broke, and told me to take the lean-to 
 and welcome. Ed helped me with a team and I 
 soon had a cabin on my ranch that met Uncle Sam s 
 requirements. Susie s tent went back home and in 
 a few days everything was once more moving along 
 regularly. It was this sense of relief, this tremen 
 dous let down which resulted from a feeling of 
 security about my ranch that took the edge off the 
 other evil, the knowledge that they must all know. 
 I remained away from Tenttown, and spent my time 
 
 116 
 
Good News 117 
 
 helping Mother Lattig with her plowing. She 
 rented a team from Mr. Clark, and we plowed stead 
 ily for a week, and I was happy almost. I even 
 wished the blow would fall and I could have it over. 
 When it did fall it was in a most unexpected 
 manner. 
 
 Clark and Bullpit were in the schoolhouse taking 
 a last look at the desks and benches. Our old man 
 wanted to make sure there were enough low ones 
 for the little tots, and, in case there were any too 
 small for even the smaller benches, he was making 
 
 a few footstools. He had insisted on the win- 
 
 t 
 
 dows being set low so the littlest pupil could see 
 out. 
 
 " These houses/ he had said when we were build 
 ing the cabin, "where the windows are high don t 
 take no count o the children. I won t build a house 
 that I can t put the windows down low. Ever see 
 a little shaver with his fingers clingin to the sill, 
 tryin to strain his little self up so he can see out? 
 See that once and you won t never build windows 
 high, not for nobody!" 
 
 He had a great heart for the children, had our 
 old man or better, a great heart for humanity. 
 Well, on this day he and Bullpit were looking the 
 place over, and he was finishing up his little foot 
 stools. I had gone into the other cabin for some 
 
118 Happy Valley 
 
 tool I needed. The thin boards afforded no privacy 
 for conversation. 
 
 "I m sorry about the way I got this school," 
 Bullpit said in his quick, snappy voice. " I like a 
 good fight. I d rather have seen Brent jump in and 
 make it hard for me to win." 
 
 "So so," our old man said, hammering in a 
 nail. 
 
 "Yes. It s a shame he can t keep from drink 
 ing; a fine fellow but for drink." 
 
 "So so." Another nail went in sharply. 
 
 " Yes, didn t you hear about it ? You see, he got 
 in with Crimp, editor of the Herald, and from all 
 accounts it was a pair of em. A shame about 
 Brent. Didn t come near the examinations." 
 
 More nails, sharply, quickly. 
 
 " He certainly did cut some ice while in Two 
 Forks," went on Bullpit. " Pawned his watch to a 
 bartender for a gun and some cash drank up the 
 cash " 
 
 "But kept the gun, I hear." Quick, sharp, the 
 nails went in. " Mighty high-class boy, Billy ; 
 drinks high class, same s everything else with 
 high-class folks; Crimp was a judge once; mighty 
 high-class man." Bang, bang, bang, the little stools 
 were catching it. 
 
 I went away without the thing I had wanted. 
 
Good News 119 
 
 I climbed to the top of my butte and looked across 
 our great ocean of a valley with its glimmering 
 white specks of tents and its tiny patches of green, 
 and I swore by all that was holy, by all that I loved 
 and all at once I changed it and swore by the 
 great wide valley with its white old man and his 
 white, white daughter that never again, so help 
 me, should a drop of liquor pass my lips. I came 
 down feeling strengthened, and returned to Mother 
 Lattig s plowing. 
 
 The problem of a school was settled, but the 
 financial problem was still with Tenttown and grow 
 ing more knotty every day. It involved other tent 
 ing homesteaders as well, who had not rightly fig 
 ured on the cost of getting started on new land, and 
 who had experienced unforeseen accidents and 
 delays in putting in a garden. The homesteading 
 law would permit the men to leave home to find 
 work, but to hold down their claims the women 
 must remain upon them. No one had wintered in 
 the valley, no one could say whether or not the 
 women would be safe and comfortable in tents. To 
 find work, the men would be compelled to go over 
 two hundred miles to a railroad, entirely out of 
 reach of their families. How would the women 
 get supplies? What would they do in case of 
 illness? Ed s wife was expecting another addition 
 
120 Happy Valley 
 
 to her family, and he was unwilling to leave her 
 she must go along. Ed was really of less value 
 on the ranch than either Mr. Clark or Jirn, being 
 a machinist by taste as well as trade. He had been 
 held to ranching so far more by the enthusiasm of 
 the old man than by an innate love of the soil. 
 
 Whenever the discussion came up, Ed insisted 
 that he was the logical one to go to town to find 
 work, and as regularly the old man objected, urging 
 that they all wait a little longer. He seemed bent 
 on holding Ed to ranching. Jim took to it like a 
 true German. Going to town, a privilege to Ed, 
 would be a punishment to Jim. The old man had 
 no worries on his account. I think the base of the 
 whole matter lay in the fact that he had brought 
 the old lady in on the promise that she would not 
 again be separated from her children. Her children 
 were her very life; she counted nothing a hardship 
 but the thought of separation from one of them. If 
 Ed should go to town, his wife would go and they 
 would lose their claim. They would probably not 
 come back. The old lady might never again have 
 this daughter with her. Our old man was set on 
 the one idea, that his family should stay together. 
 
 Then came the great news. We had a system of 
 signals in our valley that I have neglected to men 
 tion. If one were in danger or needed help, a red 
 
Good News 121 
 
 flag would be run up; if good news came affecting 
 the whole valley, or mail, a white flag. One after 
 noon late in September I saw a white flag wave 
 bravely from the Clark compound. I set out at 
 once for Tenttown, only stopping on the way to tell 
 Mother Lattig about it. She had seen the flag and 
 was already wildly excited, pacing back and forth 
 and uttering maledictions against herself in several 
 languages for having sold all her horses. She 
 wanted to go; she pushed me frantically away, 
 hanging on to my coat at the same time, beseeching 
 me to hurry back, as it might be news from her son 
 or a letter from her daughter, whose husband ran 
 a small East-side restaurant in New York, and who 
 had promised to come West. 
 
 I found our old man in an equal state of excite 
 ment, while Mother Clark s eyes were lighted up 
 with hope. The younger women were in gay spirits, 
 and their husbands looked as if a will had just been 
 read, in which they were handsomely remembered. 
 Susie was perched on a barrel end with a great mail 
 order catalog on her knee and a pencil in her hand. 
 Her fair, white brow was screwed into a frown, for 
 she was engaged in that most fascinating occupation 
 to women homesteaders, catalog shopping. By the 
 hour she and Leeda " shopped " in this fashion. As 
 I joined her she smiled gaily, and declared that she 
 
122 Happy Valley 
 
 was really going to send off an order this time. She 
 kicked her pretty feet happily against the barrel, 
 and bent again to her delightful task. 
 
 Other neighbors had gathered in, old What s-in- 
 it-for-me gloomier than ever and working his jaw 
 hard, the Book- farmer studiously serious, and sev 
 eral newcomers who had located east of the Clarks, 
 silently curious. One was a powerful giant of a 
 man, a Dane who might have stepped off a Viking s 
 ship. Others were foreigners less unusual in 
 appearance. 
 
 Clark held back his big news till all had arrived. 
 Then he waved overhead a sheet of paper, and every 
 one gave attention; even old What s-in-it-for-me 
 stopped his chewing. 
 
 "It s work," he choked out, his voice breaking 
 with exultation. "Work for every man jack of 
 us, and right here at home, or next thing to it." 
 Then he explained : John Regan, the stockman 
 who had put the Lattig-mother responsibility on me, 
 was to begin at once digging a canal through the 
 Q Ranch to drain the tule swamps and irrigate the 
 arid acres. He would need wood to operate the 
 dredger, thousands of cords. Work would last four 
 years, possibly longer. Clark was authorized to act 
 as foreman, and organize a wood-cutting crew. 
 Regan would pay five dollars a cord. 
 
Good News 
 
 123 
 
 When he finished telling about it, stammering 
 over his words in his excitement, he tossed his old 
 rag of a cap in the air and shouted, " Three cheers 
 for Uncle John," and we all took it up, the Dutch 
 man, the Dane, the Swedes, 
 the Bostonian, the Philadel- 
 phian, the Westerners 
 and the women more lus 
 tily than the men. Every 
 one was grinning, everyone 
 save old Sol Sneed, who, 
 gloomier than ever, re 
 sumed his chewing, and the 
 Book- farmer, who seemed 
 searching his mind for a 
 precedent for this pecul 
 iar manner of employing labor. One man T 
 noticed in the outskirts of the group whom I was 
 sorry to see there, the waxen- faced claim jumper 
 who had gone farther south to look for land. 
 
 Sol Sneed grumbled to Clark as he started to 
 ward his horse, " I can t see what s in it for me ; 
 I can t leave my store, I can t go to work at my 
 age." 
 
 "Why, man alive, there s everything in it for 
 you," cried our ecstatic old man, too happy to be 
 irritated. " Won t you sell more supplies ? Won t 
 
 Sol Sneed 
 
124 Happy Valley 
 
 there be money in the country? Won t all the set 
 tlers be prosperous? Diggin a ditch twenty-five 
 miles long to reclaim one hundred and fifty thou 
 sand acres of land won t that bring in more set 
 tlers ? Do you think Uncle John s diggin this here 
 ditch of his just because water ll look pretty in the 
 desert? Don t you see that one hundred and fifty 
 thousand acres of drained tule swamp and irrigated 
 sagebrush will mean a thousand or more settlers 
 with money to buy this land? And it all a layin 
 just over Wind Mountain there, not fifteen miles 
 from the heart of our valley. Oh, man, but I 
 knowed it. I knowed all along that somethin like 
 this was just bound to happen to a big, new, raw 
 country that nobody hadn t never touched yet, and 
 Uncle John s a doin it. Oh, but the fine sunrises 
 we ll see over our valley wavin in wheat. Oh, but 
 things is happenin quick, mighty quick ! " 
 
 Sol Sneed rode away, still working his lantern 
 jaw. He couldn t see anything in it for him. 
 
 I think I was the first to sign up with our old 
 man. " I don t know what I can do," I said, " but 
 I m in for it." 
 
 "The wood choppin will be in your line, Billy," 
 he said, in a mild, half -apologetic way. "It smells 
 right sweet, cuttin juniper up in the hills. It smells 
 right sweet, and the juniper is fair easy. You just 
 
Good News 125 
 
 cut along with Ed and Jim and me. Our teams will 
 do the haulin and you cut." 
 
 A day or so later our old man rode over to see 
 me. He was leading a horse. He had stopped to 
 take a look at the school, for it had been running a 
 week now, with Susie, three of her nephews, four 
 Dutchies, two Danes, and a Swede composing the 
 student body. He came on to my ranch where I 
 was busy grubbing, and pausing, looked back toward 
 the little schoolhouse. 
 
 " We ll have a bell," he said. " One you can hear 
 ten miles away. Won t that be some sound to hear 
 a school bell peal right out in Happy Valley? " His 
 eyes gleamed. 
 
 No wonder our old man was not rich. His 
 vision had never included stacking up gold. I 
 am sorry to admit that I was not jubilant over the 
 development of the valley. It was coming, but 
 well, I loved our isolation, our out-of-touchness with 
 civilized life. However, I said nothing, and he 
 went on talking, throwing one leg over the saddle 
 horn and hunching to one side in the plainsman s 
 resting habit when mounted. "We re all goin to 
 be in funds now, and work will bring in other 
 settlers; pretty quick you see, I ve pioneered 
 Texas and Oklahoma there won t be any vacant 
 land left in Happy Valley. We re all entitled to a 
 
126 Happy Valley 
 
 desert claim apiece. I think it d be a right good idea 
 for all of us to make a desert film before we get so 
 busy choppin wood we won t have time to look up 
 the land or go to Two Forks to file." 
 
 "I really don t believe I can handle more than 
 I ve got, Mr. Clark/ I said. "I would like to 
 improve my place, fence it and get in a crop. I 
 don t believe I ought to tackle a desert claim." 
 
 " Billy, the land will be worth a good many crops ; 
 better come along with me and look it over." 
 
 The result was that I filed on three hundred and 
 twenty acres that lay a good fifteen miles farther 
 south, the old man putting up the filing fee, the 
 same to be returned to him out of my first wages as 
 a wood chopper. I hadn t wanted any more land, 
 and I had a feeling that I was being managed, being 
 got into it, on some idea of his that it was good for 
 me to have all the responsibility I could stagger 
 under. After I had filed, I was glad he had com 
 pelled me to do so. I certainly did have a feeling 
 of greater interest in the valley. It gives a man a 
 queer, new, self-important sensation, this matter of 
 acquiring land. It grows on him and he wants to 
 get more and more. Clark and each of his sons-in 
 law filed on desert claims, the old man urging the 
 boys on with, " It won t never be no cheaper." It 
 would keep us strapped to prove up on these claims, 
 
Good News 127 
 
 for wells must be dug and the land watered. Did 
 our old man think it was good for all of us to be 
 pretty well strapped down to the country? What 
 ever he thought, he had his way with us. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 WE established camp in the juniper woods, the 
 dwarfed, scraggy timber of the lower moun 
 tain sides, twenty miles from Tenttown. Ed was 
 cook for our division. Every man in Happy Valley 
 save the Dutchman, the Book- farmer and Sol Sneed 
 was in camp. I made poor time at the beginning 
 and would have given up just because I couldn t see 
 myself making wages, but our old man was patient 
 and kept me at it. 
 
 All day he whistled or sang, and all day he kept 
 us steadily chopping. The regular swing of the ax, 
 the rhythm of it after I got the hang of the thing, 
 and my muscles got over being sore, was exhilarat 
 ing. These healthy-minded, eager men, happy 
 through and through over a " job," a chance to stay 
 on their ranches and make them profitable, were 
 inspiring companions. And really this was the only 
 apparently insurmountable obstacle to homestead- 
 ing. You could not get your living out of the soil 
 short of a year, and if you had no money to feed 
 your body-engine while getting your ranch under 
 
 128 
 
Bad News 129 
 
 cultivation, how could you run the engine ? As our 
 old man said, it was the string that was just too 
 short to reach around the package. It couldn t be 
 stretched, it had to be spliced, and Uncle John, as he 
 persisted in calling Mr. Regan, had come along just 
 in time to do the splicing. 
 
 " Oh, but I knowed it ! " he would say over and 
 over again. "You can t never see all the way but 
 with the eyes of faith. I knowed it all along." 
 
 The real genius of our wood-chopping brigade 
 was the big Dane. He never wasted a breath on 
 anything but work. He was up with the first " sun- 
 risers " and his ax was the last to break the stillness 
 at night. I looked on his pile of wood and mar 
 velled. To have an arm like that, muscles of marble 
 and tendons of steel ! His body was a perfectly 
 constructed machine governed by a mind with just 
 one idea to cut wood. A blow would carry a 
 small tree half off its stump; another completed the 
 felling. Often I had to pause and watch his perfect 
 work, losing strokes myself, but I would more than 
 make up later trying to make his time. He was a 
 prince of wood choppers, a very king among us. 
 
 Only once during the first month did I see him 
 pause, save for food and sleep. The Book- farmer 
 rode up to our camp evidently on an important 
 errand. Every one stopped chopping to greet him, 
 
130 Happy Valley 
 
 every one, that is, save the great Dane. The Book- 
 farmer greeted us but rode on over to where the 
 blond giant s ax was in the air on its descending 
 stroke. 
 
 " Your wife has twin girls ! " the Book-farmer in 
 formed him. 
 
 The ax paused on its downward stroke. "The 
 hell ! " Then the ax came on down. Chop, chop, 
 chop, not another tremor of disturbance, not a lost 
 stroke. 
 
 The Book- farmer came back to the rest of us, 
 irritated over his reception by the Dane. We asked 
 for news of the settlement. Every one was well, it 
 seemed. The school he believed there was a lit 
 tle trouble over discipline at the school. He had 
 heard the children talking some, and two of the 
 Dane s girls had passed his place crying. They 
 couldn t understand English, so he could not make 
 out the trouble. They had cried harder with each 
 question he put to them, so he had let them go along, 
 but he believed the teacher had whipped the smaller 
 one. Susie was staying with Mother Lattig; he 
 had not seen Susie; he did not know her version of 
 the affair. One of the Dutchman s children had 
 been whipped, too one of the smallest ones. 
 Maybe they needed it; still, in Boston corporal 
 punishment 
 
Bad News 131 
 
 And here Ed broke in about his wife. The young 
 est child had had a cold when he left. Was he well 
 now? And this reminded the Bostonian of an 
 other thrilling episode. 
 
 "The cattle are coming down from the hills in 
 large bunches," he said. "It seems that among 
 them there are bulls. Your dog Jake chased a big 
 black bull into your tent " 
 
 "God! man was my wife " 
 
 The Bostonian regarded the interrupter imper 
 sonally. " The dog Jake, as I was about to say, 
 bayed the bull till he had backed into your tent. I 
 should not say precisely into it, but his hind legs 
 were well in. Your wife was within, with both 
 children. The bull was at the front of the tent, next 
 the opening. She could not risk going out, in the 
 face of a mad, bayed bull, and she dared not stay 
 in, for any moment a more desperate plunge, a fur 
 ther weakening of the tent, and he would roll bodily 
 into it, and she would be at the animal s mercy; 
 so" 
 
 "Great heavens, man, is she all right? What 
 happened ? " 
 
 The Bostonian looked at Ed coldly. 
 
 "As I was saying," he continued with extreme 
 patience, "she dared not go out and she dared not 
 stay in, and the silly beast continued to bay and the 
 
132 Happy Valley 
 
 silly bull to snort and bellow and plunge about. He 
 was a monster in size, and indeed, a very ugly brute. 
 So with rare coolness, I should say, she pushed the 
 babies under the bed, rolled some boxes against the 
 bed to keep them there, then got her twenty-two, 
 and pulling the tent up, so she could get her aim true, 
 shot " 
 
 "The bull ?" 
 
 "No, the dog. It stopped his baying and the 
 bull got himself loose. Susie, who had been look 
 ing on and who had snapped a picture of the en 
 counter, chased the animal off. She was under the 
 impression that your wife had gone to Jim s tent. 
 She had not realized there was any cause for 
 alarm." 
 
 " Did you see my babies ? Are you sure Lil is all 
 right?" 
 
 " Oh, perfectly. She pulled the babies out from 
 under the bed, when they set up a yell over being 
 taken away from a bag of prunes which they 
 had found. I assure you they are perfectly all 
 right." 
 
 He rode away, precisely, unsmiling, as he had 
 come. Our old man laughed heartily as did the rest 
 of us, all but the Dane, who was not losing a stroke, 
 and Ed, who sat on a fallen juniper tree, his shoul 
 der drooped, his hands hanging down over his legs, 
 
Bad News 133 
 
 his mouth down at the corners. When our old man 
 saw the boy, he stopped laughing. 
 
 "Now, Ed, Lil s all right. Don t you go gettin 
 down in the mouth. Nothin will happen to Lil. 
 Why, I trained that girl like a man. She s strong, 
 Lil is, and she s resourceful; showed awful good 
 sense shootin the dog. Couldn t have killed the bull 
 without a straight bead between his eyes. If she 
 had wounded him, he d a been more fightin mad 
 and the fool dog would a kept on bayin ; mighty 
 good sense, killin the dog." 
 
 " It s no way to treat women, leaving them to wild 
 cattle. It s no way to do." Ed was plainly in the 
 dumps. 
 
 " Now see here, Ed, it s pioneerin right, that s 
 all. If you don t want no experience, why, don t 
 pioneer. There s thousands o folks just feedin 
 their faces and keepin alive, with nothin interestin 
 a-happenin to em. If you want that kind of a 
 life, there s plenty of it. It s this that s scarce 
 an fine!" 
 
 Ed got up, viciously seized his ax, and went to 
 work. I was sorry for Ed, and I didn t blame him 
 for being worried. We had no idea of breaking 
 camp until the snow should drive us out of the 
 mountains. The plan was to get money enough 
 ahead to return to our ranches in time to put in 
 
134 Happy Valley 
 
 spring crops. Then with the fall, back again to the 
 woods. 
 
 I fell to wondering about Susie. If Bullpit were 
 having trouble with his discipline there must be ex 
 citing events in the little schoolhouse. Susie and 
 Leeda were the only pupils of any size. I could see 
 them sitting together on a long bench, Susie fresh 
 and crisp in a white, middy blouse with her little 
 washed-out ribbons tied into perky, if faded, bows, 
 while her eyes, that some way Dame Nature had 
 caught down so fascinatingly at the corners, twin 
 kled with amusement, and beside her the stout, 
 solemn-eyed Leeda in her red cashmere basque. Did 
 Bullpit have trouble with their discipline ? I would 
 have given a good deal for a look in at the school. 
 
 It was the end of November. Snow flurries for 
 some days had warned us of coming winter. I had 
 looked at the Dane and wondered how he kept his 
 level, steady stroke, for it must be getting cold in 
 the valley, too, and sagebrush fires are tindery 
 things, and a tent didn t seem to me much protec 
 tion for a young mother. Had he no thought for 
 the woman who was down in the valley alone with 
 his babies? Or did his steadiness show a better 
 protectiveness than Ed s flighty and moody turns; 
 for Ed had not got over his protest, He was evi 
 dently sick of pioneering. The food was tiresome; 
 
Bad News 135 
 
 the work uncongenial. The whole thing was get- 
 ing on his nerves Ed, who had always been a ma 
 chinist on good pay. 
 
 Was the Dane, who chopped like a perfect ma 
 chine, doing better by his family than the man who 
 fretted and stewed and diminished his earning 
 power? Ed was the cook of our camp, and cook 
 ing, too, seemed to add to his growing discontent. 
 We had no variety bacon, potatoes, camp bread, 
 prunes, coffee. No butter, no milk, no eggs our 
 three meals were almost identical. 
 
 The old man said to me one evening, "I think it 
 might not be a bad idea for you to ride down into 
 the valley tomorrow, and see if everything is all 
 right; also stay a night on your ranch. You ain t 
 got anybody holdin it down for you you re the 
 only bachelor ; maybe you d better go sleep a night 
 on your ranch. The little government agents, they 
 come peekin around some times, and mebby you d 
 better ride down." 
 
 I jumped at the chance. Goodness knows, I 
 wanted to go but I thought of poor homesick Ed. 
 "Hadn t Ed better go?" I suggested. 
 
 "N-no, Ed ain t in no condition right now to get 
 loose in the valley with money in his pocket. Ed 
 would be for beatin it to town, and Lil s some fool 
 ish over Ed. She d go if he said the word." 
 
136 Happy Valley 
 
 I was surprised at one feature of this; our old 
 man had given me to understand that he was hold 
 ing the money due us all for our chopping. Was 
 he then holding only mine? Was I still the one 
 not to be trusted with cash and a horse? I felt 
 suddenly sick at heart; in these months of hard 
 work I had come to feel the equal of these men. 
 The old man saw his mistake at once. " Ed d may- 
 be ll have to go to town for supplies; you see I d 
 have to let him have his money, and when he had 
 money and a team why, he d go. Yes, Ed d go. 
 You d better ride down in the morninV 
 
 It helped, but still I knew the old man didn t 
 fully trust me. However, I was glad of a chance to 
 get away. A better mood came as I wound down 
 into Happy Valley. The number of tents had in 
 creased. I counted at least five new ones, scat 
 tered between Tenttown and my ranch. Had Bull- 
 pit been the locater ? I rode on, wholly at ease, the 
 nippy air tingling my blood, and sending it bound 
 ing through my body. 
 
 I stopped at my cabin, and looked over the plateau, 
 and my heart warmed to it afresh. I would build 
 a stone house, as soon as the wood chopping ended, 
 for the old man figured we would have a month or 
 six weeks of holiday in midwinter. I would build 
 a stone house and buy a good cook stove, and put 
 
Bad News 137 
 
 up cupboards and shelves, and make a real home 
 of it. 
 
 I stood in my door looking over the valley while 
 plans thronged through my head. I would send for 
 rabbit wire at once. That, and my house and a 
 well on my desert claim would take every cent I 
 would make by chopping wood this winter. But 
 the coming summer I could put in a crop; then in 
 the fall more wood chopping. The prospect looked 
 delightful to me and just over the way was the 
 little schoolhouse and Susie. 
 
 I closed the cabin door and galloped away singing 
 as I went. As I approached the schoolhouse it oc 
 curred to me to slip up and take a look at Bullpit 
 teaching his school, at Susie and Leeda back of their 
 books, and also surprise Mother Lattig. So I 
 stopped some distance away, dropped the bridle over 
 my horse s head, and crept up past the windowless 
 side of the house. I paused to listen. An alterca 
 tion was going on, I went on to where I could see 
 into one of the windows. They would all have seen 
 me but that their gaze was centered on an affair of 
 vast moment inside. 
 
 As I drew near I saw Bullpit spring up from his 
 seat back of the desk and with a flash of temper, 
 unhook and jerk from around his body a leather 
 belt. 
 
138 Happy Valley 
 
 "I think we ll make you understand this much 
 Engleesh, anyway," he snapped out, and the younger 
 Danish girl began to whimper. He had imitated the 
 child s way of speaking " English " in an ugly, sneer 
 ing manner. He came down the short aisle and 
 raised the belt. In a flash, Susie who was sitting 
 at the back of the room beside the scared and stolid 
 Leeda, sprang to her feet. 
 
 "If you re going to whip anyone else, you d better 
 take someone your size," she threw at him, her eyes 
 lowering and her breath coming short. "This is 
 the third time you ve pounced on poor little Tita 
 because she can t understand English. You re a 
 -a brute!" 
 
 "Then, my dear young woman, I might begin on 
 you." He spoke playfully, but his nostrils quivered. 
 His temper had got the better of him. 
 
 " Try it," dared Susie, advancing in the aisle, and 
 turning her strong young shoulders for his lash. 
 He lifted the belt, and brought it down once. 
 I sprang through the window but before I could 
 reach him Susie had whirled about, seized his two 
 thin shoulders, and thrown him backward to the 
 floor, going down with him, and raining blows on 
 his face. I snatched her away, and getting the 
 wretched little coward by the collar, dragged him, 
 choking, kicking and tearing, to the door, pushed 
 
Bad News 139 
 
 him down the steps and flung him out into the 
 sagebrush. Bullpit s habitual defence, his gun, was 
 lacking on this day. He was brave only when 
 armed. I must confess that it was not especially 
 to my credit that I was able quickly to reduce him 
 to a state of non-resistance he had neither muscle 
 nor science; and also I must confess to an unholy 
 joy in the enterprize. Whatever the thrashing was 
 to do for Bullpit, it did me an immense amount of 
 good. 
 
 Leaving him limp in the dirt, I turned back to 
 the school house. The children, frightened into 
 silence, were bunched in the doorway. Only Leeda 
 could speak she had been gazing with house 
 wifely disapproval on some red spots on the floor. 
 Bullpit s nose .had bled profusely: "Oh, Susie, see 
 what you went and done ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Susie would not see. Her head was in the air 
 and her eyes were snapping fire. At my suggestion 
 the children gathered up their books and lunch pails 
 and set out for home. Susie was the last to come 
 out, following along after Leeda. 
 
 "Oh, Susie, you hadn t oughta started it!" re 
 monstrated her solemn friend. 
 
 " Shut up ! Don t I know it without you telling 
 me? Spoiling pa pa s school and him 
 away ! " 
 
140 Happy Valley 
 
 I joined the two girls. " Don t you care, Susie, 
 the term is nearly over." 
 
 "He s a a beast!" she screamed, her anger 
 again rising. She was so worked up that my sud 
 den appearance and part in the disturbance had not 
 called for comment. "He s been mean to those little 
 Danish girls, tormenting them because they can t 
 understand English, all along. He only stopped 
 because Mother Lattig took them to live with her 
 to save them the long walk, and for company, and 
 he s afraid of big Mother Lattig. He was so mean 
 to Leeda s little sisters that their mother took them 
 out. He always picks on the little ones, and the 
 foreign ones who can t understand. And he was 
 mean to you, Leeda ; you know very well he was the 
 meanest of all to you. He tried it on me, too, at 
 first!" 
 
 "Tried what?" I suddenly felt hot under my 
 collar. "What did he try, Susie?" I demanded, 
 sharply. 
 
 "Oh, nothing." Her face was red and she 
 looked away. Leeda blushed. A younger girl fol 
 lowing along behind piped up, "He was sweet on 
 Susie, that s what he was; he was sweet on Susie 
 and when he showed her how to hold her pen, he put 
 his arm around her ; he was sweet on Susie, he was 
 sweet on Susie ! " 
 
Bad News 141 
 
 " Shut up, you little brat ! " screamed the exas 
 perated Susie. The child stopped for a moment, 
 then ran on ahead with the other little children, 
 sing-songing, " He was sweet on Susie, and Susie 
 set on him; he was sweet " 
 
 "Leeda, can t you- stop that kid?" Susie de 
 manded, her face very red. 
 
 " Well, you know, Susie, it s the truth ! " blurted 
 out the solemn Leeda. 
 
 I hurried ahead to the little Dutch girl. " See 
 here/ I said, " didn t Susie protect you all from a 
 whipping? Now if you want her to look out for 
 you in the future, you d better shut right up ! " The 
 child collapsed, and I went back to the two girls. 
 
 "And Pa was so proud of his school," moaned 
 Susie. Then, in a flash, " I don t care, I hate him ! " 
 
 Her loyalty to her father was having a hard 
 struggle with her rage against Bullpit, which had 
 evidently smouldered for many weeks. Also, I 
 found that she and Leeda had said nothing to their 
 respective mothers about school troubles, not want 
 ing to worry them, and hoping things would 
 straighten out by the time the men returned. Ed 
 had been right. Pioneering was not fair to the 
 women. 
 
 After getting Susie restored to a degree of her 
 usual calm, I turned back. Bullpit must leave our 
 
142 Happy Valley 
 
 valley. I would tell him so in no uncertain terms. 
 He had laid his soiled hands on these two young 
 girls and he would have to go. 
 
 When I reached the schoolhouse he was nowhere 
 to be seen. I hunted up Mother Lattig; she had 
 been clearing sage brush at the farther extremity of 
 her ranch and had missed the excitement. For this 
 she blamed me in a volley of vituperation; she had 
 no love for the Ratter. " Ah, Billy," she said, " I 
 so mad at heem skunk I tink I bite off hees ear 
 myself! You kill heem? No? Too bad!" To 
 answer all her questions and pacify her for having 
 missed seeing the thrashing consumed considerable 
 time. When I finally reached Bullpit s tent, he was 
 not there. 
 
 He did not show up the following morning. I 
 rode down the valley to see the rest of the settlers. 
 
 One real calamity had befallen the women which 
 they had taken care to conceal from the men, not 
 wanting to worry them. A heavy frost which had 
 come immediately following our departure for the 
 juniper woods had caught the root crops. In their 
 haste to begin chopping wood the men had had no 
 time to put the roots away in pits. The task had 
 been left for the women. The frost would have 
 come just the same, had the men been there, for this 
 being our first year in the valley, no one knew when 
 
Bad News 143 
 
 to expect frost and no one was prepared. Still the 
 women felt responsible. It was a real calamity. 
 The potatoes, onions, beets, carrots and parsnips 
 which otherwise would have formed the chief diet 
 all winter had had to be supplanted by the monoto 
 nous fare of boiled beans. While Mrs. Clark was 
 telling me about it a flock of wild geese flew over 
 head, honking their way south. 
 
 " And we don t dare shoot one," she said, looking 
 up. She shook her head, lamenting. " Now and 
 then this winter, Billy, I ve been a real law breaker 
 in my heart. I ve been willin to shoot them for 
 some fresh meat for Lil. It s been hard for Lil " 
 
 "Why didn t you?" I demanded. It seemed to 
 me the maddest thing in the world that these pio 
 neers could not use all that the country had to offer 
 in their fight for a home. The geese and ducks 
 passed overhead in thousands, only to be shot in 
 another state where the game laws did not protect 
 them. 
 
 "It was Susie, I guess. Susie s our best shot, 
 but she can t bear to kill anything. She can t do it. 
 They haunt her, nights, she says. We got up a 
 jackrabbit drive once, and when we got them all cor 
 nered, Susie cried so we had to let em go. They 
 do whine and look up at you like babies. She can t 
 even kill a chicken." 
 
H4 Happy Valley 
 
 I looked about where were the chickens? 
 Mother Clark had had a dozen thrifty laying hens 
 in the fall. 
 
 " I cooked em," she explained, " for Lil. She s 
 pullin through right well, considerin ." 
 
 The idea I had had in the East that jack rabbits 
 could be made to supply the meat item of a home 
 steader s diet was erroneous. The rabbits were not 
 healthy they were "grubby" and no rancher 
 ate them. Sometimes a newcomer tried it, but never 
 more than once. 
 
 The Dane had given me no commission, but I 
 rode over to his ranch just the same. Its isolation, 
 and the women having no teams, had left the Dan 
 ish family to themselves. I had found the two little 
 girls, who had taken Susie s place at Mother Lattig s 
 to save them the long walk, excessively white and 
 thin, and I wondered how his wife was faring. 
 Since the advent of the twins, when Mother Lattig 
 had been with her, no one had seen the Dane s wife. 
 Rheumatism was keeping Mother Lattig a prisoner 
 on her ranch. 
 
 I stopped at the Dane s tent and called, but there 
 was no answer. I sprang down and called again. 
 I heard a faint moan, and pushing back the tent 
 flap, went in. There lay the woman, emaciated to 
 skin and bones, and beside her on the dirty bed the 
 
Bad News 145 
 
 babies pulled at her flabby breasts. I spoke, but her 
 eyes opened only to add terror to her weakness. 
 She could understand no English. I could get no 
 response but a succession of weak moans. Her 
 lips were blue and her cheeks sunken under high, 
 prominent bones. I never saw anything so ghastly, 
 alive. I made a quick survey of the tent and found 
 no food save half a sack of potatoes and some 
 salt. The answer was plain. The woman was 
 starving. 
 
 I galloped to Mother Lattig s. With tears 
 streaming down her cheeks and amidst a volley of 
 prayers, gutturally intermingled with curses, she put 
 up a pail of soup, while I hitched my horse to the 
 buckboard. 
 
 The woman took the soup, at first fearfully, and 
 after a few spoonsful, eagerly. Then I lifted her 
 into the buckboard and carted her over to Mother 
 Lattig s. The schoolhouse was turned into a hos 
 pital, and Susie came over to help. 
 
 The Book- farmer set off to the Q Ranch to phone 
 for a doctor, and I started to the hills for the Dane. 
 It was dark when I reached camp and everyone had 
 knocked off work. They came to meet me, all but 
 the Dane, and I told them all that had happened. 
 They drew back in heavy silence while I went on 
 over to break the news to the Dane, sitting alone by 
 
H6 Happy Valley 
 
 his solitary camp fire. He looked up, frowning, as 
 I accosted him. 
 
 "Your wife is very ill. You must go home at 
 once," I said. His face did not indicate that he com 
 prehended. I added, "She is dying. Hurry!" 
 
 Over his great, broad, impassive face there swept 
 a charge of fury. 
 
 "Go home," I said, shouting as to a deaf man. 
 "Your wife is dying!" 
 
 "My vife," he roared, "she go die! And I vork 
 like hell. Goddamn!" 
 
 I went back to the settlement with the Dane the 
 next morning, for my responsibility toward Mother 
 Lattig was still with me, and besides I had not slept 
 a night on my ranch. Our old man suggested that 
 I stay in the settlement a while for I told him of 
 Susie s trouble with Bullpit and hinted at the ras 
 cality which I believed lay deeper in his nature. He 
 wasn t willing for Ed to get loose with money, but 
 he was uneasy about the women folks after the poor 
 JDanish woman s experience. There might be other 
 outlying homesteaders in trouble. Maybe other men 
 had gone away and left women to depend on roots 
 that had been caught by the frost. He wanted me 
 to make a roundup of the valley and see that every 
 one was well and had supplies. Of course I was 
 better at this than at chopping wood. 
 
Bad News 147 
 
 My first visit would be to Bullpit s tent. He must 
 leave Happy Valley. I had nearly one hundred dol 
 lars from my wood chopping, and I meant to offer 
 to buy his relinquishment. I didn t know what I 
 could do with it. I wished I might send for Ennis 
 to file on it, but I knew there was nothing in her 
 nature that would respond to pioneering. Still, I 
 would buy him out. I believed Bullpit would 
 accept the money and leave, for the biggest thing 
 about him was his vanity. After the return of the 
 men from the juniper woods, the situation for him 
 would be unbearable. 
 
 When I asked our old man for my money, he 
 looked at me questioningly, but I did not explain. 
 He wrote out my check. John Regan had put a sum 
 of money in the bank to his credit with which to 
 pay his men. 
 
 However, the check was not needed. Bullpit was 
 gone. His horse, his mule, and all his clothes were 
 gone, leaving only his brown tent. I rode on to 
 Tenttown and learned that he had collected three 
 months pay from the Book- farmer, who was clerk. 
 The Book- farmer had thought best to pay him in 
 full and have no more trouble, especially as the term 
 was so nearly ended. 
 
 I was well satisfied. Bullpit was gone. That was 
 all that I needed to know for my peace of mind. 
 
H8 Happy Valley 
 
 I had a visit with my little "hired girl," who had 
 got over her remorse, but was not to be teased about 
 whipping her teacher. It was a sore subject with 
 her. I rode on, making the rounds of the home 
 steads. I had one hundred dollars, I was rid of 
 Bullpit, and the sun still shone over Happy Valley. 
 I fell to planning the investment of my money. I 
 would build the long-planned stone house and I 
 would have Ennis send me a box of personal belong 
 ings, books and cushions and pipes and pennants and 
 pictures; and in the box would be blue ribbons for 
 my little hired girl. I smiled over that parcel of 
 blue ribbons; foolishly I wanted to select them 
 myself. 
 
 The Dutchman s ranch was coming on wonder 
 fully. He was far and away the most prosperous 
 homesteader we had. He had built a good-sized 
 barn, hauling the lumber over one hundred miles; 
 he had five good, fat teams, in which he had invested 
 twelve hundred dollars, and they must have care. 
 His family still lived in a tent, though he had the 
 lumber on the ground for a house. He showed me 
 his farm machinery. He had put up a machine shed 
 cdongside his barn, and had invested two thousand 
 dollars in tools. 
 
 "Ven a man vorks all his life, und saves some- 
 dings for a farm some day," he explained with 
 
Bad News 149 
 
 pleased pride, "he vants everyting goot. Mine 
 cash, he most gone, but dere he is," and he pointed 
 to his barn, his horses, and his machinery. 
 
 All the little Dutchies were endlessly busy 
 clearing, plowing, and leveling. He wanted a large 
 part of his nine hundred and sixty acres ready for a 
 gigantic crop of spring wheat. To stop to build a 
 barn had merely been a provision of economy. 
 
 I rode away, once more laying out my hundred 
 dollars. Rabbit wire of course there must be rab 
 bit wire for at least thirty acres; then seed, and 
 my stone house, which would cost only the labor. 
 I wanted a horse, but decided I must wait awhile. 
 
 The next day word came of Lil s illness. She 
 had lost her baby, and she wanted Ed. I rode off to 
 the hills at once for him. She was a stout, strong 
 woman, and made a rapid recovery. The nourish 
 ment that had not been sufficient for the little new 
 life, had sufficed for her. 
 
 It was in January that the stunning blow fell on 
 Happy Valley. The Book- farmer brought us the 
 news : John Regan had been indicted for using 
 juniper wood from the government forest reserve to 
 run the dredger that was digging his ditch through 
 the swamp. Work must close down ; the cordwood 
 which we had been all the winter cutting had been 
 confiscated. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 BULLPIT S REVENGE 
 
 WE broke camp at once and returned to the 
 valley. Each one took the stopping of work 
 in his own individual way. Ed was for pulling 
 freight at once. This, together with Lil s illness, 
 and the doctor s visit, which had cost him fifty dol 
 lars, had finished Ed. He was through with "the 
 dom country." Jim looked to our old man, as he 
 had right along, for guidance. Our old man was a 
 trifle pale under his heavy tan and his big laugh was 
 stilled. He walked about stroking his stubby- 
 bearded chin and saying nothing. 
 
 The Dane, whose wife had lived after all, stood 
 about heavily and ominously silent. Sol Sneed, 
 hearing the news, was at Tenttown to meet us on 
 our return. He said he d known all along there 
 wouldn t be nothin in it for him; and where was 
 he to get his pay for grub he d let homesteaders 
 have on tick? "Where do I come in?" he queru 
 lously demanded of our old man, who turned away 
 from him and walked around to the back of his 
 
 150 
 
Bullpit s Revenge 151 
 
 tent. Mother Clark had been crying, I could see by 
 her eyes. 
 
 " It it kinda gets on your nerves, Billy, a tent," 
 she explained apologetically, when I followed her 
 inside after the general meeting of the neighbors. 
 The wood choppers had come for their pay, and to 
 talk things over. " It gets on your nerves, after a 
 while, havin to roll up your beds every mornin , 
 and move all the dishes off the table when you make 
 bread, or write a letter. And when the wind blows 
 the tent flaps so. It gets on your nerves." Her lips 
 trembled. " I d planned on a house this spring, 
 somethin great. In town I had a piano most paid 
 for. I cooked in a loggin camp to earn the money. 
 Always, I wanted a piano. But I had to let it go 
 back. I kinda hoped maybe " She wiped her 
 eyes. " You see these children ought to have music, 
 and Susie loves it. I d made sixteen payments, and 
 I thought maybe you see they gave me a year to 
 redeem it. I had to let it go back." 
 
 "Don t you care, ma," said Susie, stoutly, but 
 batting her eyes hard. "Something else will hap 
 pen. Pa always finds a way." She ran up the 
 steps. Poor little "hired girl"! The ribbons were 
 quite white, and they didn t stand up so perkily as 
 was their wont. 
 
 I turned away. I wished I was a woman and 
 
152 Happy Valley 
 
 could cry too. I went outside. Sol Sneed was dev 
 iling the Dane about his grocery bill. Ed had gone 
 to his own tent across the way, whistling. I think 
 he was glad of a break-up. The other homesteaders 
 were leaving. From Susie s tent came the senti 
 mental strains of our one unscratched record, 
 "Some one to love you It sounded as incon 
 gruous as rag time at a funeral. I walked on around 
 the tent. There sat our old man on a soap box. He 
 coughed and hastily used his handkerchief. 
 
 " I m a thinkin o Uncle John," he said, gently. 
 
 I stopped still. Who else of all our down-hearted 
 crew had thought of Uncle John ? I sat down on 
 the ground and waited. 
 
 " He s in deep, is Uncle John." 
 
 "Do you know him?" I asked, awed by this 
 higher ground of our old man. 
 
 "Yes, right well; no, I never set eyes on him, 
 but I know him right well." 
 
 " I met him once." 
 
 "You did?" He asked me nothing about my 
 impression. I didn t feel called upon to give it. 
 
 We all went away to our separate cabins quite as 
 though we had indeed attended a funeral. I sat by 
 my stove, trying to think things out. The men of 
 Tenttown would now be compelled to leave the val 
 ley and find work. They were reduced, through the 
 
Bullpit s Revenge 153 
 
 loss of the root crop, to store food, and store food 
 meant cash. The horses were also a problem, they 
 must be fed. The supply of hay was extremely low. 
 
 Our old man came over to me a couple of days 
 later. He stood in my cabin doorway, looking over 
 the wide valley now covered with snow. 
 
 "It was Bullpit," he said at last, turning back 
 tome. 
 
 "Bullpit!" 
 
 " He had a grudge, Bullpit did ; he wanted to 
 strike at the settlers at us; he couldn t a found a 
 better way." 
 
 " But how where did he get the power?" 
 
 "One of them little government agents was 
 a-nosin around for somethin to make a report 
 about. He earns his livin that way, makin reports, 
 and Bullpit set him on. He s he s not dull, 
 Bullpit." 
 
 And so this was his pay for the thrashing. 
 We both had the same thought, I think, for the old 
 man said, kindly: "I don t want Susie or the 
 women to get a notion o this. The child sets a 
 sight o store by her pa. I wouldn t have Susie get 
 a notion of it. It s did and it can t be undid." 
 
 So that was the answer to his haste to get away. 
 I might have known he would do more than merely 
 leave us. And he would come back, undoubtedly. 
 
154 Happy Valley 
 
 He would surely add to his revenge that far. Bullpit 
 would be back. 
 
 "How is the case going for Mr. Regan? Have 
 you had word?" I knew the old man had been to 
 the Q Ranch. 
 
 " He ll fight it. He s in Portland now. That s 
 a man Uncle John. I I got Ed a job at the 
 Q Ranch, wranglin cattle. Ed don t know much 
 about wranglin cattle, always workin with ma 
 chinery, but he ll learn. He s gone." He studied 
 the snow a while longer. "If you had a job 
 
 now " 
 
 " Never mind me," I hurried to say. " I can look 
 out for myself; you see to your boys they have 
 wives and babies to feed; you see to yourself." 
 
 " A wife and baby is somethin to do it for. You 
 ain t got " He stopped. He didn t finish the sen 
 tence. "Ed s got that job at wranglin and it will 
 keep the groceries goin a spell. I ll sell a couple of 
 the horses, and that will help some. In the mean 
 time, we all got to conform to Uncle Sam s rule just 
 the same about them desert claims. We got to have 
 a well apiece on them. Before lookin about for a 
 chance to get out of the country and earn some cash 
 ahead of croppin time, we d better make sure of 
 holdin the desert claims. We ll start a well on 
 yours tomorrow." 
 
Bullpit s Revenge 155 
 
 " But why mine ? Why not yours or Jim s or 
 Ed s? Ed s furnishing the food or will be soon. 
 Why not Ed s?" 
 
 " We ll start with yours," the old man persisted. 
 "We ll pack up Susie s tent and go to your desert 
 claim in the mornin . Susie can stay with Mother 
 Lattig Susie or one of the Dane s girls. We ll 
 start diggin , and we ll have it dug in two weeks." 
 
 I was irritated. " I can t for the life of me see 
 the sense of starting on mine," I exclaimed. 
 " Usually I can see at least a grain of sense in your 
 philanthropies, but not in this." 
 
 "We ll be startin right early," he answered, 
 gently. " I ll get up here with the horses and a pack 
 right early." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE WELL 
 
 MY desert claim lay fifteen miles south of my 
 homestead, a shut-in pocket in the hills, 
 secluded and unwatered. I had a vague plan to 
 make it into a cattle ranch. I could see in imagina 
 tion thousands of head of cattle on the surrounding 
 hills, and the level stretch one unbroken field of 
 grain. 
 
 As we turned out of Happy Valley between the 
 hills into my own little pocket, my heart swelled 
 with the pride of possession. I felt rise up within 
 me a mighty will to hold this land, to make it my 
 own and materialize my vision. 
 
 " A mighty purty piece," our old man said, pulling 
 up his horse. His eyes brightened with that look 
 that I have come to know belongs to the seer and 
 to the prophet also to the true pioneer. 
 
 "Make a great little cattle ranch some day," I 
 added. We both sat silent, gazing across the still, 
 untouched corner of earth, virgin, and breathing the 
 charm and the promise of all virginity. Not being 
 watered, it had not been trampled down by cattle. 
 
 156 
 
The Well 157 
 
 The sagebrush was so large it almost hid our 
 horses. We crushed along through it, its very odor 
 invigorating. It shouted life from every snapping 
 fibre, youth from every crushed cell. It was the 
 very voice of the virgin soil, calling to men to pos 
 sess it. There was a singing note in its fragrance, a 
 rousing, stirring influence. I wondered, as we 
 pushed on through the brush, our horses shaking 
 their heads this way and that to avoid the prickling 
 of the harsh branches, I wondered if there really 
 could be some stimulating quality in the sagebrush 
 itself; if even as the poppy held an opiate, this sage 
 held a tonic. It seemed to me that it might be so. 
 I remembered hearing that the finest specimens of 
 Indians came from the sagebrush countries. I 
 thought of Mr. Clark and of the Clark girls, who 
 had grown up in the sagebrush wilds of Texas and 
 Oklahoma, and who were strong and muscular, bal 
 anced both in mind and body. And I thought of 
 sturdy, self-reliant Susie, my funny, little "hired 
 girl," and before I knew it I was whistling the one 
 unscratched Tenttown record, "Just some one." 
 Our old man stopped his horse. 
 
 " Here d be a likely place," he said. He had been 
 leading in the ride over the land, and studying it 
 for a well location, while I had been wandering in a 
 world of my own. 
 
158 Happy Valley 
 
 We got down and walked about, examining the 
 ground. Clark finally drove in a stake. 
 
 "I d say right here for the first one/ he said. 
 " It s the highest point and will make more diggin , 
 but its elevation will put the water easily over the 
 whole ranch, that is, if you get water enough. If 
 not, the next well can be dug lower down. But I d 
 put the first one up here. No tellin how long we ll 
 have to dig or how quick we ll have to stop, for 
 that matter." 
 
 That was one disadvantage about a virgin coun 
 try. There were no precedents, no books in which 
 we could look it up ; we had to prove each thing for 
 ourselves. We were true Robinson Crusoes. 
 
 He started digging, while I set up the tent, and 
 so high was the sagebrush, and so low the tent, that 
 a few feet away it was lost to view. I hung our 
 bacon, flour, and potatoes in bags to the ridgepole 
 out of the way of thieving coyotes, constructed a 
 camp stove, then melted snow for water, filling sev 
 eral cans. 
 
 The work went rapidly, and thanks to my months 
 of grubbing and chopping I had sufficient muscle 
 to keep steadily at it, though I still had to admit that 
 at twenty-two I was not as good a man as our old 
 man at sixty-three. He had spent his years in a 
 steady, cheerful fight with nature, and it had made 
 
The Well 159 
 
 him not only strong, but pliable. I imagined he had 
 never failed in a bout with nature; only the wiles 
 of men had been too much for him; but his spirit 
 was sweet, and his hope a living fountain, and the 
 world owed him little, it seemed to me, after all, 
 that it had not paid. 
 
 About nine feet down we came to a gravel stratum 
 that was much more difficult to dig through, owing 
 to its caving proclivities. It lasted some six or 
 seven feet, and then we struck hard pan. This was 
 the first really dirty work I had ever done, and 
 frankly I did not like it, but the old man whistled 
 and sang, and stopped only to wipe the sweat from 
 his forehead, and seemed to be in his native element. 
 I suppressed my sentiments toward this particular 
 phase of pioneering; however, I could not help 
 thinking of the three other wells ahead of us 
 three more and the old man could sing! 
 
 At eighty feet I was good and sick of the whole 
 proposition. We had been digging two weeks. I 
 didn t believe we would ever reach water. I was 
 for giving the thing up and starting another well 
 lower down. It would be easier to lift the water 
 by machinery, I argued with the old man, than to 
 dig wells so deep. He admitted that often in dry 
 countries you had to go one hundred feet, some 
 times more. He had gone two hundred. At that I 
 
160 Happy Valley 
 
 struck. We had dug far enough, and it was my 
 well and my land, and I insisted on stopping. The 
 old man slowly scratched his chin in a way he had 
 when he was up against it. We were at the top of 
 the well, ready to begin the day s work. 
 
 "You take Baldy, Billy, and ride over to Tent- 
 town and get another rope," he said. " I ll be 
 reachin up to fill the bucket now by night. And I d 
 like awful well to know that everything s all right 
 down to Tenttown; I d like awful well to know, 
 Billy; and we gotta have more rope." 
 
 His patience and I think his diplomacy won 
 me out of my rebellion. And it was perfectly true, 
 if we were to continue to dig, we would have to have 
 more rope. We had provided just eighty feet. 
 
 He lowered himself. I looked over the brim of 
 the long, deep hole in the ground and shuddered at 
 the small insect he was, so far down, digging and 
 whistling. I left him and rode away for the rope. 
 Calmness returned to me on the long gallop, and I 
 figured that we couldn t be so very far from water 
 after all. I would see it out. 
 
 All the Clarks ran out to meet me, eager for news. 
 Susie had wanted to come to visit us, but as we had 
 both the horses this had not been possible, unless 
 she walked. There was no news she said Oh, 
 yes, there was, Jim s wife reminded her Bullpit 
 
The Well 161 
 
 was back. Neither Susie nor any of the Clark 
 women knew of his connection with the Regan 
 indictment. He had stopped at the tent, saying he 
 wanted to be friends, and Susie, like the good little 
 sport she was, had been willing to forget. I think 
 a man can usually thrash another man and then 
 shake hands with him and feel all right about it. 
 But with most women the enemy is never thrashed. 
 Susie had in this the viewpoint of her brothers of 
 the race. Her rancor seemed to have passed, and 
 she now laughed over the skirmish. This made me 
 a trifle uneasy. I wished she knew the truth about 
 Bullpit, but it would cut her too deeply, and her 
 father had said she must not know, so I withheld 
 what I knew. 
 
 " Susie hadn t oughta started it," her mother said 
 to me, with a chiding look at her daughter. " Of 
 course, as he says, no man that is a man can fight 
 back at a woman; he couldn t a done nothin dif 
 ferent; Susie hadn t oughta started it." 
 
 I could not wait for much of a visit, for I thought 
 of the old man I had left down in the well. Some 
 thing might happen to him while I was away. 
 
 I succeeded in borrowing twenty feet of rope 
 from the Book- farmer, who had just bought it, and 
 promising that we would both return within a week 
 or ten days at the latest, rode back to the well. Our 
 
162 Happy Valley 
 
 old man was hard at it. I called down to him that 
 Mother Clark had sent him a big, fat peach pie. I 
 told him to come up at once, or I d eat it all. I 
 wanted to take his place, and let him haul up the 
 dirt for a change. He ordered me, with a chuckle, 
 to let that pie alone till supper time, and get busy 
 with the windlass. I put the pie safely under a 
 pan, with some fresh bread, stood a mason jar of 
 stewed peaches on top, and quickly got into my 
 digging clothes. 
 
 I wound up the rope on the windlass and fastened 
 the new piece to the end of it. The new rope was 
 stiff and hard and I had considerable difficulty in 
 splicing it. The knot slipped treacherously. For 
 some time I struggled with the knot, but my hands 
 were stiff with cold and unaccustomed to the intri 
 cacies of splice knots. Finally I decided to attach 
 the new rope to the windlass, making a loop of it 
 to which I would fasten the old rope. That would 
 do for the present. I succeeded in doing this after 
 several bungling attempts and at length sent the 
 bucket spinning down the shaft for the earth which 
 our old man had loosened while waiting. 
 
 "I kinda have a feelin that we re gettin some 
 where, Billy," he called up to me. " Certainly we ve 
 gone far enough to be gettin somewhere ! " he added 
 with a chuckle. 
 
The Well 163 
 
 Three times the bucket came up and then I let 
 myself down. The old man should see whether 
 or not he was always to carry the heavy end 
 of the load. I would do the digging for the 
 rest of the day and he should work above there 
 was a sudden, swift slacking, the rope gave 
 way, and I went crashing to the bottom of the 
 well. 
 
 Everything went round in a black, dizzying whirl, 
 shot through with millions of tiny lights. There 
 was nothing anywhere but bright metal dust, whirl 
 ing madly, and I was in the center of it. At last 
 a voice came, a voice from far away on another 
 planet. 
 
 "Billy, Billyboy!" 
 
 I opened my eyes. Our old man was bending 
 over me, and I lay on the damp bottom of the well 
 under great coils of rope. 
 
 " Billy," he repeated. I could see a shining in his 
 eyes like tears. 
 
 "I m all right," I said, and tried to rise on my 
 elbow, but fell back again. The old man caught me 
 in his arms. I think I fainted. Everything became 
 a whirling madness of bright lights. There was a 
 tugging at me to come out of it, and I didn t want 
 to come out of it; and then again there came the 
 crashing, grinding disintegration of everything, and 
 
164 Happy Valley 
 
 out of it I once more opened my eyes. The old man 
 held my head on his knees. He had pushed the rope 
 off my legs. 
 
 "I don t think I m much hurt," I said, but my 
 voice seemed to come from another body a long way 
 off. " I ll be all right in a minute." 
 
 " Sure, and as soon s you re sound again in the 
 head, I ll just climb up with that rope and haul you 
 out in no time. No, there now, don t go gettin 
 ambitious. Just lay still like you are a few minutes. 
 Never saw anythin like these colts o youngsters. 
 Can t ye keep still, Billy?" 
 
 He spoke sharply and instantly I understood, for 
 I had put my hand down to locate my numbed legs. 
 Both were broken below the knee. I knew now 
 that he had discovered this while removing the rope. 
 I ignored the matter, leaving it to our old man. He 
 moved me to one side, then coiled the rope out of 
 the way; it was a heavy weight. A four- foot diam 
 eter does not leave much space for two men and 
 eighty feet of rope. 
 
 "Funny how you held tight to the rope, Billy," 
 he said with an attempt at a chuckle. " Come down 
 holdin tight to it; never let go once, Billy; was 
 holdin tight all the way. It was the rope failed 
 you didn t, boy." 
 
 "I wonder how it happened?" I said. Still I 
 
The Well 165 
 
 seemed far away, as though talking over long 
 distance. 
 
 "The knot, Billy; I wouldn t be surprised if you 
 made a common granny knot." 
 
 All the time he was working steadily coiling the 
 rope. I had the impression that he was talking to 
 keep me there; that if he stopped the conversation 
 I would slip away. " It was that knot, sure, Billy ; 
 first thing I do when we get on top and get you all 
 fixed up good, will be to show you how to tie a 
 square knot. Don t you know the difference, Billy ? " 
 
 I confessed, weakly, my ignorance of granny and 
 square knots as such. 
 
 "Little thing; every boy ought to know it." He 
 took up two ends of the rope, and tied them to 
 gether, then pulled hard on each one. "That ll 
 never give, Billy, tied that way; that s a square 
 knot. You make two half-hitches, you see; it can t 
 ever pull out. The trouble was, Billy, you didn t 
 know how to make a square knot; I ll show you, 
 plain, so s you ll get it." He was pulling at the 
 rope, testing it, breathing hard. " Soon s ever we 
 get you fixed up! There, that ll hold an ele 
 phant. Now, Billy, you just lay low, and keep your 
 eyes covered, when the dust comes, because like s not 
 I ll have to kick out some dust before I get to the 
 top ; I gener lly do kick up a dust gettin anywhere ; 
 
166 Happy Valley 
 
 you lay right low, Billy, puttin your face and your 
 arm on my shirt " he was pulling it off over his 
 head "so, so s not to get cold on that damp 
 ground. I ll have you up in a couple o hours, Billy, 
 or sooner. ^You ll hold on right tight for a couple 
 o hours, Billy?" 
 
 " Sure, I ll hold on ! " I was beginning to feel my 
 legs now, and I wanted him to hurry. I was deadly 
 anxious for him to hurry. He fastened the end of 
 the rope to his belt and straddling from side to side 
 started to make his way up the well. 
 
 "The Lord might a made me longer legs 
 if he intended em for climbin up four-foot 
 wells," he called back, jocularly, "but they ll reach 
 and that s enough to ask they ll reach." 
 
 They just would reach and that was all. Slowly, 
 carefully, he climbed, calling back to me continu 
 ally, apologizing for kicking down dust, waiting till 
 it would settle, then going on again, the short, squat 
 old man, straddling his way up against the tiny patch 
 of sky, the long line of the rope which was attached 
 to his belt, following him. My legs were coming 
 alive faster every minute now. I fixed my eyes on 
 the figure above, and steadied my nerves, and called 
 back to him continually so he would know I was still 
 conscious. 
 
 It took him an hour, perhaps, to get sufficiently 
 
The Well 167 
 
 far for his voice to come back muffled and then 
 he stopped, and there was a great rattling of dust 
 and gravel. He had struck the gravel belt. I sud 
 denly remembered that the gravel stratum had wid 
 ened out, making a concavity in the wall. His legs 
 could never reach across it ! I sat up to call to him, 
 but fell back almost with the same breath; he had 
 lost his footing. An instinct for self-preservation 
 made me pull my broken legs and my whole body 
 close into the damp wall. He landed without strik 
 ing me, on the huge coil of rope, which served to 
 break his fall. 
 
 It was my turn to minister, but he had not lost 
 consciousness. Instantly he ran his hands over his 
 body and began to move his limbs. No bones were 
 broken. He could move all his joints. He attempted 
 to stand, but went down in a heap on the rope. It 
 seemed to be his hip. 
 
 "This ain t no ways fair, me takin all the bed- 
 din ," he said at last, in an effort at jocularity. He 
 began to pull the rope out from under him. To 
 gether we coiled it round and round on the bottom 
 of the well. 
 
 "We re right comfortable, Billy?" he said, when 
 at last we were both crowded on to the rope, my 
 legs being given the preference as to position. " I ll 
 mebby rest today, Billy, but tomorrow mornin I ll 
 
168 Happy Valley 
 
 be gettin up again. I ll take the spade next time. 
 I oughta took it this time. I forgot that gravel belt. 
 I ll take the spade tomorrow, Billy." 
 
 Dear old man, he was trying to fasten my mind 
 on some point in the plan for escape that would 
 make it practical. 
 
 " Of coures," I agreed, " the spade s the thing. If 
 I d only covered up that pie; and the horses ." 
 
 I felt the shiver that went through his body. 
 " Are the horses loose, Billy, so s they can find food 
 and water for theirselves ? It might take em home 
 huntin food and water and they d be a mes 
 sage to the folks/ 
 
 " They re loose," I lied. " I forgot to tie up Baldy, 
 and Dandy can get loose without a bit of trouble." 
 This was true of Dandy. But I had tied Baldy; 
 maybe he could break the rope. 
 
 The old man sighed. " The poor beasties, they re 
 at the mercy o the men that owns em and works 
 em for their livin . And we we re at the mercy 
 o the Lord A mighty; He ll find a way." 
 
 We were both still for a long while after that. I 
 think I slept, though it was more like heavy uncon 
 sciousness than sleep. When I awoke again it was 
 with excruciating pain in my legs and a need to 
 move from my cramped position. The old man was 
 instantly awake, if he had been asleep, and helped 
 
The Well 169 
 
 me to turn over. I saw a bright star up through our 
 long tube of earth, and thus I knew it was night. 
 
 The next morning we faced the facts. The old 
 man s hip was so lame he could scarcely move his 
 leg. 
 
 " I told them we d be through in a week/ 5 I said. 
 " I knew we could do the twenty feet in that time, 
 and my mind was made up to go no farther ; besides, 
 I could get only twenty feet of rope. Susie knew I 
 got just twenty feet she rode over with me to 
 the Book- farmer s. If we are not home in a week 
 they will come to see why. Susie will." 
 
 I felt sure of this. 
 
 The chance of a passer-by was just as probable 
 as if we had landed on the top of a snow peak. I 
 don t suppose anyone had ever come that way, unless 
 it might have been a stray buckaroo. That gave 
 me an idea. 
 
 " This would be a right good pocket for a camp 
 for cattle," I suggested. 
 
 " No water," the old man said, meeting me hon 
 estly in the matter. " I guess your homestead has 
 been one of their choice grazin spots all right, with 
 that spring of yours; but they wouldn t come here, 
 with no water." 
 
 " Still, there are land-lookers coming down now. 
 Bullpit might be taking people out to see land. He 
 
170 Happy Valley 
 
 knows this part pretty well. He might bring a party 
 down here." 
 
 "Bullpit might/ the old man agreed, nodding 
 his head. "He might be our salvation yet 
 Bullpit." 
 
 Even in that awful situation I did not relish owing 
 my life to Bullpit. " Susie will ride over," I added. 
 " She ll borrow a horse and ride over." 
 
 "Yes, Susie." The old man was silent a long 
 time. I wondered if his hip were occupying him 
 with its pain; a crushed hip was bad enough, but 
 the inability to stretch out made the matter a thou 
 sand times worse. 
 
 "You won t never know about it till you re an 
 old man." He spoke at last out of the silence. " It s 
 different when a little one comes late. The others 
 was fine ; oh, but they was fine, and their ma and me 
 was proud, even if we did want a boy. But Susie 
 came late like a last bloom in a old garden; mebby 
 you ve seen em that way, sometimes, in your ma s 
 garden back home a last bloom in a old garden all 
 winter killed." 
 
 " Susie is a wonderful girl ! " I choked over the 
 words, for suddenly I did see my mother s old gar 
 den; a garden all lilacs and heliotrope and lilies of 
 the valley, flowers with fragrance, memory invoking. 
 I had put my earlier life so completely out of mind 
 
The Well 171 
 
 since coming to Happy Valley that now when the 
 old man opened a little door, back it rushed in a 
 thousand pictures. My mother my father with 
 his sad, twitching, nerve-racked face and the 
 great, dark, gloomy house that forever shut in a 
 secret and shut out the world; still it was my own 
 and it now cried loudly to me. Was this the end 
 of everything for me, after all the stress and worry 
 dead, in the bottom of a well ! 
 
 "It ll go mighty hard to have anything not 
 happy happen to Susie. The rest has ripened up 
 happy; Susie must." He was silent awhile; then, 
 "Ever notice Susie s eyes? They twinkle some, 
 Susie s eyes. I was thinkin last night when the 
 stars was a twinklin ." He broke off. "She s 
 got her ma s eyes, Susie has; just like her ma s when 
 she was a girl." 
 
 "We ve got to get out of here," I growled, and 
 made to get up, but fell back in a heap. He caught 
 me, and the strength in his wrist made it a vise. I 
 groaned with the pain. 
 
 "You dod-gasted fool of a boy," he said, in his 
 mild voice. "Just like a colt; not a bit o sense." 
 He kept his hold on my wrist. " We ll get out of 
 here all right ; take our time ; take our time ; I never 
 was one to hurry." And after a minute, "Wisht 
 we had that pie." 
 
172 Happy Valley 
 
 " Wish I d covered it better," I said, imitating his 
 casualness. 
 
 "There s no dogs." 
 
 " There s coyotes." 
 
 I think it must have been along in the afternoon 
 when he pulled out from under us two ends of the 
 rope. I know the pain in my legs had almost dis 
 appeared, but I was ravishingly hungry and thirsty. 
 The thirst was the worst. I think maybe he saw me 
 lapping the moist earth with my tongue, though I 
 tried to do it secretly. It was then he pulled out 
 the two ends of the rope. "We might as well put 
 in our time to good advantage," he began gently. 
 " Now, see here ; this is the ordinary, every-day 
 granny knot that ninety-nine out of a hundred 
 schoolboys and all females will tie." He tied 
 the rope in the usual knot, then he pulled hard on it. 
 " You see, it slips; you ain t got any purchase on it. 
 Now, here s the square knot that every cattleman 
 knows; there; try it; make your two half -hitches 
 oh, let me." He took it out of my nerveless hands; 
 try as I would, I could not keep my hands from 
 shaking. "See, now with them two half-hitches, 
 it can t slip." 
 
 " I see," I said glibly. " I ll do it right next time." 
 
 " Every schoolboy ought to be taught to make a 
 
 square knot," he went on, seriously. " It ought to 
 
The Well 173 
 
 be in the curriculum; if you d a been educated 
 right we wouldn t be down here now and the 
 coyotes e^tin our pie." He laughed and tried to be 
 very gay, our old man. 
 
 That night my tongue became hard and crusty. 
 Again and again I waked from a nightmare of ter 
 ror and tried to wet my tongue, which no longer 
 seemed to belong in my mouth. I dug in the wet 
 earth, and filled my mouth with it, and held it to 
 my lips the damp coolness was tantalizing. How 
 far down was water ? I now began to question that 
 point as I had never questioned it before. It was 
 my one conscious or unconscious thought ; how much 
 farther must we go for water ; I tried to dig with my 
 hands; maybe it was but a few feet; you couldn t 
 tell ; maybe it was close, close. 
 
 Once the old man caught my hands and held them. 
 " Stars is mighty bright," he said. " Look up at em, 
 Billy. Stars is mighty bright." He began in a 
 cracked voice to sing, " Lead Kindly Light." I don t 
 know how long it was before I fell asleep, but I 
 think it was not long. 
 
 I noticed that our old man had made notches in 
 the wall; there were four; they marked the days. 
 Pain had almost wholly left me ; hunger had left me ; 
 but the going of pain and hunger only made a 
 greater void for thirst. I now lapped at the well 
 
174 Happy Valley 
 
 wall like a mad dog, and the old man did not try 
 to stop me. 
 
 At intervals he shouted; someone might pass 
 above it was possible ; but his voice only fell back ; 
 I knew it did not reach the top of the well. He 
 pulled out his wallet; he had a check for one 
 hundred dollars. He speculated on what it would 
 buy. 
 
 " I was in one of them swell restaurants once in 
 Chicago," he said. " Oh, but the menu had names on 
 it and prices after em. I was some close run then 
 savin to come West and I didn t order much; 
 but always I ve wanted to go back and get some 
 of that special kind o grass patty de foy grass 
 they called it. They asked a big price for just 
 grass. Think how much I could buy with this 
 check; this ain t no place for a man with money, 
 Billy." 
 
 We played with imaginary menus, ordering with 
 a care and fmickiness that neither of us could be 
 capable of save down in a well, and always, tomor 
 row, his leg would be manageable; tomorrow he 
 would make the climb out with the spade ; some way 
 the spade was a great source of comfort; if he had 
 only carried the spade up the first time. 
 
 " Dod blast them coyotes." He would come back 
 to it. "Gettin our pie." Their howling was the 
 
The Well 175 
 
 one sound that we heard. It expressed all the 
 misery of man since Adam. 
 
 My thirst increased. In a frenzy I tried to dig 
 to water ; my lips were swollen and my tongue filled 
 my mouth a dry, hard, blackened tongue. It was 
 getting unendurable every moment a madder 
 craving. 
 
 There were six notches in the wall; I wondered 
 when our old man had made them ; I didn t seem to 
 have seen him; I decided that they just came there 
 of themselves; and now I couldn t distinguish night 
 from day, sleeping hours from wakeful ones. I 
 would see figures all about me. A face would lean 
 over me and smile, and I would smile back, and 
 speak, and then I would hear the old man calling to 
 me : " Billy, Billy boy," and I would blink my eyes 
 and wake up and say peevishly, " What is it ? You 
 interrupted ." Then I would remember, and keep 
 still. 
 
 Blisters began to form on my legs; great, white, 
 angry blisters; and the thirst gnawed and gnawed. 
 It was now an animal inside of me, growing con 
 stantly larger and stronger, my shell of a body 
 almost breaking apart to give it freedom. 
 
 There were seven notches. I sat up and sharply 
 denounced our old man. "The week s up," I said, 
 accusingly. 
 
176 Happy Valley 
 
 " Yes, Billy ; they ll be comin today ; you see they 
 expect us home today; when we don t come, they ll 
 be comin , Billy. Just hold on brave like you ve 
 been doin ; hold on brave ." 
 
 " Water," I cried, falling back. My eye sockets 
 were burning up; I dug my fingers wildly into the 
 earth. " Water ! " I could scarcely speak the word. 
 I turned my face down and began to lap at the earth. 
 "Water." 
 
 The stars were shining ; our old man was singing, 
 " Lead Kindly Light." Figures were thronging all 
 around me in a wonderful brightness. Women were 
 pouring water from strange, deep jugs; they looked 
 like the women in the child s Bible I had known; 
 they were in flowing robes, with sandals on their 
 feet ; they all drew water from a well and poured it 
 out again now it was a fountain that I saw, and 
 the women were of stone, and the water gushed 
 from all their jugs. The women had strange, blind 
 eyes, and all at once they came alive out of the stone, 
 and their eyes twinkled like stars, and my mother 
 came among them. She was worried and pale and 
 thin with wide, startled eyes full of fear. She was 
 calling, " Billy, Billy." I was fishing now, my bare 
 feet in the water. It was my long day of " hooky " 
 from school. I didn t want to go back home, the 
 water was so deliciously cool and refreshing. I 
 
The Well 177 
 
 called back to her, " I m just fishing, mother." Our 
 old man pulled me into his arms. He was sobbing. 
 I looked up and knew the stars. 
 
 The next thing I remember he was climbing up 
 the well. It was daylight. "That s right; go and 
 leave me!" I called jeeringly. The blisters were 
 large and thick now all over my legs. I thought I 
 was dead, and that he was trying to desert me. 
 " Won t stay with a dead man ! Afraid to stay with 
 a dead man ! " I taunted. He looked back but went 
 on climbing. 
 
 Then I knew that I was not dead. I knew that 
 our old man was making one last desperate effort 
 for us both. I knew it was futile, yet the thought 
 of rescue, the faint hope of it revived me, sobered 
 me for a moment. I watched him against that patch 
 of blue, scarcely daring to breathe. The climb 
 would have been difficult enough for the best of 
 men; but with his injured hip and in his weakened 
 condition, it seemed an impossible undertaking. 
 
 The dust came down in gritty torrents. It choked 
 me, arousing my agony of thirst so that I cried out. 
 He would stop when it got too bad, and he called 
 back short, panting words of courage to which I 
 tried to respond but instead gave only strange gut 
 tural cries that frightened me. As his voice grew 
 fainter and fainter, the horror of loneliness seized 
 
178 Happy Valley 
 
 me. Now I was weighted down with a great weight ; 
 it was the rope, but now it seemed to be writhing 
 and twisting itself about me like some hideous sub 
 terranean reptile, dragging me farther and farther 
 into the bowels of the earth. I thrust out my arms 
 and saw it was only the coil of rope. 
 
 I looked up. I knew that it was a useless climb. 
 How could the spade help him? It could not help 
 him. Still I watched him, struggling to keep my 
 reason as he climbed farther and farther away from 
 me, nearer and nearer to escape to life. When he 
 reached the gravel, would he fall again ? How long 
 could he hold his position? What if the spade 
 dropped? He could not possibly climb back; he 
 would slip. A cloud of dust came rattling down; I 
 choked, and buried my face in my arms. It was not 
 dust. It was gravel ! It struck the back of my head 
 and ears like a whip. He had reached the spot from 
 which he had fallen before ! Our game was up. In 
 an agony I crouched to one side, waiting for him 
 to fall. 
 
T 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE RESCUE 
 
 HE old man s voice came to me, and I lifted 
 my head to hear. 
 
 "They re here, Billy; they re here!" 
 
 And then he shouted, "Hello, hello, the well 
 quick ! the well ! " 
 
 He was fooling me; it was another ruse, I told 
 myself but I knew better, down deep inside; I 
 knew he told me the truth; and then, looking up, I 
 saw besides the figure of the old man, a face it 
 was Susie! 
 
 The old man was wonderful to the end. " Susie, 
 honey, get all the bridles and splice em together, 
 quick. The rope s below." 
 
 Susie ran away. It seemed a long time before 
 she came back with the reins. With their help, 
 braced against her young strength, he got out. In 
 stantly he called back to me. "Hold fast, Billy." 
 Then he was gone. 
 
 I waited, knowing they would manage it some 
 way ; they came back and began letting down yards 
 and yards of string; it was gray- white; they were 
 
 179 
 
180 Happy Valley 
 
 cutting up the tent. They sat together on the edge 
 of the well, cutting and tying and letting it down, 
 with only a word from the old man to me now and 
 then. At length it touched me. The old man called : 
 "Tie the rope to it, Billy; tie it hard a square 
 knot, Billy." It was difficult to do this simple thing. 
 
 They pulled the rope up and wound it over the 
 windlass ; then the old man contrived a seat for me 
 of the tent s stakes and began to lower it. I sat 
 across the stake, took a firm hold with both hands, 
 and they pulled me out. It was when Susie saw me 
 after I was safely out of the earth that she screamed 
 and hid her face. Poor little " hired girl ! " I must 
 have been a sight to make the hardiest nerves fail 
 a blackened, swollen, blistered, leprous thing of flesh 
 and clay. 
 
 They got me on to a roll of blankets, and she 
 made her father lie on his roll. 
 
 The water had evaporated from our cans, and the 
 snow was gone. The coyotes had made way with 
 all our cooked food, and the horses had gotten loose 
 and wandered off. Susie and her father consulted in 
 low tones. Susie darted over to her horse, and her 
 father dragged after her. I looked about me. 
 Where was that can of stewed peaches? I crawled 
 off the blankets, crawled around on the ground, look 
 ing for it. The coyotes couldn t open a mason jar. 
 
The Rescue 181 
 
 I found it under a clump of sagebrush. They had 
 evidently rolled it about, and fought over it. I 
 cracked off the top with a stone, and put the jar to 
 my lips. I drank till I was Ashamed, remember 
 ing our old man, but I could not take away my lips. 
 I saw our old man coming back, dragging his leg 
 heavily. Susie had ridden away. I held the jar out 
 to him. He took it and drank, and then we both 
 greedily ate the peaches, every one of them. We 
 lay back on our blankets, and I heard the old man s 
 faint chuckle. 
 
 "Well, Billy, we made it." 
 
 "Wonder if they ve got some more peaches." 
 
 " Likely ; likely, boy. Leastwise there ll be things 
 that ll taste as good." 
 
 I think we slept, stretched on our blankets in the 
 fresh, crisp air slept and waked by turns; it was 
 good to stretch out. When we waked sometimes we 
 compared experiences. 
 
 " Can t never doubt a hereafter, Billy, after that," 
 our old man said. "We went right straight into 
 another world that got awful real the farther we 
 got from this one." 
 
 I was thinking the same thing. It had not been a 
 nothingness that I had entered. 
 
 Susie came at last with Ed, who was down with 
 supplies. They had brought a farm wagon in which 
 
182 Happy Valley 
 
 we could stretch out. Life had no further problems 
 we could eat and drink and we could stretch 
 out. Susie sat like one stunned, holding her father s 
 head in her lap, bending and kissing him every min 
 ute, and looking at me with eyes like stars, only they 
 didn t twinkle now. I had thought the old man mis 
 taken about Susie s mother ever having had those 
 star eyes. She might before anxiety took the 
 twinkle out. 
 
 They stopped with us at Mother Lattig s, where 
 Mrs. Clark and her other daughters were waiting, 
 and they all wept over us, and bathed us, and fed us 
 hot soup, while Ed swore roundly at the "dom 
 country " and declared we must leave it. 
 
 The Book- farmer had ridden off to the Q Ranch 
 to telephone for a doctor. He got back at midnight. 
 I heard his horse s hoofs, and then his message: 
 " You re to carry them both to the Q Ranch," he 
 told Mother Clark and Mother Lattig, who were 
 sitting up with us. " It s Mr. Regan s orders. I 
 heard him give the telephone order. He told the 
 doctor to ride his mounts to death, if necessary; he s 
 ordered relays all along the road from Two Forks. 
 They can t get a car through the tule swamp." 
 
 Mother Clark consented at once to our going, pro 
 vided she could go along. As for Susie, she had 
 not been one minute separated from her father; 
 
The Rescue 183 
 
 there was no question as to whether or not she 
 would go. 
 
 They rigged us up in two swinging hammocks of 
 tent canvas, and we set out, Mother Clark in the 
 seat by Ed, who was driving, Susie sitting in the 
 bed of the wagon, holding fast to her father s hand, 
 her steady star eyes fixed on me. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 BLUE RIBBONS 
 
 1 A WOKE in a bed ; a wide, soft bed with sheets. 
 I fingered them yes, they were sheets and 
 a room with walls papered prettily in dainty cream- 
 colored paper. Straight across from me was a win 
 dow, and through this window I could see the dead 
 branches of trees; and away beyond the trees were 
 twisting, winding rows of reddish brown willows; 
 they seemed following a vagrant, uncertain stream. 
 Where was the stream trying to get to? Funny 
 stream, why did it try to get anywhere ? There was 
 no place especial you could go; you could just keep 
 going. But the stream seemed to be working as 
 hard as though it had a real destination in view. 
 
 A figure bent over me two beautiful gray eyes 
 in a delicate rose-tinted oval face met mine; there 
 was a nurse s cap and then it all came back. 
 
 "Feel better, don t you, to be all nice and clean 
 and shaved?" 
 
 "Did they leave me my legs?" I remembered 
 now ; remembered a controversy. I had insisted on 
 keeping my legs. 
 
 184 
 
Blue Ribbons l&5 
 
 The nurse laughed. There was something famil 
 iar in the low, amused laugh. "Yes, you ve got 
 your legs, and you re going to keep them." She 
 began to feed me out of a spoon. It was a slow 
 way, but I didn t care. I had my legs. I remem 
 bered it all now. The doctor had been stubborn 
 but I still had my legs. I tried to move them ; they 
 felt stiff and awkward in their splints. 
 
 "How is our old man?" 
 
 "He s doing fine, too." 
 
 " He s the important one of us. He s the one that 
 matters." Some way I was afraid they wouldn t 
 look after him just right. " His hip is bad," I 
 explained. " Did you look at his hip ? " 
 
 "He s a wonderful old man," the nurse said. 
 " He s a great old man." 
 
 "He s the important one of us," I reiter 
 ated, trying to sit up. "You see, there s Susie 
 and." 
 
 I forgot what it was I wanted to tell her. She 
 said, "Yes, yes," and drew the blind and urged me 
 to sleep. She gave me a spoonful of something. I 
 think I slept. 
 
 The next thing I remember was when he came in 
 John Regan, the man who had put the Lattig- 
 mother responsibility on me; who had said that 
 young men were an asset. He advanced to the bed, 
 
186 Happy Valley 
 
 holding out his strong, brown hand. " Well, well," 
 he said in a hearty voice that some way had a world 
 of kindness in it. " So it s treating you pretty rough 
 this pioneering. But you kept your legs." He 
 laughed sympathetically. There must have been 
 quite a struggle. He drew up a chair and sat down, 
 his big, strong, firm hand still holding my thin, white 
 one. I felt ashamed of my weakness. Would I 
 ever have a hand like that ? The man wasn t much 
 taller than I, I remembered; I had as much of a 
 frame would I ever fill it out? And all the time 
 he was looking steadily into my face with his intent, 
 blue-gray eyes. It was a wholesome sympathy that 
 he sent out; a strengthening sympathy without any 
 pity in it. The man s presence was like the strong, 
 keen air of Happy Valley. There was strength and 
 courage in it. 
 
 "You re going to pull through, Billy, and be all 
 the better for it," he said, dominatingly. " It does 
 something to a man an experience like that. 
 You ll be all the better for it." 
 
 " Not richer, though," I protested, more, I think, 
 from the need to say something than anything else. 
 "I ll lose my claim. I ve been off it now a long 
 time." 
 
 "We ll fix that; don t you worry. Uncle Sam 
 is pretty good when it comes to accidents. We ll 
 
Blue Ribbons 187 
 
 look out for your claim. You just have a real good 
 time getting well." 
 
 He drew out his checkbook and signed several 
 checks. He tore them loose, and handed them to 
 me. "Just fill in any sum you might be needing. 
 Maybe there s someone back East you d like to send 
 for to visit with you while you re getting well. 
 Lizbeth will write for you." 
 
 I turned away my face; was there ever such a 
 country on earth ? such kindness ? such people ? 
 
 " There isn t anyone," I choked out. " I m not of 
 much account back there. I guess I m a sort of 
 black sheep. People back East are different to 
 a fellow that s down." 
 
 They never had much chance," he said sort of 
 speculatively. "They ve always been herded back 
 there haven t had much chance to think straight 
 out of life and for themselves. Make an excuse 
 for em, Billy, and forget it. Don t ever let a bitter 
 thought get in. It s like a poison weed in a garden. 
 They never had much chance. And as for that 
 other it s queer what ll cure a man. I ve tried a 
 lot of things with my men. Keeley does it for some. 
 Starving will do it for you. Funny, how starving s 
 a cure for a lot of things. The Indians knew; they 
 starved for lots of things. It s a stomach disease 
 and this has taken it out of you, you ll find, when 
 
188 Happy Valley 
 
 you re about again. Might as well stay in the 
 country, though, till you re strong as a mule." 
 
 A wonderful light flooded me the starving 
 might have done it. For that I would have given 
 up my legs. I couldn t speak, but I reached out 
 for his hand. For the second time he had made me 
 strong. 
 
 I lay quietly hour by hour, and the days went by. 
 Sometimes Susie came in; Susie, whose eyes had 
 not regained their twinkle. Once when she came 
 and no one was in the room, I put my hand out to 
 her. She quickly took it and impulsively put her 
 head down on my breast. " Oh, Billy ! " That was 
 all she said. She cried several minutes. I stroked 
 her fair hair and patted her heaving shoulder. It 
 was all I could do for my little " hired girl." Pres 
 ently she dried her eyes and lifted her head. Her 
 eyes were brave, but Oh, so sad ! The shock had not 
 lifted. Always when I asked about her father, they 
 told me he was doing splendidly. 
 
 One day it occurred to me that it was queer he did 
 not come to see me. I asked Lizbeth, the nurse with 
 the gray eyes, about it. She was a niece of John 
 Regan s ; a slim, lively, young girl with a ready wit. 
 I liked Lizbeth tremendously. She said funny 
 things sometimes when I grew restless, and she par 
 ticularly wanted me to lie still. She would threaten 
 
Blue Ribbons 
 
 189 
 
 to coil up and zip at me playing rattlesnake if 
 I so much as moved. We were good pals. I asked 
 
 her why our old 
 man didn t come 
 to see me. He 
 had been able to 
 walk. 
 
 "Well, of all the 
 nerve!" she ex 
 claimed. " One sick 
 man wants another 
 to visit him. Why 
 don t you to go see 
 him?" And then 
 she spoke seriously. 
 "We think it best 
 for him not to move 
 around for awhile. 
 His will kept him 
 going when it was 
 necessary." 
 
 Mother Clark 
 came to see me 
 
 every day, and al- 
 Lizbeth \i 
 
 ways her eyes 
 
 were brave and sad like Susie s. I wondered 
 if ever they had twinkled, or if the old man had 
 
190 Happy Valley 
 
 imagined it. She always stooped and kissed me 
 like a real mother, and stroked back my hair, 
 slowly and tenderly, with her hard, calloused hand. 
 She said very little. She seemed preoccupied. 
 Susie sometimes stayed and read to me, but Mother 
 Clark s visits were brief. Already Susie and Liz- 
 beth were close friends, and walked about with 
 their arms around each other, as girls will. I 
 wondered if Lizbeth had been lonesome for a girl 
 of her own age, too. She was older than Susie 
 she must have been nearer my age. But Susie looked 
 older these days. 
 
 One day I asked Lizbeth, " Could you get me 
 some blue ribbon?" 
 
 She looked at me strangely. 
 
 "I want some I ve wanted it a long time," I 
 said peevishly. 
 
 "Any special kind?" she asked, still watching 
 me. Then she put her fingers on my pulse. 
 
 "I m all right," I drew away crossly. "I just 
 want that ribbon the kind girls make into bows 
 for their hair." 
 
 "Uncle John is going to town today," she said. 
 "You can give him any commissions. He s not 
 very good at remembering little things like that, but 
 I ll put it on the list. He s got an eye to get, too." 
 
 "An eye?" 
 
Blue Ribbons 191 
 
 "Yes; Lon s glass eye exploded. He is to bring 
 him back an eye. I ll tell him about the ribbon." 
 
 A great weight lifted; I was to have Susie s hair 
 ribbon. 
 
 Another woman came in sometimes ; she was fair 
 and blue-eyed and pretty. She laughed a good deal 
 and said funny things, too. They said she was Mrs. 
 Todd, wife of Dave Todd, foreman of the ranch. 
 
 One day I thought, who is the family here? I 
 asked Lizbeth. " It s Uncle John s home," she ex 
 plained. " I live with him sometimes, and Mrs. 
 Todd runs the house, and then there are the men." 
 
 I wanted to know what men; I was getting 
 interested in the world about me. 
 
 "The buckaroos there are about thirty, and the 
 cook. Lon is the cook; Lon is much concerned 
 about his two invalids. I think he would like to 
 come and see you when he gets his eye. Lon is a 
 proud chap. He won t come without his eye. He 
 won t wait on table. Susie does it for him 
 now." 
 
 I didn t like this. " Susie is my little hired girl," 
 my lips said pettishly. 
 
 " Yes, of course," she hurried to agree. " She is 
 just helping Lon out at the cookhouse till he gets 
 his eye. You wouldn t expect a man to wait on 
 table with just one eye, would you?" 
 
192 Happy Valley 
 
 "Of course not," I conceded. 
 
 I had a dim impression that I was being humored. 
 I shut up. 
 
 It was a long time to wait for the ribbon, but it 
 came at last. Mr. Regan had gone in the car, he 
 explained to me as he came in, and got stuck in the 
 swamp on the way back; the roads were pretty bad 
 now ; Dave Todd had had to send a team to pull him 
 into the ranch. I accepted his explanation of the 
 delay. It was a good enough excuse ; but I couldn t 
 accept the ribbon; it was baby ribbon, a bolt of it; 
 I pushed it away in disgust. 
 
 "Poor Uncle John," Lizbeth said, while I still 
 fumed over the ribbon. She sighed. " He did his 
 best, but he never thought to be particular about the 
 eye, either, and Lon s one eye is large and light blue, 
 and he brought him a small, black, shoe-button one ; 
 Lon s mad, too." She fingered the despised baby 
 ribbon. " Uncle John did his best; he just didn t 
 know about eyes and hair ribbon." 
 
 I was partly mollified. 
 
 "And Lon s quit; lit out for town; won t be 
 laughed at by the boys; you see he put in the new 
 eye, and the boys howled; it was wrong of them to 
 howl. Mrs. Clark is to cook for us now." 
 
 I was really appeased, but I couldn t give in all 
 at once, so I said nothing. 
 
Blue Ribbons 193 
 
 The days wore on. Susie came in one morning, 
 her eyes brighter. 
 
 "Oh, Billy," she cried, kneeling beside my bed 
 and again resting her head on my breast. "Oh, 
 Billy, we are all so happy." 
 
 "Happy?" I echoed. I wondered why, especially. 
 
 "Oh, because of everything, Billy. You ve got 
 your title to your ranch, and Pa s got his. Uncle 
 John had Uncle Sam fix it up. You don t have to 
 go back to it." 
 
 "Uncle John?" 
 
 "We all call him that; we got it from Lizbeth." 
 
 I remember the day I thought with embarrass 
 ment and confusion of the ribbons I had ordered for 
 Susie. I surmise that was the day the fever wholly 
 left me. And then I asked for a mirror. Lizbeth 
 laughed at me. 
 
 " Conceited old thing," she said. 
 
 I insisted on the mirror. 
 
 " There isn t one about," said Lizbeth, looking all 
 around the room. "Funny so few women here, 
 and men don t generally care for mirrors." I looked 
 across to the dresser; the mirror had been taken 
 away. I was sure there had been one when I first 
 came to the room. I said so. 
 
 " Well, we had to fix up a room for Mrs. Clark 
 and Susie, didn t we? This is Uncle John s best 
 
194 Happy Valley 
 
 guest chamber. We couldn t give you the best room 
 and its furnishings, too, could we?" 
 
 " Lizbeth," I said, " you re a fine girl but please 
 let me know the worst. What do I look like ? " 
 
 "A silly, obstinate man." 
 
 What had happened to me? My face had not 
 been hurt in the fall, and even though I were thin 
 and emaciated, I ought not to be too frightful a sight 
 for my own eyes. What were they hiding? I ran 
 my hand through my hair in an effort to think. My 
 hair, heavy and dark, had been my mother s pride 
 when I was little; it had been a football mop at 
 Tech, and later I had worn a Byronic lock over my 
 forehead. People had said I looked like a poet or 
 an artist. I had affected the pose for a while. I 
 now had an idea. I seized several hairs and pulled 
 them out. They were snow white. I hid the hairs 
 and did not again ask for a mirror. 
 
 Susie came in one day with a city paper in her 
 hand. " See, Billy," she said, holding a full illus 
 trated page before me, " we re all written up ! " 
 
 There were pictures of the tents and an extensive 
 story of Tenttown. I wanted to read it. 
 
 "I ll read it to you," she said, taking the paper 
 away from me. She read me the account. 
 
 " A newspaper man was in Two Forks writing up 
 the country when you were rescued from the well," 
 
Blue Ribbons 195 
 
 she explained, "and he came on down to get the 
 story; then he went on into Happy Valley to see 
 Tenttown. It will probably start a lot of settlers 
 down that way. Pa s awfully pleased." 
 
 "When am I to see him?" I demanded. 
 
 " Soon, Billy," and she bent and kissed my head; 
 then she went out, carrying the paper. I wanted the 
 paper. 
 
 They helped me out of bed every day now, and I 
 sat by the window for hours watching the naked 
 brown trees and the far-off hills. I had not known 
 before that naked trees were beautiful. 
 
 Mr. Regan came in one day. " Ever drive a 
 car ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Tom wants to go down to his ranch ; there 
 will be quite a move on among settlers this spring, 
 and Tom feels uneasy; he s been off his claim all 
 winter ; he thinks he must get down, too, on account 
 of his mother. I m wondering, when you get 
 stronger, if you could drive my car." 
 
 " I d like the chance. I wanted to put a crop in 
 this spring but ." I glanced over my emaciated 
 person. " I d like the chance, Mr. Regan." 
 
 "Then you re hired, Billy; you re hired." 
 
 I handed him back his signed checks. " I don t 
 need them," I exclaimed, "except to pay my bills 
 
196 Happy Valley 
 
 there s the doctor and nurse the drug store 
 and Van Vader they ll maybe wait till I earn it." 
 
 "They ll wait, Billy." He held the checks in his 
 hand a few minutes, then, " Maybe you d like to pay 
 them up and be in debt just to me." 
 
 I thought it over. I decided to do it, and he 
 returned the checks to me. 
 
 At last they said I could go down stairs. I was 
 impatient to get out. I was sure my legs were 
 sound, and I wanted to touch earth. There was a 
 feeling of spring in the air and I wanted to bathe in 
 it, drink it deeply. I had insisted on getting out for 
 days, and at last Lizbeth sat down beside me to talk 
 it over. 
 
 "You know," she said, "everyone thought you 
 would lose both legs; you fought so that was all 
 that decided the doctor to try letting you keep them ; 
 you fought so you made the fever worse; it was a 
 fight for your life any way, with the fever. But 
 you kept your legs. We didn t think at first there 
 was any such danger for Mr. Clark, but the bruise 
 had affected the bone." 
 
 I sat up suddenly. "Has our old man lost his 
 leg?" I demanded. 
 
 "Yes," Lizbeth admitted. "You see, he kept 
 up so well that we didn t think it necessary at first, 
 but it got to be his leg or his life. His age was 
 
Blue Ribbons 197 
 
 against him, though he is so healthy; he s pulled 
 through, though, remarkably. " 
 
 I was still very weak; I buried my face in my 
 hands. Poor little Susie, poor Mother Clark, what 
 they had been through ! She put her arm about my 
 shoulders; Lizbeth was a dear girl; I would have 
 loved a sister like that. "If you let it make you 
 sick," she remonstrated, "no telling when you will 
 get out. And it will do him good to see you. I 
 thought I would cut your hair first and get you 
 all fixed up nice with a fresh shave, and then ." 
 
 "Yes, Lizbeth, do. I know it s white don t 
 mind me, but it might shock our old man. Cut it, 
 Lizbeth." 
 
 He was on the porch in a wheel chair, covered 
 over with a Navajo blanket. He sat up and called 
 to me, as I hobbled along on crutches, for they 
 would not allow me to put my weight on 
 my feet. 
 
 "Well, well, Billy," he cried cheerily, "if this 
 ain t like old times. All of us here again. Well, 
 well, Billy ! " I sat down beside him in a chair 
 Lizbeth had made ready, and our hands clasped. 
 Susie was sitting on a step at his feet, her hand 
 stroking a handsome hound s head, her star eyes 
 fixed on me. 
 
 "So they grayed up your hair a bit, old man?" 
 
198 Happy Valley 
 
 He brisked into it, and it was really better to have 
 it over. "And took one of my legs ." 
 
 " But we re still here," I chimed in. " They can t 
 get rid of us." 
 
 Mr. Regan came around the house, a broad pater 
 nal smile on his face, his blue-gray eyes shining. 
 He wore a bright red tie and a wide slouch hat; 
 but though dressed conventionally, otherwise he 
 looked different from other men. His picturesque- 
 ness was not a matter of clothes it was character. 
 
 " You re the kind of settlers the country needs," 
 he said, sitting down on the step by Susie, and 
 dropping his strong, steady hand over the dog s 
 shoulder. :t These can t-do-it settlers can pass on 
 as fast as they like, but you stickers well, I guess 
 you re fully initiated into the country now." He 
 chuckled, then turned to me and asked in a kindly, 
 sympathetic voice: " How is it, Billy? Feel pretty 
 good?" 
 
 A new tenderly-happy feeling swept over me 
 like a wave of soft, warm water. "That s it," I 
 said to him, " I do feel good." 
 
 Susie looked up from the hound and smiled 
 bravely; Susie, with her poor little ribbons faded 
 out white, and the twinkle still absent from her 
 star eyes. 
 
BOOK II 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 LEPPIES, AND OTHER THINGS 
 
 DAY melted into day, and the soft beauty of 
 spring spread over the land, greening it up 
 with new life in tules and grasses and willows. 
 We fitted into and became a part of a new life of 
 our own, intensely fascinating and unconsciously 
 theatrical. There was about it the hazy atmosphere 
 of a dream let in between rock-ribbed realities. It 
 was a play on which the curtain might ring down 
 at any moment, leaving a stark-bare stage and actors 
 without the grease paint. 
 
 We sat on the wide veranda of the big, white 
 ranchhouse known as The Willows, whose spread 
 ing wings symbolized the wide-spreading protective- 
 ness of its owner s sheltering arms, and talked lazily 
 of many things. We rode over the ranch in the 
 car our old man and I and we hobbled about 
 on our crutches to the cookhouse, the bunkhouse, 
 the blacksmith shop, old Sody s livestock headquar 
 ters, the dog kennels, and every other place where 
 life and curiosity attracted. We were the audience 
 and the play went on for our benefit. And they 
 
 201 
 
202 Happy Valley 
 
 thought, no doubt the buckaroos, Lizbeth, Mrs. 
 Todd, Mr. Regan that we were the play and they 
 the audience. We were the sensation that circum 
 stances had projected into the quiet routine of their 
 days. 
 
 It was quite as though we had been tossed onto 
 another planet, so different was this from every 
 other phase of life I had known; so different from 
 the pioneer life among the homesteaders. The very 
 physical outlook was different by reason of shim 
 mering-leafed poplar trees which hedged us in from 
 the desert, while beyond, green willows threaded 
 the paler green of the tule swamp. On the horizon, 
 however, lay the same far-off mystic hills bathed in 
 their wonderful lavender and gold. 
 
 Our compound itself was unique. The great 
 ranchhouse, roomy and rambling, was a network of 
 surprising hallways and stairways that led to large, 
 well-lighted chambers. Each addition might have 
 been the result of a different person s whim, but the 
 whole was somehow consistent. Semi-circularly 
 about the ranchhouse were the foreman s house, the 
 bunkhouses, the store building, and still farther 
 away another rambling group made up of barns, 
 corrals, cattle pens, pig pens, smoke houses, chicken 
 houses, duck ponds, and dog kennels. 
 
 At five each morning a gong waked the settle- 
 
Leppies, and Other Things 203 
 
 ment to activity. Dogs began to bark, the baying 
 of hounds mixing weirdly with the viperish snap 
 ping of terriers and the gruffer notes of wolf dogs 
 in which there was a strain of coyote. Buckaroos 
 emerged from bunkhouses lithe, bronzed, young 
 men, with an occasional grizzled old scout who had 
 fought in Indian wars, and there was one ex-soldier 
 who had been a West Point man. The buckaroo 
 boss, Raz Poole, was a blond giant under thirty, 
 with a sweet tenor voice and a way of looking out 
 from under drooped eyelids that left you wondering 
 about him. 
 
 There was a squat little Mexican who rolled end 
 less cigarettes and was excessively polite. Mex had 
 been noted over the whole range in earlier years for 
 his way of calling the cattle. He had a never- 
 wearying song and it could be heard over miles of 
 space. The cattle listened for it. It kept them 
 easy and steady on a long drive. Many a day, Mr. 
 Regan told me, he had ridden into the hills just to 
 hear old Mex s cattle call as it echoed and re-echoed 
 from glade to glade. 
 
 Old Sody, I think, was the most important person 
 on the Q Ranch Old Sody, chief of the leppies, 
 with his wall eyes that peered nearsightedly, tooth 
 less gums, short, rapid steps, all the dogs at his heeis 
 and a "leppy" under his arm. The little orphan 
 
204 
 
 Happy Valley 
 
 things were called " leppies," a corruption, so far as 
 I could determine, from "left" or "lefty" any 
 little young thing left without its natural protectors. 
 Chickens, pigs, colts, 
 calves, mules, dogs, kit 
 tens they were all 
 adopted by old Sody, 
 who knew them like 
 children and loved them 
 as well. I don t think 
 a group of us ever sat 
 talking quietly together 
 that old Sody didn t 
 come tearing wildly onto 
 the scene with, "Duck 
 lost anybody seen a 
 little, yellow duck with 
 one eye? Duck lost 
 duck lost." Or maybe 
 it would be a setting hen 
 that had gone astray, or 
 a pup that hadn t come in for his milk. 
 
 No one laughed at old Sody. He would pass on, 
 muttering to himself, his eyes wildly excited, hardly 
 waiting to hear the suggestion that the tules or the 
 willows probably held the renegade. He had dug 
 a fortune out of Alaska and he had lost it in A ri- 
 
 Old Sody 
 
Leppies, and Other Things 205 
 
 zona borax; and now he took care of little " leppies " 
 for his board and bed and the good of his soul. 
 
 A Dutchman was putting away hog meat in one of 
 the outhouses; a big, heavy, slow Dutchman, who 
 tasted ponderously and brought frequent tastings 
 to Mrs. Todd. The weight of nations rested on a 
 decision between less spice and more sage. You 
 would have believed it had you seen the foreman s 
 wife as she tasted and tasted, her head to one side, 
 her forehead puckered into a frown. She was 
 a wonderful little woman, Mrs. Todd, a born 
 diplomat. 
 
 Camped in one of the cabins was a family that 
 seemed always to have belonged to the Q Ranch, 
 though they had recently come in from chopping 
 wood in the hills. There was old Hank, long-faced, 
 sad-eyed, and gloomy, and old Nance, his wife, a 
 lean, bony structure with a voice that grated like a 
 file but ruled her household. Numerous grand 
 children clung to the two for support, and old Nance 
 was not above playing favorites. Every morning 
 after the gong and the yowling and howling of the 
 dogs came her sharp voice: "Dan, you son of a 
 gun, hit the plank!" And almost immediately: 
 " Trudy, Trudy dear, hadn t you better get up ? " 
 Mrs. Todd insisted that in spite of her peculiarities, 
 old Nance was sound at the core. 
 
206 Happy Valley 
 
 My first introduction to old Hank was the day 
 he got in from the hills. All afternoon he sat on 
 the porch in gaunt, watery-eyed silence waiting for 
 Mr. Regan who was expected back from Two Forks. 
 Now and then he would lift his hard, brown arm 
 and draw his coarse, blue gingham shirtsleeve across 
 his eye, then the arm would drop heavily to his side. 
 At last the car arrived and Mr. Regan came briskly 
 up the walk. His smile broadened and his Irish 
 blue eyes lighted up when he saw old Hank. " Well, 
 well, Hank," he said, putting out his hand, "how 
 are you?" Hank limply gave him his hand but his 
 gloomy face did not lighten. 
 
 "John," he said, "John, do you think wood- 
 choppin s goin to run out?" 
 
 I went on to the car, for I was to take the fore 
 man over the ranch, but neither could I smile any 
 more than had Regan as he sat down to talk things 
 over with the old retainer. For thirty years he had 
 chopped the Q Ranch wood. The indictment had 
 filled him with uneasiness. Suppose wood-chopping 
 should run out! 
 
 When we got back from our drive there was a 
 big excitement. Everyone on the ranch had col 
 lected about a foaming horse and his rider Old 
 Sody with a " leppy " pig squealing under his arm, 
 and toothless mouth agape, the Mexican with a half- 
 
Leppies, and Other Things 207 
 
 rolled cigarette, Susie and Lizbeth with horrified 
 faces. The foreman s pretty wife stood noncha 
 lantly in the porch as one who had lived her life 
 in the midst of disasters and was not to be upset by 
 them. We climbed out of the car and hurried to 
 the group. I had recognized the Book-farmer. 
 
 There was bad news from Happy Valley. Some 
 one had set fire to the Dutchman s barn and tool- 
 shed. It had happened in the night when everyone 
 was sleeping soundly. Six of the horses had had 
 to be shot; two were dead before the fire was dis 
 covered. When the Book- farmer left, the Dutch 
 man was sitting on a nail keg with his head in his 
 hands, saying over and over to himself: "I vas 
 dwendy years saving for it; dwendy years." 
 
 Our old man, resting on his crutches, shook his 
 head sadly, while Mother Clark cried in her apron. 
 
 "Poor Leeda," Susie said. "Oh, poor Leeda!" 
 She went on to explain to Lizbeth that she and 
 Leeda had planned to go away to school that winter, 
 the only difference being that Leeda had been sure 
 of going and she wasn t. "And I was envying 
 Leeda." She gulped and turned away. 
 
 " That pretty white mare with the star in her fore 
 head that he bought of Tom Lattig was that one 
 killed, too?" our old man wanted to know. 
 
 "Who is suspected?" Mr. Regan asked. 
 
208 Happy Valley 
 
 "A white-skinned man waxy with a black 
 mustache and yellow in his eyes. He located on a 
 ranch on south. He passed through that afternoon 
 on his way to Two Forks. He asked for dinner, 
 but the Dutchies were all busy; they told him he 
 could go in the kitchen and cook something for him 
 self. It seemed to make him mad. That s the only 
 clue." 
 
 The description was that of the man Bullpit had 
 brought into the country to jump my claim. 
 
 " Boys, I gotta get back," said our old man, be 
 ginning to move about on his crutches, "I see I 
 gotta get back." 
 
 "Oh, pa! What can you do?" Mother Clark 
 took her apron from her reddened eyes. 
 
 "I gotta get back," he repeated excitedly. 
 
 " Yes, Clark, you ve got to get back," agreed Mr, 
 Regan. "There isn t any other way; you ve got to 
 get back." 
 
 We all looked at him blankly. His eyes were 
 meeting Clark s ; the two men seemed to understand 
 each other. 
 
 "It would have burned just the same if you d 
 been there," persisted Mother Clark. She seemed 
 to dread ever re-entering Happy Valley. 
 
 " I gotta get back." Our old man began hobbling 
 toward the porch. He seemed on the point of start- 
 
Lepples, and Other Things 209 
 
 ing at once. Mr. Regan was talking with Dave 
 Todd. He was instructing him to get up two good 
 teams to send down to the Dutchman so he could 
 go on with his ranch work. "He mustn t leave," 
 I overheard him say to Dave. "Tell the Book- 
 farmer he s to call on us for whatever he needs to 
 see him through. He mustn t leave the country." 
 
 He went back to the porch and sat down by our 
 old man. I joined them. Mother Clark had gone 
 on to the cookhouse, Susie and Lizbeth following 
 her. 
 
 " I ve been thinking some days," said Mr. Regan, 
 drawing a chair up to our old man, " that it s mighty 
 hard on the homesteaders going down into Happy 
 Valley and on south to find their land, then driving 
 clear back to Two Forks to file. We ought to have 
 a commissioner down there. We ought to get the 
 county to appoint a commissioner. I think the filing 
 fee is two dollars and a half ; I m told they are filing 
 at the rate of two or three a day. Yes, we ve got 
 to have a commissioner down there." He was look 
 ing at our old man intently. 
 
 "I d hate awful bad to take the money when a 
 man s gettin him a piece o land, but ." 
 
 "It s the only way, Clark; you re right; you d 
 better go back and be commissioner. I ll see 
 about it." 
 
210 Happy Valley 
 
 It was arranged that Susie should go with her 
 father while Mother Clark should remain at the 
 cookhouse for a while longer. Mr. Regan needed 
 a cook, and the Clarks needed the money; and so, 
 though a break in this little family was a real 
 tragedy to each one of the three, still, because of 
 dire necessity, the plan was accepted. There was 
 one compensation for the departure of my little 
 hired girl : that evening Bullpit arrived at the Q 
 Ranch; Bullpit in the glory of new clothes and 
 leather trappings. I looked quickly to Mr. Regan 
 as I recognized the rider who stopped at the gate. 
 My subconscious mind connected the fire some way 
 with him, possibly because I connected the waxy- 
 faced homesteader with him. I wondered if Mr. 
 Regan would not order him off the ranch. But some 
 what to my surprise he was received courteously. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 SORROW IN THE VALLEY 
 
 MY FIRST impression on meeting John Regan 
 had been that here was a most picturesque 
 character, the pure type of the western cattleman. 
 After his treatment of me and the Clarks, I put 
 him down as a very prince of generosity. As we 
 drove together over the long roads day after day 
 alone in the car, the sheer force of the man began 
 to loom monumental. Here was a mind and a heart 
 and an understanding of conditions all over the 
 country and of humanity, such as I had not met 
 before in anyone. He was not a type, he was a 
 gigantic exception. 
 
 My grandfather was a man of keen intellect, an 
 astute lawyer, a just judge, a product of the best 
 schools and the widest experience in metropolitan 
 affairs, but he seemed a pigmy in comparison. I 
 now knew that he lacked an intense and penetrating 
 human sympathy which is as illuminating on human 
 problems as light on darkness. Here was a man 
 who sensed the most subtle phases of a situation, a 
 man who had never gone to school, who had not 
 
 211 
 
Uncle John Regan 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 
 
 213 
 
 read books, but who knew life and people as my 
 grandfather his law. 
 
 After I had ridden about with him for a week, I 
 felt that whatever he undertook must eventually 
 come to pass barring illness or death. Things 
 would have to capitulate to John Regan; he would 
 never capitulate to things. His huge frame, his 
 square, well-filled-out shoulders, his strong, solid 
 thighs composed the proper engine for the use of 
 the tremendous force which was himself. 
 
 No one took liberties with him everyone felt 
 his superiority hence it never became necessary 
 for him to wear that austerity which is the cloak for 
 lesser natures. As he stood talking with some idle 
 citizen on a street corner in Two Forks, a little 
 child, running along with his red wagon, would 
 rub up against him, throw chubby arms about his 
 leg, and stand there as if he felt protected. Uncon 
 sciously Regan s hand would go down to the little 
 head; he would pat the sun- and wind-roughened 
 cheek, and the child would run happily along. Men 
 approached him with equal readiness, especially men 
 in trouble. 
 
 A trampish-looking man accosted him one day, 
 and I stepped aside, thinking the man wanted the 
 price of a. drink; but he only wanted work. We 
 moved on after Regan had told him to get a 
 
214 Happy Valley 
 
 horse from Van Vader and report at the Q Ranch. 
 I found later that the man had just finished a term 
 in the penitentiary for cattle stealing, and it had 
 been Regan s cattle he had stolen. But Regan had 
 been the one to whom he applied for work when he 
 got out of jail and Regan had again trusted him. 
 We took home with us on the same trip two men 
 who had returned from a drink-cure institute. Good 
 men, Regan explained to me, but they couldn t keep 
 sober. He had sent them away for the cure and 
 he was giving them another chance. I understood 
 now some pictures I had seen on the bunkhouse 
 walls; rudely-colored prints of men in various dis 
 gusting states of intoxication. He was not above 
 the silent object lesson and he was not beneath more 
 heroic measures. 
 
 All spring, settlers came into the country. The 
 land craze was getting them also the talk of a 
 railroad of which we constantly heard vague ru 
 mors. The back-to-the-land movement was putting 
 businesses, houses, and minor possessions into 
 prairie schooners, teams, and plows. With each 
 outfit that we passed, Mr. Regan grew more serious. 
 Sometimes he would sink into a silence that would 
 last for hours. Often he would come out of it with 
 a story of early days which he told in a way that 
 was all a part of his genius. Always as you finished 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 
 
 215 
 
 your laugh with the humorist you became gravely 
 thoughtful with the philosopher. 
 
 Through him I came at last fully to know the 
 country I was in. The awakening was a strange 
 experience. It was like seeing eyes back of the 
 closed blinds of an old building one has regarded 
 as tenantless. John Regan opened the blinds. Al 
 ways I had thought of the country as new, virgin, 
 and untouched. I now learned that it was an old 
 country over which battles had been fought, nearly 
 every section of which had been wet with human 
 blood. 
 
 The fence laws of California started its settle 
 ment, it seemed. Cattlemen had been driven north 
 in the late seventies in search of open range. They 
 found it in this great closed-in empire; it was an 
 immense country with quantities of wild grass and 
 an abundance of water. To find this cattle man s 
 Eden was to appropriate it. A few of the hardiest 
 and hardest acquired large tracts of land from 
 the government, and defied encroachment. Weaker 
 men who were lured in by the richness of the coun 
 try and the hope of railroads were forced out. Set 
 tlers were not wanted; settlers fenced; settlers 
 interfered with range and water. In time the 
 powerful cattle companies controlled the whole 
 country. 
 
216 Happy Valley 
 
 Young John Regan not yet twenty came over 
 the mountains from a coast valley in Western Ore 
 gon, driving a small band of cattle. His father a 
 cattleman and rancher when crossing the plains 
 in the forties had passed through the great sweeping 
 valleys of the inland empire and had never forgot 
 them. Years later, when his youngest boy was 
 ready to start for himself, and his own health fail 
 ing, with little to give but advice, he took this son 
 to the top of the Cascade Mountains, and pointing 
 across to the plains country that lay to the east, he 
 said, "Go, my son, go over there where there is 
 room to grow." He had vision and he saw the 
 country s future. 
 
 And so John Regan went. In time he got hold of 
 land and he traded in cattle. When his growth be 
 came noticeable, when he seemed likely as a coming 
 cattleman, he received attractive offers to leave the 
 country, as had others before him. One man offered 
 him forty thousand dollars in gold to get out. 
 
 But Regan stuck ; he stuck through the early gun 
 days, those days of continual range fights between 
 settler and cattle man. He saw man after man run 
 out of the country for committing the crime of 
 accepting Uncle Sam s offer to make a home for 
 himself on Government land. He saw bloodshed; 
 but still he stuck. His enemies were powerful cattle 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 217 
 
 companies with unlimited capital and without scru 
 ple. They had the idea firmly fixed that the coun 
 try was all theirs; that anyone who tried to get a 
 foothold was their natural enemy. But Regan was 
 strong in body and spirit, fearless, and a natural 
 born handler of men; also he was a natural born 
 fighter. They didn t always get the best of him. 
 
 After years of fight came his great opportunity. 
 The owner of the Q Ranch, the cattleman most 
 hated by the settlers and the leader of the perpetual 
 war on them, got a bullet between his shoulders one 
 day and fell headlong from his horse. This put the 
 Q Ranch on the market ; one hundred and fifty thou 
 sand acres, much of it tule swamp, but more in 
 natural hay. It became a question who should own 
 this ranch, who dared own it, who was there that no 
 settler wanted to kill? Before the other big cattle 
 companies realized that he was a real competitor 
 in so huge a venture, John Regan had acquired 
 control of the ranch. 
 
 Many flattering offers followed and inviting to 
 a young man all alone with a heavy indebtedness. 
 He could not see his way, but he staggered on alone. 
 He refused to enter the combination against the set 
 tlers. The gauntlet was thrown down from that 
 hour. They put every conceivable obstacle in his 
 path; they used unlimited power and money to 
 
218 Happy Valley 
 
 hamper him. The several big companies interested 
 in preserving the open range now consolidated 
 under one name, the Oceanic Cattle Company. This 
 gave them a solid front with which to resist invasion. 
 They issued an ultimatum that John Regan or his 
 buckaroos could no longer ride the range with their 
 buckaroos, that he could not gather in his cattle 
 with them, nor would he be shown any of the usual 
 amenities of the range. 
 
 The monopoly by the Oceanic Company of all the 
 waste water from the Two Forks River had long 
 appealed to John Regan as unjust to the settlers. 
 The Oceanic Company based their claim on the old 
 English riparian law that water must be allowed to 
 flow as it will, unpolluted and undiminished. John 
 Regan disputed their claim in the courts. The 
 smaller settlers were eagerly with him at the open 
 ing of the fight, but after giving their evidence they 
 began to compromise with the Oceanic Cattle Com 
 pany, accepting whatever they were offered rather 
 than go on with litigation. The case was in the 
 courts three years, with a final victory for John 
 Regan. The development of the country through 
 irrigation and settlement had always been his idea 
 of its future. He believed that the Two Forks 
 River could be made to irrigate a large territory. 
 He put surveyors into the field and proved this to be 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 219 
 
 true. Then he got an option to put the water on 
 the land under a government act. 
 
 The Oceanic Cattle Company fought him con 
 sistently. Lawsuits were instituted on the slightest 
 pretext. He was again approached with flattering 
 offers; they came even from Alaska; all the world 
 was made attractive to him save his own cattle 
 range. And still he went on with his stubborn fight 
 for irrigation and settlement. One day when mak 
 ing a short cut across Oceanic Cattle land he met 
 Cruikshank, the company s superintendent. He had 
 fought Regan for many years, and now Regan was 
 gaining on him. He was nerve-racked and grouchy. 
 He ordered Regan off : " Never again set foot on 
 Oceanic Cattle land," he commanded. 
 
 "Very well," John Regan answered, "but any 
 time you find it convenient don t hesitate to cross 
 my land." 
 
 The fight took a personal turn. It was now 
 between man and man. All these years Regan had 
 been like a little young growing thing in a prize 
 ring. He had used all his diplomacy to keep his 
 back from being broken while he was growing up. 
 He now began to strike some blows. It was a period 
 in the country s history when everyone was discour 
 aged. The range was eaten out and there was no 
 profit in the stock business. Many smaller cattle- 
 
220 Happy Valley 
 
 men had debts to carry and they were glad to sell 
 out. Settlers who had come in bent on farming, 
 confidently expecting a railroad, were unable to get 
 the price of haul out of their crops. Railroads had 
 been promised, time and again, but only surveyors 
 materialized. That very summer of keenest dis 
 couragement fifteen crews were busy at one time in 
 the inland empire. 
 
 Already heavily in debt, knowing the exact situa 
 tion, but unwilling to quit the struggle, Regan drew 
 paper against himself on thirty and sixty days time 
 and bought more land. He acquired a space of 
 country one hundred and twenty miles wide, cutting 
 in between the big Oceanic Cattle ranches. They 
 found themselves in the position of not being able 
 to get a camping place without asking him a favor. 
 
 He now began to suffer that punishment which is 
 the hardest on earth to bear : The powerful Oceanic 
 Cattle Company made it known to merchants of 
 Two Forks that their friendship for John Regan 
 would be interpreted as enmity to them. Oceanic 
 Cattle bought more goods than all the rest of the 
 country put together. The merchants were de 
 pendent on them. Oceanic Cattle let it be known 
 that they would run any man out of the country who 
 showed friendship for John Regan. And Two 
 Forks was not strong enough to rise up and take 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 221 
 
 John Regan s side; Oceanic Cattle did nothing to 
 develop the country; they dug no ditches, drained 
 no swamps, farmed no land, built no houses, and 
 steadily fought all plans for development; but 
 Regan s business was not a drop in the bucket to 
 theirs. And so Regan s old neighbors began to pass 
 him on the street with heads down, while all the 
 time they watched him covertly, paying him the 
 secret tribute of a mighty respect. 
 
 Alone he went his way. His plan was the settle 
 ment of the country, for people would bring rail 
 roads and railroads would mean moved crops and 
 prosperity. The only hope was to break up the isola 
 tion. Irrigation ditches would bring in large colo 
 nies of people and people would compel a railroad. 
 John Regan s fight to wrest control of the water 
 from Oceanic Cattle was with the idea of construct 
 ing such ditches ; the Tule Valley canal had been the 
 first attempt. Oceanic Cattle had through the 
 government agent who had been set on by Bullpit 
 stopped the canal. Bullpit had pointed the way to a 
 trouble-hunting agent, but the way had been pointed 
 in turn for Bullpit by the powerful Oceanic Cattle 
 Company. They had Regan cornered now; they 
 had got him indicted and stopped his canal ; but the 
 next move would be his. 
 
 All that summer I drove Mr. Regan s car. We 
 
222 Happy Valley 
 
 always called at every little shack to make sure that 
 no one was in trouble. I could not pass a well with 
 out looking into it. 
 
 As autumn came on a protest arose here and there 
 against the lack of schools. Mothers on isolated 
 ranches were beginning to worry over the possibility 
 of their children growing up in ignorance. Mr. 
 Regan became seriously concerned. The children 
 must have a school. They must not pay the penalty 
 of their parents pioneering. Every American child 
 was entitled to schooling. At the end of a long 
 day s drive early in September he outlined his plan 
 to me. 
 
 "We ll apply for a school district, Billy; it will 
 have to be about sixty miles long, I figure, to take in 
 all the children scattered over this country up to 
 Wind Mountain. You go to work on that, Billy. 
 Make an application to the county court for a school 
 district." 
 
 "But how can children go to school over a dis 
 trict sixty miles long?" I objected. 
 
 " We ll have to centralize the school, Billy. We ll 
 have it at the Q Ranch. We ll keep the children 
 there while they go to school." 
 
 There were not more than twenty children alto 
 gether, but it was a good many to house and bed and 
 feed. However, that problem was up to Lizbeth. 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 223 
 
 Lizbeth put her head on one side when I told her 
 about it and her large, gray eyes filled with tender 
 amusement. "I m only glad he isn t asking their 
 parents to come along," she said. Then, " Dear 
 Uncle John, he would take them all in if he could." 
 Lizbeth had just one passion, her Uncle John. She 
 went to work on the problem and turned two of the 
 largest rooms into a dormitory, moved in cots, and 
 prepared to house our school children while I got 
 the district organized and put the plan before the 
 parents. We found a teacher, a young woman who 
 had quit college in her senior year to take up a 
 homestead and was glad of a chance to earn money 
 while holding down her claim. In appearance she 
 was of a thin, delicate pink and whiteness that made 
 me think of fine china, but she was an intelligent 
 young person, and lively, and I foresaw that she 
 and Lizbeth would make a great team. I wondered 
 about the very good-looking buckaroo boss, Raz 
 Poole, who rode away each morning singing of his 
 lady fair ; Lizbeth s and Susie s eyes had had a way 
 of following him. Would the pink and white 
 teacher s eyes follow him too ? Would Bullpit come 
 fussily about, displaying his leather calves and pre 
 senting his fly-specked boxes of candy ? Bullpit was 
 still locating occasional homesteaders and this 
 brought him frequently to the Q Ranch, the only; 
 
224 Happy Valley 
 
 stopping point between Two Forks and Happy 
 Valley. He blissfully ignored my presence. It was 
 just as well. 
 
 Mother Clark had to have additional help with her 
 family of school children, so I set out to find the 
 right person. Perhaps some homesteader s wife or 
 daughter especially needed a chance to earn some 
 thing. In the search I drove over Wind Mountain 
 into Happy Valley for the first time since I was 
 carried out of it. The Dutchman s ranch was a 
 sorry sight with work at a standstill and the black 
 ened remains of his barn testifying to disaster. I 
 found the Dutchman sitting moodily in his doorway, 
 staring into space. To cheer him I spoke of his 
 pigs. No one in the valley had so many squealing, 
 squirming young pigs. " My vife, she raise more 
 pigs dan any body else," he said. It was a mo 
 mentary return of his former pride in his posses 
 sions ; but he lapsed at once into morose silence. I 
 drove on to the Clark s and Susie came running to 
 meet me. She got in and settled comfortably down 
 in the car. 
 
 "It spoils a body," she said, with a happy sigh. 
 
 "What does?" 
 
 " Oh, staying at Mr. Regan s and having the car 
 and everything. I wish I were rich! " 
 
 "You are," I replied. Her wholesome face was 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 225 
 
 good to see, but the look of sadness had stayed with 
 her. "Rich in all but ribbons." I touched the 
 smooth, flaxen braids coiled about her head. She 
 wore no ribbons. 
 
 " I m getting too old for hair ribbons. How s 
 mother?" 
 
 " She is well, but has an increase in family." I 
 explained the twenty school children and my errand. 
 " Come along," I said. " I am driving all over the 
 valley. I ll bring you back." 
 
 She gladly consented, and after a word with her 
 father, who hobbled up the steps of the dug-out to 
 greet me, we drove off. 
 
 "He s a wonderful old man." I could not help 
 saying it, though I had said it so often. 
 
 She lifted her chin a little proudly, but made no 
 reply. I imagined he wasn t so well he looked 
 thin. .Was she keeping it from me to keep it 
 from her mother? She was a great little Susie, so 
 reticent and yet so frank. She became gay at 
 once and wanted news of Lizbeth. I told her 
 of the new school teacher and her pretty blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " Did you say pretty blue eyes ? " she wanted to 
 know with unexpected archness. 
 
 " Just pretty, that s all ; not star eyes." 
 
 She laughed and blushed and began telling me 
 
226 Happy Valley 
 
 most excitedly about the new homesteaders. " One 
 man," she said, " a Mr. Whitten, was awfully good 
 looking and young. I had quite a case, really. He 
 had a dimple in his chin, and the nicest ways. 
 Mother Lattig was dippy about him too ; and what 
 do you think? He brought his wife a bride, I m 
 sure. My luck." 
 
 I suggested that we call on them and see how they 
 fared. Susie swept her arm in a gesture to the east. 
 "They re off that way somewhere. I would have 
 gone to see them long ago, but I could not leave 
 father. He went by yesterday, early, with a load of 
 lumber. They are going to build. Oh, but we re 
 getting classy in Tenttown! When will you build 
 your wonderful stone house? I bet you never 
 do!" 
 
 I had broken through the sagebrush, following a 
 rough road on the way to the new homesteader s. 
 We would see Mother Lattig later. The car twisted 
 and bumped about, but Susie was happy and chat 
 tered ceaselessly. Suddenly she caught my arm. 
 " There s his wagon ! and his team ! what could 
 have happened ? " 
 
 She stood up in the car, resting her hand on my 
 shoulder as she craned her neck to see. One gets 
 desert eyes living in the desert, and recognizes ob 
 jects at a long distance. "It is his wagon," she 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 227 
 
 repeated excitedly, clutching at my shoulder. 
 "What could have happened? It s a good ten 
 miles to his ranch. What could have happened?" 
 
 " Susie, sit down," I urged. " He is probably 
 resting. Sit down." A shiver of dread went over 
 me. I speeded up the car and we bumped and 
 pitched along over the rough new road till we were 
 up with the wagon. I sprang out and Susie quickly 
 followed me. We found him lying in the road, face 
 downward. I put my hand over his heart. It was 
 beating. I turned him over. He groaned and 
 opened his eyes, then quickly closed them. 
 
 "Oh, boys," he said, "I didn t know minutes 
 could be so long." Susie in her close wrapped braids 
 and tight little khaki cap looked like a boy. I tried 
 to lift him, but he cried out in an agony of pain. 
 The injury seemed internal. 
 
 " I was cramped and tired," he gasped out. " I 
 got down to walk; I whipped up the leaders and 
 the brake block struck me and knocked me down; 
 the wagon went over me; the team stopped they 
 haven t moved since but the wagon went over 
 me." 
 
 It had happened the evening before and he had 
 lain there all night. There was nothing to take 
 travelers along that road. We got a plank from 
 his load of lumber and together Susie and I edged 
 
228 Happy Valley 
 
 it inch by inch under him. Then we bound him 
 firmly to it with my coat and Susie s sweater. We 
 lifted the plank across the back seat of the car and 
 Susie held him while I drove. We reached the little 
 homesteading tent an hour later. The young wife 
 ran out to meet us, her eyes big with fright and the 
 terror of the long wait alone. As she came nearer 
 horror swept her face. She was a slight young 
 thing in a wilted calico wrapper, a timid, startled- 
 eyed woman. 
 
 "He s a little hurt," Susie called, bravely, "but 
 we will soon have a doctor. Isn t it lucky we have 
 the car ? " She tried to speak easily, but Susie had 
 been through too much for her years. Her voice 
 broke. 
 
 The poor young wife with her hands clamped to 
 her mouth as though she would shut off her outcry, 
 and her wide, fawn eyes looking more startled than 
 ever, waited as we lifted down the plank and carried 
 him into the tent. She followed, her thin shoulders 
 bowed, stepping like a blind person, all unseeing. 
 
 We placed the plank on the bed; we began to 
 untie the coat and sweater. 
 
 " It s no use, boys," he said, his eyes again closed. 
 " I m done for. The hurt s inside. Gracie, Gracie, 
 darling, stay by the ranch; don t go back to town; 
 stay by the ranch for for his sake; stay by the 
 
t 
 
 Sorrow in the Valley 229 
 
 ranch." His hand fumbled for hers blindly. She 
 knelt by the bed and threw her arms about him. 
 
 "Grade, darling stay stay by the ranch 
 for for : His eyes closed. My hand was on 
 his heart. It had stopped. Still she did not know. 
 She said, " He s asleep." Susie turned away, her 
 eyes too full of tears for control. "Oh, Billy, 
 Billy! "she sobbed. 
 
 "He s asleep," repeated the stunned little wife. 
 I drew her away from the lifeless body still on its 
 board; it was to know no other bed now only a 
 board; something in her drawn face suggested 
 the meaning in the poor young husband s words. 
 I pushed her into a home-made camp chair. The 
 young husband had made it, an inefficient chair con 
 structed of boards and a swinging breadth of blue 
 denim. She was still dazed. Susie knelt beside her 
 and took both her hands ; they were thin little hands 
 like bird claws. 
 
 I turned back to the bed to do what I could; I 
 wished for Lizbeth. 
 
 "Don t don t wake him," said the dazed little 
 wife, starting up. 
 
 Susie s tears came in spite of her superb effort at 
 control. And the tears some way told the little 
 woman what nothing else had told her. She sat sud 
 denly erect in the clumsy denim chair. One corner 
 
230 Happy Valley 
 
 had come untacked it had not been a very good 
 job. She sat up, startled. "Tell me," she cried, 
 " tell me the truth ! " Then she sprang up and ran 
 to him; one long, searching look and she crumpled 
 to the ground. We did what we could. 
 
 I left Susie holding her in her arms and drove 
 rapidly for Mother Lattig. Mother Lattig was 
 volubly glad to see me before I could explain. Her 
 son had gone away again for supplies and she was 
 alone. She seemed to be breaking, poor Mother 
 Lattig. She cried and laughed over me. As soon 
 as I could I got her to understand what had 
 happened. 
 
 " Ah, God," she cried, throwing her apron to her 
 eyes. " Now I tink it be me ; now it had to be dat 
 fine young man. It better be me; Ah, God!" 
 
 Her big arms became mother arms to the little 
 widow. 
 
 I sent one of the Valley men to look after the 
 team and its load, then drove back to the Q Ranch ; 
 but I returned to Happy Valley as rapidly as the car 
 could travel with Mr. Regan. His face had gone 
 ashen at the news. "A fearful price ! " he had said 
 under his breath. " A fearful price ! " 
 
 We buried Whitten on his ranch the next day. 
 Everyone in the valley was there. Our old man 
 read the funeral service and led in singing " Lead, 
 
Sorrow in the Valley 
 
 231 
 
 Kindly Light." His daughters were able to sing 
 with him ; the others tried ; the Dutchman sat morose 
 and sullen all through the simple service. When 
 we had shoveled in the earth Ed brought a board 
 which he had sawed from the lumber that was to 
 have built the new little cabin, and I cut in his name 
 and age: "James Whitten, aged 22." We drove 
 the board into the earth. 
 
 Mr. Regan was talking with the weak little 
 widow. He had been talking with her at intervals 
 all day. She had been unable to respond to any 
 thing he had to say. Now as the ranchers stood 
 about, silent or in desultory conversation, I saw 
 Mr. Regan go to the tent, holding her by the arm. 
 He pushed back the flap and followed her in. A! 
 few minutes later he came out and called me. 
 
 " Bring the car, Billy," he said. " We re taking 
 Mrs. Whitten home with us." 
 
 I knew that we had our new assistant. My search 
 was ended. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 "WORRYING WRONG" 
 
 TTpHERE S something wrong with the Dutch- 
 JL man," Mr. Regan said to me a few days 
 after the funeral. "Did you notice that he is 
 worrying wrong?" 
 
 I suggested that I hadn t known there was a 
 right way to worry; and the fact that his wheat 
 crop did not bring him the price of hauling it out 
 he was two hundred and twenty-five miles from a 
 railroad and the haul had cost him a cent a bushel 
 for each mile was enough to make any man worry 
 in all the ways there were. 
 
 "A right way, maybe, isn t really worry," he 
 said. " It s just being intent on getting out. A 
 wrong way is to sit down in your trouble and let it 
 close in on you. The Dutchman has sat down." 
 
 "He s had it hard the fire and all." 
 
 " I remember once I d got in so deep there didn t 
 seem any way out. I was riding along thinking 
 about it worrying wrong like the Dutchman 
 and it just sort of came to me that I had to go on 
 out as I d come in. I couldn t back track. I d make 
 
 232 
 
"Worrying Wrong" 
 
 233 
 
 more debts and go on out as I d come in. A man s 
 got to. I loaded down heavier and plowed on 
 through. Debts are ballast sometimes. Even a car 
 has to be loaded to ride easy. An empty car just 
 bobbles along. For steady, strong going it s got to 
 be loaded." 
 
 " Poor old Dutchie had a hard whack," I per 
 sisted ; "then there s all those children. He d prom 
 ised Leeda she could go away to school." 
 
 His face lighted up. "Yes, all those children. 
 He s raised a fine family; he s got a fine wife." 
 And after a few minutes, " He s looked at the same 
 thing too long; he s got to get his eyes riveted on 
 something else." 
 
 I was not surprised when he told me later of 
 his intention to begin the new road over Wind 
 Mountain into Happy Valley. The present road 
 was not only steep but narrow and rutty. 
 Neither was I surprised when he added, "I think 
 Dutchie 11 take that contract. You can drive 
 down there today and see Dutchie about taking the 
 contract." 
 
 It was on this trip that our old man opened his 
 heart to me. Susie was over at her sister s help 
 ing with one of the children who had burned his 
 hand. 
 
 "They ve got to have their mail," he said, bob- 
 
234 Happy Valley 
 
 bing his head energetically. His face was thin, the 
 bones sharply evident under the red parchment 
 skin. The old man was failing. I wondered if I 
 ought not suggest this to Mrs. Clark. She would 
 want to be with him if she knew. Her sacrifice in 
 staying on at the cookhouse was a real one. Her 
 whole life was bound up in her husband and chil 
 dren. She had never thought of wanting anything 
 beyond the daily comradeship of those she loved. I 
 could see that while she stayed by the job like a 
 stoic it was wearing on her; and here was the old 
 man, failing. I hardly heard his suggestion, so busy 
 was I with my thoughts. 
 
 "It ain t right; they gotta have their mail," he 
 reiterated. 
 
 "Who? "I asked absently. 
 
 "The settlers specially the women folks. It s 
 hard just gettin mail once a month or so as it hap 
 pens. Now if we had mail once a week those women 
 whose husbands are away workin wouldn t feel so 
 down in the mouth. They d hear ; and that d help ; 
 that and the papers d break the monotony somethin 
 great." 
 
 " Well, what is the idea ? How do you go about 
 it?" I asked. 
 
 "A petition s the first thing; circulate a 
 petition." 
 
"Worrying Wrong" 235 
 
 " Then start your petition," I said, " and I ll pick 
 up names as I go back." 
 
 He caught at the idea and hobbled over to the 
 table, pushed back bread and dishes, and went to 
 work on his petition. I carried it away with me. 
 Mr. Regan seconded our old man s plan and the 
 petition with one hundred signatures went to Wash 
 ington. In due time our old man was appointed 
 postmaster, then bids were called for to carry the 
 mail. It would have to be carried from Two Forks. 
 Clark put in his bid and I think Sol Sneed and the 
 Book- farmer, whose funds were getting low, also 
 put in a bid each. All were rejected. They were 
 too high. 
 
 We found our old man pretty low over it. I had 
 driven Mr. Regan down to see how the Wind Moun 
 tain road was coming on and then we had continued 
 on a round-up of the valley. "Uncle Sam don t 
 somehow realize what one hundred miles and a 
 mountain mean," he said, apologetic for Uncle 
 Sam. "I figured just exactly what I could do it 
 for and come out even. Didn t figure to make none ; 
 the folks has gotta have their mail ; I didn t figure 
 to make Uncle Sam don t understand." 
 
 "Bid again, Clark, and cut off something," ad 
 vised Regan. 
 
 He laughed a weak imitation) of his old-time 
 
236 Happy Valley 
 
 hearty chuckle, and slapped his leg. "I would if 
 I had tother one," he said wryly. " I d risk losin 
 if I had t other one. The folks has gotta have 
 their mail; leastwise, the women folks; they have 
 to have things like that." 
 
 "They have; bid again, Clark, bid again. I ll 
 piece it out; bid again." 
 
 Our old man looked up at Regan, then he put out 
 his hand. "You sure air a public-spirited man, 
 Regan, you sure air." A slow, happy smile over 
 spread his thin, wasted face. " The women ll have 
 their letters," he said, almost like a prayer. " The 
 women have to have things like that letters and 
 things." 
 
 Susie pulled back the tent flap and came running 
 down the steps. She nodded to Mr. Regan, then 
 turned brightly to me. " How is the teacher with 
 the pretty blue eyes?" she demanded. 
 
 "Just as pretty as ever," I answered. 
 
 "Not any prettier?" 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " Oh, then that is all right. Who is Raz s now ? 
 Lizbeth?" 
 
 "No, Lizbeth is decidedly not Raz s." We went 
 outside, leaving the two men to talk over post-office 
 plans. 
 
 "Oh, who s then?" 
 
"Worrying Wrong" 237 
 
 "Who are you most interested in, Lizbeth or 
 Raz?" 
 
 "Can t I be interested in both?" 
 
 " No, just one." 
 
 " Is the pretty teacher Raz s now ? " 
 
 "Are you so interested in who is Raz s?" 
 
 " I am interested in who is Lizbeth s specially." 
 She shot me a suspicious look. 
 
 "Sure it s not Raz you re interested in spe 
 cially?" 
 
 "Well, Raz is awfully good looking and he has 
 the loveliest hair ! " 
 
 " And mine " I tried to turn it off lightly, but 
 it did cut. 
 
 " Oh, Billy, dear, you know I love your hair," she 
 exclaimed impulsively, changing from her bantering 
 mood. " Now tell me ! " she coaxed. 
 
 "Well, Lizbeth is not Raz s, and the pink and 
 white teacher is not Raz s." 
 
 " You you mean thing ! Then you ve got them 
 both!" 
 
 "You forget Bullpit." 
 
 " Does he still stick around ? " 
 
 "He took the pink-and-white teacher to a dance 
 at Two Forks." 
 
 "And not Lizbeth?" 
 
 "And not Lizbeth." 
 
238 Happy Valley 
 
 "And you didn t take Lizbeth?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And Raz didn t take Billy, there s someone 
 else! Who is it? Tell me!" 
 
 " I think it s her uncle," I answered. 
 
 "And he won t let Lizbeth go with you be 
 cause because you re his chauffeur ? Oh, 
 Billy, I don t believe that ! Besides, you re not just 
 a chauffeur; you know you re not!" 
 
 " I didn t say that was the reason, Susie." 
 
 "Besides, you are just as good as her any day; 
 she s a trained nurse, and you re a a trained 
 chauffeur ; and that s as big as to be a trained nurse 
 any day ! " Her eyes were snapping. My poor little 
 hired girl she had many inequalities to figure out 
 all alone in her desert of sage. Some way she 
 always had me on a pedestal above everyone else ; I 
 don t know why. 
 
 "Who did Raz take?" She was back at it. 
 
 "Raz didn t go." 
 
 She was mystified. "Who did he stay with?" 
 
 "Susie, Susie, what a cross-questioner! You 
 should be a lawyer." 
 
 "Did he stay with Lizbeth?" 
 
 "He did not." 
 
 " Then you must have." 
 
 "Lizbeth and I played cribbage till all of nine 
 
"Worrying Wrong" 239 
 
 o clock, when Uncle John suggested that it was 
 bedtime." 
 
 "What did Raz do?" 
 
 "Well, I guess he played cribbage, too," I 
 admitted. 
 
 "Who with?" 
 
 "It might have been your mother. Raz must 
 think a lot of your mother, the way he hangs about 
 the cookhouse." 
 
 "Of course he loves mother; who don t? But 
 oh, oh, oh, I know, I know, I know. And is it really 
 so?" 
 
 " It begins to look so." 
 
 "But with the pretty pink-and- white teacher 
 there, and Lizbeth, and and 
 
 "And all the other girls in the whole country 
 crazy about the big buckaroo boss, and the little 
 widow pulls him down. Well, what inference? " 
 
 Susie sat down on a nail keg better to take it in. 
 
 " She s not even pretty." 
 
 " But she s got a sad, wistful way." 
 
 " She s no worker, mother says ; can t do anything 
 right; they just carry her along because they are 
 sorry for her." 
 
 "Her hands are so helpless; they cling." 
 
 "And she is sickly and pale and hollow- 
 eyed." 
 
240 
 
 Happy Valley 
 
 " And little ; she would haunt a man, a big, strong 
 man like Raz Poole. He d wonder nights, when 
 the wind blew, if she were afraid." 
 
 Susie heaved a prodigious sigh and looked down 
 at her own round, muscular arms, her well-devel 
 oped calves outlined 
 beneath her short khaki 
 skirt. " I guess I ll re 
 duce," she said. 
 
 "CXh, so you did 
 have your cap set for 
 Raz, after all!" 
 
 "Well, if that is the 
 only way to win a 
 man ! " she flung back. 
 
 " We were talking 
 about Raz." 
 
 Her face relaxed 
 into a speculative smile, 
 she is attractive, then?" 
 
 "Health is the most attractive thing to me," I 
 said, "health and wholesomeness and capability. I 
 wouldn t exchange one hair of your head " 
 
 A baby cried in the tent across the way and 
 Jim s wife called sharply to Susie. The baby was 
 fretting and she was worn out with him. Susie 
 sprang up and ran away, but she looked back and I 
 
 Raz Poole 
 
 "You don t really think 
 
"Worrying Wrong 
 
 241 
 
 caught a twinkle in the star eyes of my little hired 
 girl. I pulled myself up sharply. What was I 
 thinking about? 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 WHAT RED TAPE DOES 
 
 I HAD spoken of Bullpit s activity in the locating 
 business. 
 
 "Whenever you see one of those little fellows 
 that a rule put across his head catches both shoul 
 ders, he ll make money. Yes, that man will make 
 money." 
 
 Regan spoke with his usual gentleness, but with 
 a certain tone of finality so far as Bullpit was con 
 cerned. He was not a subject to be discussed seri 
 ously or intimately. I dropped him. We were driv 
 ing along the route of the irrigation canal and had 
 just passed a huge pile of juniper wood which we 
 Happy Valley homesteaders had chopped the winter 
 before and for using which Mr. Regan had been 
 indicted. A lone man, small, and tight-clothed in 
 khaki, was monotonously patrolling it. It was 
 laughable. Here were one hundred and fifty thou 
 sand acres of land in one piece without a soul on it 
 save the Regan outfit, and beyond that other millions 
 of acres with only an occasional homesteader, and 
 
 242 
 
What Red Tape Does 243 
 
 yet a government official was kept there to patrol the 
 woodpile. 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 " Someone might steal it," Regan answered 
 mildly, with his throaty chuckle. 
 
 " Who ? " I wanted to know. 
 
 " Well, you see that man had to have a job. He s 
 a relative of some political influence or other who 
 had either done something bad or had a weak lung, 
 so they sent him out to be king of the West. The 
 West s all bad and the East s got to govern it." 
 His Irish blue eyes twinkled. It nettled me. 
 
 "It s a pretty serious joke for the homesteaders," 
 I said "the people to whom the government has 
 offered free land to get it settled." 
 
 "The government s just a man, Billy; ever think 
 of that ? And when it s a back-East man it s bound to 
 be pretty serious. You maybe never could have pic 
 tured all this back there," his nod indicated the vast 
 reach of unbroken country, " neither can they. The 
 whole Northwest was saved to Uncle Sam through 
 the vision and determination of one man. Every 
 thing has to be done by one man, Billy; someone 
 who has the vision must make those who have the 
 power see it. The vision and the power don t often 
 hitch up together in the same one." 
 
 A white-coated prairie schooner pulled into view, 
 
244 Happy Valley 
 
 creeping south. Regan s eyes grew serious. " Those 
 are the real martyrs, Billy, the pioneers. They ve 
 got to wear out their first energy all for nothing." 
 
 "You think they won t be able to make it?" 
 
 " Billy, how will they get their crops out without 
 a railroad ? Unless they re bringing in money how 
 will they live till we do get a railroad ? You ve seen 
 abandoned cabins all over the inland empire 
 every one a monument to the death of an American 
 citizen s highest hope, his hope of a home and inde 
 pendence. You must know a man has the appetite 
 for land pretty keen when he will haul supplies this 
 way from a railroad to satisfy it; but the country 
 gets him. He eats up his savings and then he has 
 to go away and find work and the work just keeps 
 his family on the ranch and there he is on a tread 
 mill. The ranch can t produce without his labor is 
 put on it, and when he puts his labor on it he can t 
 market his crop and there you are." 
 
 "But," I protested, "the first pioneers who 
 crossed the Rockies made it all right." 
 
 " There were no restrictions in those days, Billy. 
 A man took down his shotgun and brought in a 
 deer or a brace of ducks. He hitched up his team 
 and hauled in wood from the hills. He built a mill 
 and used the water power. There was no question 
 as to the right of the early pioneer to use everything 
 
What Red Tape Does 245 
 
 in the country, all its resources, to get his start. 
 Now government says take the land, but touch the 
 blood of the land its game and wood and water 
 under penalty. 
 
 "Mother Nature fixed up the country all right, 
 but the government makes a livelihood impossible. 
 It sends its little snipper-snapper agents over the 
 West to peek into the homesteader s cabin and see 
 if the poor little wife is being punished enough for 
 her husband s notion of making her a home; to see 
 that she s staying there in the desolation while he s 
 away somewhere earning her food; just little po 
 licemen punishing women and children. Why, 
 Billy, they ought by rights to be guardians for 
 Uncle Sam s pioneers, calling to see that they are 
 not suffering, to see if Uncle Sam can do anything 
 in reason to make their lot easier." 
 
 I began to feel downhearted. Were we all in a 
 fool s paradise ? Was our effort a wild goose chase ? 
 Was our old man a mere visionary? I thought of 
 my butte, my spring, my vision of wheat fields and 
 cattle and a home in that forever land where one 
 breathed in new life continually. Had I been a 
 fool to imagine I could make the thing stick ? Was 
 this the end of my long day of hooky from the 
 depression of artificial life? 
 
 He read my mood. "We re all in belly deep, 
 
246 Happy Valley 
 
 Billy. You know when one of Dave s horses gets 
 in the tule marsh belly deep he s got to swim to get 
 out. If he stops a minute down he ll go. But a 
 good horse one worth caring about he ll swim 
 out." 
 
 "If one only knew what to do/ I said. "And 
 they stopped your canal, Uncle Sam stopped your 
 canal a thing that gave work to his homesteaders, 
 that would have invited colonies and a railroad. 
 The government stopped it!" The full import of 
 the thing flooded me afresh. 
 
 "Just a man, Billy," he said, mildly, "a little 
 special agent that had to make a report he did it. 
 I was climbing down off the dredger into the mud 
 when the United States marshal served the papers 
 on me. He didn t like the mud, I remember. When 
 inferiors govern superiors power must always be 
 used, Billy. He had the whole machinery of gov 
 ernment with him, the marshal, the district attorney, 
 the courts. It was some feather in his cap. 
 
 " Makes me think of a cub reporter I met in New 
 York once just after one of those big liners had 
 gone down, carrying a thousand people. The cub 
 reporter got the first news to his paper and the 
 scoop gave him a promotion and two weeks vaca 
 tion. Some one spoke of the awfulness of the dis 
 aster. But look what it did for me ! he said, beat- 
 
What Red Tape Does 247 
 
 ing his little breast. Well, see what a big thing it 
 was for a little special agent. Found a man digging 
 a canal through a tule swamp and using the govern 
 ment s juniper wood to run the dredger. Stopped 
 the canal, stopped the coming of a thousand settlers, 
 stopped the bread and butter from the homestead 
 ers mouths but look what it did for him! He 
 caught a big fish, made a sensational report." He 
 chuckled. 
 
 "When the little policeman came to patrol the 
 woodpile," he went on in an amused tone, "he had 
 been riding all day without a mouthful to eat. He 
 didn t know what he was getting into when he left 
 the railroad at Ossing. He stopped, all caved in, at 
 a homesteader s cabin and asked for dinner. The 
 homesteader s wife had been pretty hard hit and 
 that little khaki suit didn t look good to her. He 
 straightened up his padded shoulders and said right 
 spirited for one so all caved in, I m in the employ 
 of the Secretary of the Interior and I want some 
 dinner. Well, she says, if you were the Secre 
 tary of the Interior himself I couldn t cook you no 
 dinner. I haven t got any wood to cook you a din 
 ner. It was a right handy answer, wasn t it?" 
 
 We had reached the dredger. It lay there in the 
 soft mud, sinking steadily into the swamp, the 
 water pouring in over it, its machinery rusting, its 
 
248 Happy Valley 
 
 cogs glued together with mire. To organize a camp 
 and solve the problem of putting a ditch through a 
 tule swamp had meant months of hard work. As 
 with everything in this virgin country, there was no 
 precedent. Every trick of the soil and the stream 
 had to be learned at first hand. It had been a terrific 
 undertaking and the initial expense had been enor 
 mous; and there lay the dredger sinking down in 
 the mud and water; and there lay the juniper wood 
 idle and unused; and there were the homesteaders, 
 frantic for work that would make it possible for 
 them to fulfil Uncle Sam s requirements while 
 Uncle Sam s money the money of all the people 
 paid a policeman to patrol a woodpile ! There was 
 no one to steal it, no one to buy it, no one to use it. 
 It was as safe from interference as though every 
 stick stood on its stump back in the hills. And back 
 in the interminable Oregon forests was being con 
 served more juniper that was dying and falling and 
 rotting from old age; falling and making under 
 brush that had to be guarded from fire by other 
 government employed men other people paid by 
 all the people s money. 
 
 " The Indians had a better way," Mr. Regan said, 
 dropping into my thoughts. " The Indians kept the 
 underbrush and dead timber cleaned out for the 
 sake of the game. It prevented fires as well. Our 
 
What Red Tape Does 249 
 
 timber today is in constant danger from the rank 
 undergrowth and dead, fallen trees. It needs to be 
 cleaned out to protect the woods. We owe our big 
 timber to the Indians." 
 
 "How could they get the law on you, Mr. 
 Regan?" I demanded. "It seems to me prepos 
 terous I started to be a lawyer I read for a 
 while how did they do it?" 
 
 "It s an old law, Billy," he said, "enacted back 
 in eighteen thirty-two when the Government didn t 
 see any farther than that they would always need 
 red cedar and oak for building battleships. The law 
 says it s a criminal offense to use oak or red cedar 
 off the government reserve except for the United 
 States navy." 
 
 "But juniper " 
 
 " Juniper never had any classification. It had no 
 value. It just went along with the cedar." 
 
 "Then what in the name " 
 
 "Billy, you re on the spot. You re seeing the 
 thing as it is. The men who are dealing with this 
 case are not seeing it at all just reading a report." 
 
 "Then what is the plan?" I demanded, feeling 
 suddenly a fighter. " What is the thing to do ? " 
 
 " We ve got to have a railroad," he began in his 
 mildly persuasive tone, "but a railroad won t come 
 without settlers; the settlers can t come without a 
 
250 Happy Valley 
 
 railroad; there you have the deadlock. Of course 
 if that timber belt to the east was open, a railroad 
 would build to timber ; but that is shut off from use 
 by the government; if the waterways were open we 
 could have mills, but the water power is tied up by 
 the government; if a canal was dug here, inviting 
 a thousand settlers to irrigated ranches, a railroad 
 might build to that; it would be a feeder; but you 
 can t dig a canal without wood and the wood belongs 
 to the government." 
 
 Then what are we to do ? " 
 
 " Find a way, Billy, find a way." 
 
 "And in the meantime all those homesteaders 
 down in Happy Valley and the new ones coming 
 in this spring, what are they facing but starva 
 tion?" 
 
 "If they will hold on, Billy, they ll have a good 
 thing of it some day; if they ll just hold on." 
 
 I burst out, "In the name of God, hold on to 
 what ? " I was thinking of the plucky Clark women, 
 and poor little Susie s eyes that seemed never to be 
 able to twinkle steadily again, and her father, crip 
 pled for life, all in one year; they had held on to 
 their doom; and now others were coming in and 
 he was saying they must hold on ! 
 
 "Of course, there are men whose nature it is to 
 give up," he said, " and others that get back of a 
 
What Red Tape Does 251 
 
 thing like a mule. Generally we ve had the ones 
 who give up. All the little empty cabins tell us 
 that. I ve hoped for the others. I ve hoped and 
 Clark s one." 
 
 I felt ashamed. "I m another," I said, putting 
 out my hand. He grasped it firmly and some way in 
 that hand grasp the country got onto my shoulders. 
 The sun set on my mere day of hooky, and rose 
 on a day of fight. After I went to bed that night 
 John Regan with his gentle voice and his outward 
 mildness came before me as a man of iron. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 LIZBETH AND CONFIDENCES 
 
 WE had a talk about marriage one day, Mr. 
 Regan and I. It followed a comment of his 
 that only married settlers, as a rule, stuck it out. 
 " No/ I said, " I shall never marry." 
 
 He laughed; and then he laughed again; he had 
 a most disconcerting way of laughing at times. I 
 didn t laugh. " Young folks," he said at last, " are 
 all alike, all ready to say, solemn, what they won t 
 do with the big stream of their lives; and they just 
 at the starting of it." 
 
 " I have a very good reason," I maintained. 
 
 " I remember thinking that way, too, along about 
 twenty-five years ago; had an awful good reason; 
 but just the same, Billy, there ain t a thing a man 
 can do as nice for himself or as good for his country 
 as to marry a fine woman and raise up a good big 
 family." 
 
 " I can t think what reason you could have had," 
 I replied. With his many interests and his ceaseless 
 activity, he still seemed to me a lonely man. 
 
 "All the early cattlemen were bachelors," he 
 
 252 
 
Lizbeth and Confidences 253 
 
 answered. "All had left a girl somewhere; were 
 making a stake and going back to where she lived 
 to enjoy it; some of us never got back, Billy; got 
 too tight locked into the country." 
 
 Then I spoke frankly of the family curse. " My 
 sister was right," I said. " A man who knows what 
 he s about isn t going to put that curse on anyone 
 else; not a man who has suffered as I have. My 
 grandfather the most prominent judge in his state 
 and I his only grandson driving your car and 
 grateful for the job ! " I didn t often think of these 
 things, but today, someway, sitting alongside this 
 man of force who had made himself one of the 
 greatest powers in his state by sheer will, it struck 
 home bitterly. 
 
 He was silent some moments. "I don t know 
 about that, Billy," he said. " I m not so sure about 
 that. It s pretty big to conquer a thing like that 
 that s as you say been put on you. Making money 
 or a name isn t much for a man to do compared with 
 that. It looms pretty big, Billy." 
 
 "He might conquer it in himself and still the 
 curse might pass on to his son." 
 
 "It might of course it might this thing of 
 inheritance is out of our hands. We can t do much 
 but watch it. Seems to me, though, that the man 
 who conquers that thing in himself why, he s got 
 
254 Happy Valley 
 
 the makings of a mighty fine will that will be some 
 thing to pass on, too. No person is ever going to 
 grow and handle others till he s handled the person 
 closest to him, and that s himself. He won t be a 
 leader till he s done that. A man who comes into 
 life with nothing special to conquer no one thing 
 to fight don t have much chance to develop fight 
 ing strength. I was always inefficient, Billy, unless 
 I had a definite battle on, a real thing to pitch into. 
 You ve got a real thing there." 
 
 This was a new slant. I sat thinking. 
 
 "It s all very well to stay down in the country, 
 Billy, to stay away from temptation ; that s all very 
 well and right while a man s will is a weak, sick 
 little thing that has to be nursed ; but it s pretty fine 
 to build it up so strong you don t have to police 
 yourself; so strong you don t have to have things 
 kept out of your reach like crockery from babies. 
 Just a great, big, strong will, Billy, that will carry 
 you through. That will be doing a real thing with 
 your life." 
 
 I thought about this for days. I was getting a 
 different kind of hold on this thing of living. It 
 didn t seem the same thing that it had in the old 
 days where the fear of open disgrace was ever the 
 idea, rather than what a man really might do with 
 the equipment his forbears had handed him. 
 
Lizbeth and Confidences 255 
 
 The school, meantime, was quite a success. The 
 pink-and-white teacher had pretty, dainty ways and 
 the children all liked her. Lizbeth helped with the 
 children and in the cookhouse, too. She was always 
 slipping in to broil a piece of steak for her Uncle 
 John or to make him a cup of coffee or do some 
 other small personal service. Lizbeth was an or 
 phan. Her uncle had kept her in boarding school 
 and from there she had taken training in a hospital. 
 She had had only her vacations with him until now. 
 She seemed never weary of doing things for him, 
 performing all those devoted personal services that 
 so many men miss altogether. He had much in 
 Lizbeth but still his life seemed lonesome, par 
 ticularly in the evening, when an open fire suggested 
 homecomings and family gatherings. 
 
 I sat one evening thinking about it as the fire 
 crackled cheerily and everything was quiet. He had 
 just come in from a long trip, and Lizbeth was at 
 his feet untying his shoes; she had brought his 
 slippers. She loved to do all these things for him. 
 She had a great big mother-heart, and it was ex 
 pending itself on this father-hearted man. Would 
 neither ever know a closer tie? Lizbeth was a 
 pretty girl, especially when her large, gray eyes 
 lighted up as they invariably did on her uncle s 
 appearance. As I watched her, she lifted her face 
 
256 Happy Valley 
 
 to mine. My question may have been in my eyes. 
 
 Her uncle pulled his chair up to the fire where 
 Dave Todd was waiting to talk over ranch matters. 
 Dave began to protest against the wholesale on 
 slaught made by homesteaders on the haystacks. 
 Mr. Regan had insisted on letting the settlers have 
 hay to an extent that looked serious for the Regan 
 cattle. Lizbeth came over to where I rested on the 
 couch in the shadows among the coyote skins. 
 
 "^You re sad often," she accused. "I wonder 
 why homesick ? " 
 
 "So are you often; I wonder why?" 
 
 "You look delicate. I ve wondered but you 
 never cough. Still that is not an infallible sign. I 
 never cough either." 
 
 "Lizbeth," I exclaimed "you!" 
 
 " Sh not so loud. It would worry Uncle John. 
 I haven t a bad case, but I inherited it. My father 
 was tubercular in his boyhood, but he thought he 
 was cured. It seems to have come out in me. That 
 is why I have given up nursing and insist on staying 
 here. Don t tell Uncle John." 
 
 "So that is the reason " I did not finish it; 
 but this explained Lizbeth s resigned look. Often I 
 thought of an early saint when I saw her going 
 about doing things for people with the serenity of 
 a nun. And yet she was young and pretty and she 
 
Lizbeth and Confidences 257 
 
 had a lot of spirit. It was the big, tragic resignation 
 of youth. 
 
 I returned confidence for confidence it was only 
 fair, though I far preferred not to talk about the 
 thing. I knew she sensed this; that she felt she 
 had almost forced my confidence and that the sub 
 ject would never again be mentioned. But the talk 
 back in the shadows while the two determined cattle 
 men argued by the blaze cemented a friendship that 
 was daily becoming more intimate and precious. I 
 resolved to help Lizbeth win her fight. She did not 
 get out of doors enough. I would suggest her going 
 along in the car oftener. Lizbeth should be won 
 out of her inheritance. 
 
 Long afterward I learned that she had made a 
 similar resolve concerning me. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE DANCE AT THE SCHOOLHOUSE 
 
 OUR old man got the mail contract and we now 
 saw him every week. Thursday noon he 
 would reach the cookhouse, driving his rickety buck- 
 board, and call blithely to Mother Clark as he hob 
 bled out. Then he would reach us again Saturday 
 on his way back from Two Forks. He carried the 
 letters in a shoebox and the papers in a gunny bag, 
 both resting on the seat beside him. Little by little 
 the buckboard began to fill up, however, with the 
 shopping he did for the homesteaders along his 
 route and for which he refused to make any charge. 
 I protested against his becoming the universal shop 
 per, but he looked at me in mild astonishment: 
 "Why, Billy, the folks has gotta have things." 
 
 Dear old man, there was a queer quirk in his brain 
 that kept him forever busy with the problems of 
 those about him, that prevented his centering on his 
 own problems. I imagine he had always made 
 money for everyone but himself. In time the home 
 steaders accepted his shopping services as a matter 
 of course, grumbling now and then when he had not 
 
 258 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 259 
 
 pleased them or when he was late, and few realized 
 that these extra duties consumed time that he could 
 hardly spare and for which he rarely received 
 thanks. But he was satisfied. 
 
 December made considerable history. 
 
 Mr. Regan s case was postponed until April. He 
 was under twenty thousand dollars bonds not to 
 leave the state, this man whose interests were so 
 closely interwoven with his state that he had seldom 
 left it during his fifty years save that he might push 
 through some, measure for its benefit. He had 
 hoped to have the trial off his hands, for he wanted 
 to go East to meet David Mill, head of a road which 
 operated to the north of us, but which had no hold 
 ings in Oregon. The old Oregon road had disap 
 pointed Regan too many times for further faith. 
 His hope was to interest Mill. The postponement 
 of the trial added another five months to the wait 
 and uncertainty; and in the meantime the dredger 
 sank more deeply into the marsh and the rust ate at 
 its vitals and the mud clogged its cogs and a fifty 
 thousand-dollar investment continued in its process 
 of disintegration. 
 
 December saw the Dutchman in a state of com 
 plete collapse; worry finally got him. Again John 
 Regan came to the rescue, sending him to a hospital 
 in Two Forks. The Dutchman s wife asked to be 
 
260 Happy Valley 
 
 allowed to finish the road contract. She had been 
 working right along with her husband. Mr. Regan 
 gave her the contract. 
 
 December saw the Book-farmer in trouble. His 
 funds were gone and he must find work. Mr. 
 Regan turned him over to Raz Poole. Raz swore a 
 round, picturesque oath and growled out something 
 about men being so thick in the bunkhouse now 
 half of them ridin round the bunkhouse stove 
 waitin for summer but Raz could have saved his 
 oaths. The school was in its last week, the pink- 
 and- white teacher was to improve her ranch and 
 I noticed that her eyes followed the slim, neat figure 
 of the Book-farmer as he followed Raz to the bunk- 
 house. I surmised that he would get a job more to 
 his liking and he did. 
 
 December saw the arrival of James Whitten, 
 Junior. Mother Clark, her face wreathed in a 
 wonderful smile of mystery, carried him to the cook 
 house for the buckaroos to peek at, poke at, or gaze 
 at, as most of them did, in awe and wonderment; 
 a little red, wrinkled squirm of humanity, with tight 
 doubled fists over which the skin hung loosely and 
 a voice that suggested disapproval such was 
 James. Old Sody in his perpetual following up of 
 leppies extended his interest to little leppy James 
 and pronounced on him as a fine specimen of a boy. 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 261 
 
 The leppy baby at once became the Q Ranch 
 baby and everyone accepted him as a personal 
 responsibility. 
 
 And December recorded my first trouble with my 
 little hired girl! It came about innocently 
 through Lizbeth. She had been out in the car a 
 great deal all winter and the fresh, crisp air was 
 giving her color. She looked less cloistered. She 
 was generally lively and spirited unless in one of her 
 despondent moods, and these had not possessed her 
 so often of late. I had found that these moods could 
 be dispelled. She did not nurse them, she tried to 
 avoid them, and she responded gaily to every attempt 
 I made to coax her out of them. Sometimes it was 
 with a half-sob in her throat, but still she would bat 
 her eyes hard and try to come out of it. Mr. Regan 
 had got over his way of sending us all off to bed at 
 nine o clock; he left Lizbeth more to me. Some 
 times when I had to make a trip to Two Forks he 
 would say, " Hop in, Lizbeth, and go along/ in a 
 casual way that left me undecided whether his object 
 was to put a check on me or to benefit Lizbeth. I 
 think very little escaped Mr. Regan; he was too 
 shrewd to miss anything; I believe he knew Liz- 
 beth s secret, which she thought she kept so relig 
 iously from him, but humored her in her illusion. 
 
 The day before Christmas he suggested a drive 
 
262 Happy Valley 
 
 around Happy Valley just to see that no one was 
 suffering. "We can t forget wells, can we, Billy?" 
 he said with a sympathetic laugh. At the last 
 moment, when I was ready to drive off, Lizbeth 
 came to the door with the baby in her arms. We 
 both realized at the same moment, I think, that 
 Lizbeth, since the advent of young James, had stayed 
 in too closely. The infant was now two weeks old 
 and Lizbeth was pale. 
 
 " Get into your togs, Lizbeth, and go along," he 
 said. "Wait wait a minute, Billy. Lizbeth bet 
 ter go along." 
 
 Lizbeth protested; the baby must not get into 
 bad habits; he must be fed regularly and made to 
 nap, and besides Mother Clark was done out with 
 all that work and 
 
 " That s so," said Regan, frowning. " That s so ; 
 Mother Clark s had it all ; that won t do ; can t let 
 Mother Clark be getting off her feed; she must 
 have help; bring Susie along back," he added. 
 "Her father can stay with one of his other girls; 
 bring Susie back." 
 
 Lizbeth meantime had gone away with the baby; 
 he called to her to hurry. It was a long drive and 
 we must be off before the sun melted the snow on 
 the mountain. 
 
 She came out wearing a white wool cap that was 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 263 
 
 pulled down snugly over her head and a long, hand 
 some beaver coat, a Christmas present from her 
 uncle. With her fluffy brown hair edging the cap, 
 a faint pink flush in her cheeks, and her large, 
 luminous gray eyes unusually lighted up over the 
 prospect of a change, she looked remarkably pretty. 
 She had a dainty, well-bred air that made me think 
 of Ennis. Her uncle, seeing her, smiled appre 
 ciatively over her appearance, then telling me to 
 wait a minute he went into the house and brought 
 out another fur coat, a great bearskin, which he 
 handed me; it was his Christmas present. He 
 would listen to no thanks, but busied himself tuck 
 ing us both in, even calling to old Mex in the cook 
 house to bring a foot warmer. Everything must 
 be snug and comfortable. Lizbeth leaned from the 
 car and kissed the top of his head and nestled her 
 arm around his neck in a quick, impulsive hug, and 
 we were off. 
 
 She was in one of her rebellious moods. I liked 
 Lizbeth in a rebellious mood. Too often she was 
 resigned and nun-like. Lizbeth was wanting life 
 today life and joy and fulfillment and she 
 wanted things righted for her Uncle John, and she 
 wanted them now. 
 
 "Always Uncle John is sacrificing himself and 
 always he is being fought," she said heatedly. " If 
 
264 Happy Valley 
 
 he were a bad man with a cruel design to do business 
 against the human race, he couldn t be more perse 
 cuted. It makes me perfectly wild! And all the 
 time he goes along so calmly and patiently ! " 
 
 "I wonder," I said, "if his being so persecuted 
 in trying to do good to people, and evil men being 
 so let alone in their evil, is not rather a sad com 
 mentary on our civilization. There are so many 
 more evil to flock to the evil than good to flock to 
 the good." 
 
 " I don t know," she said, in no mood to general 
 ize. " I only know that he is always thinking out 
 big things for people ; and all the detail he manages 
 to attend to think of his remembering the foot 
 warmer!" She wiped her eyes, for the tears were 
 falling fast. "If I die before before he gets his 
 ease in life, before his long battle is won and a 
 railroad gets in oh, Billy, it s hard!" 
 
 She rarely used my name. 
 
 "Lizbeth," I said I rarely used hers, I don t 
 know why "you certainly did need this trip. 
 Your nerves are upset. Why do you talk so ? You 
 never looked less like dying." 
 
 "I don t know; I am upset; I know it; if I were 
 my own patient I would order a complete change 
 for a few days." 
 
 " Then order it and we will stay over night with 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 265 
 
 Mother Lattig. She is a wonder and to think you 
 have never met her. We will drive all today and 
 have an evening with Mother Lattig and wait 
 better still I heard they were to have a dance at 
 Mother Lattig s tonight. They call her cabin the 
 schoolhouse the bucket-of -blood schoolhouse " 
 
 "Why the bucket-of -blood schoolhouse ?" 
 
 I remembered the origin of the name. It arose 
 from a now famous encounter with one Bullpit 
 whose nose had been bloodied. But I couldn t tell on 
 Bullpit ; Susie never had ; she had been silent about 
 him so I evaded : " Oh, it s picturesque, I suppose. 
 We will stay and dance and tomorrow drive all day, 
 taking Susie along, and then " 
 
 "What will Uncle John think?" 
 
 " We can send him word ; Ed s down there now 
 with a load of supplies ; he ll take the word back." 
 
 We talked along and I told her stories of Mother 
 Lattig. She bravely tried to respond and choked 
 back the sob in her throat and made an effort at 
 gayety. Finally running out of material I told her 
 of Susie s encounter with her teacher leaving out 
 Bullpit s name. It pleased her immensely. " What 
 a girl she is ! " Lisbeth exclaimed. " What wouldn t 
 I give for her strength!" Her eyes filled with a 
 look of wistful envy. I wondered if she wasn t so 
 well. At last she confessed. There had been a 
 
266 Happy Valley 
 
 hemorrhage a slight one, but it was the beginning. 
 She knew the end. 
 
 And then she became gay, recklessly gay. She 
 made me drive rapidly ; she teased ; she dropped into 
 the country s queer dialect, made up from that of 
 Germans, Swedes, and Italians, who were learning 
 their English from buckaroos whose English in turn 
 was highly colored with the language of the Mexican 
 drivers. She could imitate it to perfection and it 
 was screamingly funny. She was a feverishly 
 excited Lizbeth. I began to fear about the dance ; I 
 suggested that after all her Uncle might worry 
 perhaps we had better go back. 
 
 " No," she said with a defiant toss of her head, 
 "I am going to dance tonight and dance and 
 dance and dance you dance of course?" 
 
 "I haven t since I came West. Yes, I dance it 
 was in the curriculum. I began at nine, hating it. 
 But now I m glad." 
 
 "You are an awfully well-brought-up person," 
 she said, sighing, her head to one side as she eyed 
 me. "And I well, any way I always had lots 
 of everything that wasn t good for me. Girls 
 without mothers and with indulgent Uncle Johns 
 do." 
 
 We found our old man alone in his tent. He was 
 converting a kerosene can into a new chimney for 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 267 
 
 the stovepipe. The tent was cold he had had to 
 let the fire go out so he could work on his stovepipe. 
 The old pipe hole had split down and he had put a 
 patch over it, a patch cut from the legs of abandoned 
 overalls. The tent looked forlorn and lonesome and 
 a little despairing, as though it had kept up just as 
 long as it could without its mother-spirit. We asked 
 for Susie. Susie was over toward the hills inspecting 
 her traps. She had gone horseback. He showed us 
 a pile of skins, coyotes mostly, with a few timber 
 wolves. 
 
 " Susie s been right lucky," he said, scratching his 
 stubby chin and eyeing them speculatively, "Right 
 lucky." 
 
 I remembered that coyotes brought a bounty of 
 three dollars a skin, and timber wolves fifteen. And 
 I remembered Susie s love for wild animals and her 
 horror of killing them. Susie was feeling a 
 tremendous urge to make money when she would 
 resort to trapping. Our old man seemed to me 
 thinner than when I saw him last. He needed his 
 wife at home and Susie Susie was making 
 money trapping; Susie, who had cried so over the 
 trapped jack rabbits when they whined like babies 
 and plead with bright human eyes that we had had 
 to let them go Susie was trapping timber wolves 
 and coyotes. 
 
268 Happy Valley 
 
 " Let s go find her," cried Lizbeth, still in fever 
 ishly high vSpirits. " I want to see Susie. I want to 
 see her traps/ 
 
 Our old man pointed out the direction and we 
 started off. Lizbeth was the talkative one now. I 
 was sick with the sense of what Susie s trapping 
 meant. 
 
 We came upon her as she bent over a trap. She 
 had just shot the coyote we heard the shot ring 
 out and wondered about it. Her rifle lay in the 
 snow where she had thrown it ; she had not heard us ; 
 she must have been very intent. She was kneeling 
 in the snow, bending above the animal that lay dead, 
 its head against her lap. I stopped the car and she 
 looked up. She got to her feet dragging up the dead 
 coyote in her arms. She hastily drew her sleeve 
 across her eyes. She wore blue overalls, a much- 
 worn white felt sport hat pulled tightly over her 
 head, and a shabby bright red sweater. I sprang out 
 of the car and Lizbeth came tumbling after me; 
 Lizbeth, a picture of happy prosperity in her long, 
 luxurious fur coat, her eyes dancing with excitement, 
 and the little silk tassel tossing gaily about her head. 
 
 " Susie," I called to her, but she drew back as we 
 approached. Lizbeth, still feverishly excited, began 
 prattling gaily of a thousand things. She was in 
 that feverish mood when girls run on at random 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 269 
 
 never noticing where their shots hit. And all the 
 time she was coming across the new fallen snow to 
 shabby, forlorn little Susie, hugging her dead coyote 
 to her breast, tears on her cheeks, her gun at her feet. 
 
 " How cunning you look," cried Lizbeth, leveling 
 her camera for a snap shot. Lizbeth always carried 
 her camera. " Susie, what a perfect boy you make ! " 
 Susie s fine, straight well-rounded young limbs were 
 well displayed in the overalls. Her face below the 
 felt hat was boyishly pretty no locks ever escaped 
 from the smooth order of her flaxen braids and 
 bands and her lips were like coral. Lizbeth came 
 on and kissed her cheek, lightly. "Susie dear, I 
 just had to see you. How cunning you look!" she 
 repeated. I wished all at once that the handsome 
 fur coat I was wearing was back at the Q Ranch, 
 that I was in the habiliments of Happy Valley. We 
 were too well dressed standing there in the new 
 fallen snow. We appeared gay, happy, prosperous 
 people, and there stood my poor little hired girl 
 hugging to her breast a coyote out of which she had 
 sent the life that she and those she loved might live 
 my poor little shabby hired girl, who was really 
 by so much the richest of the three! 
 
 Susie went through the forms. Lizbeth turned 
 her attention to the dead coyote. Susie told us she 
 had found him with his foot broken and had shot 
 
 
270 Happy Valley 
 
 him at once. She hoped he had not been there long. 
 He was still fighting so probably he had not been. 
 She wished she could get more timber wolves for 
 the bounty on a timber wolf was five times that of a 
 coyote; and the timber wolves did harm; they took 
 the young calves and pigs and chickens. The 
 coyotes didn t do much harm. Her head went down 
 to the coyote s head, hanging limp over her arm, and 
 her chin caressed it. 
 
 Lizbeth wanted her to get in the car and ride 
 around with us making calls. But Susie insisted 
 she had other traps to visit. She had ten now and 
 she must visit them every day, for an animal might 
 be in distress. It made her housekeeping rather 
 bad ; she was afraid we had found the tent in sorry 
 shape. And all the time her eyes were just quiet 
 star eyes with never a twinkle in them, and her 
 mouth resolute and still. I asked her to drive the 
 car I had taught her to drive and let me make 
 the rounds of the traps. I picked up her gun and 
 began to pull off my coat. 
 
 "No," she said with firm positiveness, "I must 
 do it. I am prepared." She lifted her foot; the 
 shoe had been patched by her father. "My shoes 
 are scented ; yours are not/ 
 
 " Then we shall see you tonight," called Lizbeth, 
 going back to the car, for the air was sharp and cold. 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 271 
 
 " Tonight? " Susie paused; she had taken the gun 
 from me. 
 
 "At the dance; we re staying for it. You ll be 
 there, of course?" 
 
 " I will drive over for you," I said, getting in the 
 car. 
 
 "Never mind." she called back, "Father will 
 take me. Father would be disappointed not to take 
 me in in the buckboard." 
 
 We drove on toward other homesteaders tents, 
 but I could not throw off my own bad mood. " It is 
 all my fault!" I explained to Lizbeth about the 
 square knot that I had not known how to tie, and 
 Susie trapping to make money so her mother could 
 come home very likely. I told her how Susie hated 
 to see anything killed. 
 
 " Isn t the world just one great big problem ? " 
 Lizbeth swallowed a sob, "but any way, tonight 
 we ll dance; let me be gay, Billy, and and dance! " 
 
 It wasn t fair to Lizbeth. I cheered up and kept 
 the talk in lively channels. 
 
 Mother Lattig wept and laughed over us : " Lord, 
 I just am surprised," she kept repeating in her deep 
 throaty voice that always put so much feeling into 
 her words. Lizbeth was charmed with her, also 
 with her soup, also to see Tom again. Tom was a 
 good-looking fellow and spoke good English. He 
 
272 Happy Valley 
 
 had big, black eyes and sooty black hair, and pale- 
 olive skin with red lips, and the whitest large sound 
 teeth. To me the finest thing about him was his 
 appearance of perfect health. He was as sound as 
 a Baldwin apple. Lizbeth insisted he had a poetic 
 strain that was very appealing, but I still think it 
 was his physique. 
 
 The schoolhouse which now served for social 
 purposes in the valley, was in a state of preparation 
 for the dance. The furniture such as it was had 
 been moved out, the benches placed against the wall, 
 and the teacher s desk turned into a banquet table. 
 Every one was to bring something; there would be 
 a big feed. Mother Lattig was tremendously excited 
 over her spiced cakes and cookies. Also she had 
 made a great pot of her famous soup; she said it 
 would come in right handy after the long ride. 
 Many were coming from thirty miles away. Tom 
 had borrowed Susie s phonograph for the music. 
 We went over the records for dance music trying to 
 find some that were not scratched. 
 
 " It s more fun than a barrel of monkeys," Lizbeth 
 whispered, squeezing my hand as she put on a 
 record. " No wonder you like homesteading." 
 
 Lizbeth s mood kept up; and when the guests 
 began to arrive her hilarity increased. Lizbeth was 
 not laughing at these people ; they were her uncle s 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 
 
 273 
 
 people, of his country, and she was too much at heart 
 in sympathy with their hardships to smile over their 
 pitiful social attempts. I think she could have cried 
 more easily ; I think she laughed to keep from crying 
 
 sometimes. There 
 was the Dane s 
 wife, as lean as 
 ever, yanking 
 along a little girl 
 by each hand; she 
 had made a pa 
 thetic effort to 
 dress them up for 
 the party; and 
 there was Sol 
 Sneed drawing his 
 sleeve at intervals 
 across his eye that 
 would water ; there 
 were Susie s sisters, neat and brown and wholesome 
 in dresses brought from town two years earlier ; and a 
 row of little Dutch girls, all smaller copies of Leeda 
 who was more timid than ever, and more quaintly 
 dressed. Susie came late with her father Susie, 
 in an immaculate white blouse and a much-mended 
 blue serge skirt, looking like a high-school girl fresh 
 for a ball game, but with something gone from the 
 
 Leeda 
 
274 Happy Valley 
 
 little romping schoolgirl who had come into the 
 valley, something besides ribbons. 
 
 Lizbeth was a beautiful dancer; also she knew 
 the newer steps, and soon we were trying them 
 together. The rest sat down to watch us. When 
 we finished dancing they clapped vigorously, and 
 Lizbeth, all aflush and happy, her eyes shining, 
 dragged me to the floor again. I thought it was not 
 good for her, but she whispered: "Forget what is 
 good for me; let me be happy tonight." 
 
 I went to Susie for the next dance, but she had 
 it with Tom Lattig. After that Lizbeth and I had 
 several dances in succession. She wanted the newer 
 dances of play and jollity, and the others did not 
 know them. We went out on to the porch and 
 danced out there alone, feeling that we must not 
 interfere with the others pleasure, for invariably 
 when we started a different dance they stopped and 
 watched us. We were not of them, we were apart. 
 I over-heard one of the newer homesteaders whisper 
 to another, " Stuck up s ! " 
 
 And all the time it was to Lizbeth as a last wild 
 fling at youth and happiness. It was a pitifully tragic 
 night had they only known, they who envied Lizbeth. 
 
 By midnight they had forgotten that we were 
 stuck-up s. They were dancing with too much 
 abandon to think about us. Tom invited Lizbeth 
 
Dance at the Schoolhouse 275 
 
 but the other men were shy about asking her ; I saw 
 that she didn t lose a dance. Whenever Tom danced 
 with Lizbeth I tried to get Susie for a partner ; but 
 Susie was not her old self she seemed still seeing 
 the pleading eyes of a wounded coyote which begged 
 her not to shoot. 
 
 Mother Lattig announced supper and every one 
 found places about the benches that is every one 
 who was not helping to serve. All were in fine 
 spirits now; even the Dane s wife s eyes were alight 
 with something like pleasure, and Sol Sneed sniffed 
 hungrily and rubbed his eye every minute. It 
 seemed to water at sight of food. Some one, while 
 waiting to be served, stepped idly to the phonograph 
 and put on a record. It chanced to be that only 
 unscratched one of the old days : 
 
 Some one to love and cheer you 
 Sometimes when things go wrong; 
 
 Some one to snuggle near you, 
 Some one to share your song. 
 
 Some one to call you sweetheart 
 After the day is done 
 
 At this point Susie came in bearing a tray of spiced 
 cookies. She stopped in the doorway, then quickly 
 put down her tray and stepping up to the phonograph, 
 took off the record, broke it across her knee, and 
 flung the pieces out into the snow. I looked 
 
276 Happy Valley 
 
 strangely at my little hired girl it had been our 
 song! 
 
 I went out and got the car. When I came in every 
 one was drinking soup ; you would have known they 
 were drinking soup without coming in. It was very 
 good soup. Lizbeth was also having a cup of it with 
 Tom. I went over to her. 
 
 "I am going to take you home." 
 
 "But Billy! We re having such a good time 
 and they will dance till daylight, Tom tells me!" 
 
 " It is moonlight and I can make it in two hours. 
 We didn t send word to Mr. Regan he will be 
 alarmed." 
 
 She got up reluctantly. " Poor Uncle John ; and 
 it s Christmas eve for him, too and he s all alone. 
 Yes, let us go by all means." 
 
 Her recklessness was gone; her short day of 
 abandon to mere youth gone, too, as swiftly as it 
 had come; but the results of that day were to go 
 with us down the years. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 DARK HOURS 
 
 "YT 7HEN everybody else is sick, be well!" 
 
 T V I had told John Regan all that was in 
 my mind. I must leave the country; I must get 
 to town somewhere, somehow, and get a start at 
 something that would make money. Our old man 
 was failing, Mother Clark was eating her heart out 
 over the long absence from her family at sixty 
 eating her heart out with home sickness; Susie 
 Susie was killing wild animals and carrying their 
 haunting eyes in her memory to grieve over; poor 
 little Susie trying bravely to help. 
 
 It was useless for them to struggle on. They must 
 get out. The country was locked up tighter than a 
 drum. The railroad was not building in was no 
 nearer building in than it had been for thirty years. 
 Jim was discouraged now as well as Ed ; the Book- 
 farmer was broke; the Dutchman s girls were 
 working on the road like men. Only the foreigners 
 could stand it; the Dane was getting his ranch 
 improved; the Lattigs were making things go. 
 Foreigners could stand to eat potatoes and beans 
 
 277 
 
278 Happy Valley 
 
 three times a day; they could stand to work like 
 galley slaves, the women along with the men. But 
 it was too much to ask of American families. The 
 pioneering would have to be done by foreigners; it 
 was too hard for our people. 
 
 I must get away. I had some money coming to 
 me, and I must get away; I would work as I had 
 never worked before. I would get a start and help 
 the old man, help make up for the injury I had 
 caused him. I had been a curse to every one who 
 had ever befriended me. I brought only misfortune 
 into people s lives. It had had to be my fate to 
 bring this crowning disaster of disablement on our 
 old man ; I must do something. 
 
 We were driving along in the car to Two Forks. 
 Lizbeth was in bed with a severe sore throat and 
 I felt guilty for that, too ; I should not have let her 
 dance on the porch. 
 
 He let me talk it all out; and then it was he 
 turned to me almost sadly, and said: "Billy, when 
 every one else is sick, be well." I had nothing 
 to say. 
 
 "You talk of giving the country over to foreign 
 ers: you mean give it over to ignorance, to people 
 who don t know any better to people you ve no 
 conscience about killing off. You ve got the universal 
 point of view : Here we take so much pride in our 
 
Dark Hours 279 
 
 cities in building up our public-school system, in 
 educating boys and girls to ideals of luxury and 
 convenience, to modern equipment, to wholesome 
 food, bath tubs and machine conveniences and 
 then we turn them onto a proposition like this. Billy, 
 this is our country ; it s for our boys and girls ; we ve 
 got to make it fit for them for the kind of product 
 our own civilization is turning out." 
 
 " And in the meantime let the country grind the 
 very life out of people who are worth too much. 
 It isn t fair ! " 
 
 He said nothing. 
 
 "A man can t so much as shoot a wild duck to 
 keep his family from starving," I went on. "He 
 can t bring in a deer from the hills. He can t cut a 
 stick of wood. He can t force a railroad. He can 
 only sit back and wait thirty years another 
 thirty for some one man with the legal authority 
 to decide whether or not the country shall be opened 
 up. God!" 
 
 "That s it, Billy; that s it; that s what s got to 
 be changed." 
 
 "And in the slow march of time while these 
 things are being changed by men in the East who 
 don t know a damn thing about them and never were 
 hungry or cold or lonely or in danger in their lives, 
 let the Clarks die off the Clarks and others like 
 
280 Happy Valley 
 
 them the real citizens who would do something 
 for the country if they had a chance." 
 
 "You re saying it well, Billy; you ve got it all 
 learned right out of life which is the only way to 
 learn anything. Everything else is just hearsay. I 
 think I said all these things to you a while back and 
 they were just words then; you see you had to get 
 it into your veins live it to really know. They re 
 just words to those men back East, too. That s 
 knowledge, Billy; real knowledge which is just the 
 difference between what you learn out of books and 
 what you know from life." 
 
 "If the case goes against you," I went on, "and 
 you are not permitted to finish the canal " 
 
 "That ain t the way to figure, Billy." 
 
 "And in the meantime " 
 
 " Nothing hurts anyone, Billy," he said with great 
 patience, "but what they miss. Don t go robbing 
 these people of their chance to do a real thing with 
 their lives. Suppose they all pull out and go to 
 town: suppose they get jobs that keep them com 
 fortably housed and fed what will their lives have 
 stood for? Leave that roped-off-between-banisters 
 life for men without vision, Billy. There s plenty 
 of them, Lord knows. It s a big thing to unlock a 
 country. In all America there isn t another situation 
 like this one. It s a big thing to be the ones that 
 
Dark Hours 281 
 
 unlock it for Americans. Why rob them of doing 
 this big thing?" 
 
 " Mother Clark must go home." I fell back on 
 the original problem. 
 
 " I ve been thinking that too ; and get Ed s wife 
 up here." 
 
 " Ed s wife isn t strong on cooking," I said. " Ed 
 is a great cook; once worked in a bakery." 
 
 " Ed ? Can he cook ? Now isn t that fine ! Ed 
 isn t strong on wrangling cattle, Raz says, and we 
 don t need him. Put him in the cookhouse with his 
 wife helping. The school children go home in a day 
 or so. Let Ed and his wife run the cookhouse." 
 
 Even this let-down helped. 
 
 "I m hoping to bring David Mill in here, Billy, 
 as soon as the weather breaks. I d have had him 
 before but the indictment won t let me leave the 
 state to go after him. He is scheduled to make a 
 trip to the coast in his private car this spring and 
 I plan to go out and fetch him in to see the country. 
 You re right we ve got to have a railroad and 
 have it quick. Merriman has fooled us with his 
 surveys and promises just about long enough. We ve 
 got to get Mill interested it s the only way. 
 
 " By the way, Billy, when Mrs. Whitten is strong 
 enough I want to send her down to stay on her 
 ranch for awhile. She must prove up ; it would be 
 
282 Happy Valley 
 
 a shame for her to lose it; when that boy of hers 
 comes of age there won t be any government land. 
 I wish in a few days you would go down that way 
 and see that everything is comfortable. Get some 
 of the Happy Valley people to help put up her cabin. 
 The neighbors must take hold and help it s good 
 for them. Maybe you can get the Book- farmer to 
 do a little clearing and plowing for her." 
 
 " I think/ I said, smiling, " the Book-farmer will 
 not be popular with Raz as a hired man for the little 
 widow." 
 
 "You think not, Billy? Well, Raz d better be 
 looking after that ranch of hers then; but you go 
 down for awhile any way, Billy. Wouldn t you like 
 to go down for awhile? " 
 
 I was at work on the widow s ranch before I 
 realized the design in this. How we were all 
 managed by him! He had wanted to divert my 
 attention from going to town, once more get me 
 linked in with the soil and the future of the country. 
 I spent a few days on my own ranch, and drank 
 deeply of the spring water and planned my stone 
 house and my rabbit wire and my first crop; and 
 then I rode over to see my desert claim ; it lay as I 
 had left it, sheltered and beautiful in its snow- 
 mantled hills. I had got an extension of time, but 
 the well must be finished that spring. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WAITING FOR SPRING 
 
 WHILE the plowing and sowing and fencing 
 and straining and starving and building on 
 the future went on among the homesteaders of 
 Happy Valley, the atmosphere of the past clung 
 tenaciously to the buckaroo outfit at the Q Ranch 
 and similar outfits at the other big cattle ranches. 
 The sombreroed buckaroos and soft-voiced Mexican 
 drivers were all but oblivious to the passing of the 
 open range and the coming of the cultivated farm. 
 
 A wholly new people would have to tame the 
 land : these oldtime cattle drivers could never become 
 tillers of the soil. Governed only by the buckaroo 
 boss, the buckaroo is a prince of the range, a son of 
 the royal house of cattle. He will spend his life 
 running cattle and when there are no more cattle to 
 run in our country he will become a pensioner of 
 his cattle king or move on to Australia or Mexico 
 where there is still open range. He will never work 
 with his hands or tramp over ground on his feet. 
 
 And so as the winter weather began to break up 
 he again rode the range in happy unconcern of the 
 
 283 
 
284 Happy Valley 
 
 new life building up about him; he smoked his 
 endless cigarettes, he talked horse and dreamed horse 
 and spent his salary on gay trappings, for his whole 
 world lay open to a sunny sky and the whole business 
 of his life was to find deep grass and sweet water 
 for a bunch of cattle. The future? Would it not 
 be like today and yesterday? Would there not 
 always be a bunch of cattle to get into the hills, a 
 cigarette to roll, a song to sing, the open range, and 
 when the day ended the grub wagon and a pair of 
 blankets ? 
 
 Often in our long drives John Regan and I would 
 pass a buckaroo sitting a-hunch on his horse and 
 smiling amusedly as he watched with careless 
 indifference a prairie schooner dragging its way into 
 the country. The schooner would be leaking plows, 
 spades, hoes, women, and children. Sometimes he 
 would appear to be sympathetic; there was no 
 question with him as to what would happen or 
 what ought to happen for that matter. The country 
 would get them all right. He had no doubt of the 
 continual defeat of would-be settlers, the continued 
 reign of the cattle men. He was sorry for them, but 
 how could they be such durn fools, " disturbin the 
 soil that the Lord A mighty put grass on for cattle." 
 
 At the Q Ranch old Sody went solemnly about 
 intent on his many leppies ; and the little leppy baby 
 
Waiting for Spring 285 
 
 learned to suck his thumb and smile all over his 
 funny, boy face, and didn t know in the least that 
 he lived amidst tragedies; and the leppy baby s 
 mother continued helpless and inefficient, only 
 knowing to croon to her baby and look up with 
 startled fawn eyes that now smiled when the big 
 buckaroo boss came near; and the pink-and- white 
 teacher who spent much time with Lizbeth 
 laughed more than ever and her eyes shone more 
 brightly; and the Book-farmer, who was clearing 
 her ranch, seemed less bookish but just as one- 
 ideaed only the idea was a different one now; and 
 Bullpit dropped in on us occasionally for over night, 
 always jaunty, throwing out his calves and feeling 
 very sure of himself with open attentions to Lizbeth ; 
 Lizbeth amused herself with him, goodnaturedly 
 non-critical. Everything was temporary with Liz 
 beth she made no plans, living altogether as one 
 without a future. 
 
 I plead with her at times to talk frankly with her 
 uncle about her health. No doubt there were things 
 to do if one only knew what they were. She was 
 very pale but for two bright spots that glowed in her 
 cheeks almost constantly now, signalling disaster. 
 
 "With all that s on his mind/ she would come 
 back, " the trial in April, the effort he is making to 
 interest the Mill people, his perplexities over the 
 
286 Happy Valley 
 
 homesteaders, and the stock market lower than it 
 has been in years and interest higher no, no Billy, 
 I won t become an additional expense. I have cost 
 him too much already." 
 
 "But Lizbeth," I would reason, "you put out of 
 the case the value of pure affection. Think of his 
 grief if he should lose you." 
 
 But she would only turn this argument aside. One 
 day I reproached her with selfishness. " How can 
 you allow yourself to go out of life knowing it will 
 make such sorrow for others ? " 
 
 "Others?" 
 
 "Of course others." 
 
 She looked away and a mist came over her eyes. 
 Then, " Billy, I ve seen it happen so often. They 
 used to come to the hospital so hopeful, so sure that 
 now they had given up to come to the hospital they 
 would get well. And we always fooled them into 
 thinking they would. But nearly always, Billy, they 
 went down and out. We were just fooling them." 
 
 " When people go to a hospital they are generally 
 already down and out. You haven t gone yet." 
 
 "I had a teacher at boarding school, the one I 
 loved best of all, who went out of life in the same 
 way. She went about in her long, black robes always 
 coughing. She would smile and talk beautifully to 
 us of resignation, but all the time, I know now, she 
 
Waiting for Spring 287 
 
 was talking to herself, bolstering up her own 
 resignation." 
 
 "That is the trouble, Lizbeth; I never hit on it 
 before," I exclaimed. "You ve been educated to 
 resignation. Ennis is something like that my 
 sister she resigns herself to things put on her and 
 goes down. I believe why Lizbeth, I believe 
 that is a great big fault resignation. You must 
 not resign yourself to anything. The thing, Lizbeth, 
 is to build up a strong wall of a will against the 
 thing. It isn t anything good or useful just a set 
 of encroaching germs nothing to be sentimental 
 about. Build up your will to live ! " 
 
 As I talked I saw it plainly. Lizbeth had lain 
 down at the first approach of the enemy. She had 
 accepted it as fate, as a thing put on her by her 
 father and impossible of eradication. But she must 
 conquer it. If I could never do another thing for 
 her uncle in payment for all he had done for me, 
 I must do this, I must save this girl whom he loved 
 as his own child. 
 
 Lizbeth s eyes shone with a new light. "Billy," 
 she confessed, " I am afraid I ve made an interesting 
 young tragedy of myself. I m awfully afraid I have 
 indulged the idea of an early death. I ve thought 
 too steadily of how I love life and how cruel it is 
 that I have to leave it. I haven t thought enough 
 
288 Happy Valley 
 
 of of others, Billy/ she clutched my hand tightly, 
 " I ll try to get well for the sake of of others ! " 
 
 I confess to feeling a little foolish when it came 
 over me that I had only repeated Mr. Regan s talk 
 to me. But it bore fruit. After that old Sody had 
 a new responsibility; every morning I saw him 
 stumbling along to the ranchhouse with his cap in 
 his hand and in it several large fresh eggs. Lizbeth 
 was taking raw eggs and drinking milk, following 
 the rules she had learned in the hospital but which 
 she had long ago given up as useless and irksome. 
 And in the meantime we walked and talked together 
 and she cuddled down in the car whenever there was 
 an empty place, and the storing up of armament 
 against germs went heroically on. On one of our 
 trips to Two Forks I urged her to see Dr. Monk 
 who had attended our old man and me. He was an 
 excellent physician, a little, wiry, nervous man who 
 smoked cigarettes incessantly, but who had unusual 
 ability and kept brushed up on the latest eastern and 
 European methods. Invariably he returned from 
 his post-graduate courses to take up his work in the 
 big cattle country, for these people were like his 
 children. He loved them and they loved him and 
 he was deaf to all other calls. 
 
 Lizbeth agreed ; and when she had bound him to 
 secrecy, she told him about her case. When I 
 
Waiting for Spring 289 
 
 returned for her later she was chatting happily with 
 the doctor. The call had done her good. 
 
 " He says, Billy," she confided as she nestled down 
 under the robes, " that I ought to pull out of it, but 
 there is a German treatment he wants me to take. 
 He wants me to go to Germany with him this spring. 
 He says it gets ahold of slow, stubborn cases and 
 the change would do me good. He is like you, Billy, 
 he thinks my will needs to be built up and a change 
 is the thing to give me a new incentive. Oh, I d 
 love to go, if only Uncle John hadn t such a 
 tremendous drain on him. You know, Billy I can 
 tell you Uncle John is not a rich man. He is tied 
 up with all this land and what with his ditch and 
 heavy outlay for the settlers he is really close run 
 for cash. If I could only make the money myself, 
 nursing." 
 
 "In the meantime," I said, "let s work hard on 
 the armament keep on with the milk and eggs 
 and open air and rest only you never rest, Lizbeth 
 and maybe by spring things will be different." 
 
 She sighed, then smiled: "Yes by spring." 
 
 How many of us were waiting for spring; for a 
 time in the future when things would be different. 
 As I look back on it that winter seems to me a time 
 of passive waiting for every one but John Regan, 
 who was steadily busy with his country s problems. 
 
290 Happy Valley 
 
 He was away all through February, and I understood 
 he had been having conferences with Mill. He was 
 trying to do, so people who did nothing said, an 
 impossible thing : induce a rival road from the north 
 to obtain franchises and build into our empire. He 
 had had to wait a year for these conferences as he 
 was under bail not to leave the state, and the Mill 
 people had not visited the Northwest in that time. 
 
 Early in March a great excitement prevailed at 
 the Q Ranch; we received word that the Mill party 
 was actually coming. Lizbeth busied herself with 
 Mrs. Todd s help getting the bedrooms in readiness, 
 while Ed and his wife began a great roasting and 
 baking in the cookhouse. I drove the car to Ossing 
 to bring in Mr. Regan and his guests. 
 
 " Everything depends on this visit/ he said to me. 
 "Look well to your car while in Ossing. Have it 
 gone over at the garage. Don t run any risks." 
 
 I understood his meaning perfectly but I felt that 
 his warning was unnecessary. The visit of these 
 men might mean a railroad; and a railroad meant 
 life to the homesteaders. I was too intensely 
 interested in the outcome to feel the need of caution 
 or resistance; the thing simply could not happen 
 again. 
 
 Almost the first man I met in the hotel lobby was 
 Bullpit. Never since our encounter in the school 
 
Waiting for Spring 291 
 
 house had he directly addressed me nor had I him ; 
 but on this day he seemed desirous of being friendly. 
 He hung around and told me the details of his busi 
 ness. He was in Ossing with a car to meet prospect 
 ive homesteaders. He was making money, taking 
 the first gouge out of the hardly earned cash which 
 the poor devils brought in to get them a home. I 
 knew he was not careful where he located them. The 
 quickest and easiest way was Bullpit s. All too often 
 the stranger knew nothing of soils and was wholly 
 in Bullpit s hands. After dropping his few hundred 
 dollars into a piece of ground that required special 
 treatment, he would leave the country cursing it. 
 Bullpit only shrugged his shoulders over such a 
 departure and located the next man on the abandoned 
 claim. 
 
 I succeeded in avoiding further meeting with him 
 while in Ossing. At daylight with Mr. Regan and 
 the Mill party there were three men I set out 
 for Two Forks. It was a delightful, crisp, nippy 
 day and the pungent fragrance of pine and juniper 
 as we drove over the mountains filled the nostrils 
 and penetrated to the senses even of these city dwell 
 ers rolled in great coats and puffing at big cigars. 
 
 Always before I had seen John Regan in a 
 paternal role, driving and pushing and pulling and 
 coaxing. With these railroad men he met minds 
 
292 Happy Valley 
 
 that met his, that worked big and constructively. He 
 was the gracious host. He told stories of early days 
 and stories of the present day that made one sense 
 the great, empty country. He did not push his direct 
 object, the bringing in of a railroad; rather, he 
 endeavored to make these men see the country as 
 he saw it, brimming with wealth, laden with 
 opportunity. He worked to break down their pre 
 conceived idea of a vast desert of waste land. But 
 they had come, I presently decided, more in a spirit 
 of adventure and to please him than with the idea 
 of doing business. They liked John Regan; they 
 enjoyed his company; they were having a fine dip 
 into cattle land; but they had not come with a 
 serious purpose. It was an immense country true 
 enough but it had no people. There was no 
 inducement for a railroad. Besides these men 
 represented a road that had no holdings in Oregon. 
 This was their rival s territory; on this very trip 
 in we passed Merriman s surveying crews making 
 surveys that meant a stiffer hold on franchises. 
 
 "What do you want with a road?" one of them 
 demanded of Regan. "You ve got your life and 
 it s a bully one. Man, I wish I d had your life!" 
 
 They liked him; they were won out of coldness 
 and reticence; they were having a good time. And 
 I thought, after all, gifted as he was with personality. 
 
Waiting for Spring 293 
 
 with that which made men love him, why did he 
 grapple with the great bottled up empire, dragging 
 like a giant at its dead weight? How much easier 
 to go on living his own life; he was nearing fifty; 
 the open range would last out his days should he 
 drop the settlers fight. It would last out his days 
 and he could live like some baron of old on the great 
 Q Ranch with cars and servants at his disposal and 
 guests such as these who would be glad to gather 
 about him. Every one would admire him in the 
 role ; it was a big part on a gigantic stage ; Americans 
 loved such parts. He would gain the friendship of 
 the O. C. Company, then the indictment would be 
 dismissed, and his life would be one of peace. What 
 was it that made him buckle down to the fight of the 
 settlers, the fight for development ? It was something 
 strong and selfless ; the quality that makes all really 
 great men great, I suppose; an endowment of 
 monumental will power, constructive ability, insight, 
 vision, but with it all utter selflessness. Had his 
 qualities of mind been present with selfishness what 
 a man he might have been in Wall Street. How 
 every one about him would have succumbed sooner 
 or later to the sheer force of his dominating 
 personality. 
 
 By noon the three men were calling him John and 
 all but holding his hands. We stopped at a ranch- 
 
294 Happy Valley 
 
 house for lunch and at another that evening for 
 dinner. Afterwards the men sat about an open fire 
 and continued their talk. Mr. Regan called me in 
 to join them. It was a rare experience. He got 
 down to serious business. He pictured the home 
 steaders and their privations. He told his stories 
 tersely but with magical effectiveness. I had never 
 heard incidents so picturesquely related and always 
 with that little humorous philosophic slant on life 
 that gave them universal application and appeal. 
 Never once did I hear John Regan say " I read," or 
 "I heard," or "Some one was telling me" every 
 observation was ripped raw from life. 
 
 We set out for Two Forks again the following 
 morning. Several times one or another of the men 
 voiced my impression of the day before : " Regan, 
 you re a fool; why do you want a railroad? If I 
 had an empire like this all my own I d keep it 
 bottled." They now called it Regan s county. 
 " How does it feel," they would ask, " to travel two 
 days in a sixty-horse-power car and never get off 
 your own land ? " " Anybody over here ever known 
 to differ with you, Regan?" He was a big man 
 among big men. Long before we reached Two Forks 
 his eminence was established ; all three were looking 
 to Regan as the genius of the party. 
 
 Bullpit and his homesteaders were ahead of us; 
 
Waiting for Spring 295 
 
 they had gone straight through without a stop. He 
 came swaggering around plainly wanting to be 
 introduced. He talked in a loud voice within hearing 
 of the railroad men in Van Vader s lobby, and he 
 boasted of having brought in more settlers than any 
 other one man. Every once in a while he would 
 break into uproarious mirth that was very disquieting. 
 At last, getting no attention from Mr. Regan, save 
 a brief recognition of his presence, he came over 
 and button-holed me. He wanted me to meet a 
 couple of men whom he thought of taking down to 
 Happy Valley to locate. He would like me to tell 
 them something about that country. 
 
 I was willing to talk with the men. I gave them 
 an idea of what they were up against; of the need of 
 a certain amount of ready cash. Bullpit quickly 
 interrupted. " Let s have something," he said, lead 
 ing the way toward the barroom. "Come on, 
 Brent." 
 
 I turned away abruptly ; he laughed. " Come on 
 in, anyway," he added coaxingly, "that can t hurt 
 you." 
 
 It was a silly childish taunt ; it was a silly childish 
 thing for me to resent it and follow the men in. 
 The new homesteaders were serious minded, intent 
 on finding land and getting on to it. One proudly 
 confided to me that he was a barber with five chairs ; 
 
296 Happy Valley 
 
 he had sold out to go on a ranch. " And as good a 
 stand as a man ever had," he said, "but I got the 
 land fever." The other was a small, nervous 
 nurseryman, who had specialized in pansies. The 
 competition was keen and he hadn t the capital to 
 meet it. He had sold out to a rival company and 
 had three thousand dollars to put into developing a 
 homestead. We were talking homesteading when 
 Bullpit came to us with two glasses of whisky, 
 followed by the bartender with two more. The 
 bartender set them down on a small table which he 
 kicked before us. 
 
 " Here s to our new homesteaders," Bullpit airily 
 declaimed, lifting a glass and holding out the other 
 to me. I did not take it. " Oh, come, Brent, smell 
 like a man, anyway!" he said, and with that he 
 tipped the glass and spilled the whiskey on to my 
 clothes. I sprang up and struck the glass out of his 
 hand. The two men got to their feet. With a snort 
 Bullpit drew hastily back. 
 
 " Don t go getting hot-headed over nothing," he 
 said. "Only a joke just a little joke. Sit down 
 everybody. I apologize, Brent. A man can t do 
 more n apologize." 
 
 Every one had looked to our corner expecting 
 some real excitement. The enmity between Bullpit 
 and me was well known in saloon circles; there 
 
Waiting for Spring 297 
 
 would be a second fight or gun play. I was see 
 ing red. I now understood the design back of Bull- 
 pit s show of friendliness. He had meant once more 
 to get me drunk it was his method of revenge 
 and it would cripple John Regan. It might make 
 me lose out with John Regan altogether; it might 
 put him in the big car as driver even on this trip 
 drivers were scarce in the cattle country and this 
 in turn might supply him with information con 
 vertible into cash with the ever-spying Oceanic Cat 
 tle Company. 
 
 I had but one real responsibility : I must get the 
 party of railway magnates safely to the Q Ranch 
 and then out of the country. After that Bullpit. 
 
 I turned to go out and saw Van Vader. He had 
 just opened the door from the lobby. 
 
 " Wire for you, Brent," he said, without interest. 
 He held a yellow envelope in his hand. I went 
 quickly to receive it. This was the message from 
 Ennis: " Grandfather in deep trouble. Come at 
 
 once." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE OLD HOME BACK EAST 
 
 ON the train going East the old worrying habit 
 came back to me. What had happened to 
 grandfather? Was it a financial matter? If so, 
 what could I do? My ranch would bring little 
 money now, and it was all I had in the world. I 
 had no earning power back East. The most ordinary 
 clerk who had been back of a desk while I had been 
 ranching would command a far better salary. 
 
 I found the old home place badly run down. The 
 lawn was covered with dead winter grass which 
 should have been cut in the autumn. Weeds showed 
 between the bricks of the old-fashioned walk which 
 led up to the front door. Trees, bare of foliage, 
 rattled skeleton limbs against the house. They 
 needed trimming. The green blinds were tightly 
 closed; the house itself needed repainting. Every 
 thing looked neglected. 
 
 The door was locked. I rang the bell. There was 
 no response. I listened and waited. At last I heard 
 a faint stirring above the porch roof. I stepped 
 back on to the walk and looked up. A thin, white 
 
 298 
 
The Old Home Back East 299 
 
 hand lifted the window blind, and large frightened 
 eyes peered cautiously beneath. 
 
 "Claire, it is I Billy," I called to her. 
 
 She dropped the blind and I heard her step as 
 she ran down the stairs; she opened the door a 
 white- faced ghost of a girl with dark shadows 
 beneath her large blue eyes, and claw-like hands that 
 clutched at an old, faded cotton kimono which clung 
 about her like a wilted thing. It was early morning. 
 
 "Oh Billy," she cried, mechanically lifting her 
 face to mine for a hurried kiss, "You re just in 
 time. We couldn t have held out another day alone, 
 Ennis and I." 
 
 "What is it?" I asked, pushing my way into the 
 darkened hall. I wanted to throw open every 
 window blind and let in a rush of sunny air. " What 
 has happened to Grandfather?" Already I felt the 
 blackness coming over me, like the return of some 
 dread disease of which one had thought himself 
 freed. 
 
 "We don t know; something terrible we re 
 afraid it s his mind. He he doesn t know either 
 of us." She began to cry. 
 
 "My God, Claire, haven t you had a doctor?" 
 
 "We we didn t want it to get out. Oh, Billy, 
 if any one should know ! We thought with the three 
 of us we could keep it secret." 
 
300 Happy Valley 
 
 I gave Claire one look as she stood there shaking 
 with sobs, weak, futile, possessed by a solitary 
 passion, the passion for appearances; and I strode 
 past her up the stairs to my grandfather s room. I 
 could feel my lips my whole being stiffening 
 in a tension as in the old days but I wanted to 
 be kind to my sisters. I pushed open the door and 
 faced Ennis : Ennis, older than she had any right 
 to be, sharper featured, thinner, but as obstinate as 
 ever. She kissed me absently, her eyes roving. Was 
 I well? Did I have a good journey? I pushed 
 past her to the bed where lay grandfather. His 
 great frame was outlined under the coverlet, his 
 massive head lay quiet on the pillow, but his hands 
 moved ceaselessly, picking at the sheet s hem. I bent 
 over him. 
 
 "Grandfather," I said. He lifted his eyes, a 
 momentary light swept his face. I knelt beside him, 
 choking. Always my love for him had been two- 
 thirds admiration. He was so strong, so capable, 
 so everything that the rest of my family were not. 
 Again I called to him: "Grandfather!" 
 
 He turned perplexedly to Ennis: "This is 
 someone I like," he said in a bewildered wandering 
 voice. The puzzled look passed and he gave his 
 attention to the sheet hem. 
 
 T buried my face in the bed clothes. This, my 
 
The Old Home Back East 301 
 
 grandfather this, my home coming! In the rare 
 dream that had come to me the dream of some 
 day going back it had all been so different. I 
 rose and turned to Ennis. 
 
 "You must send for a physician at once." She 
 consented, dully. 
 
 There was little to be done. It was a break-down 
 so the physician told me of brain tissue, and 
 the end would come when the rest of his splendid 
 body should respond to the final decay of his brain. 
 Grandfather was not old seventy-five but he 
 had had financial worries extending over a decade 
 and culminating in the loss of his fortune. Early 
 alcoholism so I gathered from my talk with the 
 physician, a man of brisk manner and honest in his 
 analysis alcoholism had weakened the tissue and 
 left it unequal to the strain. An easier mind toward 
 the end of his life might have saved him this 
 humiliating withdrawal. Nothing could now be 
 done. It might be a matter of a few weeks, it 
 might be years. He had a wonderful constitution. 
 
 Each morning when I stopped by his bedside a 
 light would sweep over his face; he seemed glad 
 of my presence but he could not place me. Once 
 he said with a suggestion of his earlier manner, 
 " I had a fine boy a fine boy, sir. His name was 
 Willie. Willie would be here, sir, but he is detained 
 
302 Happy Valley 
 
 elsewhere." There was tremendous dignity in his 
 apology. It was harder to bear than his periods of 
 weeping and weakness. 
 
 He rarely talked, remaining silent for hours. 
 Some days he would dress and wander about the 
 house, restlessly, silently; again he would lie abed 
 all day picking endlessly at the sheet s hem. I 
 gathered from Ennis s account that the break had 
 been coming on for over a year, though she had 
 not recognized it as such. His perpetual gloom, 
 his long periods of silence and his desire to be alone 
 told me this. For a year he had gone to his room, 
 nightly, immediately after dinner having eaten 
 scarcely a mouthful and had sat staring vacantly 
 at his hands, until Ennis would come and get him 
 to bed. This was wholly unlike him he had been 
 a most social man, a great talker, devoted to his 
 family but loving his friends. What Ennis had 
 attributed to "worry" had been the beginning of 
 brain-decay; only when he ceased to know her did 
 she realize the gravity of his condition. The women 
 of our family had spent so much time being "blue" 
 as they called it, that she did not recognize the thing 
 as a disease. 
 
 I went into his business affairs and found there 
 was little left save the home place and this was 
 heavily mortgaged. It was trying to save this last 
 
The Old Home Back East 303 
 
 valuable possession that had broken him down. Our 
 home covered a block, but that part of the city had 
 been taken by business, and as residence property it 
 had lost value. However, it had acquired a business 
 valuation. Real estate was not moving and the 
 prospect of a sale was poor. The mortgage was 
 long overdue and the interest unpaid. Grandfather s 
 life was insured and this would be all my sisters 
 would have. 
 
 As I divided my time between caring for him and 
 attempting to straighten out! his affairs, I grew 
 accustomed to the idea of his going out already 
 it seemed that he had gone, so little was there left 
 but the majestic frame and this seemed shrinking 
 before my eyes and I began to plan for Ennis 
 and Claire. When the end should come, they must 
 close the memory-haunted house with its massive 
 oak furniture and its glittering family silver I 
 had forgotten what a heaviness of equipment 
 weighted the place down and they must come to 
 my ranch out in the last West. They must come to 
 youth and sunshine and light and open air, where 
 everything was at its beginning, where everyone 
 worked openly at his problem. They must have 
 saddle horses, they must make gardens I would 
 build them a house and they must forget that life 
 which they had known, which had been too much 
 
304 Happy Valley 
 
 dominated by what-will-people-think, and replace it 
 with constructive activity. 
 
 The very city got on my nerves. The crowded 
 subways, the herded men and women, the colorless 
 faces, the artificial life how repellant it all was, 
 how out of harmony with the promise of joyous 
 living that comes in childhood! And yet I could 
 not say even in my mind "Go West!" to these 
 hordes. There were the broad, free acres which 
 cried loudly for the healthy labor of these dwindling 
 hands, and the reward was more than generous; 
 but these people even if they so minded could 
 not be turned back to the soil. Without capital to 
 carry them a year or so the struggle would be futile. 
 Aside from the matter of railroads, there was a big 
 gap in our government s plan to settle the West. 
 The poor man, the man aching for his chance in the 
 world, the man who would be most benefited by free 
 acres, was hopelessly shut off from this opportunity ; 
 it belonged in the last analysis to the rich man, him 
 only. 
 
 And again, how little was the great empty West 
 understood in the East; how little had my grand 
 father known of what he was sending me into. 
 
 As day after day I became a part of the crowding, 
 milling herd that scrambled for foot room in the 
 subway, I thought more about life in general than 
 
The Old Home Back East 305 
 
 I had ever done before. What was it all about? 
 What was it for ? What was important ? and back 
 came the answer: Three wholesome meals daily 
 for every human being ; open space to live in ; clean 
 air to breathe; enough work to appreciate rest; 
 enough leisure to appreciate work; some of the 
 luxuries ; and the helping hand such as our old man 
 gave ; this for all men and women without fear. 
 
 Fear had been the great bugaboo of our lives; 
 fear and worry and inaction. Was fear the universal 
 bugaboo fear of the future ? Fear of the untried ? 
 Did not fear breed the rest worry and inaction? 
 
 Strangely, I met few of our old friends, so 
 completely had my sisters withdrawn into their 
 four square walls. They had dropped out of things 
 and things had gone on without them. It was as 
 they wished; if they could not keep up appearances 
 they preferred to be forgotten. 
 
 One evening when we were sitting by the open 
 fire the same fireplace in which had been reflected 
 all our joys and sorrows since infancy I told the 
 girls of the condition in which I had found grand 
 father s affairs. "There is very little money," I 
 said. " We will soon have to raise more for running 
 expenses." 
 
 They both drew long faces and sighed deeply. 
 Ennis suggested that I sell my ranch. " Sell your 
 
306 Happy Valley 
 
 ranch, Billy, and let s center everything in saving 
 the home," she went on, " the home where we were 
 all born, where father and mother died." 
 
 Something gripped at my heart. " It would not 
 sell." I answered her abruptly. The dreary old 
 home with its tottering foundations, its mouldy 
 walls, its massive furniture I could more easily 
 have set fire to it; and yet it had a certain hold on 
 my affections but a melancholy hold. 
 
 " Then what s the ranch worth ? " Ennis demanded, 
 impatiently. "What is all your work out there 
 worth, Billy?" she moved nearer me. "You must 
 stay at home now and take up business and keep up 
 the old home; it s your place." 
 
 The bare suggestion made me suffocate. "It 
 isn t possible," I said. 
 
 "Why? You made money out West, you could 
 make more here. Of course you must take up 
 your life here again, Billy, and live like a gentle 
 man." 
 
 I sat a long time looking into the flickering fire. 
 I could not make her understand what my ranch 
 meant to me. My letters had evidently conveyed 
 nothing. The mere fact of my hair having gone 
 white was a calamity that offset any good which I 
 may have gained from the West. She remembered 
 that our mother s hair had turned when she was 
 
The Old Home Back East 
 
 307 
 
 young perhaps it was a family trait but still it 
 depressed her and added to her complete assurance 
 that the ranch was not the thing for me. 
 
 As I sat thinking over the differences the things 
 I could not make my sisters understand a softness 
 stole over me. Poor 
 girls, neither would 
 ever know the joy 
 in mere living that 
 I had gained from 
 my tussle with ele 
 mental things. In 
 the firelight came 
 pictures my 
 wheat fields that 
 were to be, my 
 butte, nosing grace- 
 fully down like 
 some great animal, 
 prone and at rest, 
 
 the coyotes silhou- 
 
 , J J Susie 
 
 etted against the 
 
 clear night sky as I had so often watched them from 
 Mother Lattig s when they came nightly to the top 
 of my butte to howl, squatted on their haunches the 
 better to perform sturdy little Tenttown then 
 came a brave young face and eyes that looked 
 
308 Happy Valley 
 
 levelly into mine eyes that twinkled at times 
 like stars. 
 
 " There is Susie," I almost whispered the name 
 like some sacred word. Something the firelight 
 drew my long unrealized dream into words I had 
 not before spoken even to myself. "A wonderful 
 little girl, brave, fearless, loyal, the embodied spirit 
 of the last West, the spirit of the west wind that 
 some way has character in it. Some day I will 
 have her with me always." Somehow, some way, 
 the impossible was to be. I was to have Susie it 
 was all in the firelight. 
 
 "Billy!" It was a shriek from Ennis. "You 
 don t mean to tell me that on top of everything else 
 you are to marry that rough, cowpunching ranch 
 girl?" Her face was tragic. 
 
 "What will every one say," moaned Claire. 
 
 The low fire fell into ashes. I sat up and looked 
 at my two anaemic, attenuated sisters. 
 
 "Why not Lizbeth?" Ennis went on sharply, her 
 eyes flashing, her flat, thin nostrils quivering. " Liz 
 beth from what you have written me seems at 
 least possible. Why not Lizbeth ? " 
 
 I got up and went over to the window. Dead tree 
 branches were driven by gusts of rain monotonously 
 against the pane. The fire had flickered out and 
 
The Old Home Back East 309 
 
 Ennis economy would not let her put on more 
 wood. The room was gloomy; she was saving on 
 lights. There did not occur to me one thing in all 
 the dead past connected with that house to which 
 it would be good to cling. Nothing but melancholy 
 memories better a thousand times forgotten. 
 
 Further discussion was out of the question. A 
 reticence grew up between my sisters and myself. 
 We went through the duties each day, I dividing the 
 time between my grandfather s office and my care 
 of him, the girls attending to the housework, going 
 about with compressed lips and worried faces, 
 speaking in the low tones of a death chamber. The 
 gloom never for a moment lifted. It was strange 
 how alike the girls had grown. Claire would never 
 have the strength of will, the obstinacy, of Ennis; 
 she was hysterical, while Ennis was inclined to keep 
 a stiff upper lip, to make herself go through with 
 things. But in viewpoint they were one. 
 
 Grandfather s condition did not change. My 
 presence no longer brought comfort even to my 
 sisters. There was that something always between 
 us. We lived on a strain. They had apparently 
 made up their minds to remain " sweet," they would 
 have no more scenes, but they could not forgive my 
 descent in life. I had appeared well, prosperous, 
 buoyant. I could take my place again in the world 
 
310 Happy Valley 
 
 and reinstate my family and I would not. I 
 lacked family pride. Nothing more was to be said. 
 
 But it was the coming necessity of actual cash to 
 run the house that at last drove me back to the West. 
 I could return to Two Forks and earn one hundred 
 dollars a month driving John Regan s car, and this 
 I could send home for household expenses. I 
 refrained from putting further suffering on the girls 
 by telling them how I was to earn this money, a 
 thing they never could have faced and lived. 
 
 Before leaving I effected an arrangement by which 
 my sisters would be left in possession of the old 
 home until my grandfather s death. I closed up his 
 affairs as nearly as possible. The day I left I spent 
 the afternoon by his side in a last unavailing attempt 
 to make him know me. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 MOTHER INN 
 
 AT Two Forks a telegram three days old 
 informed me that Grandfather had passed out 
 of life the night I left. There was no reason for 
 my returning. The girls did not need me the 
 insurance money would take care of them and the 
 funeral was over. 
 
 I learned from Van Vader that Tom Lattig was 
 now driving John Regan s car. Bullpit, it seemed, 
 had left the country, the activities of certain de 
 frauded homesteaders having made life too uncer 
 tain in these parts for further dalliance. I decided 
 to go at once to my ranch. 
 
 Mother Lattig was all tears and voluble sympathy 
 over my bereavement, and happiness over seeing me 
 again. She was very lonesome with Tom away, but 
 Tom needed the money, and of course there were 
 more travelers now; almost daily she had guests 
 for dinner. She was making money. 
 
 I wanted something to do, something for my 
 hands, and quickly. I wanted to get to work, to get 
 back again into the midst of things physical and 
 
 311 
 
312 Happy Valley 
 
 constructive. The heavy weight of blackness which 
 had settled down over my spirit in the East had not 
 lifted. I must work out of it, work back into the 
 wholesomeness of the country. Mother Lattig was 
 declaiming on the number of meals she had served 
 since I went away. She kept the money in a piece 
 of lead pipe something Tom had picked up 
 somewhere which she drove "down into de 
 ranch." She now brought it in for me to see dug 
 fresh from the earth. " No white-livered pig will 
 steal dat you tink ? " 
 
 I congratulated her on her bank and suggested 
 that she have a sign, that we name the place 
 " Mother Inn." She slapped me on the shoulders 
 and squeezed my arm and laughed about it, then 
 stopped short in her affectionate outburst with, " Dat 
 fine plan ; you make heem sign ; I put heem up ; make 
 heem fine like you make for dat poor young man 
 we put down under de ranch last winter." 
 
 I went to the lumber pile and selected a smooth 
 board, sawed off a three- foot length, and bringing 
 it back to the doorway, proceeded to carve out the 
 letters, Mother Lattig watching and exclaiming and 
 approving at every stroke of the knife. It was 
 something to do while I tried to think out what I 
 should do next. I still had some money, but I 
 couldn t decide just where to begin, what to do first. 
 
Mother Inn 313 
 
 In the blackness that gripped me nothing moved. 
 I did not want to see anyone until this mood should 
 pass. I had not even stopped at Tenttown on my 
 way in. I could see no one yet. 
 
 We stained the board brown and painted the let 
 ters white and Mother Lattig was enraptured. The 
 work consumed the whole evening. In spite of 
 Mother Lattig s protests I went to my own ranch to 
 sleep. I was awakened the next morning by the 
 meadow larks singing their rapturous insistence on 
 spring. Never, it seemed to me, had they sung so 
 gloriously, spilled such a volume of liquid notes on 
 the air; and a bounding sensation of spring was all 
 through me. My cabin door, wide open, let in a 
 flood of sunlight on clean-smelling sage-scented air. 
 Life, golden life, flooded my whole being. 
 
 I got into my clothes whistling. I went outside 
 and looked about as on a new world. Life was full 
 of joy again. The air even in May was bracing. 
 I climbed to the top of the butte and gazed long over 
 the valley it was a cheering picture growth, 
 life, new beginnings. I began to dream. I should 
 build a look-out tower at once, and in it would be a 
 huge fireplace. Ennis would send my big leather 
 chair, books, pictures, and pennants from my old 
 den she had spoken of this when I left and I 
 would stay in this forever-land forever. 
 
314 Happy Valley 
 
 I went over to Mother Lattig s, all my being 
 singing in tune with the rhythmic singing earth. I 
 seized her round her ample waist and waltzed her 
 about the cabin while she waved her griddle-cake 
 turner, cracking my head whenever she could 
 manage it and always there would be Mother 
 Lattig. 
 
 " Foolishness on you, foolishness on you ! Any 
 one might tink you vas de one ! " she cried at last. 
 
 "I am, Mother Lattig what one?" 
 
 We stopped waltzing; she stood off puffing and 
 blowing, trying desperately to get words. 
 
 "Him Tom engage to Susie; you too much 
 troubled last night for silly gossip; bimeby 
 Whooppee ! " she made a great cradle swinging of 
 her big arms, "much babee play down on to de 
 ranch. Oh, mine gootness, dey burn!" And she 
 turned excitedly to the stove where sourdough hot 
 cakes were sending up a perilous smoke. 
 
 Tom engaged to Susie! For no reason what 
 ever there could be no reason the light died out 
 of the sunshine, the tower dream crumbled to ashes. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 COYOTE BUTTE RANCH 
 
 I SENT to Two Forks by a passing homesteader 
 for supplies. I meant to establish real bachelor 
 quarters and work on my ranch. Mother Lattig, 
 between ejaculations of violent protest, insisted on 
 initiating me into the mysteries of sourdough, and 
 presenting me with the rattiest of Hungry s pups. 
 
 Hungry had belonged to a traveler going south 
 in search of land; with rare prescience she had 
 remained with Mother Lattig. She was a mixture 
 of bull and collie, a fine watchdog devoted to the 
 Lattig premises. I don t know what her pups were, 
 but they were dear to Mother Lattig who had lost 
 her dog " Deck " and had not ceased bewailing her 
 loss until the arrival of Hungry s litter. I tried to 
 be appreciative of troublesome little Tyke and not 
 to care when he chewed up my only decent hat, an 
 imported English cloth, the like of which I would not 
 soon see again. In time I came to be really fond 
 of him. No man can be altogether desolate so long 
 as a dog loves him. 
 
316 Happy Valley 
 
 All summer I worked like a foreigner. I fenced 
 one hundred acres and put it in barley. I spent 
 much time on my desert claim and managed to 
 finish digging the well. The sagebrush there was as 
 large and husky as young juniper trees; it made 
 excellent wood, which I hauled to my homestead 
 and to mother Lattig s. I wore myself out so 
 completely each day that by night I had hardly 
 sufficient energy to cook a snack and respond to 
 Tyke s affectionate attentions. I desired only 
 numbness, and to be let alone. Every one was busy 
 and little visiting was done. The long, hard winter 
 on a potato and bean diet had made every home 
 steader alive to but one necessity, that of a good 
 big root crop against another winter s needs. A 
 few had cows, and their winter feed was also a 
 problem. 
 
 Occasionally I talked with travelers who stopped 
 at Mother Lattig s. I heard frequent criticisms of 
 John Regan. He was the only man in the whole 
 country who was trying to put through a definite 
 plan for a railroad, and naturally every move he 
 made was open to discussion. Had he only done 
 this or that, why, a railroad would have come in 
 long ago. Other powerful cattlemen did not want 
 a railroad. They were of the O. C. persuasion. 
 Railroads brought competition. Who wanted more 
 
Coyote Butte Ranch 317 
 
 people in the country ? Let the country alone. What 
 did Regan want to dig a canal for, anyway ? Served 
 him damned right, getting indicted. Had no business 
 interfering with Nature. Nature made the tule 
 swamp and she likely knew what she was about. 
 
 But the homesteaders were a solid front for John 
 Regan. " He does his part all right, Uncle John," 
 our old man would say. He had his doubts at times 
 about God and Uncle Sam, but he never doubted 
 John Regan. They all knew where they could get 
 grain or hay on time or an extra team when a horse 
 went lame or help in sickness or disaster. His case 
 had again been postponed. 
 
 And so the summer passed in hard work by day 
 and brute sleep by night; the fall I spent plowing 
 for the winter fallow. 
 
 One afternoon in February Tom Lattig drove up 
 to my door with John Regan. " Well, well, Billy," 
 the big cattleman said, "but you ve got a pretty 
 place here." Our hands met and his clasp was firm 
 and strong and hearty. " A mighty pretty place." 
 
 " It will do," I said, conscious of pride in it in 
 spite of everything. I shook hands with Tom. 
 
 " And you re looking fit, Billy ; a better man than 
 before you fell in the well. No wells on your place." 
 He laughed as he glanced at my spring. Then, 
 "I m just getting home; making the rounds of the 
 
318 Happy Valley 
 
 ranches, and I wanted to see you, Billy, that s all; 
 just wanted to see you." 
 
 "You ve been away?" He had refused to come 
 into the shack. 
 
 He laughed. " You re a real settler don t know 
 the news off your own ranch. Billy, I ve been work 
 ing with the legislature; working night and day; 
 it s the hardest thing to make them see it, but we ll 
 get it." 
 
 "Get what?" 
 
 " Why, you see, Billy, I didn t get much encourage 
 ment from Mill. It ll be expensive getting a road 
 through Roaring Canyon a matter of millions, and 
 Merriman has got it tied up it d be a fight such 
 as a railroad never went up against before and I 
 can t so much blame Mill; but just the same, Billy, 
 we ve got to have relief and quick. I ve been 
 working the legislature up to the point of letting the 
 people vote on a bonding act so the state can build 
 her own railroads. It s taken all the power I could 
 muster to force the privilege through the privilege 
 of allowing the people to vote on such a measure. 
 It will be a state-owned railroad. It s to be put up 
 to the people and we will have a year to educate 
 them on it. The trouble is, all the land is over here 
 in our part of the state and all the people are wadded 
 up in cities over on the coast. We ve got to get 
 
Coyote Butte Ranch 319 
 
 those city people to vote for our relief. Of course 
 it is their relief in the biggest sort of a way, but 
 they won t see it that way until it s pointed out. 
 Here they ve been working all these years to build 
 up machinery to do business, to build cities and 
 develop waterways for hauling, and they ve never 
 stopped to think that there will be nothing to haul 
 unless the interior country is opened up. What is 
 the good of a port with nothing to ship out? It 
 isn t what you ship in, Billy, that makes a country, 
 but what you ship out. 
 
 "Now, our work is to make those people in the 
 coast cities who are grasping for more and bigger 
 business see that our relief is their relief, that they 
 must vote bonds to open up our country for their 
 own sakes. They hold fairs and festivals and have 
 parades and advertise big for the country business, 
 not realizing there isn t any country business to 
 speak of. If they would put a railroad in here and 
 get ten thousand ranchers raising wheat and alfalfa 
 and shipping it out to their markets why, the 
 money would flow in to them. If we could head 
 a big delegation of business men over into this coun 
 try so they could see the homesteaders tents and 
 little patches of clearing that mean root crops for 
 bare existence for next winter, they wouldn t bellow 
 so big for the surplus ; they would see there wasn t 
 
320 Happy Valley 
 
 going to be any surplus. We can t get them over 
 here in sufficiently large numbers, Billy, but we can 
 take the story to them and take it strong." 
 
 While he talked a plan shaped itself in my head. 
 I would go with him if he would accept me. I had 
 been an easy debater at college they had prophe 
 sied great things for me in those days and I would 
 go into this thing with my whole being. When he 
 finished I said: "Mr. Regan, could I be useful? 
 Will you trust me in town now?" 
 
 His hand went out to my shoulder and he slapped 
 it heartily, at the same time chuckling his hearty lit 
 tle chuckle : " Trust you, boy ? To the world s end. 
 Come along. I ve brought the Book- farmer back 
 and he will finish your plowing." 
 
 On the way to the Q Ranch he outlined his plan 
 of campaign. We were to speak steadily in all the 
 larger towns and cities. He wanted me to tell the 
 story of the homesteader, his problems and his cour 
 age in meeting them. He wanted the public to real 
 ize what it meant to pioneer at the present time. He 
 wanted the public to get in sympathy with the man 
 of small means who was trying to make a home for 
 himself in the country. Already a thrilling speech 
 was forming itself in my mind enlivened with stories 
 Mother Lattig and her garden, the young man we 
 buried " down under de ranch," the Dutchman who 
 
Coyote Butte Ranch 321 
 
 nearly lost his reason over his disasters and hard 
 ships and his courageous wife who built the road 
 over Wind Mountain, the Dane s starved wife when 
 the frost caught her vegetables, our old man s lost 
 leg. I was thinking it all out, thrilling to it. 
 
 "You see, it will pretty nearly depend on you, 
 Billy," he said in his quietly dominating way. " I ve 
 still got that trial ahead of me." Again it had been 
 postponed. 
 
 We stopped by the dredge. It was sunk three- 
 fourths in mud and slime. He made no comment 
 and we drove on, but his face changed to an expres 
 sion of large-hearted anger. "It will just about 
 depend on you, Billy, to get the bonding act through. 
 There s not many wanting it they ll think of the 
 little extra tax it will add. There s nobody hot on 
 the trail over here that I can use but you. You had 
 a fine family back of you, Billy. It s grand old 
 blood; you ll be enlisting it in as great a cause as 
 ever fell to one of them." 
 
 How did he do it, so easily, so unconsciously? 
 Or was he a great conscious artist ? It is hard to say. 
 
 " Lizbeth ll be right glad to see you again, Billy ; 
 Lizbeth s pulled through the winter fine so far. 
 She s going away Lizbeth." 
 
 Did he know? He might and then again he 
 might not. 
 
322 Happy Valley 
 
 " Lizbeth s going to Germany with Dr. Monk and 
 his wife. It will be a nice trip for Lizbeth." 
 
 " It will be just the thing for her," I agreed. 
 
 As we drove in at the Q Ranch I had a happy get- 
 ting-back-home feeling. We met old Sody in a blue 
 jumper shirt and much shrunken overalls, peering 
 through near-sighted eyes as he made his way rap 
 idly with short steps to the cookhouse, a duck feebly 
 squawking under his arm. He only nodded, com 
 pletely absorbed in his latest leppy s difficulties. The 
 leppy baby was in a wonderful perambulator, crow 
 ing his lungs out in the sun on the wide porch, his 
 startled-eyed mother in awe of his greater forceful- 
 ness and yielding to his demands. The gong sounded 
 for dinner as we stopped before the ranchhouse, 
 bringing Lizbeth on to the porch. She came running 
 to greet us, very pretty in a long, white sweater and 
 a gray skirt that repeated the gray of her eyes. She 
 claimed perfect health. She was chatty and gay and 
 made fun of my shirt which I had bought of Sol 
 Sneed, who carried but one size, the largest, to ac 
 commodate his entire trade. She promised to cut it 
 over and make the collar fit if I would stay in bed 
 next day. 
 
 On the way over to the cookhouse for dinner she 
 slipped her arm in mine in a happy, confidential man 
 ner that was very engaging, and told me that the 
 
Coyote Butte Ranch 323 
 
 doctor had given her some surgical cases that had 
 helped her raise part of the money for the trip. " I 
 couldn t go, otherwise/ she said. " Poor Uncle 
 John is about strapped. Oh, but I am so much bet 
 ter, Billy, and it was you who started the cure ; you 
 made me see how selfish I was to die and leave him. 
 Who under the sun would unlace his shoes ? I shud 
 der when I think of his sleeping in them the rest of 
 his life. Why did you stay away so long, Billy ? " 
 
 "I ve been ranching," I said. "You should see 
 my barley." 
 
 She gave a final happy little squeeze to my arm 
 and ran up the cookhouse steps ahead of me. It 
 was good to be back. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE RAILROAD AT LAST 
 
 MR. REGAN S case finally came up for trial 
 and was dismissed. When the district at 
 torney got down to it he was so incensed over the 
 finding that he kicked the special agent out of his 
 office not very dignified proceedings for a district 
 attorney, but warranted. He wished the question 
 settled for all time whether he was to be a tool for 
 special agents or to be used as the machinery of jus 
 tice. Life was pretty unpleasant for those back of 
 the indictment. 
 
 The juniper wood had been taken from Jackass 
 Mountain, and the newspapers, finally getting busy 
 on the thing, dubbed it "jackass conservation." 
 They wrote columns on Mr. Regan s usefulness to his 
 state. They began to see in him more than the pic 
 turesque cattle man with a fund of inimitable sto 
 ries; they saw the man large and his design large. 
 John Regan s fight was for his state. He was block 
 ing only the plans of the powerful O. C. Company, 
 and this company meant nothing to the state s fu 
 ture. Its power was wholly local, controlling the 
 
 324 
 
The Railroad at Last 325 
 
 small handful of people who did business at Two 
 Forks. 
 
 After planning the campaign with me in Port 
 land, Mr. Regan returned to the Q Ranch. He had 
 to purchase a new dredger and begin all over again 
 to dig the canal through the treacherous swamps 
 and bottomless bogs of the Tule Valley. The old 
 dredger was useless. It must be got out of the 
 way, a crew organized and work started. This 
 would mean that the wood choppers would go again 
 to the juniper hills. Our old man would not be able 
 to chop wood there wasn t much relief in sight 
 for him but Ed and Jim were ready to run the 
 wood chopping; and Susie was provided for; she 
 would not be trapping coyotes and cats this winter 
 at any rate. I tried to be glad. 
 
 I was steadily busy all the rest of the spring and 
 summer. The bonds were not popular. No one 
 wanted his taxes increased. No one realized the 
 stored-up wealth of the great inland empire. 
 " Sagebrush legislation," a pompous young banker 
 sneered. "We ve no time for petty things of that 
 sort. What we want is an open waterway to the 
 sea." 
 
 " For what purpose ? " I asked. 
 
 " For shipping," he retorted in a tone that showed 
 contempt for my intelligence. 
 
326 Happy Valley 
 
 "What shipping?" 
 
 "Why, everything, of course lumber stock 
 wheat." 
 
 " What is the use of an open waterway to a locked 
 granary?" 
 
 " Any way," they would always fall back on this, 
 " our taxes are too high as it is." 
 
 It was an uphill pull. They were stone blind to 
 this way out for them. I found all the coast towns 
 suffering from hard times. The merchants had 
 over-bought, and the people were not spending 
 money. There were too many cities for the amount 
 of producing country. The more I traveled through 
 the seaport towns the more I realized what the great 
 interior country could mean to them. The two 
 sides of the state depended absolutely upon each 
 other. There were splendid natural ports with 
 scarcely any commerce, and there was the vast inte 
 rior region with no outlet. The thing grew in my 
 mind until the blindness of the people became un 
 thinkable. Everywhere I met the utmost lethargy. 
 Only now and then did I meet a man who could see 
 the thing, and only now and then did I meet a man 
 who had ever penetrated the great bottled-up empire 
 that constituted two-thirds of his state. One rail 
 road had purposely kept it bottled for over a quarter 
 of a century, and no other had attemped to break in. 
 
The Railroad at Last 327 
 
 This attitude of the railroads minimized in the peo 
 ple s mind the value of the shut-in territory. 
 
 Mr. Regan was with me at times. He was having 
 all kinds of trouble with his new dredger. There 
 were few workmen in the country able to handle the 
 thing, and he had had to get outside help. The 
 swamp was apparently bottomless, machinery would 
 break, and weeks would elapse before new parts 
 could be brought in. He had taken off his own 
 coat and gone on the dredger himself, working a 
 month to get the thing going. And all the time 
 there were those scattered all over the country who 
 stuck out their chins and proclaimed doggedly, " He 
 can t do it! * It had never been done before; 
 everything was new and untried; you never knew 
 what the soil would do, how the boggy swamp would 
 act. He had to show them that it could be done, 
 and neither had he a precedent to go by. Ditch 
 workers living away from their families became 
 homesick. There was no place to go after they 
 knocked off work; just the desert, the endless desert; 
 they were easily dissatisfied. There was the possi 
 bility constantly to be avoided of men throwing up 
 the job and leaving the dredger to sink into the 
 mire. So Mr. Regan had to be almost steadily on 
 the job. When he was with me our campaign took 
 on giant strides. His personality won the people, 
 
328 Happy Valley 
 
 and his earnestness got the thing in a measure under 
 their skin. 
 
 Another thing, he had to raise money to go on 
 with the canal. It was costing ten thousand dollars 
 a mile and this meant a weekly payroll of ready cash. 
 He raised the money by putting a mortgage on the 
 Q Ranch. And here entered his personal problem: 
 Suppose the canal were successfully completed, the 
 swamp drained and the arid acres irrigated. With 
 out a railroad to haul out crops this great body of 
 reclaimed land would continue as unproductive of 
 income as at the present time. Thousands of dol 
 lars would be locked up in an investment that could 
 not pay interest. And all the time the canal would 
 have to be kept in repair a two hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollar project for the convenience of wild 
 cats and coyotes! 
 
 A railroad had to come. The failure to unlock 
 the country would mean failure to every one of the 
 homesteaders, to every one of the toiling, hoping 
 men and women bent on making a home in the 
 wilderness. It meant failure to Mr. Regan, the 
 wiping out of a lifetime s work, a lifetime s fight for 
 the country s settlement; it meant the triumph of the 
 powerful O. C. Company, who under a blind kept 
 speakers in the field fighting the bonds ; and I could 
 not help thinking in this connection of one of their 
 
The Railroad at Last 329 
 
 small tools, the little red- faced, burned-out Bullpit; 
 yes, it would mean his triumph. 
 
 I had no idea of giving up the fight. It would 
 have been as easy to let a ship full of people sink 
 because one was tired of shoveling coal below decks. 
 I had no intention of giving it up; but more and 
 more as the months wore on, I wondered if it were 
 not useless. The people were not ready for the 
 bonds. They would look about at the unfarmed 
 patches of land along the coast and say : " Let the 
 ranchers come over here, where we already have a 
 railroad; our valleys are not thickly populated; we 
 can use more ranchers. Let them come over here." 
 It was impossible to make them see the difference 
 between the two sides of the state. To clear an 
 acre on the coast of its monster fir and spruce and 
 cedar would take more out of a man than to clear 
 one hundred and sixty acres of sagebrush. One 
 year s good work on a ranch in the interior would 
 make it a producer; one year s work on a coast 
 ranch would scarcely reclaim a garden patch. 
 
 They couldn t see it, or they wouldn t; the fear of 
 an increase in taxes was a black patch ever before 
 their eyes that shut out the larger view. Mr. Regan 
 began a personal campaign among the commercial 
 bodies if anyone should be able to see it they 
 should but each of these bodies was representa- 
 
330 Happy Valley 
 
 tive of its own locality. What would the bonding 
 act do for their county, for their town? These 
 bonds were to build a railroad over east of the moun 
 tains and their interests were west of the mountains. 
 Old Sol Sneed s " What s in it for me?" came back 
 to me time and again. He was of a numerous com 
 pany. They were pinned down to the local needs, 
 getting out booklets and pamphlets descriptive of 
 their own localities. They couldn t endorse a plan 
 to increase the taxes for something that would not 
 pave their own streets, build their own courthouses, 
 erect their own school buildings. They could not 
 see the possible millions of acres in wheat and what 
 it would mean to the state. 
 
 Mr. Regan s patience was wonderful. Always 
 quiet, calm, ready to reason, explain, or whip men in 
 into line, he never once lost his poise. It was the 
 patience of the desert, of time, of eternity; but not 
 the patience of inertia. He was busy every minute, 
 though never seeming hurried. Five hours of sleep 
 was doing him these days. He had no time for 
 relaxation. 
 
 One night he joined me after I had been speaking 
 before a suburban boosters club. He drove out 
 himself and took me away. We went into the coun 
 try and for a long time he said nothing. I was dis 
 couraged. The people had listened appreciatively, 
 
The Railroad at Last 331 
 
 but when the question was thrown open for discus 
 sion a little neighborhood merchant had got to his 
 feet and declaimed in Fourth of July oratory of the 
 neighborhood s immediate needs. He wanted plans 
 made for a local sweet-pea show and prizes decided 
 upon. He turned the tide against the bonds. 
 He was a merchant, but he couldn t see the local gain 
 in greater prosperity for his whole state. He was 
 pinching the nickels and dimes in his own bailiwick, 
 keeping them in close at home circulation. He 
 hadn t the understanding to realize that the basis of 
 prosperity must be in the soil. 
 
 I had been educated by experience and by Mr. 
 Regan. I admitted my greater opportunities. But 
 this did not make it any easier to have patience. 
 Why couldn t they see it ? 
 
 We drove along in the starlight. The quiet of the 
 night stole over me. 
 
 "There s nothing so good as the night," Regan 
 said at last. " The night when no one s using it." 
 
 After a long time I asked him questions of the 
 people at home : " See anything of Bullpit? " 
 
 "Oh, he s feeblin around Ossing." 
 
 His indifference in someway put the man where 
 I had not been able to put him with all my herculean 
 contempt. 
 
 "How s old Cruikshank?" All winter he had 
 
332 Happy Valley 
 
 been hiring men off the dredger, principally the fore 
 men. 
 
 "He s sick, I hear; pretty sick; cancer or some 
 thing." Then presently : " It s just been the cayuse 
 in Cruikshank; he couldn t help being a cayuse 
 instead of a thoroughbred." 
 
 And so this was the inglorious end of Regan s 
 lifetime enemy! But I was not permitted to dwell 
 on it. He chuckled in a way that always proclaimed 
 a story: "Old Sody, Billy, Old Sody he had a 
 right clever answer for the railroad men. Ever 
 hear old Sody s answer? You see Bullpit he 
 drove us down took Mill out to the corrals, spot 
 ting things. Mill had seen the Q Ranch orchard, 
 but he was skeptical about its bearing. So he says 
 to old Sody: How often does the orchard bear? 
 And old Sody, he cocks his head to one side and 
 squints up his watery old eyes, and scratches his 
 stubby old chin, considering like, and he says, at last, 
 real judicial, I ain t never known it to beat once a 
 year/ Mill had to come in and tell me about it, he 
 thought it was so good." 
 
 The laugh cleared the atmosphere. 
 
 "You speak well, Billy," he went on presently, 
 "you speak awful well; you don t use any of those 
 hand-picked words. I wouldn t wonder, Billy, when 
 all this railroad business is settled but what you d 
 
The Railroad at Last 333 
 
 go into politics. I d like to see you there, Billy, in 
 the legislature, and some day back at Washington. 
 You speak awful well, Billy and direct; no hand- 
 picked words." 
 
 It seemed a long time since I had climbed into the 
 car down-hearted ; and yet we were not many miles 
 out in the country, and hardly an hour had passed ; 
 but I had been sitting alongside him, alongside the 
 man who first put responsibility on me. 
 
 I should not leave the impression that it was all 
 a campaign of discouragement. The newspapers 
 gave us respectful consideration, and the two largest 
 in the state took opposite sides and carried on a 
 fight of their own that helped so far as publicity was 
 concerned. But votes were the things we were after 
 and so many were in the habit of voting "No" 
 on increased taxation, that I feared they would 
 file their " No " against this measure when it came 
 to the polls. The general sentiment was not 
 encouraging. 
 
 One night in January Mr. Regan overtook me at 
 a commercial club banquet in the southern part of 
 the state. The speaker had given me an opportunity 
 to present my subject and the men had listened atten 
 tively. Afterward there had been some clever 
 stunts and good fellowship was in the air. The 
 
334 Happy Valley 
 
 banquet was in honor of some publiicty men from 
 one of the larger cities. 
 
 I noticed the moment he entered the hall and 
 his entrance was a signal for an uproar, for he was 
 universally popular, his picturesque face and figure 
 being known from one end of the state to the other 
 I noticed at once a light in his eyes that was not 
 merely a response to their hilarious greeting ; it was 
 the light that shines from good news. Men sur 
 rounded him and he was escorted to the speaker s 
 table; every one pounded the table and demanded 
 a speech. With the light burning steadily he took 
 the floor and looked about the square of faces : 
 
 "Boys," he said, "I ve good news and I don t 
 know anyone I d rather share it with. Mill will be 
 building into the inland empire the first of next 
 month." 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 EVERYBODY S BACK 
 
 is the thing that had happened : Mill, see- 
 JL ing the prospect of municipal-owned railroads 
 in Oregon, had been working secretly for months to 
 get a right of way through Roaring Canyon. One 
 of his men, disguised as a sportsman, had fished and 
 hunted up and down the length of the Canyon, grad 
 ually buying up ranches and old rights-of-way that 
 had been secured by earlier would-be railroad build 
 ers and then abandoned. Regan had made him see 
 the country, but it had been his play to appear dis 
 interested. With the announcement in the news 
 papers of the coming Mill road, came a similar an 
 nouncement from the Merriman people that they 
 would build through Roaring Canyon at once. 
 Instead of one road we were to have two. 
 
 John Regan returned to his dredger, for though 
 the canal was through its worst experimental stages 
 it still needed his presence. I arranged to do some 
 special work at the state agricultural college ; I was 
 determined to make my ranches first-class producers, 
 and I had a great deal to learn about both irriga- 
 
 335 
 
336 Happy Valley 
 
 tion and dry farming. The study proved the most 
 interesting I had ever had ; soils, crops, stock testing 
 it was all live, vital information dealing directly 
 with the problems with which I had ignorantly 
 struggled. 
 
 A series of short courses were being planned for 
 farmers all over the state; this was the result of a 
 bill on which John Regan had worked for years. 
 The bill had passed and the fund was now available. 
 A lecturer was to be put in the field. The president 
 of the college approached me one day about this 
 work. He said he thought I was the man to do it. 
 The salary was not large, but it would meet my 
 needs. I accepted the offer for the following winter. 
 
 One morning in May a thirst came over me a 
 thirst for my spring and a yearning for the silence 
 of the great desert. I had engaged the Book-farmer 
 to put in my crop, I was not needed, but I was home 
 sick for my ranch. 
 
 And so in the course of a few days I found myself 
 riding old Sol up Wind Mountain. I stopped at the 
 top and gazed across Happy Valley. It was dotted 
 with green patches that told of spring- wheat on a 
 hundred ranches. Tenttown had almost wholly dis 
 appeared, replaced by a considerable group of stone 
 houses and board cabins. Further away toward the 
 hills, bright new white spots glistened in the sun, 
 
Everybody s Back 337 
 
 the tents of more recent homesteaders who had 
 flocked in since the Mill road was assured. I 
 spurred up old Sol and rode down into Happy Val 
 ley. The railroad survey had followed through the 
 center. Our old man had been right. 
 
 Mother Clark had her house. It was of pale, 
 salmon-pink stone, very pretty in the sage-green 
 country. Beside it stood a small frame building, 
 the post-office. I heard a piano, and before I could 
 dismount Mother Clark was at the door. She was a 
 picture of contentment. Her eyes shone. She 
 wore a blue calico dress spotlessly clean and ironed 
 till it shone, and a white apron edged with tatting. 
 Mother Clark s spotlessness in a tent had always 
 amazed me. 
 
 "Well, if it ain t Billy!" she called. She hesi 
 tated a second and I hurried up the steps. She put 
 her arms about my neck and kissed me. We went 
 inside. 
 
 " And a piano, too ! " I said, gazing about at the 
 large, attractive room with its open fireplace now 
 filled with wild flowers, its pictures cut from the 
 backs of magazines, and the piano. 
 
 "Yes that was Susie s doin s. She arranged 
 with the dealer as soon as she got to San Francisco 
 to have the payments extended and the piano 
 shipped." 
 
338 Happy Valley 
 
 " Susie in San Francisco ? " 
 
 " Hadn t you heard ? Susie s been away at school 
 all year." Her eyes glowed with pride. "Susie 
 she was always that set on it, so her pa sold his 
 desert claim and sent her; Susie s our last," she 
 added, half apologetically. Evidently the Clarks 
 had been criticized for selling their desert claim; 
 but it told me another thing land in Happy Valley 
 was getting a value. 
 
 "And how is Mr. Clark?" 
 
 " He s built up pretty well. He ll be that sorry 
 not to see you. He s away with the mail takes 
 him and Ed both now with a double team apiece 
 forty thousand pounds a week parcel post done 
 it." 
 
 " Forty thousand pounds then the contract is a 
 money maker?" 
 
 She looked a little crestfallen. "It ain t that 
 you see the parcel post doubled up teams and time, 
 but the pay s just the same; pa loses on it, but he 
 says the folks has got to have their parcel post, and 
 it won t be so long now two years they figure and 
 the railroad will be in." 
 
 I looked at Mother Clark s happy mother face, 
 and I thought of these two who had made it possi 
 ble for so many others to get ahead and who were 
 still unselfishly helping and glad to do it. She 
 
Everybody *s Back 339 
 
 was at last "set down among her children," and 
 she had a house and a piano, and our old man was 
 not being interfered with in his altruistic designs, 
 not knowing in the least that they were altruistic. 
 She went on to tell me of a new one that had ar 
 rived in Ed s family. " Ed s doin just fine/ she 
 said, proudly. " Got four wells on his desert claim, 
 and it s all in wheat. Couldn t get him off the ranch 
 now; says he always knew a ranch was what he 
 wanted. And Billy, you should see that baby!" 
 She bustled up and started for the door. Ed s stone 
 house was on the site of his original tent, and Jim s 
 was nearly as handy. 
 
 " Not this time," I said. " I ll see him later." 
 
 I rode on down the valley. 
 
 Mother Lattig had the largest house of them all. 
 The lower story was of native stone in contrasting 
 layers of pink and white and the upper of shingles. 
 I wondered at the size of it, but as I came nearer I 
 recognized the sign I had made. She was really 
 an innkeeper now. She came out to meet " the trav 
 eler," spick-and-span in a green-checked apron, her 
 sleeves rolled to her armpits, fresh from the flour 
 bin. 
 
 "Oh, mine gootness, it s Billy!" she screamed, 
 pounding down the steps, shaking them with her 
 great weight. The tears were in her eyes and she 
 
340 Happy Valley 
 
 laughed and cried together, then pushed me off for 
 inspection. 
 
 " Too white," she said, shaking her head. " You 
 not fed good, no ? You need soup, yes ? You come 
 in queek and I feed you. Gootness, how I feed you, 
 Billy ! " I was glad to be cried over and shoved 
 about. The large living-room was bare of furni 
 ture, but oh, so clean, and with quaint ornaments, 
 stuffed owls and birds, on the corners of the mantel, 
 and vivid green and red and blue mats crochetted of 
 wool under lamps and vases. The house looked dis 
 tinctly Hungarian. How each one was bringing 
 her household gods into her new home with the first 
 flush of prosperity. How the hearts harked back! 
 
 Tom was away across the valley building a house 
 for a new homesteader, but she was not alone; 
 Leeda was staying with her. Leeda came bash 
 fully from the dining-room where she had been set 
 ting the table. It seemed that automobile parties 
 stopped almost daily. There was a telephone now, 
 and men gave their orders in advance. I could 
 readily believe that one would drive a good many 
 miles for one of Mother Lattig s dinners or to sleep 
 in one of her clean, soft beds. She was making 
 money. She told me her daughter was coming on 
 the first train into the valley. She had waited a long 
 time for this daughter. 
 
Everybody s Back 341 
 
 Leeda blushed and stumbled against a bright-col 
 ored footstool constructed of tomato cans and cov 
 ered with the remains of an old shawl I had seen 
 Mother Lattig make them long ago and then 
 came on to shake hands. Her hand was red and 
 rough, and she had a hard muscular grip, but her 
 face was very sweet and demure in a shy, German- 
 housewifely way. She said her father was very 
 well now and all the family were doing well. Her 
 father had worked on the dredger all winter, but was 
 busy now with his crops. He had a thousand acres 
 in wheat. Leeda was evidently working for Mother 
 Lattig. 
 
 In the face of fervent and voluble and repeated 
 protestations, I rode on to my ranch. The last thing 
 I heard was Mother Lattig s heated denunciations of 
 my poor Tyke for not following me home. I turned 
 back and whistled to him, but Mother Lattig was 
 still belaboring him so unmercifully with her tongue 
 that the poor brute was at sea as to just what was 
 his move, and made none. 
 
 I drank from my spring, then opened the door to 
 my lean-to cabin. It was clean but desolate. The 
 Book-farmer had bached there. My wheat field did 
 not look so prosperous as did those of the other 
 ranchers, in spite of abundant water. Had the 
 Book-farmer been unfaithful, or had he not known 
 
342 Happy Valley 
 
 how to irrigate? I walked over the ranch and 
 braced up the rabbit wire in places where it needed 
 repairing. That evening I went back to Mother 
 Lattig s with my mind made up to improve my 
 ranch at once and bring it up to the valley standard. 
 I put in the evening re-winning Tyke. 
 
 As Tom would be away indefinitely, having sev 
 eral houses to build, I rode out the next morning to 
 a newer homesteading district in search of a man to 
 help me cut stone. I talked with several new set 
 tlers; they haggled over terms. This was different 
 from our early experiences when any work on any 
 terms would have been a godsend. Even the short 
 time which had elapsed since the Clarks and myself 
 had come into the country had made a difference; 
 the pioneers of this year knew nothing of pioneer 
 ing as we had known it. I finally found a man who 
 was something of a stonemason and was reasonable 
 in his charges. 
 
 Together we built the lookout tower on the butte. 
 We added a wide porch across the front and made 
 steps up from the spring, cutting them in the soft 
 sandstone. There was a great stone fireplace and 
 windows on all sides large windows which framed 
 pictures the equal of which no man ever painted. 
 The furniture and trappings from my old den at 
 home shipped long ago but stored in Two Forks 
 
Everybody s Back 343 
 
 added the quality of livableness. My books filled 
 one wall, and my reading table, lamp, and big leather 
 chair were all there. Scattered over the floor were 
 coyote and wolf skins which I had bought from our 
 old man long ago. 
 
 The place suited me. I did not mean to improve 
 the lean-to. It was good enough to eat and cook in, 
 and it answered for my rancher in my absence. 
 The Book- farmer had not been altogether satisfac 
 tory; but his own ranch had suffered, too. The 
 Book-farmer, I learned, had had a shock which 
 interrupted the even flow of his rule of thumb effi 
 ciency. The pink-and-white teacher, after com 
 muting, turned him down and went back to college. 
 A vision had broken through his previously undis 
 turbed serenity, impairing his usefulness. I was 
 sorry for him but I would find another man. 
 
 It was a soft June evening. I went up to my 
 lookout tower after dinner at Mother Lattig s for 
 a smoke, Tyke following me, now wholly devoted. 
 I drew the big chair before the open door and flung 
 myself into it. A golden summer haze lingered 
 over the wide valley; far away the higher moun 
 tains showed heavy, black streaks where the snow 
 was beginning to melt on their rocky ribs. The 
 green patches grain fields were like emeralds, 
 sunset colors flamed the sky, changing from crimson 
 
344 Happy Valley 
 
 to lavender and gold. I smoked and dreamed while 
 Tyke beat his stump of a tail on the floor, demand 
 ing attention. It was a good enough life for any 
 man, I told myself a day of work, an evening of 
 dreams, a pipe and a dog. Yes, it was enough for 
 any man it was enough. 
 
 The colors faded; the stars came out; my pipe 
 was dead; my dog snored at my feet; yes, it was 
 enough, it was enough, I told myself with insistence. 
 Listening, I could hear the low nestling sound of 
 meadow larks settling down for the night. Another 
 sound caught my ear I sat up. 
 
 There was a step on the stone stairway a light, 
 running step a figure brushed past the windows 
 it stopped in the doorway it was Susie. 
 
 "Billy!" 
 
 It was a new little Susie, more slender, older, but 
 with her old-time level look and her old-time im- 
 maculateness. She wore a white linen suit and a 
 saucy panama hat crowded down over her heavy 
 flaxen braids. 
 
 " Well, well, little hired girl, and so you ve come 
 back ! " I said, greeting her. I looked about. I had 
 but the one chair I had not planned for callers. 
 Susie promptly took the chair and I took the 
 doorstep. 
 
 "Everybody s come back," she announced, her 
 
Everybody s Back 345 
 
 chin in the air. What a saucy way she always had 
 had with her chin. Most chins are just chins; 
 Susie s was a distinct feature. Her feet were very 
 pretty swinging below her trim white skirt as she 
 swayed back and forth in the big leather chair. I 
 had always liked Susie s feet; and she was still 
 short I was glad. Susie s height had been one of 
 her worries. 
 
 "Everybody?" I repeated casually. 
 
 "The pink-and-white teacher and she s made 
 it up with the Book-farmer." 
 
 " Yes ? Then my crops will get better attention." 
 
 " And Raz from the cattle drive out to Ossing 
 
 and he s to marry the little widow and the leppy 
 baby." 
 
 "Good we ll have another neighbor." 
 "And Lizbeth I stopped for a visit at the Q 
 Ranch on my way in and she s brought home a 
 young doctor or rather Dr. Monk did, to be his 
 partner, because there are too many for one doctor 
 now; and and Lizbeth wants to see you very, 
 very soon ; she told me why ; she thinks," my little 
 hired girl dropped her eyes and began to finger the 
 fringe on the chair " she thinks you are all wrong 
 
 about it being best never to marry she says 
 when the will is built up very strong and there 
 are two to keep it built up and and I m sure 
 
346 Happy Valley 
 
 she loves the young doctor, even though he has got 
 red hair and wears big glasses that make his eyes 
 look bigger and dreamier than they are; I peeked 
 under them once," she looked away confusedly. 
 
 " Good Lizbeth, I shall go to see her." 
 
 " And Bullpit came back, too ; but the waxy man 
 got him; some difference they had over dividing 
 locater s fees. They said in Two Forks it was the 
 most unsuccessful funeral ever held there nobody 
 cried; they sent the waxy man to the pen." 
 
 "Poor old Ratter!" 
 
 "And Tom Tom s back " she fingered the 
 fringe of the leather chair. I deliberately filled my 
 pipe, but neglected to strike the match as she hesi 
 tated; and she continued to hesitate while I con 
 tinued to neglect to strike the match. 
 
 "And and he s to marry Leeda." 
 
 I looked closely at my little hired girl; was she 
 joking? She was furiously braiding the fringe of 
 the leather chair and in the dusk I could not see 
 plainly; perhaps that was why I could not get the 
 twinkle in her eyes. 
 
 I went deliberately to my phonograph. Ennis had 
 sent it, and in an idle evening of catalogue shop 
 ping I had ordered a number of new records. I 
 put one on and came back to the doorstep. It wasn t 
 a classical selection ; just an ordinary thing such as 
 
Everybody s Back 347 
 
 you hear every day. But at the first words Susie 
 suddenly ceased rocking, ceased braiding the fringe. 
 
 Some one to love and cheer you 
 Sometimes when things go wrong; 
 
 Some one to snuggle near you, 
 Some one to share your song. 
 
 Some one to call you sweetheart, 
 After the day is done 
 
 I couldn t make out even when the song got that 
 far whether or not the twinkle was there, for her 
 smooth little flaxen head was buried in my shirt 
 front and refused to be lifted. My pipe, unlighted, 
 lay on the floor, guarded jealously by Tyke. 
 
 Susie and I are building a larger stone house down 
 by the spring. She says it would be absurd to live 
 on top of the butte all one s life, and besides a man 
 needs a place all his own to go away and cuss in 
 when things go wrong. Maybe, maybe, but some 
 way I can t think things will ever go wrong again. 
 
 THE END 
 
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