THE LAND of LURE

A STORY OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER BASIN

By ELLIOTT SMITH

Author of "THE BELLS OF THE BOSQUE," "HULL 97."

1920
PRESS OF
SMITH-KINNEY COMPANY
Tacoma, Wash.

Copyright, 1920
By ELLIOTT SMITH

DEDICATED
TO MARIE SMITH—HIS WIFE

Although I was one of those who "Tried, failed and went away to try and forget, if possible," her unfaltering faithfulness, and endurance, made it possible for me to see and feel the things that I have written in this—HER BOOK.

—ELLIOTT SMITH.

Misshapen and dwaft by the pitiless rays of the desert sun.

INDEX TO CHAPTERS

The Land of Lure

CHAPTER I.

The early March wind was blowing with its usual force, and white wisps of clouds were scurrying across the barren waste that lay between the rough canyon, through which the raging torrents of the Columbia River forced its way to the Pacific Ocean, and the range of hills thirty miles farther south. The clouds seemed to mount higher, and take on greater speed, while crossing this scene of desolation, and graveyard of buried hopes, as if anxious to leave behind them the glare of the desert sands, and the appealing eyes of the few unfortunate homesteaders, who were compelled to remain on their claims until they had complied with the demands made by a beneficient Government before they could become sole owners of the spot upon which many of them were now making their last efforts for a home of their own.

The ever present sage brush and tufts of scant bunch grass, dwaft by the ages of drouth and the pitiless glare of the hot sun's rays, bowed before each gust of the sand ladened wind and emitted weird and unearthly sounds, as if the deported denizens of the desert were warning the white man against the hopeless task of trying to wrest from the jack rabbit and coyote the haunts over which they had held undisputed sway for ages.

Deserted shacks, formerly the homes of earlier settlers, broken fences posts, with tangled strands of barbed wire, each told their story of a struggle for existence, defeat and departure, more pitiful than all the stories of Indian massacres ever written. Here was a battle field, the opposing forces being poverty, courage and determination, arrayed against the elements.

Reinforcements, in the way of hardy homesteaders, were being constantly drawn into this unequal contest, armed with no other weapon than the ever abiding hope that nature would so alter her laws as to conform to this particular locality, lured by the sound of those magic words: "A home of your own," were ready to come into this deserted territory and take up the legacies of blasted hopes, equipped with new ideas, and seemingly fortified by the unfortunate experiences of others who had made the trial, failed and gone their way to try and forget, if possible, the ordeal through which they had passed. Trusting that the touch of the magic wand, in the form of irrigation, would cause the crystal water to flow, and convert the region into a garden of untold wealth.

The winter preceding the March, during which our story opens, had been an exceptionally hard one in the Central and Middle Western states, floods and other unfortunate conditions having almost completely destroyed the crops and thereby entailing a loss that was keenly felt throughout the region, and causing a spirit of unrest among the poorer element; a desire for a chance to throw off the yoke of dependents, as wage earners, and to seek fields of greater opportunities. The newspapers and magazines were filled with articles lauding the "Back to the Soil" movement, and the country was flooded with pamphlets and folders, in which glowing descriptions of the opportunities afforded the homeseekers in the far Northwest was given.

The railroads whose lines reached this vast territory were making special rates to prospective home builders, and daily homeseekers' excursions were being run over these routes. Trains loaded with eager tourists, bound for the land of their dreams, the mecca of their hopes, the happy land of somewhere; firmly believing that they, at least, had within their reach the goal for which they, and many of their fathers, had striven for years. To some, and in fact to a great many, this dream was to become a reality, and to those whose hardy constitution and indomitable determination has made such a transformation possible, is due the development of an Empire in the far Northwest.

It is with one of these tourist families that our story has to deal. Travis Gully, a man of middle age, had been born and reared in the county of Champaign, Illinois, and had lived but a few miles from the town of that name, he had seen it grow from a small village to its present state of importance. In the neighborhood where he had lived he was well known, and generally liked. He had taken but casual interest in things socially, and had mingled but little with the young people of his set. He had always worked as a farmhand, and had acquired but little in the way of an education. At the age of twenty-three, he married Minnie Padgitt, the daughter of a country minister, and had settled down to the life of a farmer, on a rented farm. At the age of thirty-eight he was the father of four girls and one sturdy boy, and was still renting, having made but one change in location since his marriage. Content to toil for his family, never having had aroused in him a desire for a better lot in life. The ambition for a home of his own, having lain dormant for so long, it is not surprising that, when once awakened, it was all consuming. The awakening came suddenly during one of his regular weekly visits to town.

On this occasion, being attracted by a crowd on the station platform, Gully wandered down toward the center of excitement, and beheld a number of his friends, shaking hands and bidding goodbye to others of his acquaintances, who he judged from their dress and excited appearance, were evidently leaving on the train, that had just pulled in and now stood with engine panting and clanging bell, waiting for the signal to leave with its long string of coaches, the windows of which were raised on the station side, regardless of the cold snow-laden March wind that came in fitful gusts into the eager faces that peered in twos and threes from each window. Faces that bore the smile of comradeship, whether beaming on friend or stranger. Some were an enigma; back of the smile could be seen traces of sadness, sorrow at leaving old homes and friends, combined with expressions of firm determination to go brave-heartedly into the great unknown country.

With questioning gaze, Gully approached a group of his acquaintances, who stood apart from the crowd. As he came up, and before he could ask the cause of the excitement, he was greeted by one of the party:

"Hello, Trav! Going with us?" he asked, with outstretched hand.

Gully seized the proffered hand of his friend, William Gowell. "Going where?" he asked. "I did not know you were leaving, Bill."

"Sure," replied Gowell, "hadn't you heard about it? Going to the Northwest to take up a homestead. Lots of the people from here are going," and he named over several of their mutual friends, who had sold their possessions and were taking advantage of the homeseekers' rates. He told him of the great advantages offered by the new country, and added: "Better come on, Trav."

Travis Gully, after talking with his friends, was astonished and bewildered by what he learned. A special car had been sent into Chicago, loaded with a display of the products of this new country, specimens of timber, minerals, grain and fruit, apples, pears and peaches, the like of which had never before been seen. "And just think, such land as produced this fruit was free, open for settlement. All one had to do was to live on it for a while, and it was theirs."

As he listened to these astounding statements, he asked himself: "Why was it not possible for him to take advantage of this golden opportunity? Why could not he, like so many of his friends, sell out and follow in a few weeks? He would see what could be done." And with this resolve, fired by this new ambition to possess a home of his own, prompted by the advice of those of his friends who were casting their lot with those of the homeseekers, he eagerly sought out each source of information, even to making inquiry as to the probable cost of tickets for himself and family, and after bidding those of his friends who were going goodbye, he watched the train until it rounded a curve that hid it from view, and promising himself that he would follow at the earliest possible moment. With pockets bulging with folders, maps and descriptive literature, he hurried home with the eagerness of a child, to prepare his family for their first move into the land of unlimited possibilities.

Gully, upon his arrival home, was met at the gate by his two eldest girls, who, after opening the gate, received the few small bundles brought by their father, and scurried away to the house to announce his arrival. He watched them as they raced to the door. Ida, the eldest, a slight girl who had just entered her teens, had been her mother's help in caring for the younger members of the family, had taken up her share of the household duties since she could stand upon a chair at the kitchen table, and wash the few dishes after each meal, and then care for the ever present baby, while her mother took up the never ending duties of her sordid existence. This constant strain on the girl had robbed her of her natural childhood and aged her prematurely. This fact was noted by the father in his present frame of mind as it never had been before. He thought of the advantages of the freedom of the far Northwest, and pictured to himself the fields of waving grain, and over-burdened orchards, as shown in the booklets he had hastily scanned, and thought of them as his own, as a play ground for his children.

Driving into the barn yard, Gully cared for his team; each little chore, as it was done, was accompanied with thoughts that heretofore had never been taken into consideration. As he hung up the harness he viewed it critically, and wondered how much it would bring at a sale. He walked around his faithful team and asked himself if their age would impair their value. When he went to the crib for corn he estimated the quantity on hand, and calculated its probable worth. Never before had he considered his small possessions from such a view point.

So absorbed was he in this new mental activity that he took no note of time, and he was suddenly aroused by the children, who had been sent to tell him that supper was ready. On the way to the house, in response to the summons, his hand constantly clutched the papers in his pocket. Nervous and abstractedly he entered the kitchen, where his wife was busily engaged placed the supper on the table. So absorbed was she that she failed to notice his coming in; not until they were seated at the supper table did she note the change in his appearance, and then only after he had made some reference to the fact that he had seen William Gowell while in town, and that he was leaving the country; that the Moodys and Lanes and several others of their acquaintance had also gone on the same train. He then told her of all he had heard of this great country to which so many of their friends had gone, of his wish to go with his family and share the opportunities. He went into detail and explained what the cost of going would be; what he hoped to realize from the sale of their possessions, even if sold at a sacrifice.

He talked on feverishly, forgetting the frugal meal set before him, forgetting the tired children, who, little knowing the important part this proposed move was to play in their future, had eaten their supper, and all but the two eldest were nodding in their chairs. He showed his wife and the two oldest girls the illustrations in the folders, showing the pictures of just such farms as the last few hours had convinced him he might own.

Seizing a teaspoon from his untouched cup of coffee, he used the handle to point out rows of—to them meaningless—figures, compiled to show the millions of feet of timber, tons of grain and fruit produced. To him it was equally meaningless, except in a vague way. His untrained mind was incapable of grasping the extent of the information conveyed, but he had accepted it all as simple facts, for had not Gowell, Moody and Lane acknowledged their faith in it by going. Thus he talked on until exhausted. The family retired at an unusual hour, the wife and children to wonder what it was all about, and he to toss restlessly from the effects of an over exhausted mind.

He arose early the following morning, having formulated his plans during the restless night, and immediately began to put them into execution. He had decided to hold a public sale the following Saturday, and if successful, would be on his way to his future home the next Monday, on which date he had learned another homeseekers' excursion would come through his home town. To accomplish this would require rapid work, and before breakfast on the morning following this resolve, he was up assembling his few belongings, getting them in shape for the sale. Old farming implements were pulled from long forgotten nooks and corners, incomplete sets of harness and bridles were being over hauled and made fit to bring the best possible price, the flock of poultry was counted and an estimate made of their probable value, the two cows, with their calves, the three pigs, kept over to provide the following winter's supply of meat, his team, wagon and harness, together with his household goods, constituted his earthly possessions.

The few days following the hastily made plans were filled with incidents that tried the patience of the tired wife and mother. To her it was all like a dream. It was the first time she had ever been taken into her husband's confidence or been consulted as to his plans for the future. She did not realize that she was expected to express an opinion as to the wisdom of the proposed move; if he said it was advisable the matter was settled.

The constant demand on both her and the older children for assistance in assembling the various articles intended for the sale was met with unquestioning silence, and not until her aged father and mother came to see if the rumors of their departure which had reached them were true, did she realize to the fullest extent what her going away really meant; that it meant the leaving behind those aged parents, from whom she had never been separated except for a few miles; that it meant the severance of all the ties and scenes with which she had been associated from her earliest recollection to the present time.

The realization of this fact came upon her with a sudden shock that stirred within her the first semblence of rebellion that her simple nature had ever shown. To this feeling of remonstrance she gave way but for a moment, then with violent weeping she threw herself down at her mother's knee, and with her head buried in the aged woman's lap, the cradle of comfort she had always known, she vowed she would not go. "Travis was wrong; they were doing well enough where they were; father must stop him, and not let him sell everything and go away," but when the aged mother placed her trembling hand upon the bowed head and assured her that "Travis knew what was best, it was probably a wise move, she and father had talked the matter over as soon as they had heard that they were going, and regretted that they were not at an age, to accompany them. She must do as her husband said for his and the children's sakes, and then too," she added, "perhaps father and I can come later, after you are settled in your new home." With this assurance the kind old mother comforted her weeping daughter, who, after recovering from her first and only outbreak, arose and resumed her duties with such an attitude of utter indifference that her husband and father, who had been looking over the articles arranged for the sale the following day, saw no evidence of her grief upon returning to the house a few moments after the occurrence.

Gully's enthusiasm, as he discussed with his wife's father and mother the advantages of the new country to which he was going, knew no bounds. He had acquired from his constant reference to the descriptive literature he had in his possession a fund of facts and figures that were most convincing, and he referred them unhesitatingly to persons who had seen this exhibition car while on its tour, and who could verify the statements as set forth in the circulars. Thus he talked on until long after the supper, to which the old people had stayed, was over, and after promising to return the following day to be present at the sale, they had driven home.

CHAPTER II.

The notices of sale, which had been posted throughout the neighborhood, was held the following day. The attendance was good, and its success, financially, exceeded Travis Gully's expectations, bringing him a much larger amount than he had hoped to realize. This was no doubt due to the spirited bidding of numerous relatives and friends, who chose this method of aiding the departing family.

After the last of those who had bought had taken their purchases and departed, and but a few of the idle curious remained, viewing the small pile of articles that had proven unsalable, the reaction came to Travis Gully in a manner that fairly staggered him. As he beheld this remnant of his years of accumulation of personal effects laying discarded and rejected by all, he glanced in the direction of his huddled wife and children, who were awaiting the departure of the vehicle which was to carry them to her parents home. Haggard and dejected they looked. He had not counted on the effect on them, and it smote him. "Oh, well, they would soon be settled again, and in a home of their own, where every nail that was driven, every tree that was planted, would be for them, and would be theirs." With this consoling thought, he thrust his hand into his pocket and walked toward the barn. He started as his finger tips came in contact with the money, the proceeds of the sale. Drawing it forth, he held it for a moment and stared. This, then, was the price of his wife and children's content; t'was for the acquirement of this that he had dispoiled their poor little home, and they were, at that very moment, looking regretfully at the little pile of rubbish, each and every article of which, though refused by others, could be associated with some pleasant moment of their lives.

Returning the money to his pocket, and with such thoughts as the above filling his mind, he entered the barn. There, too, he was overcome with a feeling of loneliness; the empty stalls where for years his team had stood, the unfinished feed of hay in the manger just as they had left it when those faithful creatures had been led away by the hand of new owners; the cobs from which the corn had been eagerly bitten were still damp from contact with the mouths that had yielded so willingly to his guiding hand. Noting each little detail as it gnawed its way into his soul, he broke down, and with bowed head he wept as only a grief stricken man can, and thus they found him when he was sought, to tell him that they were ready to take him and his family, for the last time, from the home they had occupied for so many years.

The few unsold articles of household goods and those reserved to be taken on the trip, together with the family, were taken to the home of Mrs. Gully's parents, where they were to remain until final preparations for the journey were completed. The evening after and the day following the sale were both long to be remembered periods in the lives of those concerned. At intervals friends or relatives would call to bid farewell, and to wish the Gullys Godspeed on their journey. At such times the subject of the trip was taken up and discussed, but was referred to at other times as seldom as possible.

The term "The Northwest" was usually applied in a general way. None of those directly interested seemed to appreciate the vast area comprising this territory. Their conception of it was confined to an area about the size of the county in which they lived, or at best, a portion of their home state. They readily received and promised to deliver messages to those of their neighborhood who had preceded them on the journey.

The selection of a final destination was the question of most importance. The states of Montana, Idaho, Washington and Oregon each offered exceptional opportunities to the homesteaders with limited means. So after deciding to buy through tickets to a coast point, with stopover privilege, there was nothing to do but await the day of departure.

At last the Monday came that was to be an epoch in the lives of Travis Gully and his family. It being but a few miles to the station, an early noonday meal was eaten, bounteous supplies of lunches were stored neatly away for the travelers who, with their various trunks, satchels and bundles, were loaded into a wagon and sent to the village earlier in the day, the family following after lunch. The intervening time between their arrival at the station and that of the train upon which they were going was one of intense excitement. The unaccustomed ordeal of purchasing tickets, reserving berths in the tourist sleeper, and checking the baggage, together with constant interruptions with offers of well meant advice and suggestions from their friends, kept nerves strained to the breaking point.

At the sound of the whistle of the incoming train, hearts throbbed wildly, or missed a stroke; the children were hurriedly embraced, the parting kiss and tender final pat given; the mother and father came forward to bid Gully and his wife goodbye; then pent up feeling broke their bonds and mother and daughter wept in each others arms. Amid this scene of sorrow, excitement and flurry the train, with grinding brakes, hissing air valves and clanging bell, drew up to the station and stopped.

The time between the stopping of the train and the conductors deep, gutteral, "All aboard," seemed but the briefest, yet 'twas ample, and with final good-byes said and tears hastily dried, they were bundled helter skelter into their seats, and with the waving of many hands from the station platform, they were on their way.

As the train's speed increased and familiar objects were being rapidly left behind, with new and strange landscapes being reeled off, the children, with eager faces pressed closely to the car windows, gave joyous expressions of childish delight, while the mother sat silent, oblivious to her surroundings.

Travis Gully, with his newborn spirit of independent manhood struggling within him, sat stolidly awaiting the approaching conductor, as if uncertain of the fact that he was really going, until he had submitted the mass of yellow and green strips of cardboard, which he was firmly clutching in his hand, to that official for inspection.

Settled down at last for the long journey over new country, the constant change of new scenes and experiences kept the family entertained and their minds diverted from their personal discomforts, and they soon gave evidence of interest and delight. The wife's spirits being thus revived, she viewed the panorama of passing scenes with ever increasing interest, and discussed her future plans and hopes with feverish eagerness. As their first night as tourists approached, and the outer world was shut out by darkness, the berths were made ready by the deft hands of the train porter, and both upper and lower sections were huddled full of drowsy and fretful children. The unaccustomed noise and noisome atmosphere gave but little promise of rest for the tired father and mother. Long into the night they lay awake, their minds filled with hope, fear and uncertainty, that crowded their way to the front with such rapidly changing sensations that exhaustion finally overcame them, and with the constant rattle of the train, as it crossed the joints in the rails, dinning its way into their benumbed brains, they sank into unconsciousness.

Morning found them but little refreshed, but after partaking of the steaming coffee, prepared on a stove with which the car was equipped for the purpose, and eating a hearty meal, they took note of the changed appearance of the country through which they were passing. Miles and miles of flat level country, partially covered with snow, drifted by the winter wind, with an occasional spot swept bare, which showed the brown stubble of the wheat field or plowed ground made ready for the spring planting. Fences were rare, and looking out across the country, the home could be seen, and they appeared miles apart; straw stacks, around which frowsey haired horses and cattle stood, dotted the landscape.

The afternoon of their second day out the blue foothills of the Rockies could be seen in the distance, and as they gradually drew nearer, they were whirled through miles of barren waste of sage brush, the shrub that was to play an ever active part in their future lives.

The three days following were much the same; over mountains, valleys, plains and steams they were speeded until, becoming inured to the constant changes, they ceased to comment. The grandure of the scenery did not appeal to their undeveloped finer senses; they were simply awed by its vastness.

The morning of their arrival at Wenatchee, Washington, the point chosen for their first stop, was bright and clear. The fresh mountain air swept down from the pine covered slopes of the hills that surrounded one of the most fertile valleys in the state, in the heart of which nestled the little city, justly famed for its magnificent fruit. Miles of splendid orchards, starting at the very threshold of the business blocks, extended back to the hills on both sides of the valley. The low drone of the bees as they swarmed forth among the fast swelling buds in quest of the first sip of nectar, mingled with the roar of the turbulent Columbia river, and made music that soothed the tired travelers as nothing else could.

Travis Gully was impressed with the signs of plenty that were visable at every hand. By inquiry, he learned that hundreds of acres as valuable as that contained in the surrounding valley were available for homesteading. All it needed was water. He soon made the acquaintance of a professional "Locator," a human parasite that hovers around the border of all Government land. In this particular instance the "locator" was a venerable patriarch, with flowing white beard and benign countenance, who assured Gully that "He had just the place for him. It was about fifty miles back over the route he had come. Did he not remember that beautiful stretch of rolling land through which he had passed? That was the place. Thousands of acres of this fine land was now being taken up by homesteaders. He must act quickly or his opportunity would be gone." After listening to a glowing description of this paradise, Gully agreed to accompany him to see the land, which he did the following day.

There are times when it seems that fate plays into the hand of the trickster, and on this particular day nature was extremely lavish with her blessings. Never had the spring sun shone more brightly, the balmy air was laden with the elixir of good will and contentment, every soothing draught taken into the lungs spread like an intoxicant, filling the brain with dreams of success and achievements that danced just ahead, almost within reach, yet still to be striven for.

Gully, whose mind was filled with the contents of the circulars he had read, and who had seen the statements made therein, verified in the locality he had chosen to make his first stop, firmly believed in the possibilities of the land shown him, and made filing on it immediately upon his return to the town. He did not question the possibilities of irrigation or take into account its remoteness; neither did he investigate the results of past efforts put forth by others in this conquest of the desert. It was not a desert to him. The winter's snow, that had just disappeared, had left abundance of moisture in evidence. Grass was springing up in profusion, and countless wild flowers attested the fertility of the soil.

So after the necessary arrangements had been made, he came with his family, all eager to do their part in the preparation of their future home. Kind neighbors, though few there were, came with offers to help erect the house. The family was provided with shelter until such time as the structure was habitable, and they were happy under these new conditions; they who had never known a harsher fate than the demands of an exacting landlord for his annual toll, the regular routine of settling the yearly account with the trusting merchant in the nearby village, and a frugal existence through the winter on what remained of the year's yield. Oh! happy renter, there; should his yield be scant or insufficient, there was someone to appeal to for assistance, which was gladly given. The homefolks were there, and others to extend help and sympathy at the time of misfortune, but on the desert, what? A home of your own.

At last the home was completed; just two rooms, with a board roof, the outer walls adorned with tar paper held in place with laths, and when they moved in joy reigned in this primitive home. A rough board table, two benches and a cook stove, cooking utensils, still shining with the burnish of new tin, shone upon the walls just outside the kitchen door, a shelf with new tin basin and water pail were provided. The remaining room was furnished with two beds, built of scraps of lumber, the corners of the room forming one side and the head, discarded balewire, woven across, took the place of springs; three family portraits, done in crayon, a gaudy calendar of the year before, bearing the general merchandise advertisement of the faithful old merchant at home, a nickel alarm clock upon a shelf, and the home was furnished. But it was a home of their own.

CHAPTER III.

The journey of thousands of miles, the excitement of getting settled, and cool fresh breezes that swept down from the snow capped peaks of the Cascades, made sleep easy, and no thought of the morrow disturbed the rest of this emancipated renter. Morning came, and with it the bright sunshine and oppressive silence of the desert; not a dog to bark, nor a noisy fowl to break the stillness. As the sun rose from the horizon, and before it assumed its brassy glare, a mirage formed across the level plain, magnifying the humble homes of the neighboring homesteaders into palatial mansions, and the sage brush into forests, and glistening lakes with twinkling waves upon their surfaces. Travis Gully, with his family, stood awed by the magnitude of the panorama unrolled before their gaze, and looked with feverish expectancy into the vista of possibilities the future held in store for them. The sun mounted higher into the blue dome, the mirage passed, and objects assumed their normal proportions, while the faithful wife told of the hopes for good this vision foretold.

The weeks that followed, each day of which was fraught with hours of patient toil, clearing away the brush for the first spring planting, the honest father hewing a spot in the wilderness of sand and sage brush, the eager children rushing in at each stroke of the mattock, seizing the uprooted particles of brush and bearing them triumphantly away, to be placed on one of the many piles of rubbish that marked the path of this industrious toiler; the patient mother, appearing at the doorway, looking out across the miles of unchanging gray toward the far east with that indefinable expression of homesickness depicted upon her face. Of such scenes as this is the material made of which the everlasting monument, in the form of a prosperous farming district is built. Every fruit tree that grows in the far famed Northwest should be looked upon as a sprig in the laurel wreath with which to crown the brows of the sturdy homesteaders—those departed and yet to come.

At the close of each day, and after the evening meal, huge bonfires were lit in the clearing, around which the children danced gleefully, their shadows casting fantastic shapes in the background, where the gaunt and hungry coyote lurked, and at intervals mingled its voice in discordant note with their merry laughter, as if in vain endeavor to impress upon their minds the narrowness of the space that lay between their joyous anticipations and deepest gloom.

Planting time arrived with all its hopes for a bounteous yield. Each day was devoted to preparing the ground and planting. The winter just passed had afforded sufficient snow and moisture to produce perfect planting conditions, and many were the plans made for the expenditure of the proceeds of this first harvest for a good home, farming implements, and other necessities for successful farming.

The grain was sown, and the kitchen garden planted in precise rows and nicely shaped beds. A wagon load of scabrock was hauled from a dry coulee that wended its way diagonally across this vast area of sand and sage. These were used to form the border of prim walks and flower beds, each stone being placed in position and carefully embedded in the soft sand, each a cornerstone for the castle of hope, soon to be displaced by an inexorable nature, and to allow the upper structure of dreams to fall about the builder, a pall of utter disappointment.

Just a few days of alluring sunshine, only a few balmy nights, and the tiny plants were raising their tender shoots above the surface of the sand, which through its ages of shifting now refused to remain under control of mere man, and was growing restless, rolling in fiendish glee down the sides of the nicely formed flower beds and rollicking in sparkling bits across the walks, filling, with maddening persistance, every opening made in its surface by the upspringing plants.

The age worn battle between the Goddess Flora and the relentless desert was being fought over. She with all her garlands, was trying to wreath the brow of this gray monster, while he, with his withering sunrays and constant battering with tiny particles of sharp, flinty sand, was repulsing her every advance.

The Gods, Jupiter, Pluvius and Boreas, standing sponsors for the contending forces, intervened and changed at times what seemed certain victory. One with his gentle showers or torrential downpour would rush to the scene of the fray, settling the tiny grains of sand and thereby quelling the galling batteries that were assailing the tender plants, at the same time administering to their bruised and quivering stems and foliage; then, conscious of a kindly act, he sails away, seated upon his fleecy crafts of air, emitting an occasional growl, warning his enemy, the wind, against his return. Scarcely has his frown disappeared over the brow of the hills to the south, followed by his majestic guard of chariots, with billowing gold and silver plumage, when a faint whisper is heard in the grass. Hark! 'tis louder! See the tops of the bunchgrass moving restlessly; Old Boreas is stalking his enemy. He creeps prone upon the ground, like a serpent he raises his head with a hissing sound; on, upward to the top of the tallest reeking sage brush he crawls; maddened by the presence of those hated sparkling drops of crystal water that bedecks this misshapen shrub, he shakes them in myriads to the ground and laughs with glee. But in so doing he is restraining one of the arch fiends of the desert, the sand. At this discovery he shrieks with anger, and seizing the precious drops, hoists them into the air, scattering them in misty spray and hurries them miles through space, back to their natural haunts, where they are left to assemble themselves and await another call. Thus left to their own, again the sun and sand renew the attack, and wear down, by constant onslaught, every particle of vegetation not originally intended to laugh to scorn their every effort.

But the fortitude of those alien plants was noble; gallantly they withstood the siege. For days and weeks, constantly scorched and blistered during the day, they came up smiling in the morning, with heads erect, to greet the same sun their parent plant had known and throve under, but stung, whipped and tortured by the never ceasing, ever shifting myriads of cutting particles of sand, bleeding to the last infinitesimal mite, they had to die; they hung their noble heads, became discolored and withered, and when the morning sun shone forth it was upon the same dwarfed sage brush and hissing bunchgrass it had always known. The scabrock border, the horned toad that sought shelter beneath the protecting edges, all one color, gray, monotonous gray.

Small indeed would be the area of reclaimed land in the great northwest if each homesteader had given up hopes and abandoned his dreams with his first disappointment, and had he not awakened to renewed effort at each stroke of misfortune administered by what seemed to be a relentless fate.

Nature, in her lavish distribution of blessings, had not wholly forgotten this seemingly neglected spot. The nights were cool and refreshing, the air pure and uncontaminated, and both he and his family being blessed with rugged health. Travis Gully looked upon the havoc wrought with undaunted courage and determination. He submitted to the loss of his first planting with resignation, and hastened to seek means whereby he might provide food and other necessities for his family. To the north lay the never failing wheat fields of the Big Bend country; east, the Couer d'Alene mining district; and west of the Cascade Mountains the lumbering industries of the Puget Sound region. These each offered a solution of a means of livelihood, ample employment and good wages; but with the departure of the family from the homestead went the cherished dream of a home.

Often at night when the children, now grown sunburned and inured to the intense heat and blistering sands, were on their pallets, enjoying the peaceful sleep of tired but happy childhood, Gully and his wife would sit for hours and try to devise means whereby the coming winter might be lived through with some semblance of comfort. During these heart to heart talks, while seated before the door of their humble home, Gully's gaze would wander out across his broad acres, which under the pale starlight in this clear desert air, could easily be transformed, in vision, to fields of waving grain; conversation would cease; a restless move made by one of the children would attract the attention of the watchful mother, who, upon entering the house cautiously stepping with stealthy tread among the little sleeping forms, would approach the table, give the flame of the one small kerosene lamp a gentle turn upward and throw into bold relief every evidence of abject poverty within the confines of that one sparsely furnished room. With wide staring eyes she would hastily scan the face of each sleeping child as if in dread of finding the fiendish hand of hunger clutching at some innocent throat; but all is quiet. Passing a trembling hand across her weary forehead, she slowly turned, and as she did so, read in every object that met her gaze one word, sacrifice. The little blue overalls, with their numberless patches, and frayed and tattered hem, the little gingham aprons, worn threadbare by the constant nipping, picking and catching on the scraggling branches of the despised sage brush, all shrieked sacrifice. Suddenly, with a quick movement, a little foot is thrust from beneath the scant cover, and at the same time a varicolored sand lizzard scurries across the bare floor and disappears through a convenient crack. Seizing the lamp, she hurries to the side of the sleeping child, takes the little brown foot in her loving hands and seeks in vain for some mark of injury inflicted by the frightened lizzard; finding none, she places the little foot tenderly on the pallet and reaches for the cover; stops, and stares. What does she see? Only a little toe, the nail gone, a partially healed wound, showing where the cruel snag of the hated sage brush had torn its way into her very flesh and blood. With a groan she bows her head for a moment, then hastily scanning the room, she misses the little shoes and stockings so much needed for the protection of those little feet. Arising, she replaces the lamp upon the table, turns it low, and returns to her husband's side, prepared to make one of the greatest sacrifices ever made by a woman, and one of which little has even been said or written. She must tell him to go, and leave her and the children alone and unprotected in the desert. He must go, that they might live, go until the winter snows drive him home. O God! it would be lonely, days of constant watching across the quivering sea of unchanging gray, nights of wakeful listening, broken by the sound of the ghoulish yip of the hungry coyote and the mournful hoot of the ground owl.

Give honor to the famous women of our land, if you must. She who first made our glorious flag, those who devoted their lives to nursing back to health and strength our nation's heroes, and the sainted mothers of distinguished men; but, oh! remember the wives of the pioneer and homesteader, and ask yourself; is she not entitled to a place among these?

Travis Gully, being completely lost in his dreams of independence, had not missed her from his side. The good wife stole softly up to him, and placing her hand upon his knee, slipped down beside his chair. He, being thus suddenly aroused from his reverie, and noting her appearance of abject misery, assisted her to arise, drew her trembling form near him, and spoke cheerfully of the situation, assuring her all would be well in the end. He forbade her to discuss his departure at that time, and there beneath the broad expanse of star bedecked sky, surrounded by the vast and desolate desert, they renewed their faith in each other and resolved to continue the battle, and with revived hopes they planned for the future, and for hours rebuilt the castle so ruthlessly destroyed by the desert storm.

CHAPTER IV.

The month of June had arrived, and with it came the intensified summer heat, now almost unbearable in the shadeless glare, and as the time approached for Gully's departure, it was finally decided that the wheat fields of the north would be the easiest of access for his journey in search of work. The question of water for domestic use being the most difficult to solve, it was decided to build a cistern sufficiently large to hold enough to last until his return, and for the next few weeks the time was devoted to this work. It was while thus engaged that the family received its first ray of hopes for the ultimate consummation of their dream, and the hope to which their minds would frequently revert during the long fall and winter months that were to follow.

After the cistern had been dug and Gully, with painstaking care, was trying to cement the interior, patiently replacing each trovel of wet cement as it rolled from the sides, as the sand gave way and allowing it to fall repeatedly to the bottom, each time being taken up and carefully replaced, gradually setting, inch by inch, until the task was accomplished; his wife on the surface, mixing the sand and cement in small quantities and handing it down to him, as required; doing her part to conquer the wilderness as valiantly as any man; when there was a hurried scampering of little feet, and the children came breathlessly up, calling to their parent that "Wagons were coming, lots of them." This announcement to the uninitiated would seem but small cause for comment, but to those who live for weeks and months without the advent of a stranger within miles of their habitation, the approach of an unknown horseman or vehicle is hailed with excitement and wonder.

Gully hastily emerged from his work beneath the surface and looked inquiringly in the direction indicated by the excited youngsters, where a few miles to the west a dense cloud of dust could be seen. An occasional horseman, driving loose stock, or a covered wagon or buckboard, could be distinguished through the dense pall of dust that hung with maddening persistence over the approaching caravan. Speculation was rife among the now excited family, and many were the theories advanced as to the cause of this unusual sight. It being definitely determined that the approaching wagon train was wending its weary way along the road that terminated at their humble abode, hurried arrangements were made to greet the strangers, the children were assembled at the kitchen door, and their faces washed to remove, if possible, a small portion of the desert grime; their sunburned locks, that the wind had whipped into wild confusion, were hastily untangled, and arranged into semblence of order. When this task was completed and each little bronzed cheek shone with the too strenuous application of common laundry soap, that only resulted in bringing out in bold relief the myriads of copper colored freckles with which they were covered with generous profusion, they were admonished by their mother to "keep clean," and were allowed to scurry away, to watch in wide eyed wonder the approach of the strangers. The mother, with purely feminine instinct, removed all evidence of the white splashes of cement from her hands and shoes, changed her dress, and after these pitiful efforts at making herself presentable, joined with the waiting children.

Many of my readers have, no doubt, waited with feverish expectancy the ringing up of the curtain on some notable drama, or looked forward with a mingling of joyous anticipation and dread to the arrival of a relative or friend whom they had not seen for years. But few indeed are left who can describe or define the sensation of commingled joy, dread and uncertainty that fills the heart of the lonely homesteader on an occasion like this. Hours seemed to pass during the interval between the discovery of their approach and the arrival of the strangers, the hundreds of questions that rushed, unbidden, to the minds of the isolated desert dwellers. Who were they, and what was their motive for coming? Were they transient visitors on an idle tour, or some wandering band of nomads, drifting derelicts, who had strayed from the beaten paths to evade if possible, contact with civil authorities; or better yet, were they new neighbors coming to cast their lot with them, to assist in the reclamation, the conquest of the desert? Such were the multitude of questions recurring to the minds of the anxious watchers, each, in its turn, being cast aside to be replaced by others, in bewildering succession.

Travis Gully, who, owing to the narrowness of his self constituted domain and the wild desert environments, had allowed himself to drift backward, and contact with conditions with which he was unfamiliar had awakened in him the spirit of alert defensiveness of primitive man. He felt the sting of resentment at the approach of the strangers, and it was with a forced smile, and hesitating handshake that he greeted the foremost of the party, who had at last ridden within the front dooryard. Glancing over his shoulder, he assured himself of the safety of his family. The wife and three eldest children had remained standing near the door, while two little towheads, that protruded from behind the building, showed where the two youngest had taken refuge.

Gully invited the stranger to dismount, but the latter, thanking him curtly, remained mounted until the entire party, consisting of some twenty-five or thirty men, equipped with a complete field outfit, wagons loaded with tents and provisions, abundance of stock, both draft and pack animals, had arrived within hailing distance. Turning in his saddle, the chief, or man in charge, raised his gauntleted hand with a commanding jesture, and with brakeblocks grinding against glistening and heated tires, rattle of chains and shouts from the teamsters, the procession came to a stop. Dismounting, he gave a few instructions to his men, who remained on their wagons; then returning to the waiting homesteader, asked as to the conditions for making permanent camp in the neighborhood. On being assured that there was no water for the stock nearer than three miles, the windmill overtopping the well at that point being in full view, was pointed out to him, and minute directions for finding the road that ran tortuously through the miles of sagebrush to this oasis, was given. With a courteous bow, the chief mounted, gave orders to his men to follow, and moved off in the direction of the well.

As the last sound of the departing cavalcade was stifled in the muffling sand, Mrs. Gully came to where her husband was standing, gazing absently in the direction the strangers had gone. Who were they and what were they here for, was the absorbing and unanswered question; who was this clean, trim man, dressed in his khaki suit and neat leather leggings, who had such absolute authority over this thoroughly equipped expedition; not a homesteader, this was evident by his professional appearance; not a fugitive, because his manner was too gentle. Who was he, and what was his business?

CHAPTER V.

As the season approached for the exodus of homesteaders for the harvest field, hurried preparations for the departure was made, the cistern was completed, huge piles of sage brush was gathered for fuel and placed conveniently near the house. Thus was Travis Gully's time taken up for the next few days following the arrival of the campers at the well. Many were the inquiring glances that were cast in the direction of the group of glistening white tents. Parties of men could be seen going and coming, morning and night, some walking, others mounted or in vehicles. Once a band of what seemed to be loose horses was seen to be approaching the home of the Gullys, but when within a short distance of the house a mounted man, emerging from the tent village, followed them and turned them westward, soon being lost in the sea of gray sagebrush, but not before it was discovered that it was a pack train, going out for supplies.

At last the day came when the mystery of their purpose was to be solved. On his first trip to the well for water with which to fill his now completed cistern, Gully noted a fact that had been overlooked by him on the occasion of their visit to his home; each wagon and all the equipment was stamped U. S. G. S. This fact, however, left no clue in his crude mind as to who they were, and not until he saw one of the party with an instrument on a tripod, mounted upon a small knoll near the road to his home, did he awake to the realization of the fact that they had something to do with a survey.

The task of filling the cistern consumed many days, and required numberless trips to and from the well. During these frequent visits the acquaintance of some of the men around camp was made and the information was volunteered by one of their number that they were a party of United States Geological Surveyors sent out by the Government to make a survey of the desert with the view to ascertaining if it was feasible to irrigate the region by gravity from some of the numerous lakes and streams that lay hidden away in the mountains that surrounded the entire valley.

Irrigation! So this was the reason for all this activity. Gully's heart leaped at the sound of this magic word. Here was the realization of his dream. It was to be—and why not? Was not the Government making the survey, had not the authorities awakened to the fact that here was a country of some seven hundred and fifty thousand acres of valuable land laying idle. Why not convert it into homes for thousands, who, like himself, though less venturesome, were dreaming of a home of their own. With gladdened heart, forgetful of poverty and past disappointments, he hurriedly filled his barrels with water and drove home eager to tell his wife the good news.

"I knew it was coming," he told her. Had he not talked with the men who had been sent to bring about this transformation? "Just think, Minnie," he exclaimed, "we are among the first. Others may follow, but we have our land."

Water, bright sparkling water, flowing in rippling streams; all they wanted; no more wearisome trips across the dry parched waste, with the constant drum, drum of the empty barrels dinning in his ears—no more return trips with the barrels filled at starting, but now sadly depleted, and the wagon box reeking and dripping with the waste caused by the splash, splash of the precious fluid. Irrigation—and a home of his own.

A few days after the discovery of the object of the party encamped at the well was made, it became generally known, and the glad news was being discussed in every home throughout the sparsely settled neighborhood. Men could be seen loitering around the camp or mingling with the surveyors in the field, eagerly gathering such scraps of information as was given out and hastily departing to add fuel to the already inflamed imagination of the settlers.

It never occurred to them that even though the survey resulted in a favorable report, it would probably take years before the accomplishment of the purpose for which it was being made, and the added strain of uncertainty, waiting and watching made the life of the homesteader more unbearable.

When the morning came for the departure of the little band of harvesters for the broad wheatfields of the big bend country, it was an unusual sight that greeted the vision. It had been previously arranged that they should assemble at the well and make that the starting point for their journey. Small puffs of dust might be seen arising miles away, each marking the approach of one or more of the sturdy homesteaders, many of whom had made the trip the fall before and knew of the many long hours of toil that awaited them. Yet they were marching forth, with grim determination to put as many hours into each day as mortal man could stand. It was their harvest as well as the wheat growers; their season for retrieving the few hard-earned dollars lost in seeding and planting during the spring just passed; theirs, to accumulate the necessary food and clothing for the wives and little ones they were leaving behind in the desert, to watch longingly for their return when the harvest was ended.

The party with which Gully was going had decided to take one wagon with four horses to convey their crew, with the camp equipment, to the grain fields. The men came in every conceivable means of conveyance, accompanied by a member or, in some instances, by the entire family, who were to return with the rigs to their homes, after seeing them safely on their way. Each came with his blanket roll neatly tied with a cord or strap. Two dilapidated telescope grips, made of canvas, were provided to carry the extra clothing of the party; a writing tablet and a package of plain white envelopes, by means of which the messages, scribbled with pencil, and often by lantern light, of love, sorrow, success or defeat, were to be conveyed to the lonely ones in the desert wilds; a spool of black cotton thread, some needles and a few extra buttons, for an emergency, were carefully stored deep in one corner of the grip. All to be used in common, all brothers in the wilds; there was no business rivalry, no competition there; just an equal desire that all might live.

They were late in getting started, owing to the distance some of them had to come, and when the last of the party rode up, seated upon a horse fully harnessed, complaining that his delay was caused by the collapsing of one of the wheels of his vehicle, the poor old weather beaten buggy rendered unserviceable by its constant use on many trips to and fro across the sandy waste; the spiteful particles of sand, gnawing, cutting and grinding their way into each tiny crevice, between the rim and spoke, into the hub and under the tire, until its wheels, after days, weeks and months of rattling, squeaking and groaning, could no longer stand the strain, the inanimate thing sank helplessly down, to be cast to one side, among the harsh, rasping sagebrush, and left there to sizzle, shrink and bleach in the blistering sun rays, until called for and taken helplessly back to the home of its owner for repairs, in the way of having hard bits of sun parched leather, cut from well worn and discarded shoes, forced between its once perfectly fitting rim and tire, the whole being wound and rewound with the indispensable balewire. Such an end; what could be expected of a thing of flesh and blood?

"Never mind," cried his waiting companions, cheerfully. "You can soak the old critter up in the irrigation ditch pretty soon." And with this merry jest, at the same time recalling to their minds the condition of their own means of conveyance, and also one of the many uses to which the abundance of water could be put when once turned loose, to run rampant across the stretch of barren waste. They prepared to start on their journey.

Each of the party, with sad heart and quivering voice, all doing their best to present an indifferent exterior, bade the waiting members of their families, the gathered neighbors, and the members of the survey crew a hearty goodbye, and drove northward, knowing full well that their toilsome progress across the valley would be followed by tear stained eyes and aching hearts, until the evening shades settled and the thin spiral column of dust, watched for a time after the object which caused it to mount high into the heated atmosphere had been hidden by a cloak of darkness.

The first night out the travelers spent at a small spring that flowed in a feeble stream down the rock ledge that formed the northern boundary of the desert, and sank from sight, being swallowed by the thirsty sands. It was a hard drive that brought them to this place, and during the hours that intervened between their departure from the well and arrival at their first camp, was spent in almost silence. Each of those present seemed lost in silent contemplation of the difficulties that confronted him. Various subjects had been brought up for discussion, followed for a few moments, and then were allowed to drop. All except Travis Gully, who was driving, seemed lost to their surroundings.

It was a varied assortment of which this little group of men was composed, taken at random from various points, from different walks of life, no common interest in the way of mechanics or profession, yet bound together by stronger ties, a mutual understanding of each other's absorbing ambition to build a home; appreciating to the fullest extent the difficulties and hardships endured, the disappointments and suffering caused by the one common affliction, poverty.

There was the muscular iron molder from Pittsburg, who would sit, with half closed eyes, and liken the heat of the desert to the fiery glow of the familiar furnaces; the clouds of dust to the dense smoke of his home city, and ask himself: "Had he moved wisely?" The pressman, from one of the largest printing establishments in Denver, who would in dreamy silence listen to the constant clatter of the wagon, and in fancy hearing the rumble of his once favorite machine, the press, rolling out in endless sheets items of news, gathered from all over the world; suddenly the wagon wheel strikes a stone, and with a lurch, he starts with outstretched hand to adjust a roller, replace a belt, or take up the torn web. Smiles feebly at his absentmindedness and resumes his seat. The professor, who for years taught in a college in Kansas, watched with earnest gaze each specimen of desert plant life that struggled for existence beside the dusty road, unable to release himself from the desire to increase his botanical knowledge. An exsoldier and Travis Gully, the farmer, completed this incongruous party.

Upon their arrival at the spring just before sundown, they arose from their seats in the wagon, cramped and dusty from their long ride, and shambling to the rock ledge, relieved their parched throats with copious draughts from the spring. Knowing that the scarcity of water on the road over which their route lay would necessitate a forced drive on the morrow, they hastily unharnessed the horses, gave them water and picketed them to munch the scant herbage until sufficiently cooled to be given their ration of grain, they then prepared their own frugal supper, after which, with pipes lit, and each seated around the smoldering sagebrush fire, their faces turned homeward, watched the shades of evening settle, and noted the twinkling lights that shone from their humble homes miles away across the level plain. Conversation no longer lagged; each was eager to express his views as to the result of the survey now being made, and the certainty of the wealth to follow the reclamation of the thousands of acres of fertile land that lay stretched for miles to the south. No one doubted for a moment but what it would come. Was not each of the railroads that extended across the great Continental Divide, advertising the fertile valleys of the Northwest as the goal of the poor man? Was not every Commercial Club in the cities through which these avenues of commerce and forerunners of civilization ran, sending out and scattering among the inhabitants of the entire territory from the Atlantic seaboard to the Rocky Mountains, pamphlets in which was set forth, in glowing word pictures, accounts of the possibilities of the undeveloped lands now laying idle, yours for the asking? Were they not morally responsible for the welfare of each family who, lured by their flattering descriptions, had given up their means of a livelihood, and sold their small accumulation of personal property, in most instances for what they could get; frequently scarcely enough to reach this land of dreams, and at best with but a few hundred dollars?

Would these mighty forces that were being brought to bear for the purpose of converting the undeveloped resources of this vast country into a merchantable article, going to accomplish their end by the sacrifice of thousands of human ambitions, and even lives? Certainly not; give them a chance.

This survey was being made with the view to placing within the reach of the settlers the means whereby wealth and affluence might be obtained.

Such was the opinion of all, and with optimistic views and hopes renewed, the blankets were unrolled and spread upon the bare ground, and with a cheery "Goodnight," each of these champions of right and justice lay down to enter the enchanted land of dreams, and live through the realization of all they had hoped for.

Just before daylight the following morning all were astir and the horses fed, and with the never to be forgotten acrid smell of burning sagebrush permeating the cool air, which, gathered amid the eternal snows that lay undisturbed for ages on the glistening sides of the mountain peaks to the west, was wafted and filtered through miles of spruce and pine forests and delivered in all its exhilerating morning freshness to fill with health and vigor the lungs of these conquerors of the wilderness; breakfast was eaten, blankets rolled, and just as the rosy tint of the pitiless sun shone in the east, the start was made.

The road which had led them for weary miles across the desert the afternoon before came to an abrupt ending at the spring. The solid cliff of basaltic rock formed an impassible barrier to the north. There seemed no reason for the road leading squarely up to the ledge other than to gain access to the scant water supply the small spring afforded, this spot having been for years the stopping place for weary travelers and hordes of thirsty stock. No road leading from the spring being visable, a return drive was made until a road leading directly east was encountered. This road was followed for several miles, when a break in the range of hills afforded an exit verging a little to the northeast. After a few miles the road turned directly north again, leading into a break in the barrier of hills and out through a coulee to the plateau, where lay the wheat fields that were the destination of the little band of harvesters.

The trip through the coulee, once made, would never be forgotten. Immediately at the entrance of the funnel like gorge, with its precipitous walls of stone towering in heights from a few hundred to two thousand feet, the way seemed blocked by a lake several miles in length. Clear and cool it lay, constantly lashed into fury by the strong current of air rushing from the chasm above. The white, foam crested waves, spending their force upon the sandy shore at the lower end, retreating after each attack, leaving behind a deposit of white frothy foam that was picked up by the wind and scattered far beyond the reach of the next incoming wave, there to be dried by the sun, and the residue, a white crystal, powdered salts, left sparkling in the sunlight. Nothing in the way of vegetation except a species of harsh quackgrass grew within the radius covered by this deposit. The waters of this lake possessed strong mineral properties that were fatal to plant life, also rendering it extremely nauseating and unfit for drinking. Owing to this fact, it had been known to the Indians of Chief Moses' tribe as "Poison Water." Yet cool and sparkling it lay, a gem in the barren gulch, relieving the eye of those who chanced to pass that way, but often proving a sad disappointment to both the travel worn man and beast, who, unacquainted with its peculiar qualities, upon first beholding its rippling surface, hastened to its brink to appease a desert born thirst.

As the lake was approached by the party, the members of which had previously heard of its existence and the nature of its waters, no stop was made. A passage around it was sought and soon discovered in a well worn trail that followed a dry ravine which led down to the lake, and extending around its head, reentered the coulee some miles above. They continued their journey along this ravine, the route being marked at intervals by the bleached bones of animals which had perished of thirst within a short distance of abundance of cool dear water that a caprice of nature had rendered, like fools gold, alluring, but of no value.

For fifteen or twenty miles the road ran tortuously among the huge boulders that had fallen from the crest of the solid walls that arose hundreds of feet on either side, the crevices and nooks of which were the haunts of the rattlesnake and lizard. The projecting ledges that occasionally occurred showed signs of being the nesting place of hundreds of hawks that circled in an aimless manner at dizzy heights above this giant crevice. Limpid pools of alkaline water lay teeming beneath the blistering suns rays, their white salty rim unmarked by the footprints of any living thing, accursed by nature and abhorred by all God's creatures, wasting their contents by evaporation during the summer, and replenished by the torrents that rushed through this abandoned water course during the annual spring thaw.

That it had been a water course was evidenced by the beds of well worn gravel, devoid of all soil, and the marks of the constant wash of the waves on the face of the cliffs on either side. Who knows but what at some remote period the mighty Columbia river had flowed through this grand coulee, emptying into an inland sea, the bed of which now formed the desert of almost a million acres, destined to be the home of half as many people? Flowing thus for ages, nourishing plants now unknown; its limpid waters, cooling and refreshing the prehistoric monsters that came daily to drink at its brink; sheltering beneath its rippling waves species of fish now extinct, their fossalized forms only remaining to remind us of the mighty changes that have taken place. Flowing peacefully on, secure in its mightiness, yet all the while somewhere along its course was being assembled the power that wrought this change, the terrific force in the nature of gases generated far in the depths of the earth. It might be thousands of miles away, conducted through unknown channels and crevices, seeking the point of least resistance, forced hither and thither by the ever increasing pressure, until a subterranean cavity is formed by a slight upheaval or displacement of the stratification. Into this rush the gases, followed by the raging fires, until further resistance is impossible. The imprisoned demon crouches in narrow confines, trapped at last; and with a mighty shudder, the effects of which are felt on the surface, causing the ponderous mastodon to halt unsteadily, and raising his gigantic head in alarm, sounds a note of warning, and followed by his herd, rushes madly through the mass of huge ferns in search of safety.

The imprisoned force, no longer able to confine its strength, furiously gathers its reenforcement, and with terrific, thunderous roar, forces the crust and breaks through, tearing asunder this sphere that has taken eons to form, disgorging in fiery torrents upon the surface of half a continent the contents of its seething cauldron.

Back rush the floods of the Columbia, as if aghast at the havoc wrought; stays its flow but for a moment, and charges this indomitable foe that dares to impede its progress, and pours its waters, now made black and muddy by the tons of ashes and stone sent hurtling into its waves, into the thousands of crevices and fissures trying in vain to throttle this fiery demon who greets the oncoming stream with flaming tongue, converts it into steam and additional power with which it throws out huge volumes of mud that seal the crevices and cool the lava about its glaring throat, thus using its enemy to erect a barrier against itself. Hopelessly defeated, the mighty river seeks a course whereby it may reach its former terminus, the inland sea. It wanders on with indefatigable persistence, taking the abandoned beds of some of its former tributaries; follows it until overtaking the original stream at some unaccustomed place, absorbs it and hurries on its way over boulders and through canyons and gorges, rapids and cataracts harrassing its waters in a manner heretofore unknown. In its wild flight it makes a detour of more than a hundred miles, appropriates the channel of another stream, and turns back toward the inland sea, still determined to do its part in replenishing this vast storage place.

Upon reaching its western boundary, oh! what a change had taken place. Stretching away as far as could be seen was a mass of oozing matter, decaying seaweed and pools of slimy water, heated to almost boiling, reeking with the stench of dead fish, the whole being sprinkled with cinders and ashes, and teeming with muck and filth.

A break in the southern boundary of the former body of water showed where a fissure had been opened up, through which its contents had drained, following the outlet until it had emptied into the Pacific Ocean. The noble Columbia, unable to gain access to refill the basin, took up the course of the liberated deluge and followed resignedly in its wake.

CHAPTER VI.

The third day out the harvesters reached the scene of action in the grain fields, and by noon of that day had found employment, the entire party being engaged for the season with promise of work for their horses. This was indeed an agreeable surprise. They had expected to remain in the same neighborhood, but to be employed together was more than they had hoped for.

The afternoon of the same day they drove to the home of their employer. Here the scene that greeted them was something of a disappointment to them, as the home of the wheat grower was but little better than their own desert shacks, save that it had one redeeming feature, an abundance of water. A well, surmounted by a large windmill, was located near the center of a large enclosure, and was the attraction for a number of horses and cattle. A few lazy hogs wallowed contentedly in the mud beneath the long watering trough, into which flowed, with fitful gushes, at each stroke of the slender pumprod, a stream of pure cold water, which was consumed by the waiting stock or allowed to overflow at will from the trough. The large barn, the dilapidated machine shed, and the typical home of the wheat grower was complete. No, not complete. There was yet another object. It was located in the further corner of the barn yard. It was an old wagon, with huge frame mounted upon it. This frame was covered with flimsy, dirty canvas, and had a stovepipe protruding from the top. From a door in the back, three narrow rickety steps reached down to the ground as if inviting one to enter, and at the same time daring them to take the chance. Off to one side was a pile of sagebrush, with a broken handled axe near by, and a barrel of stale water with a tin cup hung by a piece of wire over its chime, two tin basins laying upon the ground, while to a nail driven in the corner post of the canvas covered structure hung a piece of sack twine with a twisted aluminum comb dangling at its ends, and a dirty towel which the constant action of the wind kept from becoming rigid and stiff. This was the "cook house," where the toilers were to get their meals during the harvest.

With faint misgivings at the uninviting prospects the strangers, beholding the broad acres of grain now just turning to gold on the high ground, and gradually shading to a dark green in the swails and hollows, and extending over from one and a half to two or three sections of rich land, asked themselves why conditions were not better.

The men already engaged at harvesting on this wheat ranch not yet having come in from their day's work, our party cared for their horses and strolled about the place, wondering at the absence of signs of life, but being unfamiliar with such conditions, among the stalks of heavily headed grain that reached to their shoulders, and taking the plump, well filled heads in their hands, fondled them lovingly, and their minds went back to their own desert homes, to their lonesome wives and children, and asked themselves if the time would ever come when their land would produce such a bounteous yield, and thought with proud satisfaction of how, in case of such an event, they would remain at home and enjoy the sweet sound of the harvest machinery as it garnered for them and theirs.

Wonderingly they waited for someone to come, some friendly voice to greet them, if not in profuse welcome, to at least tell them where they were to put their few effects and where they were to receive the accommodation that, being strangers, they had every reason to expect. They had brought their blankets, it was true, but it was with the view to using them while camping out. They little realized that, had they not brought them, they would have been provided with little more accommodation than a beast of burden.

The sun went down and they sauntered back to the barn yard, where they had left their wagon, and loitered around it with a fondness due the only familiar object in sight. Still no one came. From the grain field the clicking of the sickle as it mowed down the grain could be plainly heard, wafted from afar on the rapidly cooling twilight breeze. Travis Gully arose from his seat on the wagon pole as if moved by some uncontrollable impulse, and going around to the side of the wagon, threw back the rolls of blankets and drew forth the old canvas telescope grip. Taking it fondly in his rough hands, he knelt beside it on the ground, unloosened the straps, removed the tablet and envelopes, and taking from his overall pocket a stub of a pencil, resumed his seat and began to write, with a slow cramped movement, the first letter home. Slowly he poured out from his own burdened heart the cry of a distressed soul.

The remaining members of the party, realizing that this was to be the anxiously looked for first news, sent loving messages to their homes. No mention was made of the tiresome trip, of the forbidding aspect of their first employment; just a letter of encouragement, reassuring them of their success, and hopes for a profitable season and safe return. "Simple enough," you might say, but oh! what relief to the pent up feelings of those sturdy homebuilders.

Think, if you can, of what might have been written and read between the lines, of the anguish and uncertainty that was tugging at the heart strings of each of them, knowing, as they did, the conditions under which they had left their families; out alone on the desert, realizing that they, themselves, knew absolutely nothing of the duties they would be called upon to perform on the morrow, and tell me if you do not agree with me when I say that there, in the evening shades, under environments that would try the strength of the bravest, was not endured to the fullest extent, misery.

The letter was finished, and after placing it in the envelope, Gully sat with it in his hand and gazed thoughtfully at the address. The iron molder lit his pipe and moved off in the direction of the barn; the professor and the soldier arose and strolled to the well; all silent, lost in their own thoughts, the nature of which can only be guessed.

The sudden opening of a door at the main house aroused them from their reverie, and turning in the direction of the noise, they saw a woman come out and secure an armful of stovewood and reenter the building. In a few moments a dense smoke was emitted from the stovepipe, an indication that supper was being prepared. Darkness was fast obscuring the landscape, and from the distant field the conversation of the men returning from their work could be plainly heard, and mingling with it were the sounds of rattling chains and creaking harness. Upon their arrival at the barnyard, and while some of the horses were still drinking at the well, a man was seen to emerge from the house bearing a lighted lantern, and go to the barn, where other lanterns were lighted and carried about by the men.

Our friends went to the barn and upon making their presence known, were greeted with a tired "Howdy do" from the workers, as they unharnessed and distributed grain among their horses.

The owner of the wheat ranch, for it was he who had come from the house with a lighted lantern, came hurriedly up, and after pointing out a row of empty stalls, instructed the strangers to put their horses inside. This they gladly did, after which the lanterns were hung on pegs outside the barn and the workmen disappeared in the darkness. Our friends, hearing sounds at the well, went there and found several of the men stripped to their waists, washing the dust and perspiration in the trough and drying their faces on large red handkerchiefs with which they had mopped their faces during the heat of the day. As they completed their ablutions, they disappeared, until there was but one who, upon raising his streaming face from its immersion in the trough, inquired of our friends: "You fellows had supper." Upon being assured they had not, he advised them to "wash up, and come on down to the cook house," the location of which was easy, owing to the light which shone through the canvas cover, bringing out in bold relief the silhouette figures of several men seated at the table, with elbows in the air, working industriously, making way with generous portions of food, as was indicated by the shadows of dark objects before them.

Thoroughly tired and hungry, not being accustomed to waiting until this unseemly hour for their evening meal, they followed their new acquaintance and mounted the rickety stairs leading up to the entrance of the cook house. They were astonished at the arrangement of the interior; every available inch of space was taken up and made to serve some purpose. The forward end of the canvas structure was partitioned off and used for a kitchen—the rear portion, with a table running the full length, served as the dining room—while boards, fastened with hinges to either side, could be either raised or lowered, doing duty as seats. The sides of the structure was so arranged that the upper portion could be swung outward and propped, thus being converted into awnings and at the same time affording ventilation. Immediately over the table and drawn up to the top of the canvas canopy by means of a rope fastened to each corner, and running through pulleys, was a woven wire bed spring. This could be lowered at night and was the sleeping place of "my lady," the cook, a haggard, sad-eyed individual, the widow of an unfortunate homesteader who, unable to endure the hardships of a pioneer, had gone to his reward the summer before.

When the first two members of our party had entered the cook house the rest were compelled to remain outside until some of those who had finished vacated, for when the table was filled those who went in first had to remain seated until the last one who entered had finished his meal.

The food was abundant and good, well cooked and served, when you take into consideration the difficulties under which it was prepared, and was eaten by the tired and overworked harvesters in a manner indicating a complete indifference to after effect. When supper was finished, there being no opportunity for gaining information, the hour being late, our friends returned to their wagon, unrolled their blankets, and lay down to ponder over this unheard of way of treating hired help. But not for long. Being fatigued to the limit of human endurance, they fell asleep, with the faint sound of the clatter of tin pans and cups that emanated from the cook house and the incessant rattle of the windmill dinning in their ears.

CHAPTER VII.

When morning came—not morning proper—but it was sometime after midnight, Travis Gully was awakened by the sound of someone cutting wood. Peering from beneath his blankets, he saw a lighted lantern at the cook house. Other lanterns were being carried to and fro among the horses in the barn. Sleepy individuals were crawling out from every conceivable place—from the hay mow and machine shed, carrying their inseparable blanket rolls. At the well men were busily pumping water by hand, the wind having died down during the night. Not being sufficiently awake to fully realize the meaning of this activity, Travis Gully stretched his tired limbs, rolled over, gave his blankets an extra tuck and drifted away in slumber. Not long, however, was he allowed to remain in this condition, for he was suddenly startled from his dreams by a gruff voice shouting: "Roll out, here, you fellows," and started to a sitting position, with tired sleepy eyes blinking in the bright glare of the lantern light, he beheld the boss standing over them, smiling amusedly at their bewildered looks. Their first day in the harvest field had begun, the first of many just such days that were to follow before they could return to their homes, and during the long winter evenings recount to the eager listening wife and children the varied experiences through which they had passed, embellishing each little incident with a tinge of humor that could not be appreciated at the time of its occurrence.

Dressing hurriedly, they went to the barn to care for their horses and found them munching contentedly at their morning feed, which had already been given them. Seeing the other men busily harnessing their teams they, without question, did likewise, resolving to be governed in their actions by the example of the older hands; they waited expectantly for each move. One of the men, more congenial than the others had proven, asked them how they had slept. Upon being told, he suggested that they bring their blankets into the hay mow where, he assured them, they would be more comfortable. This was the first intimation they had that they were not to be provided with a bed, but must choose their own resting place. They were soon to realize that the hours for rest were as scant as the accommodations for enjoying them, and adapted themselves to prevailing conditions. So after converting the watering trough into a lavatory for making their morning toilet, they proceeded with the rest of the men to the cook house for breakfast; after which, having no special duty assigned them, they were at a loss to know how to proceed. It being yet dark, they stood awkwardly around, while some of the men brought out their teams, watered them, and springing upon one of the horses rode back in the direction from which they had come the evening before.

They did not remain long in doubt, however, for the owner of the ranch came from the house and instructed them to follow the road over the hill, where they were heading grain, and to await his arrival, adding that their horses would be sent out later by one of the boys, who would drive them while on the job. This arrangement was a disappointment to Gully, who had hoped that he might be permitted to drive them, but he made no complaint, and they did as they were bidden.

When they arrived at the place indicated by the owner, they found the header with the horses hitched ready for starting. Three header boxes were awaiting the arrival of teams and drivers. A circle had been cut in a large area of ripe grain and a few loads piled in the center, indicating where the stack setting was to be made. The driver of the heading machine, or "header puncher," as he was called, was groping around in the uncertain light, oiling up or adjusting the drapers or elevator canvas.

In a few moments a wagon came from the house with a barrel of water, a few additional pitchforks, and some extra parts of machinery that might be needed in case of a breakdown. Our friends were assigned their respective duties; Gully was to be stacker, the molder as "spike pitch" or helper in the stack yard, the professor was "loader," and the soldier was given a pitchfork and sent to turn the grain in the "backswarth," a narrow strip cut around the entire field before the regular heading is begun. This is usually cut green and allowed to cure for hay. So with their horses being driven to a header box the siege had begun.

For five weeks, each day being identical, days of constant grind, short nights, and three trips to the cook house, days of blistering heat, the sunrays being intensified by concentration and reflection from the shining surface of the glistening straw. The light soil, mostly volcanic ash, being pounded and loosened by the constant tramping of the horses in their many trips to and from header to stack; lifted high at each turn of the "bullwheel" of the header and sent flying in stifling clouds, clogging the eyes, ears, nose and mouths of the workers, while trickling streams of perspiration from beneath their hatbands washed furrows through the accumulated mass on their faces.

The first week of this toil tried the spirit of our party almost to the breaking point. Night would find them bowed down with aching backs from the unaccustomed strain of pitching the heavy grain; hands numb and cramped, with blistered palms; throats dry and parched from the intense heat and dust from the straw. They would sink down upon their blankets in the hay mow and sleep the sleep of utter exhaustion, but the hopes of our homesteaders were being constantly revived by the receipt of encouraging letters from home.

Opportunities for getting these letters mailed were few, it was explained, but by sending them to the camp of the surveyors they were taken to the distant town and forwarded; and such news as they brought. "All are well at home. Do not worry; we are doing splendidly. Of course we miss you very much and want you with us, but when you do come home, you can stay. Just think, a party of the surveyors were on our land today and have driven stakes showing exactly where the irrigation ditch is to run." Thus wrote Gully's wife, and others would tell of rumors of large land deals, whole sections and half of townships, being purchased by big companies, all to be immediately improved. Houses were being erected in every direction; parcels of land heretofore considered worthless were being filed on; a school house was being built and, really, things were beginning to be quite homelike.

Upon receipt of these cheerful missives the disappointment of the first season was for the time forgotten, and the men entered into their daily toil with cheerful hearts, filled with the anticipation of the realization of their dreams. Thus on through the ensuing threshing season up until the later fall, when it seemed that a snowfall might occur any day, did our sturdy homesteaders toil on until the last of the golden grain was sacked and hauled to a place of safety. Then only did they turn their faces homeward, with the indispensable blanket rolls, the old canvas telescope grip, now more dilapidated than ever, thrown at random in the wagon; with overalls out a knee, the frazzled threads of many colored patches indicating the earnest efforts of their wearers to make them last the season through; hats out at crown, and well worn shoes, they were indeed a travesty on the party who had left their homes only a few months before. But each sun tanned face was wreathed in smiles, for securely tucked away in those well worn overalls was a snug sum, their harvest wages, that insured them and their loved ones against want during the coming winter.

They were going to their "own homes." They did not have to move or worry about a new location for the following year; things were different now. This money they had earned, hard earned, it was true. Think of the many comforts it would buy—shoes for the little ones, and much provisions, and by judicious expenditure additions might be made to their homes. They could at least weatherboard them and make them more comfortable. Such were the thoughts and suggestions that filled the minds of these faithful home builders throughout the first day of their journey home.

CHAPTER VIII.

I have often wondered, as no doubt many of my readers have, what there is in a man's nature that makes him blush and feel ashamed of doing a little act that is in every respect perfectly natural, and one, that if publicly known, would raise him in the estimation of his fellow men, and yet while condemning himself for his weakness, his heart actually throbs with the pleasure he derives from doing as he has done.

The first day on their return journey from the harvest field was a joyous one, the relaxation from the strain and the diversion acting as an elixir. Freed from the noise of clattering machinery out upon the highway, and relieved of the sight of miles of brown fields of stubble, our friends rejoiced at the sight of the desert with its thousands of acres of bunch grass and sagebrush that stretched far ahead of them to the foothills, there to be met by the dark green shade of the mountain pine and fir, above which shone in all its glittering splendor the eternal snow on the mountain peaks. They spoke in endearing terms of the mighty wilderness as theirs, as if little realizing that the small portion of that vast domain to which they actually held claim was insignificant.

They had chosen a different route by which to make their return, one that led them through a small village situated at the edge of the desert. It was here that the last night out from home was spent, and here too was demonstrated the peculiar traits of man's character referred to at the opening of this chapter.

After the establishment of the camp for the night and after the team had been cared for, Travis Gully was noticeably restless, and at length wandered away from his companions and entered the village store. No thought of his own disheveled appearance entered his mind. It was of the dear wife and little ones he thought. The morrow would see him with them, and the long summer's watching and waiting would be at an end. What more natural than that he should wish to take some little token to the children and to her, who had borne the burden of the long summer's separation that they might retain their homestead?

He thought of her as he had last seen her, as she stood at the camp near the well, struggling to withhold the tears that he know too well had flown many times since he left. He recalled the pitiful effort she had made to dress for the occasion of his departure; of her brown dress, her best dress, the one that had been carefully made, stitch by stitch, in preparation for their long journey from their old home to the land of promise; how it had withstood the days of constant wear while she was cramped up in the tourist coach, being whirled away across the continent, and how guardedly she had spread the cloth upon her lap to protect the precious fabric from being soiled by the touch of many little fingers made greasy by clutching the huge sandwiches of fried chicken, ham and cheese, with which the spacious hamper, their traveling companion, was bounteously provisioned; and how after their arrival, and while seeking a suitable location, it had been subjected to countless brushings and spongings, until at last it bore all too plainly the evidences of the hard usages to which it had been called up to submit. And yet, it was still her best.

She should have a new dress, one that he himself had bought, and without hesitating he approached the expectant merchant to make known his wants, and here his confusion was made evident. Never having made a purchase of this nature, he was at a loss as to quantity, quality and color. After numerous suggestions from the over-anxious merchant a selection was made, the required number of yards guessed at and measured off. Then after purchasing a small carton of animal crackers and some peanuts and candy for each of the children, he paid the amount of his purchase, and with his precious bundles tucked beneath his arm sought the camping place.

As he approached the camp fire around which his companions were seated, he was seized with a desire to hide his bundles lest they might jeer him good-naturedly about his extravagance. He tried to reach the wagon by a circuitous route to avoid observation until he had hidden his bundles. In this effort he was partially successful, but the others had seen him in time to arouse their suspicions, and they accused him of buying a new suit. To this he entered a strenuous denial, but looked guilty and felt uncomfortable the remainder of the evening. He did not join in the conversation that followed his arrival, but sat, as the firelight died down, and watched across the barren waste for the first twinkling light that might give evidence that human beings inhabited this vast region of hidden possibilities.

Thus he sat long after the other members of the party had gone to bed, sat dreaming, as his watchful gaze centered on the darkened space made more dense by the rays of the fitful flicker of the dying fire, space that for the lack of distinguishable form might be likened unto a yawning cavern, a bottomless abyss, whose only known content was stygian darkness. Was it into the unsatiable maw of this monstrous dungeon by night and inferno by day that he had allowed himself and loved ones to be drawn; unwittingly, it was true, but as irrestistably as a disabled craft into the vortex of some mighty whirlpool, carried around and around the outer circle, fascinated by the charm of the smooth gliding movement. Suddenly the arc of the circle decreases, and looking further toward the center, other objects are seen, but it is noted that they seem to be moving more rapidly. Why this increased speed? Is the goal in sight, or has their proximity to the desired end given them a vantage view? Ah! they will keep speed with the large object just ahead of their craft; perhaps they can learn what motive drew them to this delightful place. But a moment, a pause, a quiver and a plunge downward; one mighty wail of despair, followed by a gurgling sound of gluttenous satisfaction, and they realize too late their fate. Casting a despairing look backward to warn those in sight not to follow, but on they come, heedless of their warning, offering themselves unconscious sacrifices to the ever increasing demand for new territory for new outlets, for the ever populated districts of the world.

It was the same old story. The pioneer fighting the first great fight, blazing the trail and marking the route with suffering, tears and even death, that future generations might follow at their ease.

Travis Gully wondered if he, as its helmsman, had allowed his craft to be drawn into dangerous waters, bearing with him his family, the precious passengers whose lives had been intrusted to his care. Had he, at the first narrowing of the circle, gone and left them in this vast wilderness. Was it justice? Were they safe? A few more hours would tell. And let the conditions in the future be what they may, he would never leave them again. With this resolve, and with a feeling of comfortable assurance that his leaving would not again become necessary he, with one more look to see that his bundles remained where he had hidden them, went to his rest.

Taking advantage of an early start, the following morning the party was well on its way when the sun shone above the jagged ridge of hills that marked the eastern boundary of the desert, shown as mellow and as soft as the spring sunshine in their old eastern homes. The lateness of the fall season had robbed it of its brassy glare and the cool wind that had swept over the valley during the night had driven out the quivering heat units with which the blistering sands had been surcharged.

The drive home was a pleasant one and good progress was made. Everyone was intent on locating at the very earliest possible moment the windmill, surrounded by its village of glistening white tents, that they were sure could be seen for miles. Numerous windmills were in sight far across the plain, but none that they could distinguish as the one marking their journey's end.

As they drew nearer to their homes, and after they had reentered the road over which they had made their outward trip, evidence of a changed condition was everywhere apparent. New houses, their unpainted outer wall reflecting the bright sunrays, could be seen for miles; hundreds of acres had been cleared of sagebrush, and small mounds of white ashes surrounded by charred ends of brush over which the reawakening bunch grass waved, showed where the bonfires had been made. In some instances many acres had been plowed and harrowed, made ready for the sowing of grain that would immediately follow the first of the winter's rains. This evidence of advancement gladdened the hearts of our worthy friends and speculation was rife among them as to the probable value of land under these changed conditions.

In their eagerness to reach their homes no stop was made for lunch. Water for their horses was obtained from a newly made cistern at the edge of a large area of newly plowed land. Evidence of a recently abandoned camp was near at hand, but no sign of life. The journey was resumed after watering the horses and in a short while familiar objects could be pointed out, and in some instances their individual homes could be located. There was the old windmill, its weather stained wheel and vane contrasting strangely with other windmills that glittered with their newness on adjoining sections, the old landmark that had withstood the onslaught of the terrific wind and sand storms for years, warped by the intense heat of the blistering desert sun, drawing with tireless energy the cool sparkling water from the depths of the well over which it stood guard, and beckoning to the chance wayfarer to come and partake of its refreshing draughts. Thus it had stood, known as "The Windmill," the friend of every stockman, homesteader, land owner or wandering Indian that chanced its way since the day, many years ago, a progressive sheep man, seeing the value to his herds of this extensive grazing ground, had caused to be hauled for many miles, across mountain, stream and plain, the machinery for its erection, for the establishment of this oasis in the desert. Unconscious of the fact that he was erecting a monument to himself and a source of comfort and blessings to hundreds of human being for many years to follow.

Upon their arrival at the windmill they were disappointed to find that the tents were gone; the party of surveyors had left the field. The only remaining evidence of their having been there was an occasional white stake driven into a mound of earth, marking a corner, or an iron pipe with a brass cap on which was recorded the elevation above sea level. The busy groups of men, the hurrying camp wagons and pack trains, were missing, so the anxiously awaited information as to the probability of irrigation in the near future was not to be gotten.

The families of the homesteaders having been informed of the day and time of their probable arrival, had assembled at the well to greet them. Travis Gully's wife and three of his children were there. Being unable to find the horses that had gotten loose upon the range, they had walked the three miles to the well to meet him. Ida, the eldest girl, had remained at home to care for the youngest child, who was too small to take the trip.

Here, at the same place where they had assembled a few months before, they separated and went to their several homes. A neighbor whose horses had been taken on the trip to the harvest field assisted Gully and his family to reach their home. As they approached the house the children who had been left at home came running out to greet them with joyous shouts of welcome.

Thanking his friend for the ride, Gully threw his blanket roll from the wagon and sprang down, seized his boy in his arms, lifted him high on his shoulder and marched triumphantly into the house. His wife having taken possession of the canvas grip, and with the rest of the children eagerly crowding around, they followed him. A shaggy tramp dog who had come unbidden, a self constituted guardian of his family during his absence, came from beneath the kitchen table, sniffed suspiciously at Gully's overalls, and scenting no evidence of danger, wagged his tail in approval and returned to complete his nap. The three chickens of which Joe was the proud owner, feeling that some event of importance was taking place, crowded noisily around the door.

All these little incidents were unnoticed by the tired father who, now being seated, was in a fair way of being smothered by the demonstrations of his devoted children. Boisterously they crowded around and over him, plying him with a constant volley of questions and recitals of happenings during his absence. The mother, forgetting for the time the long months of anxious waiting, beamed with satisfaction on this happy scene. Curiosity to know the contents of the canvas grip soon aroused the children, and after Gully had emerged from the mass of clinging arms and tangled locks, he directed Joe to bring the grip to him.

Upon receiving the grip, and with his children seated around him on the bare floor, with eager and expectant faces, he opened it, and as he handed each their little bundle they scampered away to investigate its contents. He handed his wife the package he had brought for her and asked if she could guess its contents? After several attempts to do so, all of which ended in failure, she opened it, and realizing at a glance the nature of his gift, she was speechless with pleasure, and with her eyes filled with tears, she threw her arms about his neck and laughed with girlish glee. For the first time in the course of their married life Minnie Gully had a glimpse of her husband's heart.

It was a happy family that gathered around the supper table that evening. After the meal was eaten and the dishes removed the smaller children brought their boxes of crackers, cut in grotesque forms of various animals, and arranged them in rows to correspond with their idea of a circus parade, of which they had once seen a picture. The mother and two eldest girls unrolled the goods for the dress, and holding it to the light, admired its beauty and discussed how it had best be made. Gully sat silently smoking his pipe, enjoying for the first time a feeling of absolute independence. He was in his own house, on his own land, with funds to provide for the winter, and being undismayed by the failure of his first effort on his homestead to raise a crop, dreamed peacefully of the future.

Late into the night, long after the excited children had gone to sleep, Gully and his wife sat and planned for the expenditure of the sum he had earned during the harvest season. They talked of the many requirements of the children, of the supply of provisions that would be necessary to do their family until spring. Feed had to be purchased for the two horses with which it had been necessary for him to provide himself when he came upon the homestead. If the snowfall was light the amount of feed required would be correspondingly small, but should the snow become sufficiently deep to hide the bunch grass it would be necessary to feed the whole winter through. Thus they planned, making numberless lists of necessary purchases, and after comparing the amount required with the funds on hand, revised and readjusted the list until finally giving up, bewildered but happy, they went to their rest.

CHAPTER IX.

Travis Gully having acquired the habit of early rising during his sojourn among the harvesters, was awake the following morning before the rest of the family was astir. He lay for a short time drowsing and enjoying the unaccustomed rest, but being unable to content himself, arose, and after dressing stepped outside in the crisp morning air. Daylight was just appearing over the brow of the hills to the east, a narrow thread of silver light with a faint tinge of rosy dawn. The deep shades of night, disappearing behind the peaks of the Cascade mountains to the west, cast their purple hues over the snow covered expanse at their summit, faded away and were lost amid the gloomy blackness of the heavily timbered gorges that cut deeply down their sides to the Columbia river.

Lighting his pipe, Gully strolled out near the cistern, where, seated upon an upturned barrel, he breathed with exhilerating delight the morning air and tried, in fancy, to picture to himself what the reclamation of the thousands of acres that lay before him would mean. He could see miles of just such grain as he had been helping to harvest, and long avenues of fruit trees, extending across the clearing he had made the spring before; trees like those he had seen growing in the orchards at Wenatchee, where he had made his first stop. The little strip of land that lay between his present humble home and the dusty road, then no longer dusty, but a glistening well kept highway extending away in the distance until lost to view by its ever decreasing narrowness; this little strip of land would be a waving mass of luxuriant alfalfa through which would wander his cows, horses and pigs.

His flights of imagination suggested to his mind a number of comfortable cottages in close proximity to his own then pretentious home, in which were domiciled each of his children. They should have homes of their own.

Travis Gully sat dreaming his delightful dreams of the future, when he was suddenly brought back to a realization of his surroundings by a hot breath, immediately followed by a cold, damp muzzle being thrust against his hand. Starting suddenly at this rude awakening, he frightened away the faithful old dog who, having discovered his presence, had approached to make his acquaintance. Appreciating the situation at a glance, Gully spoke kindly to the dog, calling him back; he patted him on the head and laughed good naturedly at his shaggy, woe begone appearance, and promised him better times for the future than he had evidently been accustomed to in the past.

It was now day, and the smoke was coming from the stoves within the homes of some of his neighbors. Upon noting this fact, he went inside the house, and after kindling a fire in his own kitchen stove, called to his wife, who having been awakened by his movements, immediately came out and joined him in the kitchen door, where they together watched the rising sun shed its splendor over the scene.

The delight of having their father with them once more clung to the family throughout the day. His every movement was followed by the joyous band of happy children. They led him to the point where the surveyors had set their instruments on their land and showed him the little stakes upon which the plumb bob had been centered, and which they had carefully preserved, telling him it was there the water was to flow. They told him of the many little kindnesses bestowed upon them by these good men who were to provide them with the much needed water, of how they had carried their letters to and from the distant post office, and had distributed pennies among the smaller children.

Thus the constant chatter flowed, each little incident doing its part to reconstruct the tower of hope that was being built, and in which Travis Gully and his family were to fortify themselves during the coming long winter months. The remaining few days of pretty weather could not be wasted in idleness. The trip to the distant town for supplies must be made; the cistern must be refilled, and more ground gotten ready for seeding before the frost came. All this Gully realized, and with hopes and aspirations at their highest point, he was eager to begin activities.

The horses that had been astray for several days returned for water and were taken up and held in readiness for daily use. The second day after Gully's return being Friday, it was decided by he and his wife that the trip to the town should be made first, as the supplies were running short. They were to go the following morning, and as it was to be a gala day the whole family was going.

At this announcement the children danced with glee, as they had not been further from home than the well since they came the March before, and little realizing how tiresome the long trip across the desert would be, they anxiously awaited the arrival of the time to start. Everything was gotten ready that evening in preparation for the trip, Gully knowing that the going and coming over the long sandy roads would consume most of the day. It would require an early start to allow time for their trading.

Sunrise the following morning found them well on their road to the town, which could be seen in the distance, although many miles away, and as the morning hours passed the enthusiasm of the children gradually exhausted itself, and the last few miles of the trip were made in almost complete silence, broken only by the monotonous squeaking of the harness and rattle of the wagon, the box of which was a home made affair, almost completely wrecked by the strain of being overloaded with barrels of water, but which had been wired together with bale wire in order that the boards extending from side to side would sustain the weight of those seated upon them.

When they reached the town, which consisted of a few residences, a railroad station and some half dozen stores, Gully drove to a vacant lot a short distance from the main street, where a number of wagons were already standing, with horses contentedly eating hay while their owners were transacting their business.

After assisting his wife and children to alight he unhitched his team, and then making them fast to the wheels, that they might eat, returned to where his family had assembled and assisted them to brush from their clothing the accumulation of sand and volcanic ash that had transformed them into gray figures that blended with the buildings, fences and sagebrush with which they were surrounded, all gray, the eternal gray of the desert.

Had those of their friends who had known Travis Gully and his family in their old home met them in their present condition, it is doubtful if the most intimate among them would have been able to recognize them. The changes that had taken place were in some respects advantageous. Minnie Gully was no longer the tired, care worn mother of the year before. She had thrown off that spirit of lassitude that marks so unmistakably the drudge, the farmer's wife. That she had health was evidenced by the tinge of color that shone through the coat of tan produced by the desert wind and sun, and also by her buoyant step and actions. The children had grown hardy and rugged by their unrestrained freedom in the wilderness, and while showing a disposition to be more timid, were as yet unspoiled by their isolation.

It was in Travis Gully that the change was most noticeable. He was no longer the disinterested slave, the irresponsible renter with no higher ambition than to grow an abundant crop for his landlord, that he might be allowed to remain on the premises another year and thereby avoid the exertion of a forced move. His summer spent in the harvest field had netted him other than financial returns. It had developed in him a firmer resolve to own a home of his own, and hardened his muscles for the fray. His bearing was more independent, and the fire of a newborn ambition shone in his eyes.

He was now the aggressor, and had dropped the role of a passive follower. It was his first awakening, and never having been compelled to feel the sting of defeat, was as yet undaunted. Thus it may be seen that while the first year's planting on the homestead was a failure the venture, as a whole, had its element of success.

The next few hours of their stay in the village was devoted to shopping, and were filled with many incidents both amusing and trying. The constant care of the children as they tugged at their mother's skirts, calling her attention to various articles that caught their wondering eyes, the trying on of shoes and selection of ginghams and calicoes, with one ever present thought, that the purchases must be confined to a certain amount, made the task a tiresome and nerve racking one. At last it was finished, and when Travis Gully, who had gone for his team, drove up to the store and loaded on his purchases, it was a tired and hungry family that climbed into the wagon and took their places among the many bundles and boxes with which it was piled and turned their faces homeward, to drive back over the same dusty road; to listen for hours to the rattle of the particles of sand as they were lifted high by the revolving wheels and then allowed to drop upon the paper wrapped bundles with which the bottom of the wagon was strewn; to listen to the continuous crackling of the dry sagebrush as the wheels passed over it, pressing it deep into the yielding sand, and which sprang back into position after the vehicle had passed and awaited, with a patience born of years of solitude upon the desert, for the next onslaught, continuing this torture until ground to powder and mixed with the sand that had lashed it for years. Take, if you will, a pinch of sand from the sage covered desert, and seek out from its many particles the tiny atoms of sagebrush and examine them. They are all the same misshapen, dwarfed and gray.

It was far into the night before the Gully's reached their home and were greeted by the faithful old dog who had remained behind, but little notice was taken of his demonstration of welcome, so after he had assured himself that all were present, and had tugged at the blanket in which little Joe was brought, sleeping soundly, into the house, he retired to his place under the kitchen table. Gully lost no time, after caring for his horses and seeing that his purchases were safe for the night, in going to his rest, conscious of the fact that an eventful day in his life had passed.

It now being late in November, Gully knew that but a short time could be expected before the first winter snow would come, and he had learned that it sometimes came in such quantities as to drift in the roads and make it very difficult to travel, and not caring to be caught unprepared in such an event, left the following Monday in search of a place where feed for his horses might be purchased. Accompanied by one of his neighbors, he went back into the hills, and there they purchased a sufficient amount to do them both. The roads being very sandy and the distance great, it required several days with both their teams to haul the hay to their claims. After this was accomplished and the winter's supply of wood procured, the rest of the time before the snow fell was devoted to clearing land in preparation for plowing the following spring.

At last, upon awakening one morning Travis Gully found that the long looked for snow had arrived, several inches having fallen during the night, and it was still snowing quite hard. He looked out across the level plain, and thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Not a breath of air was stirring, and the huge flakes were coming down in myriads, falling on the high tufts of bunch grass and remaining where they had fallen. The unsightly sagebrush was transformed into every conceivable shape, and its stubby, unyielding branches bedecked with soft, fleecy snow that completely hid their identity and brought their grotesque forms out in cameo like relief. The changed color and altered conditions from its former sameness gave the landscape a weird, ghastly appearance.

Gully stood fascinated by the dazzling whiteness, and wondered in a vague, uncertain way why, if such a change was possible in so short a time by a simple variation in climatic conditions, would it not be possible to make the change permanent and productive of some good. Why not change from the torturing dull gray to green and then a golden hue, to be followed by the spotless mantle of white? Was it within the power of man, with his advanced ideas and modern methods, to bring about such a transformation? If so, would the change be permanent? That they had in some instances, and over small areas, accomplished this feat it was true, but it was noticeable in every instance of this kind new complications had arisen to test their ingenuity, new difficulties were constantly arising for mankind to combat.

Could it be possible that Dame Nature in her magnanimity in giving the greater portion of the earth had reserved these few, isolated places for the gratification of her whims, for reconstruction by her hand alone, to be handed down in ages yet to come to a different, better and wiser race. If it was possible for this once inland sea to be transformed into a blistering barren waste, why would it not be equally possible for this same power to tear down and remove the barriers that now arise between this desert and its natural source of water supply, the mountains that so change the currents of air and rend asunder the vaporous clouds, and thereby render condensation impossible. What right had man to dictate the conditions that shall obtain in certain localities, and would nature concede their demands?

To Travis Gully the possibilities of irrigation were unknown. He had never seen its results, except on the one occasion when he had stopped for a few days in the little city, surrounded by its extensive orchards, that had marked the end of his journey in quest of a home. That similar conditions as those he was now called upon to combat once existed in that now fertile valley he well knew, and the scenes of beautiful homes surrounded by miles and miles of orchards, with occasional patches of green alfalfa, was so indelibly impressed on his mind that they were constantly recurring to his memory, and were easily within the bounds of possibility as applicable to the locality in which he had chosen to cast his lot. Would the change be made, would he and his neighbors be given an opportunity to demonstrate to the world, the results of intelligent handling of these greatest productive agents, water, sunshine and soil?

He was sure they would. The coming of the Geological Surveyors was proof that the authorities were at last going to reclaim this arid district and bring it into a state of productiveness. That they had left the vicinity of where he lived was true, but he had learned that they had established a new camp farther into the desert, where their work was to be continued, and as soon as the result of their investigation as to the feasibility of the plan had been reported to the Department of the Interior at Washington, D. C., actual work would start, and he would soon see the realization of his dream, "A home of his own."

CHAPTER X.

The first snow was of short duration, although the fall was heavy. The sun shone brightly before the end of the week and as it melted the moisture was hastily consumed by the thirsty sands. The days that followed the disappearance of the snow were ideal. No clouds of dust arose to obscure the vision, and the quivering, dancing mirage that had transformed the desert into a veritable fairy land appeared regularly each morning and lingered, as if loath to deprive the desert dwellers of the pleasure of its hypnotic influence, until compelled to retreat before the advancing army of glinting sunbeams.

The invincible bunch grass, aroused from its lethargy by the magic touch of moisture, sent forth from its withered roots tender shoots of green that peeped shyly from the mass of sun parched stalks that, unable to withstand the summer's heat, had fallen helplessly back, thus forming a shield for their parent turf.

These days of sunshine were taken advantage of by Travis Gully and his family, and rapid progress was made in clearing the land. With the coming of the shades of evening his place, like those of hundreds of others, was aglow with bonfires, the pyre of the burning sagebrush that sizzled, crackled and fried as the blazing torch was applied, and when the last faint glow of the remaining embers had died out and only ashes were left, they could still feel the penetrating leer of the ghastly gray that would not down.

As the winter approached every possible preparation was made for the months of enforced idleness, and when it finally came the family, who had never acquired the habit of reading, and were lacking in other forms of amusement, the time hung heavily on their hands. The letters that came from their old home at irregular intervals were anxiously awaited, and upon receipt of them a sense of homesickness seemed to overcome the family. Little incidents were recounted that recalled scenes and recollections that during the busy season would have been lightly passed and soon forgotten.

They had never met any of their former friends since coming to the northwest, but had learned that the Gowells and Moodys had settled somewhere in Montana, and word had been received from the Lane boys, who had taken up a homestead in Washington, but the address given was a remote point from the Gullys. The letters stated that those mentioned were all doing well and were satisfied with the change. Not a word of complaint had ever been written by Travis Gully or the members of his family. They had failed the first year, but it was probably due to unusual conditions, they thought, so they made no mention of the fact.

They had written home at regular intervals, stating that all were well, the happy, healthy growth of the children was noted, and an amusing description of their home, and experience in building the cistern and hauling water with which to fill it, was faithfully chronicled. An account of the trip to the harvest field was written, telling of the enormous yield and the methods used in saving the grain, also of how a sufficient amount was earned to meet the winter's requirements, but never a word of the heart breaking failure of their first planting nor of the tortures endured in the grain fields, feeling that the possibilities of a reoccurrence of these unfortunate conditions was remote. They looked only to a more successful future.

The little district school house, the erection of which had been started early in the fall, was now complete, but no teacher could be found who was willing to come into the wilderness to teach the few children of which the district boasted. The neighborhood finally by common consent organized what they called a "Literary Society," and a Sunday School. The society met twice a month, and these meetings were looked forward to as events of great importance, the program usually consisting of debates by the older members and recitations, dialogues and songs by the children of the community. The Sunday School met weekly, and the homesteaders came with their families for distances of from ten to fifteen miles to be in attendance.

As the holiday season approached; arrangements were made for a neighborhood Christmas tree, contributions were taken up at a meeting of the society, and a committee of arrangements appointed to take charge of the affair. Someone being the fortunate possessor of a catalogue from an eastern mail order house, it was brought into requisition and a selection of decorations and trinkets for the tree was made and the order for their shipment forwarded. A census of the community was taken and no one forgotten.

At dusk faint lights twinkled from the scattered homes in this sea of eternal gray sage.

For days before that memorable Christmas Eve an air of mystery surrounded the actions of everyone concerned. Packages that came through the regular mails from the home folks in the east were carefully hidden away, not to be opened until Christmas. The age worn spirit of the season's cheer had invaded the desert, bringing with it a feeling of comradeship not possible to engender in a community without the desert environments, the vastness and the solitude impressed upon the homesteader a sense of his individual smallness and the necessity of association with one another. They were there for a common purpose, the conquest of the desert and the building of a home.

When the anxiously looked for package from the mail order house arrived it was left at the Gully home until time to get the tree in readiness. The morning of the day before Christmas was ushered in by a blizzard that drove the finely powdered snow in blinding sheets into the faces of Travis Gully and the two of his neighbors who had been chosen to meet at the school house and make preparations for the assembly in the afternoon. Gully, after hitching his team to the wagon in which had been placed the packages and bundles, covered them snugly with old blankets to protect them from the blowing snow, and drove to the school house, where he found his two neighbors awaiting his arrival. They came out to meet him with forlorn and hopeless expressions depicted on their faces. Noting this, he asked them the cause of their distressed appearance, when, both speaking at the same time, they exclaimed: "How about the tree? We have no Christmas tree." Gully was amazed. Here they had made arrangements for a befitting celebration, with the decorations to adorn a Christmas tree, the time was at hand, and everyone had forgotten to provide a tree for the occasion.

With crestfallen expressions, the men turned slowly and allowed their gaze to sweep the plain in every direction, but could see no way out of their difficulty. Not a shrub in all that vast area raised its scrawny head to a height above four feet. What would they do? The wives and children must not be disappointed. They had set their hearts on this event as the nearest approach to a Christmas with the home folks. Here at this Christmas celebration would be opened packages containing tokens of love and thoughtfulness. The very knots in the cord that bound them, and the creases in the paper with which they were wrapped, had been made by fond hands that were separated from them by thousands of miles. No! they must have a Christmas tree.

At this point in their dilemma, the resourcefulness of the true pioneer asserted itself. With an exclamation of "I have it, boys," Gully sprang from the wagon, and throwing back the blankets from the packages he directed that they be taken inside, and after using the blankets to protect his horses from the cold, he went to a huge pile of sagebrush that had been hauled into the school yard for fuel, drew from its midst and shook the snow from several of its largest branches. These he and his companions carried into the school room. Gully's friends, not knowing his ideas, fetched and carried at his command like eager children. From beneath the newly constructed building was procured a piece of discarded scantling which was appropriated and cut to the desired length. The branches of the sagebrush were then cut from the stalk and nailed with painstaking care to the smooth surface of one side of the two by six inch scantling. Starting near the bottom with short branches, the longer ones were worked in near the center and tapering as the top was approached, the whole structure being topped with one crowning bough; and thus completed, the crude affair was placed in position, with the flat side securely nailed to the back wall of the building. Upon stepping back to study the results of their efforts, the men were surprised at the effect, the oddity of its appearance.

Procuring the box of trimmings, they proceeded with their task. By means of the generous distribution of cotton batting which was originally intended to create the effect of a snow drift at the base of the tree they succeeded in hiding the background and the rough bark of the boughs, and at the same time producing a decidedly wintery effect. Upon having completed the tree thus far they decided to return to their homes for their families, and to leave the final touches to the deft hands of their wives.

CHAPTER XI.

Owing to the great distance it was necessary for some of the homesteaders to come, it had been agreed upon to meet at the school building during the afternoon, bringing their lunch and eating, after which they would light the Christmas tree as soon after dark as would give the best effect, and to distribute the presents early that those who came from afar might return home at a reasonable hour.

It was shortly after the noon hour that Travis Gully and his two friends returned with their families, as they were anxious to have the tree as nearly completed as was possible before the arrival of those from a distance. The wives of the designers of this novel Christmas tree, having been in a measure prepared by having been told of its nature, were astonished, upon entering the building, at the attractiveness of the tree. They had expected to find some crude arrangement as a substitute for the usual evergreen, but when they appreciated the possibilities of the unfinished work before them, they were delighted, and went eagerly at the task of its completion.

Taking up the work where the men had left off, they readjusted the indiscriminate distribution of the fleecy cotton, sprinkling it with the glistening powder so commonly used to produce the sparkling, frosty effect, clipping an unruly bough here and there, placing the glittering tin candle holders, with their assorted colored candles, so as to avoid contact with the cotton when lighted, and after filling many small red, green and blue stocking shaped mosquito netting bags with candies and nuts, after which a tag bearing the name of some child of the neighborhood was attached, these they distributed among the branches of the tree, festooning the whole with a bewildering mass of yards of pure white popcorn strung on a thread for the occasion, tissue paper designs and sparkling tinsel that reflected the lights of the many candles in rapidly changing hues and giving it the effect of a dazzling fountain that persisted in its activities, though in the grasp of the frost king.

Before the completion of the decoration of the tree and for several hours after the neighboring homesteaders began to arrive with their families, each bringing their share of the Christmas packages and boxes of lunch. Many and varied were the expressions of amazement and delight that greeted the workers upon the arrival of each family. "Isn't it lovely, and made of sagebrush, too. How did you do it?" Some, more inquisitive than others, would have to handle the branches to convince themselves that it was purely a local product. "Well, it beats the trees we used to have back home. I wish they could see it," many would exclaim.

As the neighbors arrived, their packages were taken and either hung on the tree or placed conveniently near its base.

It was a happy gathering of pioneers. The little school building, though being used for a purpose other than for which it was built, radiated with warmth from the one huge sheet iron stove that stood in its center and into which was being constantly fed handful after handful of crushed and twisted sagebrush. As evening approached and the last of those who were expected arrived and were met at the door and relieved of their bundles and wraps, places were made for them near the stove that they might warm their frosted fingers and toes.

It was soon growing quite dark, and the excited children were eagerly clamoring for the candles to be lighted. Benches were drawn away from the walls, and after being placed together, the lunch was spread, and the Christmas festivities were begun. There was no snow white linen or sparkling silver nor cut glass, no wines or imported beverages, not a flower or sprig of green graced this banquet board. The benches were covered with the paper removed from such of the packages as had been unwrapped, and plain porcelain, granite and tin were the plates. The knives, forks and spoons were the iron handled or plated varieties. All evidence of stately ceremony was absent, but over all a spirit of good fellowship reigned. Faith, Hope and Charity were their guests and hovered close around this isolated gathering and directed their every thought, word and action. The plain food was eaten with a relish, and the steaming coffee, served from a granite pitcher that was constantly being refilled from a large boiler on the sheet iron stove, was drank with an appreciation of its warmth and invigorating effect.

The supper over and all evidence of it removed, with the benches so arranged that all could get a view of the tree, the lighted lanterns that had been hanging upon the walls, were lowered, and the tree lighted. Breathlessly both young and old awaited the effect. Faintly the little candles flickered and sputtered, trying with their tiny wicks to allow the consuming flames to survive. A few went out, but were quickly relighted, and as the hand that applied the match was withdrawn and a slight current of air created, they flared and fluttered, but as the pointed tip of each candle was burned away and the little cups of molten wax formed around the wicks, they shot forth their flames. One by one they came, like stars as night rapidly falls; more quickly they came, and as the last one flared up and revealed the tree in all its sparkling brilliancy, bated breathing ceased, and with a sudden chorus of many childish expressions of delight and much noisy handclapping of their parents in appreciation of the spectacle before them, the little school room was filled with din that was taken up by the icy night wind and wafted for miles across the snow and mingled with the swish of the treacherous currents of the Columbia river, or mounting higher were lost amidst the phantomlike whispering of the soughing pines on the rugged mountain side.

There were among those who had assembled there that Christmas Eve many who had in their earlier childhood attended many Christmas tree entertainments, both community and family trees, but none were present who could recall ever having seen one more beautiful. Their minds flew back for just one fleeting moment to scenes in the past, trying in vain to recall the most beautiful tree they had ever seen, that they might compare it with the one they now beheld, and wondered at the possible effect the sight of such a one as this would have upon the home folks.

Travis Gully was chosen to distribute the presents, and this he soon accomplished. As each person's name was called they arose and the parcel was passed to them, and when the last of the packages had reached the hand of its excited owner and had been opened and admired, they were passed to curious onlookers for their inspection and comment. The tree was denuded of all its gaudy decorations. The candle holders, with their short bits of candle, were distributed among the children, and the long strings of popcorn and sparkling tinsel, together with the cotton, were carefully stored away in a box for future use. While mothers secured their wraps and shook to a state of wakefulness many sleepy little tots, each step they took resounding with the crunch of peanut shells with which the bare floor was strewn, the first Christmas tree the desert had ever known had come and gone.

The men went out, and hitching their teams, drove to the entrance for their families, and as each stepped inside the building to say good-night and wish for his neighbor a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, he took a final look toward the back of the room and shuddered. One smoky lantern hung on a nail near the tree, now robbed of all its tawdry loveliness; sagebrush, just a skeleton of a thing, once made beautiful for a transient moment but now back to it original state, a product of the desert, a diabolical fiend clothed in its haunting gray.

Gully with his family were the last to leave, and the hour being late, the drive home was made without comment by either he or his wife. The older children chattered away about what they and their friends had gotten from the tree. Little Joe, tucked snugly away among the blankets, one chubby hand clutching the now almost empty mosquito net stocking, the other, with fingers stuck fast together, was thrust beneath his head amidst a mass of towsled locks of sunburned hair, now smeared with red dye from a moist stock of peppermint candy, slept unconsciously throughout the trip home.

Christmas morning, when it dawned, was accompanied by a terrific blizzard that kept Travis Gully and his family indoors. But being happy with the success of the Christmas tree, they were content to stay by the fire and discuss that event and plan for the weeks of fair weather that they hoped would follow the storm.

Gully realizing that his family was comfortable, his only care was for his horses. These he had provided with as good protection as he had been able to construct after his return from the harvest field, but he knew that the flimsy structure he had erected and on three sides of which he had piled sagebrush as a windbreak, could not long withstand such a storm as was now raging. Upon going to the barn he discovered that the brush had already blown away and he set to work to replace it and to make it more secure by weighting it down with numerous old discarded railroad ties that had been hauled out for fuel. The stinging fine snow and icy blast of the blizzard made his task a most difficult one, and he was repeatedly forced to go to the house to thaw out his frosted fingers and toes.

As evening approached the fury of the gale increased, and huge snowdrifts formed around the little home and completely cut off exit by means of the kitchen door. The front door opened directly facing the blizzard, and at its every opening the two small rooms were filled with the cold wind and drifting snow. The shrieking and howling of the wind warned Gully of the wild night through which he and his family had to pass, and he made ready by providing an abundance of sagebrush for fuel. He fed and blanketed his horses early, and after spreading the straw for their bedding, he left them as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances.

Supper being over and he and his family seated comfortably around the roaring stove enjoying the genial heat that was now filling the rooms, and laughing merrily at the novel experience of being snowbound out in the desert. Incidents of other Christmas nights back in the old home were recounted by both Gully and his wife, to which the children eagerly listened. Laughing and chatting, the evening was spent in this snug little retreat, while outside the storm raged.

One by one the children became sleepy and were tucked away for the night, and the fastening of the front door was made more secure by having a crude bench turned on end and braced against it, and the cracks around its casing, through which the cold wind was driving the snow, was stopped by an old piece of canvas that was fastened at the top with nails and allowed to extend down to the floor. Thus fortified against the elements, Travis and Minnie Gully returned to their places near the fire and sat for a long time in silence, listening to the regular breathing and dreamy mumbling of their sleeping children. For them the storm had no terrors.

The wife placing her hand upon her husband's knee aroused him from his reverie, and she expressed her satisfaction with their changed condition, not that their material wealth had increased, but that she had been taken into his confidence and had become a factor in his life. In the old home she had been content to be the mother of his children, the keeper of his house. But now things were different. She was appealed to in all affairs, her suggestions were asked for the expenditure of the few dollars he had earned, she was consulted as to the plans for the improvement of their home, and she was happy in the thought that her ideas were of value, and were of assistance to him. She was experiencing her awakening, and while it was not as startling nor as sudden as his had been on that first day when he had determined to have a home of his own, it was just as real, and she was spurred on to new hopes and new ambitions, and was happy in their contemplation.

CHAPTER XII.

The wail of the wind grew louder as the night advanced, and the constant peppering of the particles of snow as they were being hurled in never ceasing volleys against the tar paper with which the outer walls of the building were covered could be distinctly heard. The old dog came from his accustomed place beneath the kitchen table, and going behind the stove seated himself amidst the shoes and stockings that had been placed there by the children. After sniffing the air he yawned, curled himself up, tucked his head with a contented sigh, blinked his watery eyes and was soon snoring contentedly.

Scarcely had he dozed off when suddenly he sprang to a sitting position, and pricking up his ears, emitted a vicious growl. Gully, fearing that he would awaken the sleeping children, spoke to him, commanding him to lay down and be quiet. This order he disregarded, and hurriedly went into the kitchen, with hair bristling. Suddenly the startling yap of several coyotes was heard above the din of the wind and pelting snow. A pack of these skulkers, driven from their lairs by hunger and the biting cold, had in their desperation overcome their fear of mankind, and emboldened by numbers, had entered the very dooryard in search of food or shelter.

Gully, after assuring his now thoroughly frightened wife that they were harmless, took the lamp, and going to the window pulled aside the curtain and allowed it to shine on the outside to frighten them away. At the same time he recalled the fact that little Joe's three chickens were roosting insecurely in a box in the barn and would fall an easy prey to the coyotes should they return. Taking his coat and hat, he pulled aside the canvas covering from the door and slipped out into the storm, returning in a few moments with the box containing the chickens, and put them in a place of safety in the kitchen.

Saying nothing to his wife about the fierceness of the blizzard, he resumed his place by the fire, and wondered if their little shack would withstand the strain. He thought of his poorly protected horses and how they must be suffering with the intense cold, and consoled himself with the thought that he had done all within his power to make them comfortable, even to covering them with the sadly worn blankets that could be used to an advantage on his own poorly provided bed. As for him, he could stay awake and keep the fire burning, and provide warmth for himself and family. With this thought he suggested to his wife that she retire, as the hour was growing late, and he would replenish the fire and follow as soon as he assured himself that all was well.

To this arrangement she protested mildly; she felt that should anything go wrong her place was by his side. After assuring her that everything was safe and that he would call her if she was needed, she finally consented, and going to where the sleeping children lay, placed each little straggling arm beneath the cover, and after smoothing their pillows she placed their scattered garments on the foot of the bed for additional warmth, and preparing her own bed, in which little Joe was sleeping soundly, she partially undressed and lay down.

Travis Gully, left alone, sat dreaming by the stove, while outside the blizzard raged and tore at the walls of his home. Its intensity was increasing, he thought, or it might be that his loneliness made its varied sounds more audible. Blast after blast was hurled against the structure, and its every timber creaked and groaned with the strain. The canvas covering at the door became inflated and collapsed at irregular intervals, flapping lazily against the door, rising and falling like a sail amidst errant breezes.

Gully was soon lulled to drowsiness by the warmth of the stove and varied sounds produced by the gale, and was soon dozing peacefully in his chair. How long he remained in this position he never knew. He was suddenly aroused by a call from his wife, who asked as to the cause of an unusual sound that had awakened her. Gully, thus awakened, noted the chilliness of the room, and renewed the fire, after which he listened intently for a repetition of the sound. He had not long to wait. A sudden fierce blast made the building quiver, and he could distinctly hear a lashing, tearing sound on the north wall.

Approaching the window to ascertain, if possible, the cause, he noticed the crunching sound of the trodden snow upon the floor, and felt the cold wind. He instantly realized what had happened. The wind in its maddened fury had torn the tar paper from the outer wall and was driving the finely powdered snow through the cracks and was forming it in slender drifts across the floor. The break was slight at the time of its discovery, but each new onslaught increased the size of the rent and was opening new inlets for the snow and icy wind.

Gully knew full well that to repair the break from the outside would be impossible, as the paper would be torn from his hands, and to drive nails in the dark, with numbed fingers, was out of the question. The havoc that was being wrought by the wind was rapidly growing in extent, and snow was being driven into the house through new openings at every gust. Sheets of paper were being torn off and could be heard rattling away across the snow and ice, being driven before the wind. Prompt action of some kind was imperative. The bed occupied by little Joe and his mother being built against the north wall of the room, it was necessary for them to move, as the snow was pouring in and covering the bedding, which would soon be made damp by the melting snow.

Joe was placed in the remaining crowded bed with the other children and Minnie Gully, hastily dressing, came with the broom to sweep back the advancing snow drifts.

The now vacant bed was hurriedly cleared of its bedding and the frame work torn from the wall to give access to the openings. Travis Gully worked feverishly, filling the cracks in the wall with paper and torn rags, pressing them in securely with a case knife, his wife bringing for this purpose every available scrap of material. The unused bedding was tacked up to temporarily stay the advance of the snow and wind. The melting snow in the room required constant sweeping back, the fire was kept burning brightly and the battle raged on. Not a complaint or wail of discouragement escaped either Gully or his wife. With set faces and determination they fought back the storm, and a smile of satisfaction greeted each successful effort, as inch by inch the cracks in the wall were closed and the advance of the enemy checked.

The children having been awakened by the unusual commotion were told to keep quiet and stay covered up, as everything was all right. Being thus reassured, they were soon fast asleep. Daylight came with the Gullys victors, but brought with it no abatement of the storm. The blinding snow obscured the vision and no idea of the extent of the damage done could be had.

Exhausted by the loss of sleep and the excitement, Minnie Gully had sunk into a chair near the stove. Her husband, noticing her tired look, tried to persuade her to lie down and rest for a while, but this she refused to do, so throwing an old coat over her shoulders to keep out the chill, he left her and went out to investigate the condition of his horses. These he found had fared much better than he had hoped. The drifting snow had been blown into the sagebrush windbreak and formed a solid and almost impenetrable mass, behind which the horses, protected by their blankets, stood in comparative comfort.

The task of digging from his meager supply of hay, now almost covered by a huge snowdrift, a sufficient amount for their morning feed was a hard one, but upon its completion he felt fully repaid by the hearty manner in which it was eaten. Upon his returning to the house he found that his wife and daughters were up and busily engaged preparing breakfast. They asked eagerly as to the condition of the horses, and upon being assured that they had fared splendidly, they laughed and joked over their wild night's experience.

All through that day and the day following the blizzard raged without any appreciable lull in its terrific force. No effort was made to repair the torn paper on the outer wall. The cracks that had been hastily filled with paper and rags were gone over and made more secure, the blankets that had been used as a shield in their emergency were taken down and dried, and the crude bed that had been so ruthlessly torn away from the north wall was temporarily reconstructed on the opposite side of the room and held out inviting prospects to Gully, who was now beginning to feel more keenly the effect of his long vigil of the night before.

All efforts at accomplishing anything on the outside were abandoned, and meals were prepared and served at irregular hours. The chickens had taken kindly to their new quarters, and becoming quite tame, were a source of amusement to the children. Travis Gully devoted his time to the care of his horses and providing fuel, the latter occupation requiring most of his time, as the enormous quantity consumed soon exhausted the supply near the house, and as more could not be gotten while the storm raged he was forced to dig out the old railroad ties from the wind break at the barn and to use them for fuel.

The storm spent its fury on the desert dwellers sometime during the third night. The lull came while Gully and his family, now inured to its sound, were soundly sleeping, and when they awoke the following morning they lay for several moments listening for the roar of the wind; not hearing it, Gully knew that the long wished for calm had come. Dressing himself, he kindled the fire, and calling to his wife that the storm had ceased, he went out to view its work.

The sun had risen, but was unable to penetrate the haze of thin clouds and snow left floating along the horizon, and looked down on the desolate scene without warmth. The air was cold and penetrating, huge piles of snow had drifted behind every stationery object, and in places where the ground had been cleared of brush and grass the snow was swept entirely away and the wind had eaten its way into the sandy soil and scattered it over the adjoining snowdrifts, giving them a yellow, dingy appearance. Loose sagebrush that had been left piled and ready to burn had been taken up and blown before the wind until finding lodgement against some object, had become the base for the formation of additional snowdrifts that extended in long mounds in the direction the wind had blown. The whole landscape had a changed and unnatural appearance.

Gully could see the homes of some of his neighbors, but they seemed far off, and no signs of life were visible except in one or two instances where streams of thin, blue smoke was issuing from their stove pipes. Not a horse nor cow could be seen upon the range, and the ever present hawks that were wont to soar at dizzy heights above the plain were missing. Noting these changes in detail, Gully wondered if these same conditions existed throughout the vast area. After feeding his horses, he returned to the house, where his breakfast awaited him.

A few days after the passing of the storm the sun resumed its brilliancy, but with little increased warmth; the days were clear and the nights frosty. No effort was made by Gully toward venturing away from home. He replenished his supply of fuel and covered the exposed cracks in the wall of his shack by nailing over them laths. The space between the cracks where the tar paper had been torn away was left bare, and the new boards thus exposed glared in the bright sunlight.

During the time they had been forced by the storm to remain in the house many letters had been written to the home folks, in which a description of the Christmas tree and the blizzard had been given. These Gully was anxious to get to the post office, as well as to receive the mail that he felt sure was awaiting his coming.

Deciding one morning that he would try to reach the village, he set about arranging his plans to go the following day. To undertake to drive through he knew would be useless, as the snow was drifted so badly he could not follow the road. As the village could be plainly seen from his house and there were no fences to obstruct his way, he thought it best to take one of his horses on which to pack out some provisions, and go straight across the wide snow covered plain.

Knowing that the trip, without mishap, would require the whole of the following day, he decided to start as soon as it was light enough to get his bearings. All preparations for the trip were made the night before, the little bundle containing his lunch, the letters that were to be mailed, and a list of the purchases that were to be made were placed where they would not be forgotten, and when Gully awoke the following morning he quietly arose, and after feeding his horses prepared for himself some strong, black coffee, which was all the breakfast he required, and without awakening the members of his family started on his trip.

CHAPTER XIII.

It was a strange sight to behold, in the dull gray of the winter morning, a man floundering through the snowdrifts, leading behind him an unwilling horse that could hardly be induced to leave its unattractive but comfortable stable. In Travis Gully, garbed as he was, the horse could not be expected to recognize its owner. Over his hat he had tied a large red handkerchief that held the brim down over his ears and caused a peak at front and rear like an old fashioned cockaded hat, his mackinaw was bound around his waist with a piece of rope, and strips of burlap wound around his legs extended over and completely hid his shoes. His appearance was more that of a typical tramp than the sturdy homesteader he really was.

Owing to the many difficulties encountered, caused principally by the sagebrush that lay hidden beneath the snow into which his feet sank at every step, he did not reach his destination until shortly after noon. There were many in the village who expressed their surprise at his undertaking such a trip. None of his neighbors had been in, and no word had been received from the district that lay far to the south as to what the result of the blizzard had been. It was feared that there had been great suffering among the homesteaders, as it was well known that many of them were poorly prepared for the rigor of such a storm.

After attending to his business no time was lost in starting on the homeward trip. With his few groceries securely wrapped in two compact bundles and fastened to each end of a rope, they were thrown across a comfortable canvas pad and lashed to the horse's back, the weight being as nearly equally divided as was possible, the crude pack was adjusted and the tedious retracing of their tracks begun.

Gully had not taken time to eat his lunch, but had placed it in the pocket of his mackinaw, intending to eat it as he traveled, thereby avoiding the loss of time. The mail that he had found waiting for him was tied in a packet and placed securely in his inside pocket, that it might be kept dry in case he was overtaken by another blizzard. He had not read any of the letters or even glanced at the headlines of the little home weekly, several issues of which had accumulated at the post office, and as he trudged his weary way through the deep snow he tried to imagine to himself what messages they bore, whether their contents were joyous or sad, and in his wandering thoughts he compared his present plight with the winters he had spent in the East and asked himself if he would be willing to exchange the present hardships and inconveniences for the old condition, and laughed at the thought.

"No, I will not go back to the life of a renter under any circumstances. I have hardly started on the task of making a home," he told himself, and the thought of abandoning the dream was ridiculous. "Minnie and the children are well and happy, and even if we did not raise good crops for the first year or so, think what it will be when the irrigation ditch comes through," and as he discussed these questions in his mind he ate his lunch, never stopping for a moment.

The horse, now that he was headed in the direction of home, kept pace with its master, and with his nose at his elbow was ready to receive the occasional piece of crust that was given him, and not satisfied with his scant allowance, nipped at his sleeve and teased for more.

Upon looking back Gully noticed that the pack had slipped and stopped to replace it and to tighten the rope. He then saw that evening was approaching, and glanced back toward the village to estimate the distance he had covered. His own home he could plainly see, and he noted the smoke as it poured from the stovepipe and realized that this meant the preparation of a warm supper with which he would be greeted upon his return.

He pushed on. The constant snagging of the burlaps in which his feet were encased, as he sank deep in the snow and sagebrush, had torn it away until his shoes were exposed, and as he wore no rubbers, his feet were wet and numb, and he knew that later the cold would become more severe. The sky was overcast with clouds, and he realized the dangers of being lost on the desert on such a night as this promised to be, so he put forth his every effort to reach his home before the darkness fell.

The horse, now eager to reach home and enjoy the long deferred feed and warmth of the stable, was crowding his master's footsteps and threatened at every faltering movement to be upon him. Gully was soon forced from fatigue to give up all hopes of reaching his home before dark, and was satisfied to think that he was near enough to be guided by a beacon light that he felt sure would be placed in the window. Stopping for a few moments to recover his breath, he looked longingly toward the little black dot that could be dimly seen against the background of snow, knowing that it was but a mere speck on the desert. Yet it was his refuge and contained his world.

As he rested and watched the shades of evening settle and creep down the distant mountain side, he took his horse's nose between his hands and, caressing it, enjoyed the warmth of the hot steaming breath. Then he cast one more glance in the direction of his home; it had faded from his view and was lost in the corresponding darkness, but in its stead a small twinkling light gleamed feebly across the snow. It was scarcely larger than the flame of one of the Christmas tree candles and was many miles away; yet it warmed his heart as no other flame could have done.

Speaking encouragingly to his horse, they resumed their toilsome journey, and never faltering or stopping, followed the guidance of the little light for another hour, and Gully staggered into his yard, his trip ended. But conditions had been reversed; the horse had led him home. Wearily he removed the pack, and placing it upon the ground near the kitchen door, was in the act of reaching for the mail to hand to his wife when his strength gave out and he collapsed. Numb with the cold, and with his trousers frozen fast to his shoes, he was helped into the house. The horse, upon gaining his freedom when his master's hand had released its hold on the rope, went to its place in the barn and munched hungrily at the hay that had been placed there to await his coming.

The warmth of the room and a cup of steaming hot coffee soon revived Gully, and after being provided with warm dry clothing he ate supper with his family and listened in a dazed manner to the reading of the news from home. But the stupor induced by the exposure and tremendous exertion finally overcome him, and he was forced to retire.

After Minnie Gully had assured herself that her husband was comfortable and sleeping soundly, she quietly slipped from the room, closing the door that led into the kitchen as she came out for fear that the chatter of the children might disturb him. Clearing away the dishes from the supper table she brought out the letters and papers that had been received that day and carefully reread every line of the letters from home. An occasional smile would brighten her countenance as she came upon some bit of homely advice or some suggestion from her dear old mother, suggestions that would have been applicable to the Minnie Gully of old, the tired, haggard daughter her mother had last seen, but to the robust, cheerful woman she had now grown to be they were amusing.

After having read the last of the letters she dropped her hands upon the table before her and sat staring at the open pages, reading between the lines. How plainly she could see the old home, the very room in which this letter was written. 'Twas evening, probably Saturday. Yes, it was Saturday, for there was father's Bible and scattered notes. He had been preparing his sermon for the morrow. His spectacle case was laying on the loose pages. He had got up and moved his chair to the opposite side of the table, and was seated by mother, who with toil stiffened fingers was laborously writing this letter. How plain it all was, and how her heart ached, not from homesickness nor from a desire to see and be with them, but rather to cry out to them and tell them what they had missed. They, in their crowded communities, even in the rural districts, knew nothing of the wild delights of perfect freedom and unlimited space. She had always been crowded; she knew it now. She had never known or felt until now the exhilerating thrills of doing something, doing something worth while. Fighting, yes, that was the word; fighting the elements, doing battle with unadorned nature, free from the artifices of mankind.

Oh! if she could only make them understand the inexpressable joy of conquest. The joy of breathing pure air; breathing it out in the open; air that had probably never come in contact with the nostrils of a living creature. Even though the air at times might be laden with sand that stifled and choked, it was dust that had been torn from a virgin soil, and was uncontaminated from having been trodden under foot by a hurrying multitude of human beings. And the mountains—how she loved them—she never tired of their ever changing beauty and grandeur. Still retaining the hold on the letter, Minnie Gully arose from the table, and going to the outside kitchen door, threw it open and stepped out. Not until she was met by the cold air and the blackness of the night did she realize how completely she had been lost to her surroundings.

Laughing aloud at her foolish flights of thought, she hurriedly tossed back the few strands of hair that had been displaced by the cold breeze and returned immediately into the room. She gathered up the letters and scattered papers and put them away, after which she joined in the conversation and games with the children; but the thoughts of the home folks remained with her. She wanted them to feel as she felt and to reap some of the benefits of this land of health, and be a factor in its development.