The Land of Lure: A Story of the Columbia River Basin

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.

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.

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.

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.

Long after she and the children had gone to bed she lay and thought of her girlhood friends, whom she knew would live their prosaic lives without ever having known the joys, miseries, delights and sorrows that enter into the daily life of a pioneer, and she wanted to help them; she went to sleep with visions of herself as a great benefactress distributing happiness to thousands of her kind.

The passing of the blizzard marked the turning point of the winter, and the weather throughout the month of January was nice, and while the snow did not disappear, there was only an occasional flurry added nothing to the quantity on the ground. The social meetings at the school house were not resumed after the Christmas tree, owing to the extreme cold, but the neighbors visited with each other and met frequently at the store in the village. At such times when two or more were together the principal topic was the blizzard. Although the country was comparatively new in its settlement there was always the proverbial "oldest inhabitant" who could recall "Just such another winter," but to those who actually knew, it had been by far the worst blizzard the country had ever known since the advent of the white man.

There was a legend told by the Indians of the Northwest of the winter of the long ago when the snow was so deep in the mountains that the deer, driven from their natural haunts in the mountains, had crossed on the surface of the frozen Columbia river in search of food and died by the thousands on the plain. This, to a certain extent, was verified by the occasional finding of antlers, bleached white by years of exposure to the rays of the desert sun.

The matter of irrigation was now seldom mentioned. That the party of Government surveyors who had worked on the project the summer before had left with their equipment at the first approach of winter was known, but as to whether they were to return, or had completed their investigation, was left to conjecture.

With the arrival of February came the first real spring weather. A chinook wind came, and after blowing for two nights and a day, had melted the snow to such an extent that the only traces of it to be found was where it had drifted into an abandoned badger or coyote den and escaped the warm breath of the chinook. There being no frost in the ground the moisture created by the melting snow sank deep into the soil and was stored away for future use. The sun, as it rose higher with each lengthening day, dispensed its increasing warmth, thereby reviving the earlier varieties of plant life with startling rapidity.

Gully having cleared a number of acres of sagebrush, was anxiously awaiting seasonable weather for plowing, that he might sow his grain early and get it up and well rooted before the spring winds came, thinking that by adopting this method it would survive. There was plenty to do before the ground was in a condition for plowing. Seed grain and feed was to be hauled from the wheat growing district of the Big Bend country, and a supply of provisions procured, that a trip to the village would not be required of the team during the plowing and seeding time. The cistern was to be filled and as much more ground made ready for the plow as was possible before the rush.

Plans for the accomplishment of all this had been carefully made by Gully and his wife, and they were eager to begin. As the roads were in excellent condition while the sand was wet and settled, Gully borrowed a team to work with his own from one of his neighbors and went for his seed grain, the trip requiring two days.

Upon his return from this trip he and his entire family drove to the village. There was no great amount of shopping to be done, as Gully's funds were about exhausted, but one of the merchants in the town had promised to supply him with provisions until the harvest season. The family was taken along that they might enjoy the outing, and as the weather was bright and there was no dust or blistering sun, the trip was often looked back to as one of the most pleasant they had ever taken.

CHAPTER XIV.

Gully made no effort to reply to all these inquiries, nor did he feel justified in holding out alluring prospects to the writers, although he himself had absolute faith and confidence in the ultimate success of his undertaking. He was not certain as to whether all the anxious seekers for a home would be willing to endure, or could withstand, the hardships incident to the establishment of a home in the desert.

He would sit and talk the matter over with his wife during the evenings and at other spare times, and they agreed that while it would be nice to have some of their old friends as neighbors, the pleasure of their coming would be marred should conditions prove unsatisfactory upon their arrival.

They could recall a few of those among their former friends whom they felt assured would be easily convinced of the splendid future this country had, but there were others, many others, who they knew would expect to find conditions such as would guarantee immediate profitable results from their efforts. Of this latter class they were afraid, as evidence of their kind having been there and tried, failed and gone their way, was at every hand visible, and they did not care to be held to blame for their disappointment.

So they finally decided to write a letter to the editor of their little home paper, that it might be published, a letter setting forth bare facts. Conditions as they existed, without embellishment, the good and the evil alike, and let those who might read choose for themselves.

The preparation of this letter was a source of both worry and amusement to Travis Gully and his wife, and required several nights for its completion. Worry that in their enthusiasm and optimism they might make it too favorable in its tone, that they might infuse into it too much of their individual hopes and aspirations of which they had dreamed until they had become almost a reality. And again they would burst into hearty laughter at the recounting of some of their experiences, never realizing that these little incidents must be lived through to be appreciated.

When the letter was written, and after having been read and altered and rewritten a number of times, it was finally pronounced satisfactory and sealed, ready for mailing. Nearly a week elapsed before an opportunity to send the important packet to the post office came, and then only by the merest chance.

The news of the activities of the Government surveyors in the region the summer before had been spread broadcast throughout the East, and unscrupulous land boomers had announced that the reclamation by the Government of the vast area was an assured fact, some even going so far as to announce the exact amount of the appropriation made by Congress for this purpose and so, as a result of this, and also to the fact that the railroads had again put on a homeseekers excursion rate, the early spring brought an unusually large number of prospective settlers into the community.

They came in parties, toiling their way across the level stretch of country, now still moist from the melted snow, showed no evidence of the clouds of sand and dust that would follow after a few short weeks of sunshine. The surface of the unplowed ground was thickly carpeted with a specie of fine grass, known as sheep grass, that always came first in the spring, to be followed by the more succulent bunch grass.

Myriads of tiny plants were pushing their way through the surface and many were bursting into full blossom before they had lifted their dainty heads more than a few inches above the grass roots. Many and varied were their shapes and colors, each vieing with the other in hastening to bloom, that it might flaunt its beauty for the longest possible time before being forced to close its petals by the ever increasing heat of the sun.

To those of the tourists who came at this season of the year the prospects were most inviting. Never had they, in their homes in the East, had such a range of vision, such an unlimited expanse to sweep with their bewildered eyes, and the kaleidoscopic changes came so rapidly, as they turned to admire it.

It was like a dream. Starting with the snow capped peaks of the mountains, they could follow the scene downward past the snowline, over the barren space that intervenes between it and the timber, which starts in with its varied shades of green, the peculiar, yellowish green of the tamarack, that seldom grows at an altitude of less than three thousand feet. Intermingled with this would appear the spots of dull brown, showing the clumps of sarvic berries and choke cherries, the favorite haunts of the bear and deer. Towering above these thickets the slender white trunks and branches of the quaking asp could be plainly seen. Farther down the shades of green become darker as the forests of fir, pine and cedar come within the range of vision. Flaming patches of sumach adorn the edges of the rocky spots that occasionally occurred in the picture. On downward the dull gray of the sagebrush marks the upper rim of the breaks of the Columbia river, then a blank of smooth rock wall that drops for hundreds of feet to the water's edge. The river itself is hidden from view by the undulating hills that lay immediately adjacent to the plains. Here the scene changes from its wild rugged beauty to one indicating the presence of mankind. The vast expanse of sagebrush is dotted here and there with square patches of a new and different shade of green, the green of the freshly growing grain, each of these being marked by the presence of a newly constructed home. The green of the grain fields and the bare, unpainted walls of the homes refuse to harmonize with the color scheme of the desert and are easily distinguished as not being a part thereof, and do not figure in the picture. Passing them by with a hasty glance, barely sufficient to note their remoteness, one from the other, the beholder allows his gaze to gradually take notice of objects nearer at hand, and finally to lower his eyes, with a sigh of satisfaction, and looks with wonder into the faces of the little desert flowers blooming happily at his very feet, and asks himself what connection there is between these two, the glacial peaks and the tiny desert flower, so different in every way, and yet both so necessary for the completion of the picture.

Travis Gully and his wife anxiously awaited the arrival of the copy of the paper in which their letter was to be published and given to the world, and when it came they reread every word, and felt reassured that it contained no misleading statements, no invitation to others to come unprepared to take up the hardships of the life of a homesteader, but the entire article teemed with the elements of hope and optimism that showed their faith in a successful end.

During April and May the influx of homeseekers was at its height, and almost daily parties of prospective settlers stopped at the Gully home for information as to directions and locations of pieces of land they wished to secure. Gully's first year's experience had given him knowledge of conditions that had enabled him to overcome to a certain degree some of the difficulties with which he had to contend. During his enforced idleness of the winter just passed he had planned the course he proposed to pursue during the ensuing year. He had decided to introduce some of the dry land farming methods that had been successfully tried out in other sections of the Northwest, an idea of which he had gleaned from some Government Bulletins that had been given him by the postmaster of the village.

As a result of his experiments along these lines, and due to a most favorable season in the way of absence of hard winds and seasonable showers, Gully's homestead presented a most creditable appearance. His field of wheat was by far the best in the neighborhood, and as he had planted nothing but the most hardy varieties of corn and vegetables his garden promised to be a success, and as a result of the showing he was making, his place became one of the points of interest to which most of the visitors were directed by the people of the village, or to which the real estate agents always brought their clients, and would exclaim: "What this man has done in this country others can do."

Spurred on by his success and the ever increasing feeling of independence, Travis Gully toiled on thruout the spring. The constant recurrence of visitors to view their home was a source of diversion to the Gullys, and a means whereby many dollars came into their possession.

They made no charge for the hospitality extended to the strangers who came their way, but the offering of a glass of water or, as was often the case, a lunch and an hour's rest to the tired, dusty travelers who could not but see and appreciate their condition, was always rewarded by liberal offerings of change, made in most instances to the children. Thus the immediate requirements of the family were met and a small amount saved.

As the summer approached and the unusual showers became less frequent, the fitful gusts of wind started the restless sand, but too late to harm the grain that was now beginning to assume the golden tint that foretold an early harvest. The garden was beginning to wilt beneath the hot sunrays, but the ingenuity of Gully saved it. At the root of the melon vines and other plants empty cans were imbedded into which the waste water was poured and allowed to filter slow through, and by this method sufficient moisture was given the plants to mature them, and the yield was abundant.

The favorable season in the desert region had renewed the hopes of those who had chosen to make it their home, and scenes of unusual activity were apparent at every hand. New tracts of land were being cleared and plowed, and new buildings sprang up overnight; their glistening bare walls could be seen in many directions.

The services of a Miss Anderson as teacher for the little school had been secured, and though the season was late for starting, it was opened, and each school morning, early, the Gully children went joyfully across the sagebrush plain to the little school building, where they were joined by some half dozen other children who came from as many different directions.

The glint of the sunrays on their brightly shining dinner pails flashed heliographic warning of their approach long before the small pupils could be seen. The Sunday School was reorganized and the meetings of the literary society resumed. The hardships of the past winter were almost forgotten and were seldom referred to.

The middle of the month of June brought the harvest season. The grain in the desert maturing and ripening several weeks in advance of that in the grain belt to the north, thus affording the homesteader an opportunity to harvest their grain at home before leaving for the grain fields for their regular season's run.

Gully, whose harvest at home had yielded exceptional returns for which he found a ready market among his neighbors, was undecided as to whether to make another trip into the Big Bend country or remain at home and improve his place. But the desire to have a well, with abundance of water, which would give him an opportunity to irrigate and develop his home, soon caused him to decide to go. He had not forgotten his experience of the fall before, and his firm resolve never to leave his family alone in the desert again, but conditions had changed since them. They were better provided for, and there were neighbors, many of whom would have to leave for the winter, but still there were among them many who would leave their families behind. Besides he had bought another team and what they could earn, together with his earnings, would enable him to secure the coveted well, and he would not have to leave again.

As for the work, he was better equipped now and would know what to expect and consequently make the best of it. Thus he reasoned, and after fully determining to go, he wrote to the grower for whom he had worked the previous fall and arranged for work during the coming season.

The summer now being on, the heat of the sun was terrific, and no effort was made to accomplish anything during the day. When trips to the village became necessary the start was made early, and the home coming frequently postponed until after sundown, to avoid as much as possible the midday drive over the hot dusty roads. Rains were a thing of the past now, and the desert began to assume its accustomed dry, parched appearance. Many of the newcomers who had moved in during the early spring, when conditions were most favorable, were now becoming alarmed, and questioned the wisdom of their choice, and had it not been for the positive evidence of the possibilities of the district as seen at the Gully place, many of them would have become discouraged and given up in despair.

To many of these unfortunates the village was the only source of comfort. They would congregate there during the day and discuss the various subjects pertaining to home building in the wilderness. Many of them had had no experience at farming even under the most favorable conditions, and these presented a most pitiful appearance and woebegone manner. Fresh from within the confines of shop or office and launched upon a life of hardships and exposure, upon a sea of blistering sands, sizzling sagebrush and bunch grass, it was no wonder they blistered, peeled, freckled and tanned and seemed to shrivel and slouch when they had lain aside their neat fitting business suit and donned their overalls. It was a cruel test of stamina and manhood, and a surprising few that withstood it.

Many of the earlier settlers adhered to the belief that help would come to them through irrigation, and the fact of the surveyors having been in the field the summer before was related to the new settlers with convincing arguments that it had to come. Still no one had ever heard the slightest intimation of what the surveyors had accomplished in the way of favorable results or the nature of their official report.

The fact of this silence was looked upon by many as a good omen, and wild rumors were set afloat that the survey had been successful, and the plans for the installation of the gigantic system were then being prepared. On one occasion, while gathering driftwood along the shores of the Columbia, a homesteader saw a man working among the rocky cliffs far above him. He hastily drove home and reported his discovery to his neighbors, who added their ideas to the importance of this discovery, and by the next day it was a matter of common talk upon the streets of the village that work had started on the foundation for a huge power plant, to generate electricity for pumping. And so it went, every mysterious move or unusual occurrence immediately became the subject for speculation, and was supposed to have some bearing on the reclamation of the land with which they were now battling to bring into a state of productiveness.

Travis Gully was looked upon as a wizard, and his accomplishments under the existing conditions were the wonder of the neighborhood. Each little real estate office and many of the stores contained specimens of the stalks of grain, corn or other varieties of products grown by him. Many articles appeared in the papers published throughout the territory telling of what he had accomplished under his system of farming, and he frequently received communications asking for information as to the methods or kind of seed he had used. To all such he could only reply that his success was as much of a surprise to him as to others, and he took no special credit to himself. But it pleased him to think that it had fallen to his lot to prove to the world that his faith in the productiveness of the soil was well founded.

To Minnie Gully the effect of their success for the year was entirely different. She knew, or thought she knew, that it was due to the superiority of Travis' management. "Had he not studied the matter, and learned the exact time for plowing and seeding? Had he not so arranged the clearing of the land as to leave the sagebrush intact upon the high ground, that it might break the force of the wind, thus protecting the tender plants? And who but he would have had the forethought to save every condensed milk can that had been emptied, and had even brought hundreds of others to utilize in his novel method of irrigation for the vegetables and few nicely growing fruit and shade trees? Had she not saved every particle of waste water, even to the water used for the weekly laundering, and she and the children poured it carefully into the cans at the roots of the plants and covered them that the sand might not drift in and absorb the precious moisture?"

It was not chance to her. She felt that if they had acquired the distinction of being the most successful homesteaders in the district, they were entitled to it, and she prided herself on the fact; and she resolved that in the event of their securing a well, with abundance of water, even though irrigation never came, she would show the world further proof of what could be done, and would devote her life to making their home an ideal one.

Her blood would surge through her veins, and with flushed face and sparkling eyes she would go out into the yard and approaching one of the growing trees, then mere switches, would fondle its few green leaves and look upward, as if measuring the vast expanse above to see if she might imagine the height to which it would attain. She would go to the grain stack, and rubbing out in the palm of her hand a few of the well filled heads, blow away the husks and chaff, and admire the plump red grains, finally casting them to the patiently waiting chickens, and return singing joyously into the house and resume her household duties, a different Minnie Gully of a short year before.