Hiking Westward

HIKING WESTWARD is really a chapter taken out of the lives of two wide-awake American boys who go West to make a home for their mother. Although ignorant of the conditions of frontier life, Phil and Ted Porter meet them manfully. They face their difficulties with a smile, work like Trojans on their quarter section and through the love which they bear their mother, as shown in their every act, they win the respect of the kind-hearted, but rough settlers: people who do things: to whom setbacks and difficulties are daily occurrences. Success crowned their efforts, developing a sturdy self-reliance and an ingenuity in surmounting the many obstacles which confronted them.

Originally this story appeared under the title of “The Young Homesteaders”, by J. W. Lincoln—my pen name, but the edition was quickly withdrawn and now, over my own name and with corrections and revisions, I desire to place it in the hands of all the boys I can as a true picture of early pioneer days.

“Phil, what should you and Ted do if you were suddenly called upon to support your sisters and me?” asked Mrs. Porter, as her family were finishing their supper.

“Play ball,” declared Phil.

“Be an aviator,” announced his brother.

“You might have known what their answers would be, Momsy, without asking,” exclaimed Sallie, with disgust. “Ever since Phil was elected captain of his school nine all he can think of is ‘play ball.’”

“Yes, and Ted’s just as absorbed in that old machine he is building—as if he could build anything that would fly,” interposed Margie.

“I tell you it can fly, Miss Smarty. It rose more than a foot from the ground and kept up for its whole length last week,” retorted Ted.

“That wasn’t flying, it was the shock caused by my lending you my week’s allowance,” retaliated Margie.

“You said you wouldn’t mention that, and anyway, I didn’t promise to pay it back until next month.”

“I’m sorry, Ted. That slipped out without my thinking. Do you suppose your machine would fly twice its length if I loaned you this week’s money?”

“Goody, sis, will you?”

“Don’t you do it, Marg,” warned her older sister. “Momsy, you ought to forbid Ted’s throwing away all his and Margie’s money on that crazy old airship.”

“I haven’t asked you for any, have I?” demanded Ted, his cheeks flushing.

“Good reason why—you know I wouldn’t lend you any.”

“You can turn up your nose all you like, but you’ll change your tune when you see me flying about.”

“I shall be so old my eyesight will be gone when you do.”

“Never you—” began Ted, only to be interrupted by his mother.

“There, there, son, don’t get so excited. It is all right for you to spend your own time and money on your flying machine, if you wish, but you must not borrow from Margie.”

“Now don’t scold Ted, Momsy,” broke in the younger girl. “I really owe him something because he helped me to pass my algebra exam.”

“Besides, I said I would pay her back next month—and I will.”

“All right, but I forbid you to ask Margie again. I think, too, it would be just as well if you all saved your allowances from now on—there is no knowing how soon they will stop entirely,” added Mrs. Porter, seriously.

At this statement, the boys looked blankly at their sisters, then at their mother, and as they searched her face, they noticed how unusually wan and frail she appeared.

“Why, Momsy, how tired you look!” exclaimed Phil.

“I am, son,—and ill. The doctor says I may,” and her voice quavered, “I may be obliged to give up my work and take a long rest.”

In shocked surprise, her sons and daughters heard her words, for, though they loved their mother dearly, with the carelessness of youth, they had failed to note the increasing look of weariness that was furrowing her face with lines.

“If Dr. Blair says you ought to take a rest, you shall,” declared Ted.

“Yet I can’t unless you and Phil are able to take my place as breadwinner, and flying and playing ball do not seem to be very reliable occupations.”

“We didn’t mean that; at least, I didn’t,” protested Phil, hastily.

“Nor I,” his brother quickly confirmed.

“Then what would you do?”

An instant Phil looked at his brother, who nodded, then replied:

“We’d take up a free homestead out West and raise wheat.”

So utterly different from anything they had expected was this announcement that Mrs. Porter and her daughters simply sat in silence.

Confronted with the necessity of bringing up four young children with only a small life insurance as a basis, the mother had courageously set about the task.

Artistic by nature, through the aid of friends, she obtained a responsible and remunerative position with a large department store which had enabled her to make their home in Weston comfortable and attractive, even, indeed, through the strictest economy, to save a few hundred dollars—but the effort had been at the expense of her strength and health.

“A lot you kids know about farming,” exclaimed Margie, the first to recover from her surprise.

“Or about anything else that’s practical,” retorted Phil. “But we can learn—and there’s a better living to be made from a farm, say out in Washington State, even the first year, than we could provide you in the city in five.”

“You think you would be happy to leave Weston, with your amusements and all your friends?” quietly asked Mrs. Porter.

“We know we should be,” asserted Phil. “Why, Jack Howell told us it took all the money he could earn just to buy his clothes and go round—and he receives twenty dollars a week. So how could we take care of you and the girls, too, even if we were able to get that much?”

“Which we wouldn’t be,” promptly declared Ted. “If a fellow can get ten dollars a week when he starts in, he is lucky. I know, because I’ve been trying to find a place where I could earn some money to put into my flying machine.”

“Why go way out to Washington?” inquired Sallie. “If you are set on going in for farming, there must be no end of places nearer where you could do as well.”

“If we had the money,” returned Phil. “As we haven’t, the thing for us to do is to take up some of the land that is given away by the government to settlers, and there is none easier to clear than in Washington. Oh, we know,” he added, forestalling the exceptions he knew his sister would take to this statement, “because Ted and I have been looking it up.”

“I thought lumber was the chief product of Washington,” declared Margie, cocking her head on one side, as though she were obtaining a mental picture of the products of that State as they were printed in her geography.

“So it is, but there are thousands of acres which are particularly adapted to wheat; that is, the climate is, and the soil is fertile,” replied Ted.

“But there are bears out in those forests,” protested Margie. “Just imagine Phil and Ted at work in their fields when up comes Master Bruin behind them and gives them a swat with his paw, knocking the mighty captain of the Parker School Base Ball Nine out with the first blow. Why—”

“Be sensible, Marg, if you can,” snapped Phil.

“Very well. Where do Momsy and Sallie and I fit in your plan? Dr. Blair says Momsy must have a rest. But all I can see in your scheme is a lark for you and Ted while we stay on here in the East.”

“We’d have Momsy and Sallie come out just as soon as we had filed our entry to the land and put up a cabin,” declared Phil.

“Leaving me to the tender mercies of some orphans’ home here?” bantered Margie.

“The bears would get you if you came out there; they like chicken,” grinned Ted.

Margie was on the point of retorting, when her mother interposed.

“This is too serious a matter to be turned into a joke, children. I—”

What Mrs. Porter intended to say, however, was left unsaid, at least for the moment, for before she could proceed, the door opened and in burst several young people.

“Hurry and finish your suppers; we want you to go canoeing,” exclaimed one of the girls. Then, as she noticed that Mrs. Porter seemed about to refuse, she added: “Now you mustn’t say ‘no,’ Momsy Porter. It’s concert night, and we can’t go unless you let Sallie and Margie and the boys go, mother said so.”

“We’re going to sow wheat instead,” asserted Margie.

“That will do, daughter,” rebuked her mother. “I—”

“You will let them, won’t you?” begged another girl.

“Yes. Dr. Blair is coming to talk with me, so I shall not be left alone.”

With a swish of skirts the girls swooped upon the frail little woman, almost smothering her with their hugs and kisses, then rushed away, her “be careful!” ringing in their ears as they trooped off, the boys trailing behind, their arms loaded with cushions.