CHAPTER IV
ROUGHING IT
After filing at the land office Harris returned at once to theArthurses' homestead. The news that the Harrises were to beneighbours within forty miles was received with enthusiasm by bothFred and Lilian Arthurs. But Harris was now consumed with a burningenergy; he allowed himself only a precious half-day at the home ofthe Arthurses, bade his wife an affectionate farewell, and, with acheery good-bye to the warm friends on the homestead, he was awaydown the trail to Emerson. By this time the sleighing was gone, andas his wagon was left with the car he rode one horse and led theother, carrying with him harness and such equipment as was absolutelynecessary on the road. He expected some trouble from the streams,which were now breaking up in earnest, but he was determined that atall costs he would get his wagon, plough, and tools to the homesteadbefore the frost came out of the ground and left the sod trailsabsolutely impassable.
On arrival at Emerson one of the first men he met was Tom Morrison.The two pioneers shook hands warmly, and in a few words Harris toldof having selected his claim, waxing enthusiastic over the localityin which his lot was to be cast.
"I must get out there myself," said Morrison.
"Do," Harris urged. "There are some other line quarters in theneighbourhood, and nothing would be better than to have you on one ofthem."
"Well, we'll see. Now, I've got your wagon loaded ready for the road.I couldn't get all your stuff on, but I loaded what you'll wantfirst, and the balance can come with the rest of mine, so you won'thave to make another trip. Ned has been back for some days, and we'reready to pull out too. And the sooner the better. The river is risin'real dangerous like, and if it keeps on this town's goin' to be underwater before it knows it. Indeed, it wouldn't surprise me if thebridge went out. So we took the rest of the stuff--yours andmine--out a day's haul on the road. It's in safe hands there, and wecan get it later even if the bridge does go. We thought we might aswell do that while waitin' for you."
"Waiting for me?" repeated Harris. "You don't mean to say you havestayed here just on my account?"
"Oh, no; you see, we wanted to get all the stuff out of danger."
But Harris read between the words that honest Tom had valued hisinterests equally with his own.
The west-bound trip was made in good time, although not withoutdifficulty at some points in the road, and before the 10th of AprilHarris was back under the shelter of Arthurs' roof. He was forpressing on alone in the morning, but he found that his wife had madeall her plans to accompany him and would listen neither to persuasionnor reason.
"No, Jack," she said, gently but firmly setting all his entreatiesaside. "I'm not going to let you do all the pioneering. I'm goingwith you."
"But, Mary, there's no house, and no shelter, and noneighbours--nothing but sky and grass as far as you can see."
"All the more reason I should go," she answered. "If you have torough it in the open you at least deserve your meals cooked for you,and such other help as a woman can give. We will take the cows--oneof them is milking now; the calf will have to go in the wagon; butwe'll have lots of milk, and I'm sure we'll get along. But I reallymust be with you. I really must, John, and you know--I'm going."
So at last he consented. The supplies of provisions were increased;room for the calf was found somewhere in the wagon, and together theyset out to wrestle their fortunes from the wilderness.
On arrival at the homestead the young wife immediately gave evidencethat she intended to bear her full share of the pioneer's duties. Acomparatively dry spot was found among the little poplars, and hereshe built a tent with blankets and a bit of rag-carpet that came inmost handy for such purposes. Their stove was set up, and although itsmoked stubbornly for lack of draught, it furnished heat for cooking,and when Jack returned from tethering the horses the smell of fryingham and hot tea struck his nostrils.
"Well, that's better than rustling for myself, I will admit," hesaid, as she placed his supper on an improvised table. "But it'smighty rough on you."
"No, it isn't, either. I'm healthy--why, this prairie air gives me anappetite that city people would pay thousands for, and I'mstrong--and happy."
He drew her to him, thrilled with the pride of her courage.
That night, before the darkness had gathered too deep, they selectedthe site of their house on the very bench that McCrae had indicated.It was about an acre in extent, and stood halfway between the prairielevel and the bottom of the coulee, where a small river was nowrunning...They would face their house eastward, so it would look overthe pond fifty yards from the door, and the bank behind would shelterit from the north-west winds of winter...It was quite dark when theysought the cover of their little tent, and the wolves were howlingfar down the ravine.
Presently they were startled by a crashing noise, as of some biganimals rushing upon them through the poplars, and the horses, inheadlong haste, almost swept over their sleeping-place. Onrecognizing their master the animals stood, snorting and shivering.
"That wolf howl put the fear into the silly brutes," said Harris,speaking calmly, although his own flesh was creeping just a little."I suppose they've ripped their tether ropes to pieces. Well, we'lltie them down here, where they'll have company." And he led them backa short distance into the bushes.
A moment later, suddenly, as if congealed out of thin air, on thebank right above them, silhouetted against the dim light in thewestern sky, stood a horse and rider. Instantly into Harris's mindcame a warning of McCrae: "Sleep with one eye open when your horsesare tethered out."
Harris had no proof that the strange rider was a horse thief, but itstruck him at the moment that the terror of the horses might not havebeen due altogether to wolves. Sometimes these noble animals have anuncanny instinct for detecting danger. He stole silently toward thetent. There was a gun there, loaded with shot for any possible gameon the prairie. As he moved in the deep darkness of the valley hestumbled over a root and fell. The same moment came a flash of lighton the bank, and Harris heard the "thuk" of a ball burying itself inthe sod. He lay perfectly still. The stranger peered into thedarkness for a full minute; then, dismounting, began to comecautiously down the hillside. Harris would have rushed for his gun,but he feared to reveal the whereabouts of his wife. So he lay still,and the stranger came on, the glint of his gun-barrel showing in thedarkness. It was evident he thought his bullet had found its mark,and he proposed still to possess himself of the horses. But he wastaking no chances. Presently he discerned Harris's body on theground, and again raised his gun to his shoulder. Harris lay in anagony of suspense, praying that the aim would be faulty, and that hisassailant would advance until he could spring up and disarm him. Thencame another flash, a loud report, a yell from the intruder, who halffell to earth, then scrambled to his feet, rushed up the bank, pulledhimself somewhat limply on his horse, and rode into the darkness.
"Oh, Jack, are you killed?" cried the girl, rushing in his direction.
"Not even hurt," he answered; and she fainted in his arms.
He carried her to the tent and applied water to her forehead. As hewas engaged in restoring her his hand fell on his gun. The barrel washot.
He raised her face to his, and kissed her again and again.
In the morning they found a few drops of blood on the grass at thetop of the bank.
Harris and his wife allowed themselves no time for nerve-strain overthe experience of their first night on their homestead. It wasfortunate for them there was so much to do, and that they were thrownentirely upon their own resources. Their little store of money wasrunning very low, and they decided their house must be of thecheapest possible construction. Harris had already discussed hisbuildings with McCrae, who advised him to make use of sods, and gavegeneral directions how to do so; and he now set about to put McCrae'ssuggestions into effect. Some fifteen miles north of the homesteadwas a valley in which grew trees of sufficient size for buildingpurposes--poplars, cottonwoods, elms, and oaks. Farther down thevalley, at the head of a lake, was
a saw-mill, where boards andshingles might be bought--if one had money.
So this morning, after caring for their cows, they hitched the horsesto the wagon, took an axe, a saw, their gun, and a lunch, and set outfor the valley, returning late at night with sufficient logs andpoles for the framework of their house and stable. The next dayconstruction was commenced. Four stout posts were set on end,enclosing a rectangle twelve by sixteen feet. The tops of the postswere connected by logs laid upon them, dovetailed at the cornersafter the fashion of woodsmen, and held in position by wooden pinsdriven in auger-holes. Lengthwise along the centre, to form aridgepole, another stout log was laid and the whole frameworksupported by additional posts, among which were two on the east sideto enclose the door. Small poles were then placed on end, slopingslightly inwards, and resting against the plate-logs. Similar poleswere laid from the plate-logs to the ridge-pole to support the roof.
Harris found a southern slope where the frost was out enough to admitof him ploughing some sods. He knew he would not get as good a sodhere as later in the season might be found in some low-lying spot,but his first consideration was to get some kind of permanentshelter. So he ploughed the sods, three inches thick and fourteeninches wide, and cut them into two-foot lengths with his axe, to thesad injury of its cutting edge. These sods were then built into awall like bricks, resting gently against the framework of poles, fromwhich, however, they were separated by a padding of grass, whichHarris cut in a sleugh with his scythe, and small willows from theravine. This mattress of grass and willows prevented any earthshaking through into the house itself. A framework made of a hewn logwas inserted in the south wall to leave space for a window, whichshould be bought when the family finances could afford such luxuries.For the time being it would be left open in fine weather and coveredwith canvas when the elements were gruff or unruly. The rag-carpet,when no longer needed as a tent, would be draped in the doorway,pending the purchase of boards to make a wooden door.
For a roof grass was laid on the poles and covered tightly with sods.Then Harris found a sticky, yellow clay in the side of the ravine,and two or three inches of this he spread carefully over the sods,like icing on a great cake. The greasy clay soon hardened in the sun,and became so impervious to water that the heaviest rains of summermade no impression upon it.
When, save for the missing door and window, the house was finished,they stood in the centre and admired. It was absolutely the productof their own labour, applied to such scanty resources as the prairieprovided. But it was warm and snug, and, as they later on learned,the wall and roof of sod were almost perfect non-conductors of eitherheat or cold. The floor was of earth, but Mary Harris knew thedifference between earth and dirt, although the words are frequentlyconfounded, and her house was from the first a model of cleanlinessand order.
By this time the snow was all gone, except in north-facing nooksalong the ravine, and the frost was out of the sod in all places deepenough to admit of plouging. As the stock were taking no harm fromthe open air, thanks to the shelter of the ravine, Harris decided todelay the construction of his stable until after seeding and toproceed at once with the ploughing of his land. He had also to make atrip to Arthurs' for seed grain, and to borrow a couple of sectionsof drag harrows. With it all, by the middle of May he had sownfifteen acres of wheat, and notwithstanding a heavy snowfall aboutthe 23rd, by the 1st of June he had added ten acres of oats. With hishelp Mary had planted a small garden of potatoes and vegetables, anda few flowers were springing up at the door of the house.
It was a life of hard, persistent work--of loneliness, privation, andhardship. But it was also a life of courage, of health, ofresourcefulness, of a wild, exhilarating freedom found only in God'sopen spaces. They had learned to know the animals of the field--thecheeky gopher; the silent, over-industrious badger; the skunk,unchallenged monarch of his immediate circle; the sneaky coyote,whose terror is all in his howl; the red fox, softly searching amidthe grass for the nests of ducks or prairie chicken; and the rabbit,curious but always gracefully elusive. Then there were the waterfowl,infinite in number. The stuffed ducks on the dinner-table werelimited only by the amount of powder and shot which Harris cared tospend on the pond at their door. At night, when the horses had beenunharnessed and dusk was setting in, he would slip his gun under hisarm and walk down among the willows. It was necessary only to wait.Two graceful forms, feeding under a grassy bank, hearing a slightrustle above, would shove with quick, silent stroke into the supposedsafety of their native element. Harris would peer through the duskfor the brighter markings of the male, for only a game-murderershoots the female in the nesting season. Then, as they separated alittle, his gun would speak; a sudden splashing of water; a sharpwhistle of rapid wings cutting the air; a form, paddling an uncertaincircle in the pond, then lying strangely flat upon the surface.Harris as yet had no dog, and often it meant stripping and a sharpplunge in the ice-cold water to bring in the trophy; but the strong,athletic young man counted that only part of the sport. At othertimes the nights were clamorous with the honking of wild geese, andin the morning Harris, slipping quietly over the bank of the coulee,would see the prairie white as from new-fallen snow with the backs ofcountless thousands of "wavies." Sometimes the geese, secure in thesupposedly unsettled wilderness, relaxed the vigour of their militaryguard, and on such occasions he could get within range. But if thereis one quality the goose lacks it is that which is most attributed tohim--foolishness. On his marches through the unmapped desert of theair he moves with the precision of an army in the field, scouting outall the land, taking aerial observations before making camp, andimmediately throwing out sentries around his feeding ground. Butlong-continued immunity from attack breeds carelessness, even in agoose, and the price of such neglect frequently adorned the table inHarris's cabin.
The prairie flowers, too, were a never-ending delight to the heart ofthe young woman. She knew some of them by name, but many werepeculiar to the prairie. The first few warm days of spring hadclothed all the wilderness with a magic carpet of pale-purplishblossoms, and the advancing season brought new blooms to view withevery passing week. On Sundays, when there was total relaxation fromtheir regular labours, the two, arm in arm, would stroll along thebank of the ravine, or walk, ankle-deep in strawberry blossoms, farover the undulating plain to the west. Returning, they would findtheir way to the edge of the stream, where, in the shallow crossing,the suckers would dart in all directions in panic at theirappearance. Here they would sit and listen to the gentle murmur ofthe water, while fleecy clouds mirrored themselves in its glassydepths, and plovers ran whistling up and down the bank, and ameadow-lark sent its limpid challenge from a neighbouring bush. Andat night, when the moon rose in wonderful whiteness and purity,wrapping field and ravine in a riot of silver, the strange,irresistible, unanswerable longing of the great plains stole downupon them, and they knew that here indeed was life in its fulness--aparticipation in the Infinite, indefinable, but all-embracing,everlasting.