1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
|
<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ -->
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
<title>
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Conquest, by Oscar Micheaux.
</title>
<style type="text/css">
body {
margin-left: 15%;
margin-right: 15%;
}
h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
clear: both;
}
h1 {
margin-bottom: 2em;
}
h2 {
font-size: 140%;
font-weight: normal;
}
p {
margin-top: .75em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: .75em;
}
.ps {
margin-top: 4em;
margin-bottom: 4em;
}
.pn {
margin-top: .75em;
margin-bottom: .75em;
margin-left: 25%;
margin-right: 25%;
}
.hang2 {
text-indent: -2em;
margin-left: 2em;
}
hr {
width: 33%;
margin-top: 2em;
margin-bottom: 2em;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
clear: both;
}
.notes {
background-color: #eeeeee;
color: #000;
padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 2em;
padding-left: 2em; padding-right: 1em;
margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;
}
table {
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
}
.tdl {
text-indent: -2em;
margin-left: 2em;
}
.tdr {
text-align: right;
padding-right: 3em;
}
.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
/* visibility: hidden; */
position: absolute;
left: 92%;
font-size: 75%; text-indent: 0em;
background-color: inherit; font-weight: normal;
font-style: normal; font-variant: normal;
text-decoration: none;
} /* page numbers */
.pagenum1 { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
/* visibility: hidden; */
position: absolute;
left: 92%;
font-size: 88%; text-indent: 0em;
background-color: inherit; font-weight: normal;
font-style: normal; font-variant: normal;
text-decoration: none;
}
.blockquot {
margin-left: 5%;
margin-right: 10%;
}
.smaller {
font-size: 75%;
}
.small {
font-size: 85%;
}
.big {
font-size: 120%;
}
.biggest {
font-size: 160%;
}
.center {text-align: center;}
.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
.ctext {
font-size: 80%;
font-weight: normal;
margin-left: 12%;
margin-right: 12%;
text-align: center;
margin-bottom: 2em;
}
img.cap { float:left;
margin: 0 0.2em 0 0;
position:relative;
border: 0;
}
p.cap_1 { text-indent: -.8em;
}
div.drop p:first-letter { color:Window; }
div.drop p { margin-bottom:0; }
/* Images */
.figcenter {
margin: auto;
text-align: center;
margin-top: 2em;
}
/* Poetry */
.poem {
margin-left:10%;
margin-right:10%;
text-align: left;
}
.poem br {display: none;}
.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
.poem span.i2 {
display: block;
margin-left: 2em;
padding-left: 3em;
text-indent: -3em;
}
.poem span.i4 {
display: block;
margin-left: 4em;
padding-left: 3em;
text-indent: -3em;
}
.poem span.i4q {
display: block;
margin-left: 3.5em;
padding-left: 3em;
text-indent: -3em;
}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<pre>
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Conquest, by Oscar Micheaux
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
Title: The Conquest
The Story of a Negro Pioneer
Author: Oscar Micheaux
Release Date: March 24, 2012 [EBook #39237]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONQUEST ***
Produced by Cathy Maxam, Glen Fellows and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
</pre>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="ifront_cover" name="ifront_cover"></a>
<img src="images/ifront_cover.jpg" alt="" />
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i001" name="i001"></a>
<img src="images/i001.jpg" alt="" />
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h1>The Conquest</h1>
<p class="center big"><i>The Story of a Negro Pioneer</i></p>
<p class="center ps"><span class="smcap">By</span> THE PIONEER</p>
<p class="center smaller">1913<br />
<span class="smcap">The Woodruff Press</span><br />
Lincoln, Nebr.
</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p class="center small">
Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1913,<br />
by the Woodruff Bank Note Co., in the office of the<br />
Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.</p>
<p class="center smaller">
First Edition, May 1, 1913
</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p class="center small">
<i>To the</i></p>
<p class="center"><i>HONORABLE BOOKER T. WASHINGTON</i>
</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><i>INTRODUCTORY</i></h2>
<p class="pn"><i>This is a true story of a negro who was discontented
and the circumstances that were the
outcome of that discontent.</i></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<table summary="illustrations" cellspacing="10">
<tr>
<td></td>
<td class="tdr">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i056">Became number one in the opening</a></td>
<td class="tdr">56</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i116">Everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to
celebrate</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">113</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i134">Made a declaration that he would build a town</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">128</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i140">Although the valley could not be surpassed in the production
of grain and alfalfa, the highlands on
either side were great mountains of sand</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">133</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i150">On the east the murky waters of the Missouri seek
their level</a></td>
<td class="tdr">140</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i156">The real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">145</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i174">Everything grew so rank, thick and green</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">160</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i192">Had put 280 acres under cultivation</a></td>
<td class="tdr">177</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i210">Bringing stock, household goods and plenty of money</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">192</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i228">Were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in
Tipp county</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">209</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i246">As the people were all now riding in autos</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">241</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i264">A beautiful townsite where trees stood</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">251</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i282">Ernest Nicholson takes a hand</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">256</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i316">The crops began to wither</a></td>
<td class="tdr">289</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang2"><a href="#i334">The cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and I
cared for the stock</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">304</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>LIST OF CHAPTERS</h2>
<table summary="contents" cellspacing="5">
<tr>
<td></td>
<td></td>
<td class="tdr">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">I</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Discontent—Spirit of the Pioneer</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">9</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">II</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Leaving Home—A Maiden</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">18</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">III </td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chicago, Chasing a Will-O-The-Wisp</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">24</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IV</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">The P——n Company</a> </td>
<td class="tdr">34</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">V</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">"Go West Young Man"</a></td>
<td class="tdr">48</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">"And Where is Oristown?"</a></td>
<td class="tdr">54</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Oristown, the "Little Crow" Reservation</a></td>
<td class="tdr">61</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Far Down the Pacific—The Proposal</a></td>
<td class="tdr">67</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IX</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">The Return—Ernest Nicholson</a></td>
<td class="tdr">72</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">X</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">The Oklahoma Grafter</a></td>
<td class="tdr">74</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Dealin' in Mules</a></td>
<td class="tdr">79</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">The Homesteaders</a></td>
<td class="tdr">86</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Imaginations Run Amuck</a></td>
<td class="tdr">91</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIV</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">The Surveyors</a></td>
<td class="tdr">94</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XV</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">"Which Town Will the R.R. Strike?"</a></td>
<td class="tdr">104</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XVI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Megory's Day</a></td>
<td class="tdr">108</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XVII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Ernest Nicholson's Return</a></td>
<td class="tdr">117</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XVIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Comes Stanley, the Chief Engineer</a></td>
<td class="tdr">123</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIX</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">In the Valley of the Keya Paha</a></td>
<td class="tdr">126</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XX</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The Outlaw's Last Stand</a></td>
<td class="tdr">132</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">The Boom</a></td>
<td class="tdr">134</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">The President's Proclamation</a></td>
<td class="tdr">140</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">Where the Negro Fails</a></td>
<td class="tdr">142</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXIV</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">And the Crowds Did Come—The Prairie Fire</a></td>
<td class="tdr">148</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXV</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">The Scotch Girl</a></td>
<td class="tdr">153</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXVI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">The Battle</a></td>
<td class="tdr">164</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXVII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">The Sacrifice—Race Loyalty</a></td>
<td class="tdr">168</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXVIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">The Breeds</a></td>
<td class="tdr">175</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXIX</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">In the Valley of the Dog Ear</a></td>
<td class="tdr">182</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXX</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">Ernest Nicholson Takes a Hand</a></td>
<td class="tdr">186</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">The McCralines</a></td>
<td class="tdr">193</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">A Long Night</a></td>
<td class="tdr">201</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">The Survival of the Fittest</a></td>
<td class="tdr">208</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXIV</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">East of State Street</a></td>
<td class="tdr">216</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXV</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">An Uncrowned King</a></td>
<td class="tdr">233</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXVI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">A Snake in the Grass</a></td>
<td class="tdr">241</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXVII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">The Progressives and the Reactionaries</a></td>
<td class="tdr">251</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXVIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">Sanctimonious Hypocrisy</a></td>
<td class="tdr">265</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXIX</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">Beginning of the End</a></td>
<td class="tdr">273</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XL</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">The Mennonites</a></td>
<td class="tdr">280</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLI</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">The Drouth</a></td>
<td class="tdr">284</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">A Year of Coincidences</a></td>
<td class="tdr">294</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLIII</td>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">"And Satan Came Also"</a></td>
<td class="tdr">297</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
<p class="center biggest">The Conquest</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
<p class="center">DISCONTENT—SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_g.jpg"
alt="G" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">GOOD gracious, has it been that long?
It does not seem possible; but it was
this very day nine years ago when a
fellow handed me this little what-would-you-call-it,
Ingalls called it "Opportunity."
I've a notion to burn it, but I won't—not this time,
instead, I'll put it down here and you may call it
what you like.</p></div>
<div class="poem small"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Master of human destinies am I.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Cities and fields I walk. I penetrate<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Deserts and seas remote, and passing by<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Hovel, and mart, and palace—soon or late<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I knock unbidden once at every gate.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">If sleeping, wake—if feasting, rise before<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I turn away. It is the hour of fate,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And they who follow me reach every state<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Mortals desire, and conquer every foe<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Condemned to failure, penury, and woe<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Seek me in vain and uselessly implore,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">I answer not, and I return no more.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Yes, it was that little poem that led me to this
land and sometimes I wonder well, I just wonder,
that's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
all. Again, I think it would be somewhat
different if it wasn't for the wind. It blows and
blows until it makes me feel lonesome and so far
away from that little place and the country in
southern Illinois.</p>
<p>I was born twenty-nine years ago near the Ohio
River, about forty miles above Cairo, the fourth son
and fifth child of a family of thirteen, by the name
of Devereaux—which, of course, is not my name
but we will call it that for this sketch. It is a
peculiar name that ends with an "eaux," however,
and is considered an odd name for a colored man to
have, unless he is from Louisiana where the French
crossed with the Indians and slaves, causing many
Louisiana negroes to have the French names and
many speak the French language also. My father,
however, came from Kentucky and inherited the
name from his father who was sold off into Texas
during the slavery period and is said to be living
there today.</p>
<p>He was a farmer and owned eighty acres of land
and was, therefore, considered fairly "well-to-do,"
that is, for a colored man. The county in which
we lived bordered on the river some twenty miles,
and took its name from an old fort that used to do
a little cannonading for the Federal forces back in
the Civil War.</p>
<p>The farming in this section was hindered by various
disadvantages and at best was slow, hard work.
Along the valleys of the numerous creeks and bayous
that empty their waters into the Ohio, the soil
was of a rich alluvium, where in the early Spring
the back waters from the Ohio covered thousands
of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
acres of farm and timber lands, and in receding
left the land plastered with a coat of river sand and
clay which greatly added to the soil's productivity.
One who owned a farm on these bottoms was considered
quite fortunate. Here the corn stalks grew
like saplings, with ears dangling one and two to a
stalk, and as sound and heavy as green blocks of
wood.</p>
<p>The heavy rains washed the loam from the hills
and deposited it on these bottoms. Years ago,
when the rolling lands were cleared, and before the
excessive rainfall had washed away the loose surface,
the highlands were considered most valuable
for agricultural purposes, equally as valuable as
the bottoms now are. Farther back from the
river the more rolling the land became, until some
sixteen miles away it was known as the hills, and
here, long before I was born, the land had been
very valuable. Large barns and fine stately houses—now
gone to wreck and deserted—stood behind
beautiful groves of chestnut, locust and stately old
oaks, where rabbits, quail and wood-peckers made
their homes, and sometimes a raccoon or opossum
founded its den during the cold, bleak winter days.
The orchards, formerly the pride of their owners,
now dropped their neglected fruit which rotted and
mulched with the leaves. The fields, where formerly
had grown great crops of wheat, corn, oats, timothy
and clover, were now grown over and enmeshed
in a tangled mass of weeds and dew-berry vines;
while along the branches and where the old rail
fences had stood, black-berry vines had grown up,
twisting their thorny stems and forming a veritable
hedge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
fence. These places I promised mother to
avoid as I begged her to allow me to follow the big
boys and carry their game when they went hunting.</p>
<p>In the neighborhood and throughout the country
there had at one time been many colored farmers,
or ex-slaves, who had settled there after the war.
Many of them having built up nice homes and
cleared the valley of tough-rooted hickory, gum,
pecan and water-oak trees, and the highlands of the
black, white, red or post oak, sassafras and dogwood.
They later grubbed the stumps and hauled
the rocks into the roads, or dammed treacherous
little streams that were continually breaking out
and threatening the land with more ditches. But
as time wore on and the older generation died, the
younger were attracted to the towns and cities
in quest of occupations that were more suitable to
their increasing desires for society and good times.
Leaving the farms to care for themselves until the
inevitable German immigrant came along and
bought them up at his own price, tilled the land,
improved the farm and roads, straightened out the
streams by digging canals, and grew prosperous.</p>
<p>As for me, I was called the lazy member of the
family; a shirker who complained that it was too
cold to work in the winter, and too warm in the
summer. About the only thing for which I was
given credit was in learning readily. I always
received good grades in my studies, but was continually
criticised for talking too much and being
too inquisitive. We finally moved into the nearby
town of M—pls. Not so much to get off the farm,
or to be near more colored people (as most of the
younger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
negro farmers did) as to give the children
better educational facilities.</p>
<p>The local colored school was held in an old building
made of plain boards standing straight up and
down with batten on the cracks. It was inadequate
in many respects; the teachers very often inefficient,
and besides, it was far from home. After
my oldest sister graduated she went away to teach,
and about the same time my oldest brother quit
school and went to a near-by town and became a
table waiter, much to the dissatisfaction of my
mother, who always declared emphatically that she
wanted none of her sons to become lackeys.</p>
<p>When the Spanish-American War broke out
the two brothers above me enlisted with a company
of other patriotic young fellows and were taken to
Springfield to go into camp. At Springfield their
company was disbanded and those of the company
that wished to go on were accepted into other
companies, and those that desired to go home were
permitted to do so. The younger of the two brothers
returned home by freight; the other joined a
Chicago company and was sent to Santiago and later
to San Luis DeCuba, where he died with typhoid
pneumonia.</p>
<p>M—pls was an old town with a few factories,
two flour mills, two or three saw mills, box factories
and another concern where veneering was peeled
from wood blocks softened with steam. The timber
came from up the Tennessee River, which emptied
into the Ohio a few miles up the river. There was
also the market house, such as are to be seen in
towns of the Southern states—and parts of the
Northern.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
This market house, or place, as it is
often called, was an open building, except one end
enclosed by a meat-market, and was about forty
by one hundred feet with benches on either side
and one through the center for the convenience of
those who walked, carrying their produce in a
home-made basket. Those in vehicles backed
to a line guarded by the city marshall, forming an
alleyway the width of the market house for perhaps
half a block, depending on how many farmers were
on hand. There was always a rush to get nearest
the market house; a case of the early bird getting
the worm. The towns people who came to buy,
women mostly with baskets, would file leisurely
between the rows of vehicles, hacks and spring
wagons of various descriptions, looking here and
there at the vegetables displayed.</p>
<p>We moved back to the country after a time where
my father complained of my poor service in the
field and in disgust I was sent off to do the marketing—which
pleased me, for it was not only easy
but gave me a chance to meet and talk with many
people—and I always sold the goods and engaged
more for the afternoon delivery. This was my first
experience in real business and from that time ever
afterward I could always do better business for
myself than for anyone else. I was not given much
credit for my ability to sell, however, until my
brother, who complained that I was given all the
easy work while he had to labor and do all the heavier
farm work, was sent to do the marketing. He
was not a salesman and lacked the aggressiveness
to approach people with a basket, and never talked
much;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
was timid and when spoken to or approached
plainly showed it.</p>
<p>On the other hand, I met and became acquainted
with people quite readily. I soon noticed that
many people enjoy being flattered, and how pleased
even the prosperous men's wives would seem if
bowed to with a pleasant "Good Morning, Mrs.
Quante, nice morning and would you care to look
at some fresh roasting ears—ten cents a dozen;
or some nice ripe strawberries, two boxes for fifteen
cents?" "Yes Maam, Thank you! and O,
Mrs. Quante, would you care for some radishes,
cucumbers or lettuce for tomorrow? I could deliver
late this afternoon, you see, for maybe you
haven't the time to come to market every day."
From this association I soon learned to give to
each and every prospective customer a different
greeting or suggestion, which usually brought a
smile and a nod of appreciation as well as a purchase.</p>
<p>Before the debts swamped my father, and while
my brothers were still at home, our truck gardening,
the small herd of milkers and the chickens paid as
well as the farm itself. About this time father
fell heir to a part of the estate of a brother which
came as a great relief to his ever increasing burden
of debt.</p>
<p>While this seeming relief to father was on I became
very anxious to get away. In fact I didn't
like M—pls nor its surroundings. It was a river
town and gradually losing its usefulness by the
invasion of railroads up and down the river;
besides, the colored people were in the most part
wretchedly poor, ignorant and envious. They were
set<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
in the ways of their localisms, and it was quite
useless to talk to them of anything that would
better oneself. The social life centered in the two
churches where praying, singing and shouting on
Sundays, to back-biting, stealing, fighting and getting
drunk during the week was common among
the men. They remained members in good standing
at the churches, however, as long as they paid
their dues, contributed to the numerous rallies, or
helped along in camp meetings and festivals.
Others were regularly turned out, mostly for not
paying their dues, only to warm up at the next
revival on the mourners bench and come through
converted and be again accepted into the church
and, for awhile at least, live a near-righteous life.
There were many good Christians in the church,
however, who were patient with all this conduct,
while there were and still are those who will not
sanction such carrying-on by staying in a church
that permits of such shamming and hypocrisy.
These latter often left the church and were then
branded either as infidels or human devils who had
forsaken the house of God and were condemned
to eternal damnation.</p>
<p>My mother was a shouting Methodist and many
times we children would slip quietly out of the
church when she began to get happy. The old
and less religious men hauled slop to feed a few
pigs, cut cord-wood at fifty cents per cord, and
did any odd jobs, or kept steady ones when such
could be found. The women took in washing,
cooked for the white folks, and fed the preachers.
When we lived in the country we fed so many of
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
Elders, with their long tailed coats and assuming
and authoritative airs, that I grew to almost dislike
the sight of a colored man in a Prince Albert coat
and clerical vest. At sixteen I was fairly disgusted
with it all and took no pains to keep my disgust
concealed.</p>
<p>This didn't have the effect of burdening me with
many friends in M—pls and I was regarded by many
of the boys and girls, who led in the whirlpool of
the local colored society, as being of the "too-slow-to-catch-cold"
variety, and by some of the Elders
as being worldly, a free thinker, and a dangerous
associate for young Christian folks. Another thing
that added to my unpopularity, perhaps, was my
persistent declarations that there were not enough
competent colored people to grasp the many opportunities
that presented themselves, and that
if white people could possess such nice homes,
wealth and luxuries, so in time, could the colored
people. "You're a fool", I would be told, and then
would follow a lecture describing the time-worn
long and cruel slavery, and after the emancipation,
the prejudice and hatred of the white race, whose
chief object was to prevent the progress and betterment
of the negro. This excuse for the negro's
lack of ambition was constantly dinned into my
ears from the Kagle corner loafer to the minister
in the pulpit, and I became so tired of it all that I
declared that if I could ever leave M—pls I would
never return. More, I would disprove such a
theory and in the following chapters I hope to show
that what I believed fourteen years ago was true.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
<p class="center">LEAVING HOME—A MAIDEN</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">I WAS seventeen when I at last left M—pls.
I accepted a rough job at a dollar and
a quarter a day in a car manufacturing
concern in a town of eight thousand
population, about eight hundred being colored.
I was unable to save very much, for work was dull
that summer, and I was only averaging about
four days' work a week. Besides, I had an attack
of malaria at intervals for a period of two months,
but by going to work at five o'clock A.M. when I
was well I could get in two extra hours, making
a dollar-fifty. The concern employed about twelve
hundred men and paid their wages every two weeks,
holding back one week's pay. I came there in
June and it was some time in September that I
drew my fullest pay envelope which contained sixteen
dollars and fifty cents.</p></div>
<p>About this time a "fire eating" colored evangelist,
who apparently possessed great converting powers
and unusual eloquence, came to town. These
qualities, however, usually became very uninteresting
toward the end of a stay. He had been to
M—pls the year before I left and at that place his
popularity greatly diminished before he left. The
greater part of the colored people in this town were
of the emotional kind and to these he was as attractive
as he had been at M—pls in the beginning.</p>
<p>Coincident with the commencement of Rev.
McIntyre's soul stirring sermons a big revival
was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
inaugurated, and although the little church
was filled nightly to its capacity, the aisles were
kept clear in order to give those that were "steeping
in Hell's fire" (as the evangelist characterized those
who were not members of some church) an open
road to enter into the field of the righteous; also
to give the mourners sufficient room in which to
exhaust their emotions when the spirit struck
them—and it is needless to say that they were used.
At times they virtually converted the entire floor
into an active gymnasium, regardless of the rights
of other persons or of the chairs they occupied.
I had seen and heard people shout at long intervals
in church, but here, after a few soul stirring sermons,
they began to run outside where there was more
room to give vent to the hallucination and this
wandering of the mind. It could be called nothing
else, for after the first few sermons the evangelist
would hardly be started before some mourner would
begin to "come through." This revival warmed
up to such proportions that preaching and shouting
began in the afternoon instead of evening. Men
working in the yards of the foundry two block away
could hear the shouting above the roaring furnaces
and the deafening noise of machinery of a great
car manufacturing concern. The church stood on
a corner where two streets, or avenues, intersected
and for a block in either direction the influence of
fanaticism became so intense that the converts
began running about like wild creatures, tearing
their hair and uttering prayers and supplications
in discordant tones.</p>
<p>At the evening services the sisters would gather
around<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
a mourner that showed signs of weakening
and sing and babble until he or she became so befuddled
they would jump up, throw their arms wildly
into the air, kick, strike, then cry out like a dying
soul, fall limp and exhausted into the many arms
outstretched to catch them. This was always
conclusive evidence of a contrite heart and a thoroughly
penitent soul. Far into the night this performance
would continue, and when the mourners'
bench became empty the audience would be searched
for sinners. I would sit through it all quite unemotional,
and nightly I would be approached with
"aren't you ready?" To which I would make no
answer. I noticed that several boys, who were
not in good standing with the parents of girls they
wished to court, found the mourners' bench a
convenient vehicle to the homes of these girls—all
of whom belonged to church. Girls over eighteen
who did not belong were subjects of much gossip
and abuse.</p>
<p>A report, in some inconceivable manner, soon
became spread that Oscar Devereaux had said
that he wanted to die and go to hell. Such a
sensation! I was approached on all sides by men
and women, regardless of the time of day or night,
by the young men who gloried in their conversion
and who urged me to "get right" with Jesus before
it was too late. I do not remember how long
these meetings lasted but they suddenly came to
an end when notice was served on the church trustees
by the city council, which irreverently declared
that so many converts every afternoon and night
was disturbing the white neighborhood's rest as
well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
as their nerves. It ordered windows and doors
to be kept closed during services, and as the church
was small it was impossible to house the congregation
and all the converts, so the revival ended
and the community was restored to normal and
calm once more prevailed.</p>
<p>That was in September. One Sunday afternoon
in October, as I was walking along the railroad
track, I chanced to overhear voices coming from
under a water tank, where a space of some eight or
ten feet enclosed by four huge timbers made a
small, secluded place. I stopped, listened and was
sure I recognized the voices of Douglas Brock, his
brother Melvin, and two other well known colored
boys. Douglas was betting a quarter with one of
the other boys that he couldn't pass. (You who
know the dice and its vagaries will know what he
meant.) This was mingled with words and commands
from Melvin to the dice in trying to make
some point. It must have been four. He would
let out a sort of yowl; "Little Joe, can't you do it?"
I went my way. I didn't shoot craps nor drink
neither did I belong to church but was called a
dreadful sinner while three of the boys under the
tank had, not less than six weeks before, joined
church and were now full-fledged members in good
standing. Of course I did not consider that all
people who belonged to church were not Christians,
but was quite sure that many were not.</p>
<p>The following January a relative of mine got a
job for me bailing water in a coal mine in a little
town inhabited entirely by negroes. I worked from
six o'clock P.M. to six A.M., and received two
dollars<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
and twenty-five cents therefor. The work
was rough and hard and the mine very dark. The
smoke hung like a cloud near the top of the tunnel-like
room during all the night. This was because
the fans were all but shut off at night, and just
enough air was pumped in to prevent the formation
of black damp. The smoke made my head
ache until I felt stupid and the dampness made me
ill, but the two dollars and twenty-five cents per
day looked good to me. After six weeks, however,
I was forced to quit, and with sixty-five dollars—more
money than I had ever had—I went to see
my older sister who was teaching in a nearby town.</p>
<p>I had grown into a strong, husky youth of eighteen
and my sister was surprised to see that I was working
and taking care of myself so well. She shared
the thought of nearly all of my acquaintances that
I was too lazy to leave home and do hard work,
especially in the winter time. After awhile she
suddenly looked at me and spoke as though afraid
she would forget it, "O, Oscar! I've got a girl for you;
what do you think of that?" smiling so pleasantly,
I was afraid she was joking. You see, I had never
been very successful with the girls and when she
mentioned having a girl for me my heart was all
a flutter and when she hesitated I put in eagerly.</p>
<p>"Aw go on—quit your kidding. On the level
now, or are you just chiding me?" But she took
on a serious expression and speaking thoughtfully,
she went on.</p>
<p>"Yes, she lives next door and is a nice little girl,
and pretty. The prettiest colored girl in town."</p>
<p>Here I lost interest for I remembered my sister
was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
foolish about beauty and I said that I didn't
care to meet her. I was suspicious when it came to
the pretty type of girls, and had observed that the
prettiest girl in town was oft times petted and spoiled
and a mere butterfly.</p>
<p>"O why?" She spoke like one hurt. Then I
confessed my suspicions. "O, You're foolish,"
she exclaimed softly, appearing relieved. "Besides,"
she went on brightly "Jessie isn't a spoiled
girl, you wait until you meet her." And in spite
of my protests she sent the landlady's little girl
off for Miss Rooks. She came over in about an
hour and I found her to be demure and thoughtful,
as well as pretty. She was small of stature, had
dark eyes and beautiful wavy, black hair, and an
olive complexion. She wouldn't allow me to look
into her eyes but continued to cast them downward,
sitting with folded hands and answering when spoken
to in a tiny voice quite in keeping with her small
person.</p>
<p>During the afternoon I mentioned that I was
going to Chicago, "Now Oscar, you've got no
business in Chicago," my sister spoke up with a
touch of authority. "You're too young, and
besides," she asked "do you know whether W.O.
wants you?" W.O. was our oldest brother and
was then making Chicago his home.</p>
<p>"Huh!" I snorted "I'm going on my own hook,"
and drawing up to my full six feet I tried to look
brave, which seemed to have the desired effect
on my sister.</p>
<p>"Well" she said resignedly, "you must be careful
and not get into bad company—be good and try
to make a man of yourself."</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
<p class="center">CHICAGO, CHASING A WILL-O-THE-WISP</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THAT was on Sunday morning three hundred
miles south of Chicago, and at
nine-forty that night I stepped off the
New Orleans and Chicago fast mail
into a different world. It was, I believe, the
coldest night that I had ever experienced. The
city was new and strange to me and I wandered
here and there for hours before I finally found my
brother's address on Armour Avenue. But the
wandering and anxiety mattered little, for I was
in the great city where I intended beginning my
career, and felt that bigger things were in store
for me.</p></div>
<p>The next day my brother's landlady appeared
to take a good deal of interest in me and encouraged
me so that I became quite confidential, and told
her of my ambitions for the future and that it was
my intention to work, save my money and eventually
become a property owner. I was rather
chagrined later, however, to find that she had
repeated all this to my brother and he gave me a
good round scolding, accompanied by the unsolicited
advice that if I would keep my mouth shut
people wouldn't know I was so green. He had been
traveling as a waiter on an eastern railroad dining
car, but in a fit of independence—which had always
been characteristic of him—had quit, and now in
mid-winter, was out of a job. He was not enthusiastic
concerning my presence in the city and
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
had found him broke, but with a lot of fine clothes
and a diamond or two. Most folks from the country
don't value good clothes and diamonds in the way
city folks do and I, for one, didn't think much of
his finery.</p>
<p>I was greatly disappointed, for I had anticipated
that my big brother would have accumulated some
property or become master of a bank account
during these five or six years he had been away
from home. He seemed to sense this disappointment
and became more irritated at my presence
and finally wrote home to my parents—who had
recently moved to Kansas—charging me with the
crime of being a big, awkward, ignorant kid, unsophisticated
in the ways of the world, and especially
of the city; that I was likely to end my "career"
by running over a street car and permitting the city
to irretrievably lose me, or something equally as
bad. When I heard from my mother she was
worried and begged me to come home. I knew the
folks at home shared my brother's opinion of me
and believed all he had told them, so I had a good
laugh all to myself in spite of the depressing effect
it had on me. However, there was the reaction,
and when it set in I became heartsick and discouraged
and then and there became personally
acquainted with the "blues", who gave me their
undivided attention for some time after that.</p>
<p>The following Sunday I expected him to take
me to church with him, but he didn't. He went
alone, wearing his five dollar hat, fifteen dollar
made-to-measure shoes, forty-five dollar coat and
vest, eleven dollar trousers, fifty dollar tweed
overcoat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
and his diamonds. I found my way to
church alone and when I saw him sitting reservedly
in an opposite pew, I felt snubbed and my heart
sank. However, only momentarily, for a new light
dawned upon me and I saw the snobbery and folly
of it all and resolved that some day I would rise
head and shoulders above that foolish, four-flushing
brother of mine in real and material success.</p>
<p>I finally secured irregular employment at the
Union Stock Yards. The wages at that time were
not the best. Common labor a dollar-fifty per day
and the hours very irregular. Some days I was
called for duty at five in the morning and laid off
at three in the afternoon or called again at eight in
the evening to work until nine the same evening.
I soon found the mere getting of jobs to be quite
easy. It was getting a desirable one that gave me
trouble. However, when I first went to the yards
and looked at the crowds waiting before the office
in quest of employment, I must confess I felt
rather discouraged, but my new surroundings and
that indefinable interesting feature about these
crowds with their diversity of nationalities and
ambitions, made me forget my own little disappointments.
Most all new arrivals, whether skilled
or unskilled workmen, seeking "jobs" in the city
find their way to the yards. Thousands of unskilled
laborers are employed here and it seems to be the
Mecca for the down-and-out who wander thither in
a last effort to obtain employment.</p>
<p>The people with whom I stopped belonged to
the servant class and lived neatly in their Armour
Avenue flat. The different classes of people who
make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
up the population of a great city are segregated
more by their occupations than anything
else. The laborers usually live in a laborer's neighborhood.
Tradesmen find it more agreeable among
their fellow workmen and the same is true of the
servants and others. I found that employment
which soiled the clothes and face and hands was
out of keeping among the people with whom I
lived, so after trying first one job, then another, I
went to Joliet, Illinois, to work out my fortune in
the steel mills of that town. I was told that at
that place was an excellent opportunity to learn a
trade, but after getting only the very roughest kind
of work to do around the mills, such as wrecking
and carrying all kinds of broken iron and digging
in a canal along with a lot of jabbering foreigners
whose English vocabulary consisted of but one
word—their laborer's number. It is needless to
say that I saw little chance of learning a trade at
any very early date.</p>
<p>Pay day "happened" every two weeks with two
weeks held back. If I quit it would be three weeks
before I could get my wages, but was informed of a
scheme by which I could get my money, by telling
the foreman that I was going to leave the state.
Accordingly, I approached the renowned imbecile
and told him that I was going to California and
would have to quit and would like to get my pay.
"Pay day is every two weeks, so be sure to get
back in time," he answered in that officious manner
so peculiar to foremen. I had only four dollars
coming, so I quit anyway.</p>
<p>That evening I became the recipient of the
illuminating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
information that if I would apply at
the coal chutes I would find better employment as
well as receive better wages. I sought out the
fellow in charge, a big colored man weighing about
two hundred pounds, who gave me work cracking
and heaving coal into the chute at a dollar-fifty
per twenty-five tons.</p>
<p>"Gracious", I expostulated. "A man can't do
all of that in a day".</p>
<p>"Pooh", and he waved his big hands depreciatingly,
"I have heaved forty tons with small effort".</p>
<p>I decided to go to work that day, but with many
misgivings as to cracking and shoveling twenty-five
tons of coal. The first day I managed, by dint of
hard labor, to crack and heave eighteen tons out
of a box car, for which I received the munificent
sum of one dollar, and the next day I fell to sixteen
tons and likewise to eighty-nine cents. The contractor
who superintended the coal business bought
me a drink in a nearby saloon, and as I drank it with
a gulp he patted me on the shoulder, saying, "Now,
after the third day, son, you begin to improve and
at the end of a week you can heave thirty tons a
day as easily as a clock ticking the time". I
thought he was going to add that I would be shoveling
forty tons like Big Jim, the fellow who gave
me the job, but I cut him off by telling him that
I'd resign before I became so proficient.</p>
<p>I had to send for more money to pay my board.
My brother, being my banker, sent a statement of
my account, showing that I had to date just twenty-five
dollars, and the statement seemed to read
coldly between the lines that I would soon be
broke,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
out of a job, and what then? I felt very
serious about the matter and when I returned to
Chicago I had lost some of my confidence regarding
my future. Mrs. Nelson, the landlady, boasted
that her husband made twenty dollars per week;
showed me her diamonds and spoke so very highly
of my brother, that I suspicioned that she admired
him a great deal, and that he was in no immediate
danger of losing his room even when he was out of
work and unable to meet his obligations.</p>
<p>My next step was to let an employment agency
swindle me out of two dollars. Their system was
quite unique, and, I presume, legitimate. They
persuaded the applicant to deposit three dollars as
a guarantee of good faith, after which they were to
find a position for him. A given percentage was
also to be taken from the wages for a certain length
of time. Some of these agencies may have been
all right, but my old friend, the hoodoo, led me to
one that was an open fraud. After the person
seeking employment has been sent to several places
for imaginary positions that prove to be only myths,
the agency offers to give back a dollar and the disgusted
applicant is usually glad to get it. I, myself,
being one of many of these unfortunates.</p>
<p>I then tried the newspaper ads. There is usually
some particular paper in any large city that makes
a specialty of want advertisements. I was told, as
was necessary, to stand at the door when the paper
came from the press, grab a copy, choose an ad
that seemed promising and run like wild for the
address given. I had no trade, so turned to the
miscellaneous column, and as I had no references
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
looked for a place where none were required. If
the address was near I would run as fast as the
crowded street and the speed laws would permit,
but always found upon arrival that someone had
just either been accepted ahead of me, or had been
there a week. I having run down an old ad that
had been permitted to run for that time. About
the only difference I found between the newspapers
and the employment agencies was that I didn't
have to pay three dollars for the experience.</p>
<p>I now realized the disadvantages of being an unskilled
laborer, and had grown weary of chasing a
"will-o-the-wisp" and one day while talking to a
small Indian-looking negro I remarked that I wished
I could find a job in some suburb shining shoes in a
barber shop or something that would take me away
from Chicago and its dilly-dally jobs for awhile.</p>
<p>"I know where you can get a job like that", he
answered, thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"Where?" I asked eagerly.</p>
<p>"Why, out at Eaton", he went on, "a suburb
about twenty-five miles west. A fellow wanted
me to go but I don't want to leave Chicago".</p>
<p>I found that most of the colored people with whom
I had become acquainted who lived in Chicago very
long were similarly reluctant about leaving, but I
was ready to go anywhere. So my new friend took
me over to a barber supply house on Clark street,
where a man gave me the name of the barber at
Eaton and told me to come by in the morning and
he'd give me a ticket to the place. When I got on
the street again I felt so happy and grateful to my
friend for the information, that I gave the little
mulatto a half dollar, all the money I had with
me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
and had to walk the forty blocks to my room.
Here I filled my old grip and the next morning
"beat it" for Eaton, arriving there on the first of
May, and a cold, bleak, spring morning it was. I
found the shop without any trouble—a dingy little
place with two chairs. The proprietor, a drawn,
unhappy looking creature, and a hawkish looking
German assistant welcomed me cordially. They
seemed to need company. The proprietor led me
upstairs to a room that I could have free with an
oil stove and table where I could cook—so I made
arrangements to "bach".</p>
<p>I received no wages, but was allowed to retain
all I made "shining". I had acquired some experience
shining shoes on the streets of M—pls
with a home-made box—getting on my knees whenever
I got a customer. "Shining shoes" is not
usually considered an advanced or technical occupation
requiring skill. However, if properly conducted
it can be the making of a good solicitor. While
Eaton was a suburb it was also a country town and
this shop was never patronized by any of the
metropolitan class who made their homes there, but
principally by the country class who do not evidence
their city pride by the polish of their shoes. Few
city people allow their shoes to go unpolished and
I wasn't long in finding it out, and when I did I
had something to say to the men who went by,
well dressed but with dirty shoes. If I could argue
them into stopping, if only for a moment, I could
nearly always succeed in getting them into the
chair.</p>
<p>Business, however, was dull and I began taking
jobs in the country from the farmers, working
through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
the day and getting back to the shop for
the evening. This, however, was short lived, for I
was unaccustomed to farm work since leaving home
and found it extremely difficult. My first work in
the country was pitching timothy hay side-by-side
with a girl of sixteen, who knew how to pitch hay.
I thought it would be quite romantic before I
started, but before night came I had changed my
mind. The man on the wagon would drive alongside
a big cock of sweet smelling hay and the girl
would stick her fork partly to one side of the hay
cock and show me how to put my fork into the
other. I was left-handed while she was right, and
with our backs to the wagon we could make a heavy
lift and when the hay was directly overhead we'd
turn and face each other and over the load would
go onto the wagon. Toward evening the loads
thus balanced seemed to me as heavy as the load
of Atlas bearing the earth. I am sure my face disclosed
the fatigue and strain under which I labored,
for it was clearly reflected in the knowing grin of
my companion. I drew my pay that night on the
excuse of having to get an overall suit, promising to
be back at a quarter to seven the next morning.</p>
<p>Then I tried shocking oats along with a boy of
about twelve, a girl of fourteen and the farmer's
wife. The way those two children did work,—Whew!
I was so glad when a shower came up
about noon that I refrained from shouting with
difficulty. I drew my pay this time to get some
gloves, and promised to be back as soon as it dried.
The next morning I felt so sore and stiff as the
result of my two days' experience in the harvest
fields,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
that I forgot all about my promise to return
and decided to stay in Eaton.</p>
<p>It was in Eaton that I started my first bank
account. The little twenty-dollar certificate of
deposit opened my mind to different things entirely.
I would look at it until I had day dreams. During
the three months I spent in Eaton I laid the foundation
of a future. Simple as it was, it led me into
channels which carried me away from my race and
into a life fraught with excitement; a life that gave
experiences and other things I had never dreamed
of. I had started a bank account of twenty dollars
and I found myself wanting one of thirty, and to
my surprise the desire seemed to increase. This
desire fathered my plans to become a porter on a
P——n car. A position I diligently sought and
applied for between such odd jobs about town
as mowing lawns, washing windows, scrubbing
floors and a variety of others that kept me quite
busy. Taking the work, if I could, by contract,
thus permitting me to use my own time and to
work as hard as I desired to finish. I found that
by this plan I could make money faster and easier
than by working in the country.</p>
<p>I was finally rewarded by being given a run on
a parlor car by a road that reached many summer
resorts in southern Wisconsin. Here I skimped
along on a run that went out every Friday and Saturday,
returning on Monday morning. The regular
salary was forty dollars per month, but as I never
put in more than half the time I barely made twenty
dollars, and altho' I made a little "on the side" in
the way of tips I had to draw on the money I had
saved in Eaton.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
<p class="center">THE P——N COMPANY</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t2.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THE P——n Company is a big palace,
dining and sleeping car company that
most American people know a great
deal about. I had long desired to have
a run on one of the magnificent sleepers that operated
out of Chicago to every part of North America,
that I might have an opportunity to see the country
and make money at the same time, and from Monday
to Friday I had nothing to do but report at one of
the three P——n offices in my effort to get such a
position. One office where I was particularly attentive,
operated cars on four roads, so I called on
this office about twice a week, but a long, slim chief
clerk whose chair guarded the entrance to the
Superintendent's office would drawl out lazily:
"We don't need any men today." I had been
to the office a number of times before I left Eaton
and had heard his drawl so often that I grew nervous
whenever he looked at me. That district employed
over a thousand porters and there was no doubt
that they hired them every day. One day I was
telling my troubles to a friendly porter whom I
later learned to be George Cole (former husband
of the present wife of Bert Williams, the comedian).
He advised me to see Mr. Miltzow, the Superintendent.</p></div>
<p>"But I can never see him" I said despairingly,
"for that long imbecile of a clerk."</p>
<p>"Jump him some day when he is on the way from
luncheon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
talk fast, tell him how you have been
trying all summer to 'get on', the old man" he said,
referring to the superintendent, "likes big, stout
youngsters like you, so try it." The next day I
watched him from the street and when he started
to descend the long stairway to his office, I gathered
my courage and stepped to his side. I told him how
I had fairly haunted his office, only to be turned
away regularly by the same words; that I would
like a position if he would at any time need any
men. He went into his office, leaving me standing
at the railing, where I held my grounds in defiance
of the chief clerk's insolent stare. After a few
minutes he looked up and called out "Come in
here, you." As I stood before him he looked me
over searchingly and inquired as to whether I had
any references.</p>
<p>"No Sir," I answered quickly, "but I can get
them." I was beside myself with nervous excitement
and watched him eagerly for fear he might
turn me away at the physicological moment, and
that I would fail to get what I had wanted so long.</p>
<p>"Well," he said in a decisive tone, "get good
references, showing what you have been doing for
the last five years, bring them around and I'll talk
to you."</p>
<p>"Thank you Sir," I blurted out and with hopes
soaring I hurried out and down the steps. Going to
my room, I wrote for references to people in M—pls
who had known me all my life. Of course they
sent me the best of letters, which I took immediately
to Mr. Miltzow's office. After looking them over
carelessly he handed them to his secretary asking
me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
whether I was able to buy a uniform. When I
answered in the affirmative he gave me a letter to
the company's tailor, and one to the instructor, who
the next day gave me my first lessons in a car called
the "school" in a nearby railroad yard placed there
for that purpose. I learned all that was required
in a day, although he had some pupils who had
been with him five days before I started and who
graduated with me. I now thought I was a full-fledged
porter and was given an order for equipment,
combs, brushes, etc., a letter from the instructor
to the man that signed out the runs, a very apt
appearing young man with a gift for remembering
names and faces, who instructed me to report on
the morrow. The thought of my first trip the next
day, perhaps to some distant city I had never
seen, caused me to lie awake the greater part of
the night.</p>
<p>When I went into the porter's room the next day,
or "down in the hole," as the basement was called,
and looked into the place, I found it crowded with
men, and mostly old men at that and I felt sure it
would be a long time before I was sent out. However,
I soon learned that the most of them were
"emergency men" or emergies, men who had been
discharged and who appeared regularly in hopes of
getting a car that could not be supplied with a
regular man.</p>
<p>There was one by the name of Knight, a pitiable
and forlorn character in whose breast "hope sprang
eternal," who came to the "hole" every day, and
in an entire year he had made one lone trip. He
lived by "mooching" a dime, quarter or fifty cents
from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
first one porter then another and by helping
some porters make down beds in cars that went
out on midnight trains. It was said that he had
been discharged on account of too strict adherence
to duty. Every member of a train crew, whether
porter, brakeman or conductor, must carry a book
of rules; more as a matter of form than to show to
passengers as Knight had done. A trainman
should, and does, depend more on his judgment than
on any set of rules, and permits the rule to be
stretched now and then to fit circumstances.
Knight, however, courted his rule book and when
a passenger requested some service that the rules
prohibited, such for instance as an extra pillow to
a berth, and if the passenger insisted or showed
dissatisfaction Knight would get his book of rules,
turn to the chapter which dwelt on the subject and
read it aloud to the already disgruntled passenger,
thereby making more or less of a nuisance to the
traveling public.</p>
<p>But I am digressing. Fred, the "sign-out-clerk"
came along and the many voices indulging in loud
and raucous conversation so characteristic of porters
off duty, gave way to respectful silence. He looked
favorably on the regular men but seemed to pass up
the emergies as he entered. The poor fellows didn't
expect to be sent out but it seemed to fascinate
them to hear the clerk assign the regular men their
cars to some distant cities in his cheerful language
such as: "Hello! Brooks, where did you come from?—From
San Antonio? Well take the car 'Litchfield'
to Oakland; leaves on Number Three at
eleven o'clock to-night over the B. & R.N.; have
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
car all ready, eight lowers made down." And
from one to the other he would go, signing one to
go east and another west. Respectfully silent and
attentive the men's eyes would follow him as he
moved on, each and every man eager to know
where he would be sent.</p>
<p>Finally he got to me. He had an excellent memory
and seemed to know all men by name. "Well
Devereaux," he said, "do you think that you can
run a car?"</p>
<p>"Yes Sir!" I answered quickly. He fumbled his
pencil thoughtfully while I waited nervously then
went on:</p>
<p>"And you feel quite capable of running a car, do
you?"</p>
<p>"Yes Sir" I replied with emphasis, "I learned
thoroughly yesterday."</p>
<p>"Well," he spoke as one who has weighed the
matter and is not quite certain but willing to risk,
and taking his pad and pencil he wrote, speaking
at the same time, "You go out to the Ft. Wayne
yards and get on the car 'Altata', goes extra to
Washington D.C. at three o'clock; put away the
linen, put out combs, brushes and have the car in
order when the train backs down."</p>
<p>"Yes Sir," and I hurried out of the room, up the
steps and onto the street where I could give vent to
my elation. To Washington, first of all places.
O Glory! and I fairly flew out to Sixteenth street
where the P.F. & W. passenger yards were located.
Here not less than seven hundred passenger and
and P——n cars are cleaned and put in readiness
for each trip daily, and standing among them I
found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
the Altata. O wonderful name! She was
a brand new observation car just out of the shops.
I dared not believe my eyes, and felt that there
must be some mistake; surely the company didn't
expect to send me out with such a fine car on my
first trip. But I should have known better, for
among the many thousands of P——n cars with
their picturesque names, there was not another
"Altata." I looked around the yards and finally
inquired of a cleaner as to where the Altata was.
"Right there," he said, pointing to the car I had
been looking at and I boarded her nervously; found
the linen and lockers but was at a loss to know how
and where to start getting the car in order. I was
more than confused and what I had learned so
quickly the day before had vanished like smoke.
I was afraid too, that if I didn't have the car in
order I'd be taken off when the train backed down
and become an "emergie" myself. This shocked
me so it brought me to my senses and I got busy
putting the linen somewhere and when the train
stopped in the shed the car, as well as myself, was
fairly presentable and ready to receive.</p>
<p>Then came the rush of passengers with all their
attending requests for attention. "Ah Poiter, put
my grip in Thoiteen," and "Ah Poiter, will you raise
my window and put in a deflector?" Holy Smitherines!
I rushed back and forth like a lost calf, trying
to recall what a deflector was, and I couldn't distinguish
thoiteen from three. Then—"Ah, Poiter,
will you tell me when we get to Valparaiso?" called
a little blonde lady, "You see, I have a son who is
attending the Univoisity theah—now Poiter don't
forget please" she asked winsomely.</p>
<p>"Oh!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
No, Maam," I assured her confidently that
I never forgot anything. My confusion became so
intense had I gotten off the car I'd probably not
have known which way to get on again.</p>
<p>The clerk seemed to sense my embarrassment
and helped me seat the passengers in their proper
places, as well as to answer the numerous questions
directed at me. The G.A.R. encampment was
on in Washington and the rush was greater than
usual on that account. By the time the train
reached Valparaiso I had gotten somewhat accustomed
to the situation and recalled my promise
to the little blonde lady and filled it. She had been
asleep and it was raining to beat-the-band. With
a sigh she looked out of the window and then turned
on her side and fell asleep again. At Pittsburg I
was chagrined to be turned back and sent over the
P.H. & D. to Chicago.</p>
<p>At Columbus, Ohio, we took on a colored preacher
who had a ticket for an upper berth over a Southerner
who had the lower. The Southern gentleman
in that "holier than thou" attitude made a vigorous
kick to the conductor to have the colored "Sky-pilot,"
as he termed him, removed. I heard the
conductor tell him gently but firmly, that he couldn't
do it. Then after a few characteristic haughty
remarks the Southerner went forward to the chair
car and sat up all night. When I got the shoes
shined and lavatory ready for the morning rush I
slipped into the Southerner's berth and had a good
snooze. However, longer than it should have been,
for the conductor found me the next morning as the
train was pulling into Chicago. He threatened
to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
report me but when I told him that it was my
first trip out, that I hadn't had any sleep the night
before and none the night before that on account
of my restlessness in anticipation of the trip, he relented
and helped me to make up the beds.</p>
<p>I barely got to my room before I was called to
go out again. This time going through to Washington.
The P.F. & W. tracks pass right through
Washington's "black belt" and it might be interesting
to the reader to know that Washington has more
colored people than any other American city. I
had never seen so many colored people. In fact,
the entire population seemed to be negroes. There
was an old lady from South Dakota on my car who
seemed surprised at the many colored people and
after looking quite intently for some time she
touched me on the sleeve, whispering, "Porter,
aren't there anything but colored people here?"
I replied that it seemed so.</p>
<p>At the station a near-mob of colored boys huddled
before the steps and I thought they would fairly
take the passengers off their feet by the way they
crowded around them. However, they were harmless
and only wanted to earn a dime by carrying
grips. Two of them got a jui jitsu grip on that of
the old lady from South Dakota, and to say that
she became frightened would be putting it mildly.
Just then a policeman came along and the boys
scattered like flies and the old lady seemed much
relieved. Having since taken up my abode in that
state myself, and knowing that there were but few
negroes inhabiting it, I have often wondered since
how she must have felt on that memorable trip
of hers, as well as mine.</p>
<p>After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
working some four months on various and
irregular runs that took me to all the important
cities of the United States east of the Mississippi
River, I was put on a regular run to Portland,
Oregon. This was along in February and about
the same time that I banked my first one hundred
dollars. If my former bank account had stirred my
ambition and become an incentive to economy and
a life of modest habits, the larger one put everything
foolish and impractical entirely out of my mind, and
economy, modesty and frugality became fixed habits
of my life.</p>
<p>At a point in Wyoming on my run to Portland
my car left the main line and went over another
through Idaho and Oregon. From there no berth
tickets were sold by the station agents and the conductors
collected the cash fares, and had for many
years mixed the company's money with their own.
I soon found myself in the mire along with the conductors.
"Getting in" was easy and tips were
good for a hundred dollars a month and sometimes
more. "Good Conductors," a name applied to
"color blind" cons, were worth seventy-five, and
with the twenty-five dollar salary from the company,
I averaged two hundred dollars a month for
eighteen months.</p>
<p>There is something fascinating about railroading,
and few men really tire of it. In fact, most men,
like myself, rather enjoy it. I never tired of hearing
the t-clack of the trucks and the general roar of
the train as it thundered over streams and crossings
throughout the days and nights across the continent
to the Pacific coast. The scenery never grew
old,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
as it was quite varied between Chicago and
North Platte. During the summer it is one large
garden farm, dotted with numerous cities, thriving
hamlets and towns, fine country homes so characteristic
of the great middle west, and is always
pleasing to the eye.</p>
<p>Between North Platte and Julesburg, Colorado,
is the heart of the semi-arid region, where the yearly
rainfall is insufficient to mature crops, but where
the short buffalo grass feeds the rancher's herds
winter and summer. As the car continues westward,
climbing higher and higher as it approaches
the Rockies, the air becomes quite rare. At Cheyenne
the air is so light it blows a gale almost steadily,
and the eye can discern objects for miles away while
the ear cannot hear sounds over twenty rods. I
shall not soon forget how I was wont to gaze at the
herds of cattle ten to thirty miles away grazing
peacefully on the great Laramie plains to the south,
while beyond that lay the great American Rockies,
their ragged peaks towering above in great sepulchral
forms, filling me alternately with a feeling
of romance or adventure, depending somewhat on
whether it was a story of the "Roundup," or some
other article typical of the west, I was reading.</p>
<p>Nearing the Continental divide the car pulls
into Rawlins, which is about the highest, driest and
most uninviting place on the line. From here the
stage lines radiate for a hundred miles to the north
and south. Near here is Medicine Bow, where Owen
Wister lays the beginning scenes of the "Virginian";
and beyond lies Rock Springs, the home of the
famous coal that bears its name and which commands
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
highest price of any bituminous coal.
The coal lies in wide veins, the shafts run horizontally
and there are no deep shafts as there are
in the coal fields of Illinois and other Central states.</p>
<p>From here the train descends a gentle slope to
Green River, Wyoming, a division point in the
U.P. South on the D. & R.G. is Green River, Utah.
Arriving at Granger one feels as though he had
arrived at the jumping off place of creation. Like
most all desert stations it contains nothing of interest
and time becomes a bore. Here the traffic
is divided and the O.S.L. takes the Portland and
Butte section into Idaho where the scenery suddenly
begins to get brighter. Indeed, the country seems
to take on a beautiful and cheerful appearance;
civilization and beautiful farms take the place of
the wilderness, sage brush and skulking coyotes.
Thanks to the irrigation ditch.</p>
<p>After crossing the picturesque American Falls
of Snake River, the train soon arrives at Minidoka.
This is the seat of the great Minidoka project, in
which the United States Government has taken
such an active interest and constructed a canal
over seventy miles in length. This has converted
about a quarter of a million acres of Idaho's volcanic
ash soil into productive lands that bloom as the
rose. It was the beautiful valley of the Snake
River, with its indescribable scenery and its many
beautiful little cities, that attracted my attention
and looked as though it had a promising future. I
had contemplated investing in some of its lands
and locating, if I should happen to be compelled
by stress of circumstances to change my occupation.
This came to pass shortly thereafter.</p>
<p>The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
end came after a trip between Granger and
Portland, in company with a shrewd Irish conductor
by the name of Wright, who not only "knocked
down" the company's money, but drank a good
deal more whiskey than was good for him. On this
last trip, when Wright took charge of the car at
Granger, he began telling about his newly acquired
"dear little wifey." Also confiding to me that he
had quit drinking and was going to quit "knocking
down"—after that trip. Oh, yes! Wright was
always going to dispense with all things dishonest
and dishonorable—at some future date. Another
bad thing about Wright was that he would steal,
not only from the company, but from the porter
as well, by virtue of the rule that required the porter
to take a duplicate receipt from the conductor for
each and every passenger riding on his car, whether
the passenger has a ticket or pays cash fare. These
receipts are forwarded to the Auditor of the company
at the end of each run.</p>
<p>Wright's method of stealing from the porter was
not to turn over any duplicates or receipts until
arriving at the terminus. Then he would choose
a time when the porter was very busy brushing
the passengers' clothes and getting the tips, and
would then have no time to count up or tell just
how many people had ridden. I had received information
from others concerning him and was
cautioned to watch. So on our first trip I quietly
checked up all the passengers as they got on and
where they got off, as well as the berth or seat they
occupied. Arriving at Granger going east he gave
me the wink and taking me into the smoking room
he proceeded to give me the duplicates and divide
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
spoils. He gave me six dollars, saying he had
cut such and such a passenger's fare and that was
my part. I summed up and the amount "knocked
down" was thirty-one dollars. I showed him my
figures and at the same time told him to hand
over nine-fifty more. How he did rage and swear
about the responsibilities being all on him, that he
did all the collecting and the "dirty work" in connection
therewith, that the company didn't fire
the porter. He said before he would concede to
my demands he would turn all the money in to the
company and report me for insolence. I sat calmly
through it all and when he had exhausted his vituperations
I calmly said "nine-fifty, please." I
had no fear of his doing any of the things threatened
for I had dealt with grafting conductors long enough
to know that when they determined on keeping a
fare they weren't likely to turn in their portion to
spite the porter, and Wright was no exception.</p>
<p>But getting back to the last trip. An old lady
had given me a quart of Old Crow Whiskey bottled
in bond. There had been perhaps a half pint taken
out. I thanked her profusely and put it in the
locker, and since Wright found that he could not
keep any of my share of the "knocked down"
fares he was running straight—that is with me,
and we were quite friendly, so I told him of the gift
and where to find it if he wanted a "smile." In one
end of the P——n where the drawing room cuts
off the main portion of the car, and at the beginning
of the curved aisle and opposite to the drawing
room, is the locker. When its door is open it
completely closes the aisle, thus hiding a person from
view<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
behind it. Before long I saw Wright open the
door and a little later could hear him ease the bottle
down after taking a drink.</p>
<p>When we got to Portland, Wright was feeling
"about right" and the bottle was empty. As he
divided the money with me he cried: "Let her run
on three wheels." It was the last time he divided
any of the company's money with a porter. When
he stepped into the office at the end of that trip he
was told that they "had a message from Ager" the
assistant general superintendent, concerning him.
Every employee knew that a message from this individual
meant "off goes the bean." I never saw
Wright afterwards, for they "got" me too that trip.</p>
<p>The little Irish conductor, who was considered
the shrewdest of the shrewd, had run a long time
and "knocked down" a great amount of the company's
money but the system of "spotting" eventually
got him as it does the best of them.</p>
<p>I now had two thousand, three hundred and
forty dollars in the bank. The odd forty I drew
out, and left the remainder on deposit, packed
my trunk and bid farewell to Armour Avenue and
Chicago's Black Belt with its beer cans, drunken
men and women, and turned my face westward with
the spirit of Horace Greeley before and his words
"Go west, young man, and grow up with the country"
ringing in my ears. So westward I journeyed
to the land of raw material, which my dreams had
pictured to me as the land of real beginning, and
where I was soon to learn more than a mere observer
ever could by living in the realm of a great
city.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
<p class="center">"GO WEST YOUNG MAN AND GROW UP WITH THE
COUNTRY"</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i2.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">IN justice to the many thousands of P——n
porters, as well as many conductors,
who were in the habit of retaining the
company's money, let it be said that
they are not the hungry thieves and dishonest
rogues the general public might think them to be,
dishonest as their conduct may seem to be. They
were victims of a vicious system built up and winked
at by the company itself.</p></div>
<p>Before the day of the Inter-State Commerce
Commission and anti-pass and two-cent-per-mile
legislation, and when passengers paid cash fares, it
was a matter of tradition with the conductors to
knockdown, and nothing was said, although the
conductors, as now, were fairly well paid and the
company fully expected to lose some of the cash
fares.</p>
<p>In the case of the porters, however, the circumstances
are far more mitigating. At the time I was
with the company there were, in round numbers,
eight thousand porters in the service on tourist
and standard sleepers who were receiving from a
minimum of twenty-five dollars to not to exceed
forty dollars per month, depending on length and
desirability of service. Out of this he must furnish,
for the first ten years, his own uniforms and cap,
consisting of summer and winter suits at twenty
and twenty-two dollars respectively. After ten
years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
of continuous service these things are furnished
by the company. Then there is the board, lodging
and laundry expense. Trainmen are allowed from
fifty to sixty per cent off of the regular bill of fare,
and at this price most any kind of a meal in an a-la-carte
diner comes to forty and fifty cents. Besides,
the waiters expect tips from the crew as
well as from the passengers and make it more uncomfortable
for them if they do not receive it than
they usually do for the passenger.</p>
<p>I kept an accurate itemized account of my living
expenses, including six dollars per month for a room
in Chicago, and economize as I would, making one
uniform and cap last a whole year, I could not get
the monthly expense below forty dollars—fifteen
dollars more than my salary, and surely the company
must have known it and condoned any reasonable
amount of "knock down" on the side to make
up the deficiency in salary. The porter's "knock
down" usually coming through the sympathy, good
will and unwritten law of "knocking down"—that
the conductor divide equally with the porter. All
of which, however, is now fast becoming a thing of
the past, owing to recent legislation, investigations
and strict regulation of common carriers by Congress
and the various laws of the states of the Union,
with the added result that conductors' wages have
increased accordingly. Few conductors today are
foolish enough to jeopardize their positions by indulging
in the old practice, and it leaves the porters
in a sorry plight indeed.</p>
<p>All in all, the system, while deceptive and dishonest
on its face, was for a time a tolerated evil,
apparently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
sanctioned by the company and became
a veritable disease among the colored employees
who, without exception, received and kept the company's
money without a single qualm of conscience.
It was a part of their duty to make the job pay
something more than a part of their living expenses.</p>
<p>Ignorant as many of the porters were, most of them
knew that from the enormous profits made that the
company could and should have paid them better
wages, and I am sure that if they received living
wages for their services it would have a great moralizing
effect on that feature of the service, and greatly
add to the comfort of the traveling public.</p>
<p>However, the greedy and inhuman attitude of
this monoply toward its colored employees has just
the opposite effect, and is demoralizing indeed.
Thousands of black porters continue to give their
services in return for starvation wages and are
compelled to graft the company and the people
for a living.</p>
<p>Shortly before my cessation of activities in connection
with the P——n company it had a capitalization
of ninety-five million dollars, paying eight
per cent dividend annually, and about two years
after I was compelled to quit, it paid its stockholders
a thirty-five million dollar surplus which
had accumulated in five years. Just recently a
"melon was cut" of about a like amount and over
eight thousand colored porters helped to accumulate
it, at from twenty-five to forty dollars per month.
A wonder it is that their condition does not breed
such actual dishonesty and deception that society
would be forced to take notice of it, and the traveling
public<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
should be thankful for the attentive services
given under these near-slave conditions. As for
myself, the reader has seen how I made it "pay"
and I have no apologies or regrets to offer. When
that final reckoning comes, I am sure the angel
clerk will pass all porters against whom nothing
more serious appears than what I have heretofore
related.</p>
<p>While I was considered very fortunate by my
fellow employees, the whole thing filled me with
disgust. I suffered from a nervous worry and fear
of losing my position all the time, and really felt
relieved when the end came and I was free to pursue
a more commendable occupation.</p>
<p>In going out of the Superintendent's office on my
farewell leave, the several opportunities I had seen
during my experience with the P——n company
loomed up and marched in dress parade before me;
the conditions of the Snake River valley and the
constructiveness of the people who had turned the
alkali desert into valuable farms worth from fifty
to five hundred dollars an acre, thrilled me so that
I had no misgivings for the future. But Destiny
had other fields in view for me and did not send me
to that land of Eden of which I had become so fond,
in quest of fortune. Such a variety of scenes was
surely an incentive to serious thought.</p>
<p>What was termed inquisitiveness at home brought
me a world of information abroad. This inquisitiveness,
combined with the observation afforded by
such runs as those to Portland and around the circle
and, perhaps, coming back by Washington D.C.,
gave practical knowledge. Often western sheepmen,
who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
were ready talkers, returning on my car
from taking a shipment to Chicago, gave me some
idea of farming and sheepraising. I remember
thinking that Iowa would be a fine place to own a
farm, but quickly gave up any further thought of
owning one there myself. A farmer from Tama,
that state, gave me the information. He was a
beautiful decoration for a P——n berth and
a neatly made bed with three sheets, and I do not
know what possessed him to ever take a sleeper,
for he slept little that night—I am sure. The next
morning about five o'clock, while gathering and
shining shoes, I could not find his, and being curious,
I peeped into his berth. What I saw made me laugh,
indeed. There he lay, all bundled into his bed in his
big fur overcoat and shoes on, just as he came into
the car the evening before. He was awake and
looked so uncomfortable that I suggested that he
get up if he wasn't sleepy. "What say?" he answered,
leaning over and sticking his head out of
the berth as though afraid someone would grab
him.</p>
<p>As this class of farmers like to talk, and usually
in loud tones, I led him into the smoking room as
soon as he jumped out of his berth, to keep him from
annoying other passengers. Here he washed his
face, still keeping his coat on.</p>
<p>"Remove your coat," I suggested, "and you will
be more comfortable."</p>
<p>"You bet," he said taking his coat off and sitting
on it. Lighting his pipe, he began talking and I
immediately inquired of him how much land he
owned.</p>
<p>He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
answered that he owned a section. "Gee!
but that is a lot of land," I exclaimed, getting interested,
"and what is it worth an acre?"</p>
<p>"The last quarter I bought I paid eighty dollars
an acre" he returned. That is over thirteen thousand
and I could plainly see that my little two thousand
dollar bank account wouldn't go very far in
Iowa when it came to buying land. That was nine
years ago and the same land today will sell around
one hundred and fifty dollars an acre, and the "end
is not yet."</p>
<p>I concluded on one thing, and that was, if one
whose capital was under eight or ten thousand dollars,
desired to own a good farm in the great central
west he must go where the land was new or raw and
undeveloped. He must begin with the beginning
and develop with the development of the country.
By the proper and accepted methods of conservation
of the natural resources and close application
to his work, his chances for success are good.</p>
<p>When I finally reached this conclusion I began
searching for a suitable location in which to try my
fortune in the harrowing of the soil.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
<p class="center">"AND WHERE IS ORISTOWN?" THE TOWN ON THE
MISSOURI</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">IT came a few days later in a restaurant
in Council Bluffs, Iowa, when I heard
the waiters, one white man and the other
colored, saying, "I'm going to Oristown."
"And where is Oristown?" I inquired,
taking a stool and scrutinizing the bill of fare.
"Oristown," the white man spoke up, drawing away
at a pipe which gave him the appearance of being
anything from a rover to a freight brakeman, "is
about two hundred and fifty miles northwest of
here in southern South Dakota, on the edge of
the Little Crow Reservation, to be opened this
summer." This is not the right name, but the
name of an Indian chief living near where this is
written.</p></div>
<p>Oristown is the present terminus of the C. & R.W.
Ry. and he went on to tell me that the land in
part was valuable, while some portions were no
better than Western Nebraska. A part of the
Reservation was to be opened to settlement by
lottery that summer and the registration was to
take place in July. It was now April. "And the
registration is to come off at Oristown?" I finished
for him with a question. "Yes," he assented.</p>
<p>At Omaha the following day I chanced to meet
two surveyors who had been sent out to the reservation
from Washington, D.C. and who told me to
write to the Department of the Interior for information
regarding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
the opening, the lay of the land,
quality of the soil, rainfall, etc. I did as they suggested
and the pamphlets received stated that the
land to be opened was a deep black loam, with clay
subsoil, and the rainfall in this section averaged
twenty-eight inches the last five years. I knew that
Iowa had about thirty inches and most of the time
was too wet, so concluded here at last was the place
to go. This suited me better than any of the states
or projects I had previously looked into, besides, I
knew more about the mode of farming employed in
that section of the country, it being somewhat
similar to that in Southern Illinois.</p>
<p>On the morning of July fifth, at U.P. Transfer,
Iowa, I took a train over the C.P. & St. L., which
carried me to a certain town on the Missouri in
South Dakota. I did not go to Oristown to register
as I had intended but went to the town referred to,
which had been designated as a registration point
also. I was told by people who were "hitting" in
the same direction and for the same purpose, that
Oristown was crowded and lawless, with no place
to sleep, and was overrun with tin-horn gamblers.
It would be much better to go to the larger town on
the Missouri, where better hotel accommodation
and other conveniences could be had. So I bought
a ticket to Johnstown, where I arrived late in the
afternoon of the same day. There was a large crowd,
which soon found its way to the main street, where
numerous booths and offices were set up, with a
notary in each to accept applications for the drawing.
This consisted of taking oath that one was a
citizen of the United States, twenty-one years of
age<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
or over. The head of a family, a widow, or
any woman upon whom fell the support of a family,
was also accepted. No person, however, owning
over one hundred and sixty acres of land, or who had
ever had a homestead before, could apply. The
application was then enclosed in an envelope and
directed to the Superintendent of the opening.</p>
<p>After all the applications had been taken, they
were thoroughly mixed and shuffled together. Then
a blindfolded child was directed to draw one from
the pile, which became number one in the opening.
The lucky person whose oath was contained in
such envelope was given the choice of all the land
thrown open for settlement. Then another envelope
was drawn and that person was given the
second choice, and so on until they were all drawn.</p>
<p>This system was an out and out lottery, but gave
each and every applicant an equal chance to draw
a claim, but guaranteed none. Years before, land
openings were conducted in a different manner.
The applicants were held back of a line until a signal
was given and then a general rush was made for
the locations and settlement rights on the land.
This worked fairly well at first but there grew to be
more applicants than land, and two or more persons
often located on the same piece of land and this
brought about expensive litigation and annoying
disputes and sometimes even murder, over the
settlement. This was finally abolished in favor
of the lottery system, which was at least safer and
more profitable to the railroads that were fortunate
enough to have a line to one or more of the registration
points.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i056" name="i056"></a>
<img src="images/i056.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Became number one in the opening. <a href="#Page_56">(page 56)</a></p>
</div>
<p>At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
Johnstown, people from every part of the
United States, of all ages and descriptions, gathered
in crowded masses, the greater part of them being
from Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Minnesota, North
Dakota, Kansas and Nebraska. When I started
for the registration I was under the impression that
only a few people would register, probably four or
five thousand, and as there were twenty-four
hundred homesteads I had no other thought than
I would draw and later file on a quarter section.
Imagine my consternation when at the end of the
first day the registration numbered ten thousand.
A colored farmer in Kansas had asked me to keep
him posted in regard to the opening. He also
thought of coming up and registering when he had
completed his harvest. When the throngs of people
began pouring in from the three railroads into
Johnstown (and there were two other points of
registration besides) I saw my chances of drawing
a claim dwindling, from one to two, to one to ten,
fifteen and twenty and maybe more. After three
days in Johnstown I wrote my friend and told him
I believed there would be fully thirty thousand
people apply for the twenty-four hundred claims.
The fifth day I wrote there would be fifty thousand.
After a week I wrote there would be seventy-five
thousand register, that it was useless to expect to
draw and I was leaving for Kansas to visit my parents.
When the registration was over I read in a
Kansas City paper that one hundred and seven
thousand persons had registered, making the chance
of drawing one to forty-four.</p>
<p>Received a card soon after from the Superintendent
of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
the opening, which read that my number
was 6504, and as the number of claims was approximately
twenty-four hundred, my number was too
high to be reached before the land should all be
taken. I think it was the same day I lost fifty-five
dollars out of my pocket. This, combined
with my disappointment in not drawing a piece
of land, gave me a grouch and I lit out for the
Louisiana Purchase Exposition at St. Louis with
the intention of again getting into the P——n
service for a time.</p>
<p>Ofttimes porters who had been discharged went
to another city, changed their names, furnished
a different set of references and got back to work
for the same company. Now if they happened to
be on a car that took them into the district from
which they were discharged, and before the same
officials, who of course recognized them, they were
promptly reported and again discharged. I pondered
over the situation and came to the conclusion
that I would not attempt such deception, but avoid
being sent back to the Chicago Western District.
I was at a greater disadvantage than Johnson,
Smith, Jackson, or a number of other common names,
by having the odd French name that had always
to be spelled slowly to a conductor, or any one else
who had occasion to know me. Out of curiosity
I had once looked in a Chicago Directory. Of
some two million names there were just two others
with the same name. But on the other hand it
was much easier to avoid the Chicago Western
District, or at least Mr. Miltzow's office and by
keeping my own name, assume that I had never been
discharged,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
than it was to go into a half a dozen
other districts with a new name and avoid being
recognized. Arriving at this decision, I approached
the St. Louis office, presented my references which
had been furnished by other M—pls business men,
and was accepted. After I had been sent out with
a porter, who had been running three months, to
show me how to run a car, I was immediately put to
work. I learned in two trips, according to the report
my tutor handed to the chief clerk, and by chance
fell into one of the best runs to New York on one of
the limited trains during the fair. There was not
much knocking down on this run, but the tips,
including the salary were good for three hundred
dollars per month. I ran on this from September
first to October fourth and saved three hundred
dollars. I had not given up getting a Dakota Homestead,
for while I was there during the summer I
learned if I did not draw a number I could buy a
relinquishment.</p>
<p>This relates to the purchasing of a relinquishment:</p>
<p>An entryman has the right at any time to relinquish
back to the United States all his right, title,
and interest to and in the land covered by his filing.
The land is then open to entry.</p>
<p>A claimholder who has filed on a quarter of land
will have plenty of opportunity to relinquish his
claim, for a cash consideration, so that another
party may get a filing on it. This is called buying
or selling a relinquishment. The amount of the
consideration varies with quality of the land, and
the eagerness of the buyer or seller, as the case may be.</p>
<p>Relinquishments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
are the largest stock in trade
of all the real estate dealers, in a new country.
Besides, everybody from the bank president down
to the humble dish washer in the hotel, or the chore
boy in the livery, the ministers not omitted, would,
with guarded secrecy, confide in you of some choice
relinquishment that could be had at a very low
figure compared with what it was really worth.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<p class="center">ORISTOWN, THE "LITTLE CROW" RESERVATION</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_w.jpg"
alt="W" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">WHEN I left St. Louis on the night of
October fourth I headed for Oristown to
buy someone's relinquishment. I had
two thousand, five hundred dollars. From
Omaha the journey was made on the C. & R.W.'s
one train a day that during these times was loaded
from end to end, with everybody discussing the
Little Crow and the buying of relinquishments.
I was the only negro on the train and an object of
many inquiries as to where I was going. Some of
those whom I told that I was going to buy a relinquishment
seemingly regarded it as a joke, judging
from the meaning glances cast at those nearest
them.</p></div>
<p>An incident occurred when I arrived at Oristown
which is yet considered a good joke on a real estate
man then located there, by the name of Keeler,
who was also the United States Commissioner.
He could not only sell me a relinquishment, but
could also take my filing. I had a talk with Keeler,
but as he did not encourage me in my plan to make
a purchase I went to another firm, a young lawyer
and a fellow by the name of Slater, who ran a livery
barn, around the corner. Watkins, the lawyer,
impressed me as having more ambition than practical
business qualities. However, Slater took the
matter up and agreed to take me over the reservation
and show me some good claims. If I bought,
the drive was gratis, if not four dollars per day, and
I accepted his proposition.</p>
<p>After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
we had driven a few miles he told me Keeler
had said to him that he was a fool to waste his
time hauling a d—— nigger around over the reservation;
that I didn't have any money and was just
"stalling." I flushed angrily, and said "Show me
what I want and I will produce the money. What
I want is something near the west end of the county.
You say the relinquishments are cheaper there and
the soil is richer. I don't want big hills or rocks
nor anything I can't farm, but I want a nice level
or gently rolling quarter section of prairie near
some town to be, that has prospects of getting the
railroad when it is extended west from Oristown."
By this time we had covered the three miles between
Oristown and the reservation line, and had
entered the newly opened section which stretched
for thirty miles to the west. As we drove on I
became attracted by the long grass, now dead, which
was of a brownish hue and as I gazed over the miles
of it lying like a mighty carpet I could seem to feel
the magnitude of the development and industry
that would some day replace this state of wildness.
To the Northeast the Missouri River wound its
way, into which empties the Whetstone Creek, the
breaks of which resembled miniature mountains,
falling abruptly, then rising to a point where the
dark shale sides glistened in the sunlight. It was
my longest drive in a buggy. We could go for
perhaps three or four miles on a table-like plateau,
then drop suddenly into small canyon-like ditches
and rise abruptly to the other side. After driving
about fifteen miles we came to the town, as they
called it, but I would have said village of Hedrick—a
collection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
of frame shacks with one or two houses,
many roughly constructed sod buildings, the long
brown grass hanging from between the sod, giving
it a frizzled appearance. Here we listened to a
few boosters and mountebanks whose rustic eloquence
was no doubt intended to give the unwary
the impression that they were on the site of the coming
metropolis of the west. A county-seat battle
was to be fought the next month and the few citizens
of the sixty days declared they would wrest it from
Fairview, the present county seat situated in the
extreme east end of the county, if it cost them a
million dollars, or one-half of all they were worth.
They boasted of Hedrick's prospects, sweeping their
arms around in eloquent gestures in alluding to the
territory tributary to the town, as though half the
universe were Hedrick territory.</p>
<p>Nine miles northwest, where the land was very
sandy and full of pits, into which the buggy wheels
dropped with a grinding sound, and where magnesia
rock cropped out of the soil, was another budding
town by the name of Kirk. The few prospective
citizens of this burg were not so enthusiastic as
those in Hedrick and when I asked one why they
located the town in such a sandy country he opened
up with a snort about some pinheaded engineer for
the "guvment" who didn't know enough to jump
straight up "a locating the town in such an all
fired sandy place"; but he concluded with a compliment,
that plenty of good water could be found
at from fifteen to fifty feet.</p>
<p>This sandy land continued some three miles west
and we often found springs along the streams.
After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
ascending an unusually steep hill, we came
upon a plateau where the grass, the soil, and the
lay of the land, were entirely different from any we
had as yet seen. I was struck by the beauty of the
scenery and it seemed to charm and bring me out
of the spirit of depression the sandy stretch brought
upon me. Stretching for miles to the northwest
and to the south, the land would rise in a gentle
slope to a hog back, and as gently slope away to a
draw, which drained to the south. Here the small
streams emptied into a larger one, winding along
like a snake's track, and thickly wooded with a
growth of small hardwood timber. It was beautiful.
From each side the land rose gently like huge wings,
and spread away as far as the eye could reach.
The driver brought me back to earth, after a mile
of such fascinating observations, and pointing to
the north, said: "There lays one of the claims."
I was carried away by the first sight of it. The land
appeared to slope from a point, or table, and to the
north of that was a small draw, with water. We
rode along the south side and on coming upon a
slight raise, which he informed me was the highest
part of the place, we found a square white stone
set equally distant from four small holes, four or
five feet apart. On one side of the stone was inscribed
a row of letters which ran like this, SWC,
SWQ, Sec. 29-97-72 W. 5th P.M., and on the other
sides were some other letters similar to these.
"What does all that mean?" I asked. He said
the letters were initials describing the land and
reading from the side next to the place we had come
to see it, read: "The southwest corner of the southwest
quarter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
of section twenty-nine, township
ninety-seven, and range seventy-two, west of the
fifth principal meridian."</p>
<p>When we got back to Oristown I concluded I
wanted the place and dreamed of it that night. It
had been drawn by a girl who lived with her parents
across the Missouri. To see her, we had to drive
to their home, and here a disagreement arose, which
for a time threatened to cause a split. I had been
so enthusiastic over the place, that Slater figured on
a handsome commission, but I had been making
inquiries in Oristown, and found I could buy relinquishments
much cheaper than I had anticipated.
I had expected the price to be about one thousand,
eight hundred dollars and came prepared to pay
that much, but was advised to pay not over five
hundred dollars for land as far west as the town of
Megory, which was only four miles northwest of
the place I was now dickering to buy. We had
agreed to give the girl three hundred and seventy-five
dollars, and I had partly agreed to give Slater two
hundred dollars commission. However, I decided
this was too much, and told him I would give him
only seventy-five dollars. He was in for going
right back to Oristown and calling the deal off, but
when he figured up that two and a half day's driving
would amount to only ten dollars, he offered to take
one hundred dollars. But I was obstinate and held
out for seventy-five dollars, finally giving him
eighty dollars, and in due time became the proud
owner of a Little Crow homestead.</p>
<p>All this time I had been writing to Jessie. I had
written first while I was in Eaton, and she had
answered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
in the same demure manner in which she
had received me at our first meeting, and had continued
answering the letters I had written from all
parts of the continent, in much the same way.
For a time I had quit writing, for I felt that she was
really too young and not taking me seriously enough,
but after a month, my sister wrote me, asking why
I did not write to Jessie; that she asked about me
every day. This inspired me with a new interest and
I began writing again.</p>
<p>I wrote her in glowing terms all about my advent
in Dakota, and as she was of a reserved disposition,
I always asked her opinion as to whether she thought
it a sensible move. I wanted to hear her say something
more than: "I was at a cantata last evening
and had a nice time", and so on. Furthermore,
I was skeptical. I knew that a great many colored
people considered farming a deprivation of all things
essential to a good time. In fact, to have a good
time, was the first thing to be considered, and everything
else was secondary. Jessie, however, was not
of this kind. She wrote me a letter that surprised
me, stating, among other things, that she was seventeen
and in her senior year high school. That she
thought I was grand and noble, as well as practical,
and was sorry she couldn't find words to tell me
all she felt, but that which satisfied me suited her
also. I was delighted with her answer and wrote
a cheerful letter in return, saying I would come to
see her, Christmas.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
<p class="center">FAR DOWN THE PACIFIC—THE PROPOSAL</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_a.jpg"
alt="A" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">AFTER the presidential election of that
year I went to South America with a
special party, consisting mostly of New
York capitalists and millionaires. We
traveled through the southwest, crossing the Rio
Grand at Eagle Pass, and on south by the way of
Toreon, Zacatecas, Aguas Calientes, Guadalajara,
Puebla, Tehauntepec and to the southwest coast,
sailing from Salina Cruz down the Pacific to Valparaiso,
Chile, going inland to Santiago, thence
over the Trans-Andean railway across the Andes,
and onward to the western plateau of Argentina.</p></div>
<p>Arriving at the new city of Mendoza, we visited
the ruins of the ancient city of the same name.
Here, in the early part of the fifteenth century, on a
Sunday morning, when a large part of the people
were at church, an earthquake shook the city.
When it passed, it left bitter ruin in its wake, the
only part that stood intact being one wall of the
church. Of a population of thirteen thousand,
only sixteen hundred persons escaped alive. The
city was rebuilt later, and at the time we were there
it was a beautiful place of about twenty-five thousand
population. At this place a report of bubonic
plague, in Brazil, reached us. The party became
frightened and beat it in post haste back to Valparaiso,
setting sail immediately for Salina Cruz,
and spent the time that was scheduled for a tour
of Argentina, in snoopin' around the land of the
Montezumas.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
This is the American center of
Catholic Churches; the home of many gaudy
Spanish women and begging peons; where the people,
the laws, and the customs, are two hundred years
behind those of the United States. Still, I thought
Mexico very beautiful, as well as of historical interest.</p>
<p>One day we journeyed far into the highlands,
where lay the ancient Mexican city of Cuernavaca,
the one time summer home of America's only Emperor,
Maximilian. From there we went to Puebla,
where we saw the old Cathedral which was begun
in 1518, and which at that time was said to be the
second largest in the world. We saw San Louis
Potosi, and Monterey, and returned by the way of
Loredo, Texas. I became well enough acquainted
with the liberal millionaires and so useful in serving
their families that I made five hundred and seventy-five
dollars on the trip, besides bringing back so
many gifts and curiosities of all kinds that I had
enough to divide up with a good many of my friends.</p>
<p>Flushed with prosperity and success in my undertakings
since leaving Southern Illinois less than three
years before, I went to M—boro to see my sister
and to see whether Miss Rooks had grown any.
I was received as a personage of much importance
among the colored people of the town, who were
about the same kind that lived in M—pls; not
very progressive, excepting with their tongues
when it came to curiosity and gossip. I arrived in
the evening too late to call on Miss Rooks and
having become quite anxious to see her again, the
night dragged slowly away, and I thought the conventional
afternoon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
would never come again. Her
father, who was an important figure among the
colored people, was a mail carrier and brought the
mail to the house that morning where I stopped.
He looked me over searchingly, and I tried to appear
unaffected by his scrutinizing glances.</p>
<p>By and by two o'clock finally arrived, and with
my sister I went to make my first call in three years.
I had grown quite tall and rugged, and I was anxious
to see how she looked. We were received by her
mother who said: "Jessie saw you coming and will
be out shortly." After a while she entered and how
she had changed. She, too, had grown much
taller and was a little stooped in the shoulders.
She was neatly dressed and wore her hair done up
in a small knot, in keeping with the style of that
time. She came straight to me, extended her hand
and seemed delighted to see me after the years of
separation.</p>
<p>After awhile her mother and my sister accommodatingly
found an excuse to go up town, and a
few minutes later with her on the settee beside me,
I was telling of my big plans and the air castles I
was building on the great plains of the west. Finally,
drawing her hand into mine and finding that she
offered no resistance, I put my arm around her
waist, drew her close and declared I loved her.
Then I caught myself and dared not go farther with
so serious a subject when I recalled the wild, rough,
and lonely place out on the plains that I had selected
as a home, and finally asked that we defer anything
further until the claim on the Little Crow should
develop into something more like an Illinois home.</p>
<p>"O,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
we don't know what will happen before that
time," she spoke for the first time, with a blush as
I squeezed her hand.</p>
<p>"But nothing can happen," I defended, nonplused,
"can there?"</p>
<p>"Well, no," she answered hesitatingly, leaning
away.</p>
<p>"Then we will, won't we?" I urged.</p>
<p>"Well, yes", she answered, looking down and
appearing a trifle doubtful. I admired her the more.
Love is something I had longed for more than anything
else, but my ambition to overcome the vagaries
of my race by accomplishing something worthy
of note, hadn't given me much time to seek love.</p>
<p>I went to my old occupation of the road for awhile
and spent most of the winter on a run to Florida,
where the tipping was as good as it had been on the
run from St. Louis to New York. However, about
a month before I quit I was assigned to a run to
Boston. By this time I had seen nearly all the
important cities in the United States and of them
all none interested me so much as Boston.</p>
<p>What always appeared odd to me, however, was
the fact that the passenger yards were right at the
door of the fashionable Back Bay district on Huntington
Avenue, near the Hotel Nottingham, not
three blocks from where the intersection of Huntington
Avenue and Boylston Street form an acute angle
in which stands the Public Library, and in the opposite
angle stands Trinity Church, so thickly
purpled with aristocracy and the memory big with
the tradition of Philip Brooks, the last of that group
of mighty American pulpit orators, of whom I had
read<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
so much. A little farther on stands the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology.</p>
<p>The mornings I spent wandering around the city,
visiting Faneuil Hall, the old State House, Boston
commons, Bunker Hill, and a thousand other reminders
of the early heroism, rugged courage, and
far seeing greatness of Boston's early citizens.
Afternoons generally found me on Tremont or
Washington Street attending a matinee or hearing
music. There once I heard Caruso, Melba, and two
or three other grand opera stars in the popular
Rigoletto Quartette, and another time I witnessed
"Siberia" and the gorgeous and blood-curdling
reproduction of the Kishneff Massacre, with two
hundred people on the stage. On my last trip to
Boston I saw Chauncy Olcott in "Terrence the
Coach Boy", a romance of old Ireland with the
scene laid in Valley Bay, which seemed to correspond
to the Back Bay a few blocks away.</p>
<p>Dear old Boston, when will I see you again, was
my thought as the train pulled out through the
most fashionable part of America, so stately and
so grand. Even now I recall the last trip with a
sigh. If the Little Crow, with Oristown as its
gateway, was a land of hope; through Massachusetts;
Worcester, with the Polytechnic Institute
arising in the back ground; Springfield, and Smith
School for girls, Pittsfield, Brookfield, and on to
Albany on the Hudson, is a memory never to be
forgotten, which evolved in my mind many long
years afterward, in my shack on the homestead.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
<p class="center">THE RETURN—ERNEST NICHOLSON</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i2.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">I LEFT St. Louis about April first with
about three thousand dollars in the bank
and started again for Oristown, this
time to stay. I had just paid Jessie a
visit and I felt a little lonely. With the grim reality
of the situation facing me, I now began to steel my
nerves for a lot of new experience which soon came
thick and fast.</p></div>
<p>Slater met the train at Oristown, and as soon as
he spied me he informed me that I was a lucky man.
That a town had been started ajoining my land and
was being promoted by his brother and the sons of
a former Iowa Governor, and gave every promise
of making a good town, also, if I cared to sell, he
had a buyer who was willing to pay me a neat
advance over what I had paid. However, I had
no idea of parting with the land, but I was delighted
over the news, and the next morning found me
among Dad Durpee's through stage coach passengers,
for Calias, the new town joining my homestead,
via Hedrick and Kirk. As we passed through
Hedrick I noticed that several frame shacks had
been put up and some better buildings were under
way. The ground had been frozen for five months,
so sod-house building had been temporarily abandoned.</p>
<p>It was a long ride, but I was beside myself with
enthusiasm. Calias finally loomed up, conspicuously
perched on a hill, and could be seen long before
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
stage arrived, and was the scene of much activity.
It had been reported that a colored man had a claim
adjoining the town on the north, so when I stepped
from the stage before the postoffice, the many
knowing glances informed me that I was being looked
for. A fellow who had a claim near and whom I
met in Oristown, introduced me to the Postmaster
whose name was Billinger, an individual with dry
complexion and thin, light hair. Then to the president
of the Townsite Company, second of three
sons of the Iowa Governor.</p>
<p>My long experience with all classes of humanity
had made me somewhat of a student of human
nature, and I could see at a glance that here was a
person of unusual agressiveness and great capacity
for doing things. As he looked at me his eyes
seemed to bore clear through, and as he asked a few
questions his searching look would make a person
tell the truth whether he would or no. This was
Ernest Nicholson, and in the following years he
had much to do with the development of the Little
Crow.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
<p class="center">THE OKLAHOMA GRAFTER</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THAT evening at the hotel he asked me
whether I wished to double my money
by selling my relinquishment. "No,"
I answered, "but I tell you what I do
want to do," I replied firmly. "I am not here to
sell; I am here to make good or die trying; I am here
to grow up with this country and prosper with the
growth, if possible. I have a little coin back in old
'Chi.'" (my money was still in the Chicago bank)
"and when these people begin to commute and want
to sell, I am ready to buy another place." I admired
the fellow. He reminded me of "the richest man in
the world" in "The Lion and the Mouse," Otis
Skinner as Colonel Phillippi Bridau, an officer on the
staff of Napoleon's Army in "The Honor of the
Family", and other characters in plays that I greatly
admired, where great courage, strength of character,
and firm decision were displayed. He seemed to
have a commanding way that one found himself
feeling honored and willing to obey.</p></div>
<p>But getting back to the homestead. I looked
over my claim and found it just as I had left it the
fall before, excepting that a prairie fire during the
winter had burned the grass. The next morning
I returned to Oristown and announced my intentions
of buying a team. The same day I drew a draft
for five hundred dollars with which to start.</p>
<p>Now if there is anywhere an inexperienced man is
sure to go wrong in starting up on a homestead, it is
in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
buying horses. Most prospective homesteaders
make the same mistake I did in buying horses, unless
they are experienced. The inefficient man reasons
thus: "Well, I will start off economically by buying
a cheap team"—and he usually gets what he
thought he wanted, "a cheap team."</p>
<p>If I had gone into the country and bought a team
of young mares for say three hundred dollars, which
would have been a very high price at that time, I
would have them yet, and the increase would have
kept me fairly well supplied with young horses,
instead of scouting around town looking for something
cheaper, in the "skate" line, as I did. I
looked at so many teams around Oristown that all
of them began to look alike. I am sure I must have
looked at five hundred different horses, more in an
effort to appear as a conservative buyer than to
buy the best team. Finally I ran onto an "Oklahoma"
grafter by the name of Nunemaker.</p>
<p>He was a deceiving and unscrupulous rascal, but
nevertheless possessed a pleasing personality, which
stood him in good in his schemes of deception, and
we became quite chummy. He professed to know
all about horses—no doubt he did, but he didn't
put his knowledge at my disposal in the way I
thought he should, being a friend, as he claimed.
He finally persuaded me to buy a team of big
plugs, one of which was so awkward he looked as
though he would fall down if he tried to trot.
The other was a powerful four-year-old gelding, that
would have never been for sale around Oristown if
it hadn't been that he had two feet badly wire cut.
One was so very large that it must have been quite
burdensome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
for the horse to pick it up, swing it
forward and put it down, as I look back and see
him now in my mind.</p>
<p>When I was paying the man for them I wondered
why Nunemaker led him into the private office of
the bank, but I was not left long in doubt. When
I crossed the street one of the men who had tried
to sell me a team jumped me with: "Well, they got
you, did they?" his voice mingled with sarcasm and
a sneer.</p>
<p>"Got who?" I returned question.</p>
<p>"Does a man have to knock you down to take
a hint?" he went on in a tone of disappointment
and anger. "Don't you know that man Nunemaker
is the biggest grafter in Oristown? I would have
sold you that team of mine for twenty-five dollars
less'n I offered 'em, if the gol-darn grafter hadn't
of come to me'n said, 'give me twenty-five dollars
and I will see that the coon buys the team.' I
would have knocked him down with a club if I'd
had one, the low life bum." He finished with a
snort and off he went.</p>
<p>"Stung, by cracky," was all I could say, and feeling
rather blue I went to the barn where the team
was, stroked them and hoped for the best.</p>
<p>I then bought lumber to build a small house and
barn, an old wagon for twenty dollars, one wheel
of which the blacksmith had forgotten to grease,
worked hard all day getting loaded, and wearied,
sick and discouraged, I started at five o'clock P.M.
to drive the thirty miles to Calias. When I was
out two miles the big old horse was wobbling along
like a broken-legged cow, hobbling, stumbling, and
making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
such a burdensome job of walking, that I
felt like doing something desperate. When I
looked back the wheel that had not been greased
was smoking like a hot box on the Twentieth
Century Limited.</p>
<p>The sun was nearly down and a cold east wind
was whooping it up at about sixty miles an hour,
chilling me to the marrow. The fact that I was a
stranger in a strange land, inhabited wholly by
people not my own race, did not tend to cheer my
gloomy spirits. I decided it might be all right in
July but never in April. I pulled my wagon to the
side of the road, got down and unhitched and
jumped on the young horse, and such a commotion
as he did make. I am quite sure he would have
bucked me off, had it not for his big foot being so
heavy, he couldn't raise it quick enough to leap.
Evidently he had never been ridden. When I got
back to Oristown and put the team in the barn and
warmed up, I resolved to do one thing and do it
that night. I would sell the old horse, and I did,
for twenty-two-fifty. I considered myself lucky,
too. I had paid one hundred and ninety dollars
for the team and harness the day before.</p>
<p>I sat down and wrote Jessie a long letter, telling
her of my troubles and that I was awfully, awfully,
lonesome. There was only one other colored person
in the town, a barber who was married to a white
woman, and I didn't like him.</p>
<p>The next day I hired a horse, started early and
arrived at Calias in good time. At Hedrick I hired
a sod mason, who was also a carpenter, at three
dollars a day and we soon put up a frame barn
large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
enough for three horses; a sod house sixteen
by fourteen with a hip roof made of two by fours for
rafters, and plain boards with tar paper and sod
with the grass turned downward and laid side by
side, the cracks being filled with sand. The house
had two small windows and one door, that was a
little short on account of my getting tired carrying
sod. I ordered the "contractor" to put the roof
on as soon as I felt it was high enough to be
comfortable inside.</p>
<p>The fifth day I moved in. There was no floor,
but the thick, short buffalo grass made a neat carpet.
In one corner I put the bed, while in another I set
the table, the one next the door I placed the stove,
a little two-hole burner gasoline, and in the other
corner I made a bin for the horses grain.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
<p class="center">DEALIN' IN MULES</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">IT must have been about the twentieth
of April when I finished building. I
started to "batch" and prepared to
break out my claim. Having only
one horse, it became necessary to buy another team.
I decided to buy mules this time. I remembered
that back on our farm in southern Illinois, mules
were thought to be capable of doing more work than
horses and eat less grain. So when some boys living
west of me came one Sunday afternoon, and said
they could sell me a team of mules, I agreed to go
and see them the next day. I thought I was getting
wise. As proof of such wisdom I determined to
view the mules in the field. I followed them around
the field a few times and although they were not
fine looking, they seemed to work very well. Another
great advantage was, they were cheap, only
one hundred and thirty-five dollars for the team
and a fourteen-inch-rod breaking plow. This
looked to me like a bargain. I wrote him a check
and took the mules home with me. Jack and Jenny
were their names, and I hadn't owned Jack two
days before I began to hate him. He was lazy,
and when he went down hill, instead of holding
his head up and stepping his front feet out, he would
lower the bean and perform a sort of crow-hop.
It was too exasperating for words and I used to
strike him viciously for it, but that didn't seem to
help matters any.</p></div>
<p>I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
shall not soon forget my first effort to break
prairie. There are different kinds of plows made for
breaking the sod. Some kind that are good for
one kind of soil cannot be used in another. In
the gummy soils of the Dakotas, a long slant cut
is the best. In fact, about the only kind that can
be used successfully, while in the more sandy lands
found in parts of Kansas and Nebraska, a kind is
used which is called the square cut. The share
being almost at right angles with the beam instead
of slanting back from point to heel. Now in sandy
soils this pulls much easier for the grit scours off
any roots, grass, or whatever else would hang over
the share. To attempt to use this kind in wet,
sticky land, such as was on my claim, would find
the soil adhering to the plow share, causing it to
drag, gather roots and grass, until it is impossible
to keep the plow in the ground. When it is dry,
this kind of plow can be used with success in the
gummy land; but it was not dry when I invaded
my homestead soil with my big horse, Jenny and
Jack, that first day of May, but very wet indeed.</p>
<p>To make matters worse, Doc, the big horse,
believed in "speeding." Jenny was fair but Jack,
on the landside, was affected with "hook-worm
hustle," and believed in taking his time. I tried
to help him along with a yell that grew louder as
I hopped, skipped, and jumped across the prairie,
and that plow began hitting and missing, mostly
missing. It would gouge into the soil up to the
beam, and the big horse would get down and make
a mighty pull, while old Jack would swing back
like the heavy end of a ball bat when a player
draws<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
to strike, and out would come the plow with
a skip, skip, skip; the big horse nearly trotting and
dragging the two little mules, that looked like two
goats beside an elephant. Well, I sat down and gave
up to a fit of the blues; for it looked bad, mighty
bad for me.</p>
<p>I had left St. Louis with two hundred dollars in
cash, and had drawn a draft for five hundred dollars
more on the Chicago bank, where my money was
on deposit, and what did I have for it? One big
horse, tall as a giraffe; two little mules, one of which
was a torment to me; a sod house; and old wagon.
As I faced the situation there seemed nothing to do
but to fight it out, and I turned wearily to another
attempt, this time with more success. Before I
had started breaking I had invited criticism. Now
I was getting it on all sides. I was the only colored
homesteader on the reservation, and as an agriculturist
it began to look mighty bad for the colored
race on the Little Crow.</p>
<p>Finally, with the assistance of dry weather, I
got the plow so I could go two or three rods without
stopping, throw it out of the ground and clear the
share of roots and grass. Sometimes I managed
to go farther, but never over forty rods, the entire
summer.</p>
<p>I took another course in horse trading or mule
trading, which almost came to be my undoing. I
determined to get rid of Jack. I decided that I
would not be aggravated with his laziness and crow-hopping
any longer than it took me to find a trade.
So on a Sunday, about two weeks after I bought
the team, a horse trader pulled into Calias, drew
his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
prairie schooner to a level spot, hobbled his horses—mostly
old plugs of diverse descriptions, and made
preparation to stay awhile. He had only one
animal, according to my horse-sense (?), that was
any good, and that was a mule that he kept
blanketed. His camp was so situated that I could
watch the mule, from my east window, and the more
I looked at the mule, the better he looked to me.
It was Wednesday noon the following week and old
Jack had become almost unbearable. My continuing
to watch a good mule do nothing, while
I continued to fret my life away trying to be patient
with a lazy brute, only added to my restlessness and
eagerness to trade. At noon I entered the barn
and told old Jack I would get rid of him. I would
swap him to that horse trader for his good mule
as soon as I watered him. He was looking pretty
thin and I thought it would be to my advantage
to fill him up.</p>
<p>During the three days the trader camped near
my house he never approached me with an offer
to sell or trade, and it was with many misgivings
that I called out in a loud, breezy voice and David
Harum manner; "Hello, Governor, how will you
trade mules?" "How'll I trade mules? did you
say how'll I trade mules? Huh, do you suppose I
want your old mule?" drawing up one side of his
face and twisting his big red nose until he resembled
a German clown.</p>
<p>"O, my mule's fair", I defended weakly.</p>
<p>"Nothing but an old dead mule," he spit out,
grabbing old Jack's tail and giving him a yank that
all but pulled him over. "Look at him, look at him,"
he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
rattled away like an auctioneer. "Go on, Mr.
Colored Man, you can't work me that way." He
continued stepping around old Jack, making pretentions
to hit him on the head. Jack may have
been slow in the field, but he was swift in dodging,
and he didn't look where he dodged either. I was
standing at his side holding the reins, when the
fellow made one of his wild motions, and Jack nearly
knocked my head off as he dodged. "Naw sir, if I
considered a trade, that is if I considered a trade
at all, I would have to have a lot of boot" he said
with an important air.</p>
<p>"How much?" I asked nervously.</p>
<p>"Well, sir", he spoke with slow decision; "I would
have to have twenty-five dollars."</p>
<p>"What!" I exclaimed, at which he seemed to
weaken; but he didn't understand that my exclamation
was of surprise that he only wanted twenty-five
dollars, when I had expected to give him seventy-five
dollars. I grasped the situation, however, and
leaning forward, said hardly above a whisper, my
heart was so near my throat: "I will give you
twenty," as I pulled out my roll and held a twenty
before his eyes, which he took as though afraid I
would jerk it away; muttering something about it
not being enough, and that he had ought to have had
twenty-five. However, he got old Jack and the
twenty, gathered his plugs and left town immediately.
I felt rather proud of my new possession,
but before I got through the field that afternoon I
became suspicious. Although I looked my new
mule over and over often during the afternoon while
plowing, I could find nothing wrong. Still I had
a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
chilly premonition, fostered, no doubt, by past
experience, that something would show up soon,
and in a few days it did show up. I learned
afterward the trader had come thirty-five miles to
trade me that mule.</p>
<p>The mule I had traded was only lazy, while the
one I had received in the trade was not only lazy,
but "ornery" and full of tricks that she took a
fiendish delight in exercising on me. One of her
favorites was to watch me out of her left eye,
shirking the while, and crowding the furrow at the
same time, which would pull the plow out of the
ground. I tried to coax and cajole her into doing
a decent mule's work, but it availed me nothing.
I bore up under the aggravation with patience and
fortitude, then determined to subdue the mule or
become subdued myself. I would lunge forward
with my whip, and away she would rush out from
under it, brush the other horse and mule out of
their places and throw things into general confusion.
Then as soon as I was again straightened out, she
would be back at her old tricks, and I am almost
positive that she used to wink at me impudently
from her vantage point. Added to this, the coloring
matter with which the trader doped her head, faded,
and she turned grey headed in two weeks, leaving
me with a mule of uncertain and doubtful age, instead
of one of seven going on eight as the trader
represented her to be.</p>
<p>I soon had the enviable reputation of being a horse
trader. Whenever anybody with horses to trade
came to town, they were advised to go over to the
sod house north of town and see the colored man.
He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
was fond of trading horses, yes, he fairly doted
on it. Nevertheless with all my poor "horse-judgment"
I continued to turn the sod over day
after day and completed ten or twelve acres each
week.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
<p class="center">THE HOMESTEADERS</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_o.jpg"
alt="O" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">OF neighbors, I had many. There was
Miss Carter from old Missouri whose
claim joined mine on the west, and another
Missourian to the north of her; a
loud talking German north of him, and an English
preacher to the east of the German. A traveling
man's family lived north of me; and a big, fat, lazy
barber who seemed to be taking the "rest cure,"
joined me on the east. His name was Starks and
he had drawn number 252. He had a nice, level
claim with only a few buffalo wallows to detract
from its value, and he held the distinction of being
the most uncompromisingly lazy man on the Little
Crow. This, coupled with the unpardonable
fault of complaining about everything, made him
nigh unbearable and he was known as the "Beefer."
He came from a small town, usually the home of
his ilk, in Iowa, where he had a small shop and owned
three and a half acres of garden and orchard ground
on the outskirts of the town. He would take a
fiendish delight in relating and re-relating how the
folks in his house back in Iowa were having strawberries,
new peas, green beans, spring onions, and
enjoying all the fruits of a tropical climate, while he
was holding down an "infernal no-account claim"
on the Little Crow, and eating out of a can.</p></div>
<p>A merchant was holding down a claim south of
him, and a banker lived south of the merchant.
Thus it was a varied class of homesteaders around
Calias<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
and Megory, the first summer on the Little
Crow. Only about one in every eight or ten was
a farmer. They were of all vocations in life and
all nationalities, excepting negroes, and I controlled
the colored vote.</p>
<p>This was one place where being a colored man was
an honorary distinction. I remember how I once
requested the stage driver to bring me some meat
from Megory, there being no meat shop in Calias,
and it was to be left at the post office. Apparently
I had failed to give the stage driver my name, for
when I called for it, it was handed out to me, done
up in a neat package, and addressed "Colored Man,
Calias." My neighbors soon learned, however,
that my given name was "Oscar," but it was some
time before they could all spell or pronounce the
odd surname.</p>
<p>During the month of June it rained twenty-three
days, but I was so determined to break out one
hundred and twenty acres, that after a few days
of the rainy weather I went out and worked in the
rain. Starks used to go up town about four o'clock
for the mail, wearing a long, yellow slicker, and when
he saw me going around the half-mile land he remarked
to the bystanders: "Just look at that fool
nigger a working in the rain."</p>
<p>Being the first year of settlement in a new country,
there naturally was no hay to buy, so the settlers
turned their stock out to graze, and many valuable
horses strayed away and were lost. When it rained
so much and the weather turned so warm, the mosquitoes
filled the air and covered the earth and
attacked everything in their path. When I turned
my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
horses out after the day's work was done, they
soon found their way to town, where they stood in
the shelter of some buildings and fought mosquitoes.
Their favorite place for this pastime was
the post office, where Billinger had a shed awning
over the board walk, the framework consisting of
two-by-fours joined together and nailed lightly to
the building, and on top of this he had laid a few
rough boards. Under this crude shelter the homesteaders
found relief from the broiling afternoon sun,
and swapped news concerning the latest offer for
their claims. The mosquitoes did not bother so
much in even so slight an inclosure as this, so every
night Jenny Mule would walk on to the board
walk, prick up her ears and look in at the window.
About this time the big horse would come along
and begin to scratch his neck on one of the two-by-fours,
and suddenly down would go Billinger's portable
awning with a loud crash which was augmented
by Jenny Mule getting out from under the falling
boards. As the sound echoed through the slumbering
village the big horse would rush away to the
middle of the street, with a prolonged snort, and wonder
what it was all about. This was the story
Billinger told when I came around the next morning
to drive them home from the storekeeper's oat bin
where they had indulged in a midnight lunch. The
performance was repeated nightly and got brother
Billinger out of bed at all hours. He swore by
all the Gods of Buddha and the people of South
Dakota, that he would put the beasts up and charge
me a dollar to get them.</p>
<p>Early one morning I came over and found that
Billinger had remained true to his oath, and the
horse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
and mule were tied to a wagon belonging to
the storekeeper. Nearby on a pile of rock sat
Billinger, nodding away, sound asleep. I quietly
untied the rope from the wagon and peaceably led
them home. Then Billinger was in a rage. He
had a small, screechy tremulo voice and it fairly
sputtered as he tiraded: "If it don't beat all; I never
saw the like. I was up all last night chasing those
darned horses, caught them and tied them up; and
along comes Devereaux while I am asleep and
takes horses, rope and all." The crowd roared
and Billinger decided the joke was on him.</p>
<p>Miss Carter, my neighbor on the west, had her
trouble too. One day she came by, distressed and
almost on the verge of tears, and burst out: "Oh,
Oh, Oh, I hardly know what to do."</p>
<p>I could never bear seeing any one in such distress
and I became touched by her grief. Upon becoming
more calm, she told me: "The banker says that the
man who is breaking prairie on my claim is ruining
the ground." She was simply heart-broken about it,
and off she went into another spasm of distress.
I saw the fellow wasn't laying the sod over smoothly
because he had a sixteen-inch plow, and had it
set to cut only about eight inches, which caused
the sod to push away and pile up on edges, instead
of turning and dropping into the furrow. I went
with her and explained to the fellow where the
fault lay. The next day he was doing a much better
job.</p>
<p>Those who have always lived in the older settled
parts of the country sometimes have exaggerated
ideas of life on the homestead, and the following
incident<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
offers a partial explanation. Megory and
Calias each had a newspaper, and when they weren't
roasting each other and claiming their paper to be
the only live and progressive organ in the country,
they were "building" railroads or printing romantic
tales about the brave homesteader girls. A little
red-headed girl nicknamed "Jack" owned a claim
near Calias. One day it was reported that she
killed a rattlesnake in her house. The report of
the great encounter reached eastern dailies, and
was published as a Sunday feature story in one of
the leading Omaha papers. It was accompanied
by gorgeous pictures of the girl in a leather skirt,
riding boots, and cow-boy hat, entering a sod house,
and before her, coiled and poised to strike, lay a
monster rattlesnake. Turning on her heel and
jerking the bridle from her horse's head, she made
a terrific swing at Mr. Rattlesnake, and he, of course,
"met his Waterloo." This, so the story read, was
the eightieth rattlesnake she had killed. She was
described as "Rattlesnake Jack" and thereafter went
by that name. She was also credited with having
spent the previous winter alone on her claim and
rather enjoyed the wintry nights and snow blockade.
Now as a matter of fact, she had spent most of the
previous winter enjoying the comforts of a front
room at the Hotel Calias, going to the claim occasionally
on nice days. She had no horse, and as
to the eighty rattlesnakes, seventy-nine were myths,
existing only in the mind of a prolific feature story
writer for the Sunday edition of the great dailies.
In fact she had killed one small young rattler with
a button.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
<p class="center">IMAGINATIONS RUN AMUCK</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">I DECIDED to utilize some of my spare
time by doing a little freighting from
Oristown to Calias. Accordingly, one
fair morning I started for the former
town. It began raining that evening, finally turning
into a fine snow, and by morning a genuine
South Dakota blizzard was raging. How the wind
did screech across the prairie!</p></div>
<p>I was driving the big horse and Jenny Mule to
a wagon loaded with two tons of coal. They were
not shod, and the hillsides had become slick and
treacherous with ice. At the foot of every hill
Jenny Mule would lay her ears back, draw herself
up like a toad, when teased, and look up with a
groan, while the big horse trotted on up the next
slope, pulling her share of the load.</p>
<p>When the wind finally went down the mercury
fell to 25° below zero and my wrists, face, feet,
and ears were frost bitten when I arrived at
Calias. As is always the case during such severe
weather, the hotel was filled, and laughing, story
telling, and good cheer prevailed. The Nicholson
boys asked "how I made it" and I answered
disgustedly that I'd have made it all right if that
Jennie Mule hadn't got faint hearted. The remark
was received as a good joke and my suffering
and annoyances of the trip slipped away into the
past. That remark also had the further effect of
giving Jennie Mule immortality. She became the
topic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
of conversation and jest in hotel and postoffice
lobbies, and even to this day the story of the "faint
hearted mule" often affords splendid entertainment
at festive boards and banquet halls of the Little
Crow, when told by a Nicholson.</p>
<p>While working in the rain, the perspiration and
the rain water had caused my body to become so
badly galled, that I found considerable difficulty
in getting around. To add to this discomfiture
Jenny Mule was affected with a touch of
"Maudism" at times, especially while engaged in
eating grain. One night when I had wandered
thoughtlessly into the barn, she gave me such a
wallop on the right shin as to impair that member
until I could hardly walk without something to
hold to. As it had taken a fourteen-hundred-mile
walk to follow the plow in breaking the one hundred
and twenty acres, I was about "all in" physically
when it was done.</p>
<p>As a means of recuperation I took a trip to Chicago.
While there, the "call of the road" affected
me; I got reinstated and ran a couple of months
to the coast. Four months of free life on the plains,
however, had changed me. After one trip I came
in and found a letter from Jessie, saying she was sick,
and although she never said "come and see me" I
took it as an excuse and quit that P——n Company
for good—and here it passes out of the story—went
down state to M—boro, and spent the happiest
week of my life.</p>
<p>After I had returned to Dakota, however, I contracted
an imagination that worked me into a state
of jealously, concerning an individual who made
his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
home in M—boro, and with whom I suspicioned
the object of my heart to be unduly friendly. I say,
this is what I suspicioned. There was no particular
proof, and I have been inclined to think, in after
years, that it was more a case of an over-energetic
imagination run amuck. I contended in my mind
and in my letters to her as well, that I should not
have thought anything of it, if the "man in the case"
had a little more promising future, but since his
proficiency only earned him the munificent sum of
three dollars per week, I continued to fret and fume,
until I at last resolved to suspend all communication
with her.</p>
<p>Now what I should have done when I reached this
stage of imaginary insanity, was to have sent Miss
Rooks a ticket, some money, and she would have
come to Dakota and married me, and together we
would have "lived happy ever after." As I see it
now, I was affected with an "idealism." Of course
I was not aware of it at the time—no young soul
is—until they have learned by bitter experience
the folly of "they should not do thus and so", and,
of course, there is the old excuse, "good intentions."
Somewhere I read that the road to—not St. Peter—is
paved with good intentions. The result of my
prolific imagination was that I carried out my resolutions,
quit writing, and emotionally lived rather
unhappily thereafter, for some time at least.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
<p class="center">THE SURVEYORS</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THE entire Little Crow reservation consisted
of about two million acres of land,
four-fifths of which was unopened and
lay west of Megory County. Of the
two million acres, perhaps one million, five hundred
thousand ranged from fair to the richest of loam
soil, underlaid with clay. The climatic condition
is such that all kinds of crops grown in the central
west, can be grown here. Two hundred miles north,
corn will not mature; two hundred miles south,
spring wheat is not grown; two hundred west, the
altitude is too high to insure sufficient rainfall to
produce a crop; but the reservation lands are in
such a position that winter wheat, spring wheat,
oats, rye, corn, flax, and barley do well. Ever
since the drouth of '94, all crops had thrived, the
rainfall being abundant, and continuing so during
the first year of settlement. Oristown and other
towns on the route of the railroad had waited
twenty years for the extension, and now the citizens
of Oristown estimated it would be at least ten years
before it extended its line through the reservation;
while the settlers, to the number of some eight thousand,
hoped they would get the road in five years.
However, no sleep was lost in anticipation. The
nearest the reservation came to getting a railroad
that summer was by the way of a newspaper in
Megory, whose editor spent most of his time building
roads into Megory from the north, south, and the
east.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
In reality, the C. & R.W. was the only road
likely to run to the reservation, and all the towns
depended on its extension to overcome the long,
burdensome freighting with teams.</p></div>
<p>With all the country's local advantages, its
geographical location was such as to exclude roads
from all directions except the one taken by the
C. & R.W. To the south lay nine million acres
of worthless sand hills, through which it would
require an enormous sum of money to build a road.
Even then there would be miles of track which
would practically pay no interest on the investment.
At that time there was no railroad extending the
full length of the state from east to west, most lines
stopping at or near the Missouri River. Since then
two or three lines have been built into the western
part of the state; but they experienced much
difficulty in crossing the river, owing to the soft
bottom, which in many places would not support a
modern steel bridge. For from one to two months in
the spring, floating ice gives a great deal of trouble
and wreaks disaster to the pontoon.</p>
<p>A bird's eye view of the Little Crow shows it to
look something like a bottle, the neck being the
Missouri River, with the C. & R.W. tracks creeping
along its west bank. This is the only feasible route
to the Reservation and the directors of this road were
fully aware of their advantageous position. The
freight rates from Omaha to Oristown (a distance
of two hundred and fifty miles) being as high as
from Omaha to Chicago, a distance of five hundred
miles.</p>
<p>But getting back to the settlers around and in
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
little towns on the Little Crow. The first thing
to be considered in the extension was, that the
route it took would naturally determine the future
of the towns. Hedrick, Kirk, and Megory were
government townsites, strung in a northwesterly
direction across the country, ranging from eight
to fifteen miles apart, the last being about five miles
and a half east of the west line of the county. Now
the county on the west was expected to be thrown
open to settlement soon, would likely be opened
under the lottery system, as was Megory county.
After matters had settled this began to be discussed,
particularly by the citizens of Megory, five and one-half
miles from the Tipp County line. This
placed Megory in the same position to handle the
crowds coming into the next county, as Oristown
had for Megory County, excepting Megory would
have an advantage, for Tipp County was twice as
large as Megory. When this was all considered,
the people of Megory began to boost the town on
the prospects of a future boom. The only uncertain
feature of the matter then to be considered was
which way the road would extend. That was where
the rub came in, which way would the road go?
This became a source of continual worry and speculation
on the part of the towns, and the men who felt
inclined to put money into the towns in the way of
larger, better, and more commodious buildings;
but when they were encouraged to do so, there was
always the bogy "if." If the railroad should miss
us, well, the man owning the big buildings was
"stung," that was all, while the man with the shack
could load it on two or four wagons, and with a
few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
good horses, land his building in the town the
railroad struck or started. This was, and is yet,
one of the big reasons shacks are so numerous in
a town in a new country, which expects a road but
knows not which way it will come; and the officials
of the C. & R.W. were no different from the directors
of any other road. They were "mum" as
dummies. They wouldn't tell whether the road
would ever extend or not.</p>
<p>The Oristown citizens claimed it was at one time
in the same uncertainty as the towns to the west,
and for some fifteen or twenty years it had waited
for the road. With the road stopping at Oristown,
they argued, it would be fully ten years before it
left, and during this time it could be seen, Oristown
would grow into an important prairie city, as it
should. Everything must be hauled into Oristown,
as well as out. So it can be seen that Oristown
would naturally boom. While nothing had been
raised to the west to ship out, as yet, still there was
a growing population on the reservation and thousands
of carloads of freight and express were being
hauled into and from Oristown monthly, for the
settlers on the reservation; which filled the town with
railroad men and freighters. Crops had been good,
and every thing was going along smoothly for the
citizens and property owners of Oristown. Not a
cloud on her sky of prosperity, and as the trite saying
goes: "Everything was lovely, and the goose hung
high," during the first year of settlement on the
Little Crow.</p>
<p>And now lest we forget Calias. Calias was located
one and one-half miles east, and three miles
south<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
of Megory, and five miles straight west of
Kirk. If the C. & R.W. extending its line west,
should strike all the government townsites, as was
claimed by people in these towns, who knew nothing
about it, and Calias, it would have run from Kirk
to Megory in a very unusual direction. Indeed, it
would have been following the section lines and it
is common knowledge even to the most ignorant,
that railroads do not follow section lines unless the
section lines are directly in its path. If the railroad
struck Kirk and Megory, it was a cinch it
would miss Calias. If it struck Calias, perched on
the banks of the Monca Creek, the route the
Nicholsons, as promoters of the town, claimed it
would take; the road would miss all the towns but
Calias. This would have meant glory and a fortune
for the promotors and lot holders of the town. It
would also have meant that my farm, or at least a
part of it, would in time be sold for town lots.</p>
<p>After I got so badly overreached in dealing in
horses, for a time the opinion was general that the
solitary negro from the plush cushions of a P——n
would soon see that growing up with a new country
was not to his liking, and would be glad to sell at
any old figure and "beat it" back to more ease and
comfort. This is largely the opinion of most of
the white people, regarding the negro, and they are
not entirely wrong in their opinion. I was quite
well aware that such an opinion existed, but contrary
to expectations, I rather appreciated it. When
I broke out one hundred and twenty acres with
such an outfit as I had, as against many other real
farmers who had not broken over forty acres, with
good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
horses and their knowledge of breaking prairie,
acquired in states they had come from, I began to
be regarded in a different light. At first I was
regarded as an object of curiosity, which changed
to appreciation, and later admiration. I was not
called a free-go-easy coon, but a genuine booster
for Calias and the Little Crow. I never spent a
lonesome day after that.</p>
<p>The Nicholson Brothers, however, gave the settlers
no rest, and created another sensation of railroad
building by their new contention that the
railroad would not be extended from Oristown, but
that it would be built from a place on the Monca
bottom two stations below Oristown, where the
track climbed a four per cent grade to Fairview,
then on to Oristown. They offered as proof of
their contention that the C. & R.W. maintained
considerable yardage there, and it does yet. Why
it did, people did not know, and this kept everybody
guessing. Some claimed it would go up the Monca
Valley, as Nicholson claimed. This much can be
said in favor of the Nicholsons, they were good
boosters, or "big liars," as their rivals called them,
and if one listened long and diligently enough they
would have him imagine he could hear the exhaust
of a big locomotive coming up the Monca Valley.
While the people in the government townsites persisted
loudly that the C. & R.W. had contracted
with the government before the towns were located,
to strike these three towns, and that the government
had helped to locate them; that furthermore, the
railroad would never have left the Monca Valley,
which it followed for some twenty miles after leaving
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
banks of the Missouri. All of which sounded
reasonable enough, but the government and the
railroad had entered into no agreement whatever,
and the people in the government towns knew it,
and were uneasy.</p>
<p>I had been on my claim just about a year, when
one day Rattlesnake Jack's father came from
his home on the Jim River and sold me her homestead
for three thousand dollars. My dreams were
at last realized, and I had become the owner of
three hundred and twenty acres of land; but my
money was now gone, when I had paid the one
thousand, five hundred dollars down on the Rattle
Snake Jack place, giving her back a mortgage for
the remaining one thousand, five hundred at seven
per cent interest, and it was a good thing I did, too.
I bought the place early in April and in June the
Interior Department rejected the proof she had
offered the November before, on account of lack of
sufficient residence and cultivation. The proof
had been accepted by the local land office, and a
final receipt for the remaining installments of the
purchase price, amounting to four hundred and eighty
dollars, was issued. A final receipt is considered
to be equivalent to a patent or deed, but when
Rattlesnake Jack's proof of residence got to the
General Land Office in Washington, in quest of a
patent, the commissioner looked it over, figured up
the time she actually put in on the place, and rejected
the proof, with the statement that it only
showed about six month's actual residence. At
that time eight month's residence was required, with
six months within which to establish residence;
but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
no proof could be accepted until after the claimant
had shown eight month's actual and continuous
residence.</p>
<p>From the time the settlers began to commute or
prove up on the Little Crow, all proofs which
did not show fully eight month's residence, were
rejected. This was done mostly by the Register
and Receiver of the Local Land Office, and many
were sent back on their claims to stay longer.
Many proofs were also taken by local U.S. Commissioners,
County Judges, and Clerks of Courts, but
these officers rarely rejected them, for by so doing
they also rejected a four dollar and twenty-five
cent fee. About one-third of the persons who
offered proof at that time had them turned down at
the Local Land Office. This gave the local Commissioners,
County Judges, and Clerks of Courts,
a chance to collect twice for the same work. It
may be interesting to know that a greater percentage
of proofs rejected were those offered by women.
This was perhaps not due to the fact that the ladies
did not stay on their claims, so much as it was conscientiousness.
They could not make a forcible
showing by saying that they had been there every
night, like the men would claim, but would say instead
that they had stayed all night with Miss So-and-So
this time and with another that time, and
by including a few weeks' visit at home or somewhere
else, they would bungle their proofs, so they were
compelled to try again.</p>
<p>A short time after this and evidently because so
many proofs had been sent back, the Interior
Department made it compulsory for the claimant
to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
put in fourteen months' actual residence on the
claim, before he could offer proof. With fourteen
months, they were sure to stay a full eight months
at least. This system has been very successful.</p>
<p>When Rattlesnake Jack was ordered back, after
selling me the place, she wanted me to sign a quit
claim deed to her and accept notes for the money
I had paid, which might have been satisfactory had
it not been that she thought I had stopped to look
back and failed to see the rush of progress the Little
Crow was making; that the long anticipated news
had been spread, and was now raging like a veritable
prairie fire, and stirred the people of the Little Crow
as much as an active stock market stirs the bulls
on the stock exchange. The report spread and
stirred the everyday routine of the settlers and the
finality of humdrum and inactivity was abrupt.
It came one day in early April. The rain had kept
the farmers from the fields a week. It had been
raining for nearly a month, and we only got a clear
day once in a while. This day it was sloppy without,
and many farmers were in from the country.
We were all listening to a funny story Ernest Nicholson
was telling, and "good fellows" were listening
attentively. Dr. Salter, a physician, had just been
laid on a couch in the back room of the saloon,
"soused to the gills," when in the door John M.
Keely, a sort of ne'er do well popular drummer,
whose proof had been rejected some time before,
and who had come back to stay "a while longer",
stumbled into the door of the local groggery. He
was greeted with sallies and calls of welcome, and
like many of the others, he was "feeling good."
He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
sort of leaned over, and hiccoughing during the
intervals, started "I've," the words were spoken
chokingly, "got news for you." He had by now got
inside and was hanging and swinging at the same
time, to the bar. Then before finishing what he
started, called "Tom," to the bar tender, "give me
a whiskey before I", and here he leaned over and
sang the words "tell the boys the news." "For
the love of Jesus Keel" exclaimed the crowd in
chorus "tell us what you know." He drained the
glass at a gulp and finally spit it out. "The surveyors
are in Oristown."</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
<p class="center">"WHICH TOWN WILL THE R.R. STRIKE?"</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THE drummer's information soon received
corroboration from other sources, and
although it seemed almost unbelievable,
it was discussed incessantly and excitement
ran high. These pioneers, who had braved
the hardships of homestead life had felt that without
the railroad they were indeed cut off from civilization.
To them the advent of the surveyors in
Oristown could mean only one thing—that their
dreams of enjoying the many advantages of the
railroad train, would soon materialize.</p></div>
<p>They fell to enumerating these advantages—the
mail daily, instead of only once or twice a week;
the ease with which they could make necessary
trips to the neighboring towns; and most of all—the
increase in the value of the land. With this
last subject they became so wrought up with excitement
and anxiety as to the truth of the report,
that they could stay away from the scene of action
no longer. Accordingly, buggies and vehicles of
all descriptions began coming into Oristown from
all directions. I hitched Doc and my new horse,
Boliver, for which I had paid one hundred and forty
dollars, to an old ramshackle buggy I had bought
for ten dollars, and joined the procession.</p>
<p>Three miles west of Oristown we came upon a
crowd of circus-day proportion, and in their midst
were the surveyors.</p>
<p>In their lead rode the chief engineer—a slender,
wiry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
man with a black mustache and piercing eyes,
that seemed to observe every feature of surrounding
prairie. Behind came a wagon loaded with stakes,
accompanied by several men, the leader of whom
was setting these stakes according to the signal of
the engineer from behind the transit. Others, on
either side, were also driving stakes. They were
not only running a straight survey, but were cross-sectioning
as they went.</p>
<p>Even though the presence of these surveyors
was now an established fact, these were days of
grave uncertainties as to just what route the road
would take. The suspense was almost equal to
that of the criminal, as he awaits the verdict of the
jury. The valleys and divides lay in such a manner
that it was possible the survey would extend
along the Monca, thus passing through Calias.
On the other hand, it was probable that it would
continue to the Northwest through Kirk and Megory,
thus missing Calias altogether.</p>
<p>When the surveyors reached a point five miles
west of Hedrick, they swerved to the northwest and
advanced directly toward Kirk. This looked bad
for Calias.</p>
<p>When Ernest Nicholson had learned that the
surveyors were in Oristown, he had left immediately
for parts unknown and had not returned. He was
in reality the founder of Calias and many of the
inhabitants looked to him as their leader, and depended
upon him for advice. Although he had
many enemies who heaped abuse and epithets
upon him—calling him a liar, braggard and "wind
jammer" when boasting of their own independence
and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>
self respect—now that a calamity was about
to befall them, and their fond hopes for this priceless
mistress of prairie were about to be wrecked
upon the shoals of an imaginary railroad survey,
they turned toward him for comfort, as moths turn
to a flame. It was Ernest here and Ernest there.
As the inevitable progress of the surveyors proceeded
in a direct line for Hedrick, Kirk and Megory,
the consternation of the Caliasites became
more intense as time went on, and the anxiety for
Ernest to return almost resolved itself into mutiny.
It became so significant, that at one time it appeared
that if Ernest had only appeared, the railroad
company would have voluntarily run its survey
directly to Calias, in order to avoid the humiliation
of Ernest's seizing them by the nape of the neck and
marching them, survey, cars and all, right into the
little hamlet.</p>
<p>Now there was one thing everybody seemed to
forget or to overlook, but which occurred to me at
the time, and caused me to become skeptical as to
the possibilities of the road striking Calias, and
that was, if the railroad was to be built up the
Monca Valley, then why had the surveyors come
to Oristown, and why had they not gotten off at
Anona, the last station in the Monca Valley, where
the tracks climb the grade to Fairview.</p>
<p>Many of the Megory and Kirk boosters had taken
advantage of Ernest's absence, and through enthusiasm
attending the advent of the railroad survey,
persuaded several of Calias' business men to go
into fusion in their respective towns. The remaining
handful consoled each other by prophecies of
what Ernest would do when he returned, and plied
each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
other for expressions of theories, and ways and
means of injecting enthusiasm into the local situation.
Thousands of theories were given expression,
consideration, and rejection, and the old one that
all railroads follow valleys and streams was finally
adhered to. I was singled out to give corroborative
proof of this last, by reason of my railroad experience.</p>
<p>I was suddenly seized with a short memory, much
to my embarrassment, as I felt all eyes turned upon
me. However, the crowd were looking for encouragement
and spoke up in chorus: "Don't the railroads
always follow valleys?" It suddenly occurred
to me, that with all the thousands of miles
of travel to my credit and the many different states
I had traveled through, with all their rough and
smooth territory, I had not observed whether the
tracks followed the valleys or otherwise. However,
I intimated that I thought they did. "Of
course they do", my remark was answered in chorus.</p>
<p>Since then I have noticed that a railway does invariably
follow a valley, if it is a large one; and
small rivers make excellent routes, but never crooked
little streams like the Monca. When it comes to
such creeks, and there is a table land above, as soon
as the road can get out, it usually stays out.
This was the situation of the C. & R.W. It came
some twenty-five or thirty miles up the Monca, from
where it empties into the Missouri. There are fourteen
bridges across in that many miles, which were
and still are, always going out during high water.</p>
<p>It came this route because there was no other
way to come, but when it got to Anona, as has been
said, it climbed a four per cent grade to get out
and it stayed out.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
<p class="center">MEGORY'S DAY</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t2.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THE first day of May was a local holiday
in Megory, held in honor of the first
anniversary of the day when all settlers
had to be on their claims; and it was
raining. During the first years on the Little Crow
we were deluged with rainfall, but this day the inclement
weather was disregarded. It was Settler's
Day and everybody for miles around had journeyed
thither to celebrate—not only Settler's Day, but
also the advent of the railroad. Only the day
before, the surveyors had pitched their tents on the
outskirts of the town, and on this day they could
be seen calmly sighting their way across the south
side of the embryo city. Megory was the scene
of a continuous round of revelry. Five saloons were
crowded to overflowing, and a score of bartenders
served thousands of thirsty throats; while on the
side opposite from the bar, and in the rear, gambling
was in full blast. Professionals, "tin horns",
and "pikers", in their shirt sleeves worked away
feverishly drawing in and paying money to the
crowd that surged around the Roulette, the Chuck-luck,
and the Faro-bank. It seemed as though
everybody drank and gambled. "This is Megory's
Day", they called between drinks, and it would echo
with "have another," "watch Megory grow."</p></div>
<p>Written in big letters and hung all along the
streets were huge signs which read "Megory, the
gateway to a million acres of the richest land in the
world."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
"Megory, the future metropolis of the
Little Crow, Watch her grow! Watch her grow!"
The board walk four feet wide could not hold the
crowd. It was a day of frenzied celebration—a
day when no one dared mention Nicholson's name
unless they wanted to hear them called liars, wind
jammers, and all a bluff.</p>
<p>Ernest was still in the East and no one seemed to
know where he was, or what he was doing. The
surveyors had passed through Megory and extended
the survey to the county line, five miles west of the
town. The right-of-way man was following and
had just arrived from Hedrick and Kirk, where he
had made the same offer he was now making
Megory. "If" he said, addressing the "town
dads" and he seemed to want it clearly understood,
"the C. & R.W. builds to Megory, we want you to
buy the right-of-way three miles east and four miles
west of the town."</p>
<p>Then Governor Reulback, known as the "Squatter
Governor," acting as spokesman for the citizens,
arose from his seat on the rude platform, and before
accepting the proposition—needless to say it was
accepted—called on different individuals for short
talks. Among others he called on Ernest Nicholson;
but Frank, the Junior member of the firm, arose
and answered that Ernest was away engaged in
purchasing the C. & R.W. railroad and that he,
answering for Ernest, had nothing to say. A hush
fell on the crowd, but Governor Reulbach, who
possessed a well defined sense of humor, responded
with a joke, saying, "Mr. Nicholson's being away
purchasing the C. & R.W. railroad reminds me of
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
Irishman who played poker all night, and the
next morning, yawning and stretching himself, said,
'Oi lost nine hundred dollars last night and seven
and one-half of it was cash.'"</p>
<p>The backbone of the town was beginning to
weaken, while there were many who continued to
insist that there was hope. Others contracted
rheumatism from vigils at the surveyor's camp, in
vain hope of gaining some information as to the
proposed direction of the right-of-way. The purchasing
of the right-of-way and the unloading of
carload after carload of contracting material at
Oristown did little to encourage the belief that there
was a ghost of a show for Calias.</p>
<p>In a few days corral tents were decorating the
right-of-way at intervals of two miles, all the way
from Oristown to Megory. In the early morning,
as the sound of distant thunder, could be heard the
dull thud of clods and dirt dropping into the wagon
from the elevator of the excavator; also the familiar
"jup" and the thud of the "skinner's" lines as
they struck the mules, in Calias one and one-half
miles away.</p>
<p>A very much discouraged and weary crowd met
Ernest when he returned, but even in defeat this
young man's personality was pleasing. He was
frank in telling the people that he had done all that
he could. He had gone to Omaha where his father
in-law joined him, thence to Des Moines, where
his father maintained his office as president of an
insurance company, that made loans on Little Crow
land. Together with two capitalists, friends of
his father, they had gone into Chicago and held
a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
conference with Marvin Hewitt, President of
the C. & R.W. who had showed them the blue
prints, and, as he put it, any reasonable man could
see it would be utterly impossible to strike Calias
in the route they desired to go. The railroad
wanted to strike the Government town sites, but
the president told them that if at any time he could
do them a favor to call on him, and he would gladly
do so.</p>
<p>In a few days a man named John Nodgen came to
Calias. Towns which had failed to get a road
looked upon him in the way a sick man would an
undertaker. He was a red-haired Irishman with
teeth wide apart and wildish blue eyes, who had the
reputation of moving more towns than any other one
man. He brought horses and wagons, block and
tackle, and massive steel trucks. He swore like a
stranded sailor, and declared they would hold up
any two buildings in Calias.</p>
<p>The saloon was the first building deserted. The
stock had not been removed when the house movers
arrived, and in some way they got the door open
and helped themselves to the "booze," and when
full enough to be good and noisy, began jacking up
the building that had been the pride of the hopeful
Caliasites. In a few weeks a large part of what
had been Calias was in Megory and a small part in
Kirk.</p>
<p>It had stopped raining for a while, and several
large buildings were still on the move to Megory
when the rain set in again. This was the latter part
of July and how it did rain, every day and night.
One store building one hundred feet long had been
cut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
in two so as to facilitate moving, and the rains
caught it half way on the road to Megory. After
many days of sticking and floundering around in
the mud, at a cost of over fourteen hundred dollars
for the moving alone, not counting the goods
spoiled, it arrived at its new home. The building
in the beginning had cost only twenty-three hundred
dollars, out of which thirty cents per hundred had
been paid for local freighting from Oristown. The
merchant paid one thousand dollars for his lot in
Megory, and received ten dollars for the one he
left in Calias.</p>
<p>This was the reason why Rattlesnake Jack's
father and I could not get together when he came
out and showed me Rattlesnake Jack's papers.
It was bad and I readily agreed with him. I also
agreed to sign a quit claim deed, thereby clearing
the place, so she could complete her proof. Everything
went along all right, until it came to signing
up. Then I suggested that as I had broken eighty
acres of prairie, the railroad was in course of construction,
and land had materially increased in
valuation—having sold as high as five thousand
dollars a quarter section—I should have a guarantee
that he would sell the place back to me when the
matter had been cleared up.</p>
<p>"I will see that you get the place back"—he
pretended to reassure me—"when she proves up
again."</p>
<p>"Then we will draw up an agreement to that
effect and make it one thousand dollars over what
I paid", I suggested.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i116" name="i116"></a>
<img src="images/i116.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Everybody for miles around had journeyed thither to celebrate. <a href="#Page_108">(Page 108.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>"I will do nothing of the kind," he roared,
brandishing his arms as though he wanted to fight,
"and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
if you will not sign a quit claim without such
an agreement, I will have Jack blow the whole
thing, that is what I will do, do you hear?" He
fairly yelled, leaning forward and pointing his
finger at me in a threatening manner.</p>
<p>"Then we will call it off for today," I replied with
decision, and we did. I confess however, I was
rather frightened. In the beginning I had not
worried, as he held a first mortgage of one thousand,
five hundred dollars, I had felt safe and thought
that they had to make good to me in order to protect
their own interests. But now as I thought
the matter over it began to look different. If he
should have her relinquish, then where would I
be, and the one thousand, five hundred dollars I
had paid them?</p>
<p>I was very much disturbed and called on Ernest
Nicholson and informed him how the matter stood.
He listened carefully and when I was through he
said:</p>
<p>"They gave you a warranty deed, did they not?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I replied, it is over at the bank of Calias."</p>
<p>"Then let it stay there. Tell him, or the old man
rather, to have the girl complete sufficient residence,
then secure you for all the place is worth at
the time; then, and not before, sign a quit claim, and
if they want to sell you the place, well and good; if
not, you will have enough to buy another." And
I followed his advice.</p>
<p>It was fourteen months, however, before the
Scotch-Irish blood in him would submit to it. But
there was nothing he could do, for the girl
had given me a deed to something she did not have
title to herself, and had accepted one thousand,
five<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
hundred dollars in cash from me in return. As
the matter stood, I was an innocent party.</p>
<p>About this time I became imbued with a feeling
that I would like "most awfully well" to have a
little help-mate to love and cheer me. How often
I longed for company to break the awful and monotonous
lonesomeness that occasionally enveloped me.
At that time, as now, I thought a darling little
colored girl, to share all my trouble and grief, would
be interesting indeed. Often my thoughts had
reverted to the little town in Illinois, and I had pictured
Jessie caring for the little sod house and cheering
me when I came from the fields. For a time, such
blissful thoughts sufficed the longing in my heart,
but were soon banished when I recalled her seeming
preference for the three dollar a week menial,
another attack of the blues would follow, and my
day dreams became as mist before the sun.</p>
<p>About this time I began what developed into
a flirtatious correspondence with a St. Louis octoroon.
She was a trained nurse; very attractive,
and wrote such charming and interesting letters,
that for a time they afforded me quite as much
entertainment, perhaps more, than actual company
would have done. In fact I became so enamored
with her that I nearly lost my emotional mind, and
almost succumbed to her encouragement toward
a marriage proposal. The death of three of my
best horses that fall diverted my interest; she
ceased the epistolary courtship, and I continued
to batch.</p>
<p>Doc, my big horse, got stuck in the creek and was
drowned. The loss of Doc was hardest for me to
bear, for he was a young horse, full of life, and I had
grown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
fond of him. Jenny mule would stand for
hours every night and whinny for him.</p>
<p>In November, Bolivar, his mate—the horse I
had paid one hundred and forty dollars for not
nine months before—got into the wheat, became
foundered, and died.</p>
<p>While freighting from Oristown, in December,
one of a team of dapple grays fell and killed himself.
So in three months I lost three horses that had
cost over four hundred dollars, and the last had not
even been paid for. I had only three left, the other
dapple gray, Jenny mule, and "Old Grayhead,"
the relic of my horse-trading days. I had put in
a large crop of wheat the spring before and had
threshed only a small part of it before the cold
winter set in, and the snow made it quite impossible
to complete threshing before spring.</p>
<p>That was one of the cold winters which usually
follow a wet summer, and I nearly froze in my little
old soddy, before the warm spring days set in. Sod
houses are warm as long as the mice, rats, and
gophers do not bore them full of holes, but as they
had made a good job tunneling mine, I was left to
welcome the breezy atmosphere, and I did not think
the charming nurse would be very happy in such
a mess "nohow." The thought that I was not
mean enough to ask her to marry me and bring her
into it, was consoling indeed.</p>
<p>Since I shall have much to relate farther along
concerning the curious and many sided relations
that existed between Calias, Megory, and other contending
and jealous communities, let me drop this
and return to the removal of Calias to Megory.</p>
<p>The Nicholson Brothers had already installed an
office<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
in the successful town, and offered to move
their interests to that place and combine with Megory
in making the town a metropolis. But the
town dads, feeling they were entirely responsible
for the road striking the town, with the flush
of victory and the sensation of empire builders,
disdained the offer.</p>
<p>In this Megory had made the most stupid mistake
of her life, and which later became almost monumental
in its proportions. It will be seen how in the
flush of apparent victory she lost her head, and looked
back to stare and reflect at the retreating and
temporary triumph of her youth; and in that instant
the banner of victory was snatched from her
fingers by those who offered to make her apparent
victory real, and who ran swiftly, skillfully, and
successfully to a new and impregnable retreat of
their own.</p>
<p>The Megory town dads were fairly bursting
with rustic pride, and were being wined and dined
like kings, by the citizens of the town—who had
contributed the wherewith to pay for the seven
miles of right-of-way. Besides, the dads were
puffed young roosters just beginning to crow, and
were boastful as well. So Nicholson Brothers got
the horse laugh, which implied that Megory did
not need them. "We have made Megory and now
watch her grow. Haw! Haw! Haw! Watch her grow,"
came the cry, when the report spread that the town
dads had turned Nicholson's offer down.</p>
<p>Megory was the big I am of the Little Crow.
Then Ernest went away on another long trip. It
was cold weather, with the ground frozen, when he
returned.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
<p class="center">ERNEST NICHOLSON'S RETURN—THE BUILDING WEST
OF TOWN—"WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT"</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THE big hotel from Calias had not long
since been unloaded and decorated a
corner lot in Megory. All that remained
in Calias were the buildings
belonging to Nicholson Brothers, consisting of an
old two-story frame hotel, a two-story bank, the
saloon, drug store, their own office and a few smaller
ones. It was a hard life for the Caliasites and the
Megoryites were not inclined to soften it. On the
other hand, she was growing like a mushroom.
Everything tended to make it the prairie metropolis;
land was booming, and buyers were plentiful.
Capital was also finding its way to the town, and
nothing to disturb the visible prosperity.</p></div>
<p>But a shrewd person, at that very time, had control
of machinery that would cause a radical change in
this community, and in a very short time too. This
man was Ernest Nicholson, and referring to his
return, I was at the depot in Oristown the day he
arrived. There he boarded an auto and went west
to Megory. On his arrival there, he ordered John
Nogden to proceed to Calias, load the bank building,
get all the horses obtainable, and proceed at
once to haul the building to—no, not to Megory—this
is what the Megoryites thought, when, with
seventy-six head of horses hitched to it, they saw
the bank of Calias coming toward Megory. But
when it got to within half a mile of the south
side,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
swerved off to the west. About six that
evening, when the sun went down, the Bank of
Calias was sitting on the side of a hill that sloped
to the north, near the end of the survey.</p>
<p>Now what did it mean? That was the question
that everybody began asking everybody else.
What was up? Why was Ernest Nicholson moving
the bank of Calias five miles west of Megory and
setting it down on or near the end of the survey?
There were so many questions being asked with
no one to answer, that it amused me. Then someone
suggested that it might be the same old game,
and here would come a pause, then the question,
"What old game?" "Why, another Calias?"—some
bait to make money. Then, "Oh, I see,"
said the wise town dads, just a hoax. That answered
the question, just a snare to catch the unwary.
Tell them that the railroad would build to the Tipp
County line. Sell them some lots, for that is what
the "bluff" meant. Get their good money and
then, Oh, Ha! Ha! Ha! it was too funny when one
saw the joke, and Megoryites continued to laugh.
Had not Nicholson Brothers said a whole lot about
getting the railroad; and that it was sure coming
up the Monca. It had come, had it not. Haw!
Haw! Haw! Ho! Ho! Ho! just another Nicholson
stall, Haw! Haw! Haw! and Nicholsons got the
laugh again. The railroad is in Megory, and here
it will stop for ten years. One hundred thousand
people will come to Megory to register for Tipp
County lands, and "Watch Megory grow" was all
that could be heard.</p>
<p>Ernest would come to Megory, have a pleasant
chat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
treat the boys, tell a funny story, and be
off. Nobody was mean enough or bold enough
to tell him to his face any of the things they told
to his back.</p>
<p>Ernest was never known to say anything about
it. His scheme simply kept John Nogden moving
buildings. He wrote checks in payment, that the
bank of Calias cashed, for it was open for business
the next day after it had been moved out on the
prairie, five miles west of Megory.</p>
<p>The court record showed six quarter sections of
land west of town had recently been transferred;
the name of the receiver was unknown to anyone
in Megory, but such prices, forty to fifty dollars
per acre. The people who had sold, brought the
money to the Megory banks, and deposited it.
All they seemed to know was that someone drove
up to their house and asked if they wanted to sell.
Some did not, while others said they were only
five miles from Megory, and if they sold they would
have to have a big price, because Megory was the
"Town of the Little Crow" and the gateway to
acres of the finest land in the world, to be opened
soon. "What is your price?" he would ask, and
whether it was forty, forty-five or fifty per acre,
he bought it.</p>
<p>This must have gone on for sixty days with everybody
wondering "what it was all about", until it
got on the nerves of the Megoryites; and even the
town dads began to get a little fearful. When
Ernest was approached he would wink wisely,
hand out a cigar or buy a drink, but he never made
anybody the wiser.</p>
<p>A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
lady came out from Des Moines, bought a lot,
and let a contract for a hotel building 24 × 140, and
work was begun on it immediately. This was
getting ahead of Megory, where a hotel had just
been completed 25 × 100 feet, said by the Megoryites
to be the "best" west of a town of six thousand
population, one hundred fifty miles down the
road. Whenever anything like a real building
goes up in a little town on the prairie, with their
collection of shacks, it is always called "the best
building" between there and somewhere else.</p>
<p>I shall not soon forget the anxiety with which the
people watched the building which continued to
go up west of Megory, and still no one there seemed
willing to admit that Nicholson Brothers were
"live," but spent their argument in trying to convince
someone that they were only wind jammers and
manipulators of knavish plots, to immesh the credulous.</p>
<p>What actually happened was this, and Ernest
told me about it afterwards in about the following
words:</p>
<p>"Well, Oscar, after Megory turned our offer
down, I knew there were just two things to do,
and that was, to either make good or leave the
country. Megory is full of a lot of fellows that
have never known anything but Keya Paha county,
and when the road missed Calias, and struck
Megory, they took the credit for displaying a superior
knowledge. I knew we were going to be the
big laughing stock of the reservation, and since I
did not intend to leave the country, I got to thinking.
The more I pondered the matter, the more
determined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
I became that something had to be
done, and I finally made up my mind to do it."
Ernest Nicholson was not the kind of a man to
make idle declarations. "I went down to Omaha
and saw some business friends of mine and suggested
to them just what I intended to do, thence to Des
Moines and got father, and again we went into
Chicago and secured an appointment with Hewitt,
who listened attentively to all that we had to say,
and the import of this was that Megory, being over
five miles east of the Tipp County line, it was difficult
to drive range cattle that distance through
a settled country. They are so unused to anything
that resembles civilization, that ranchers hate to
drive even five miles through a settled country,
besides the annoyance it would habitually cause
contrary farmers, when it comes to accommodating
the ranchers. But that is not all. With sixty-six
feet open between the wire fences, the range cattle
at any time are liable to start a stampede, go right
through, and a lot of damage follows. I showed
him that most of the cattle men were still driving
their stock north and shipping over the C.P. &
St. L. Now knowing that the directors had ordered
the extension of the line to get the cattle
business, Hewitt looked serious, finally arose from
his chair, and went over to a map that entirely
covered the side of the wall and showed all the lines
of the C. & R.W. He meditated a few minutes
and then turned around and said: 'Go back and
buy the land that has been described.'" It all
seemed simple enough when it was done.</p>
<p>By the time that the extension had been completed
to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
Megory, the building that had been moved
west of town had company in the way of many new
ones, and by this time comprised quite a burg,
and claimed the name of New Calias. The new
was to distinguish between its old site and its
present one. After Megory turned them down,
Ernest had made a declaration or defiance that he
would build a town on the Little Crow and its name
would be Calias.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
<p class="center">COMES STANLEY, THE CHIEF ENGINEER</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_m.jpg"
alt="M" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">MEGORY was still on the boom, not quite
as much as the summer before, but
more than it was some time later, for
as yet New Calias was still regarded as
a joke, until one day Stanley, the same wiry-looking
individual with the black mustache and
the piercing eyes, got off the stage at Megory and
began to do the same work he had started west
of Oristown the year before.</p></div>
<p>Oh, it was a shame to thus wreck the selfish dreams
of these Megoryites upon the rocks of their own
shortsightedness. Stanley was followed a few days
later by a grade contractor, who had been to Megory
the summer before and who had became popular
around town, and was known to be a good
spender. They had bidden him good-bye along in
December, and although nothing was said about
it, the truth was, Megory did not wish to see any
more railroad contractors, for a while, not for five
or ten years anyway.</p>
<p>It is a peculiar thing that when a railroad stops
at some little western burg, that it is always going
to stay ten or twenty years. This has always been
the case before, according to the towns at the end
of the line, and at this time Megory was of the same
opinion as regarded the extension to New Calias.
So Oristown had been in regard to the extension
to Megory. But Trelway built the road to New
Calias, and built it the quickest I ever saw a road
built.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
The first train came to Megory on a Sunday
in June—(Schedules always commence on Sunday)
and September found the same train in Calias,
the "New" having been dropped.</p>
<p>Megoryites admitted very grudgingly, a short
time before, that the train would go on to Calias
but would return to Megory to stay over night,
where it left at six o'clock the following morning.
Now at Megory the road had a "Y" that ran onto
a pasture on a two years lease, while at Calias coal
chutes, a "Y", a turning table, a round house, and
a large freight depot were erected.</p>
<p>And then began one of the most bitter fights
between towns that I ever saw or even read about.</p>
<p>Five miles apart, with Calias perched on another
hill, and like the old site, could be seen from miles
around. Now the terminus, it loomed conspicuously.
It was a foregone conclusion that when the
reservation to the west opened, Calias was in the
right position to handle the crowds that came to
the territory to the west, instead of Megory. Megory
contended, however, that Calias, located on
such a hill, could never hope for an abundance of
good water and therefore could not compete with
Megory, with her natural advantages, such as an
abundance of good soft water, which was obtainable
anywhere in town.</p>
<p>There are certain things concrete in the future
growth of a prairie town; the first is, has it a railroad;
the next is, is the agricultural territory sufficient
to support a good live town (a fair sized town
in either one of the Dakotas has from one thousand
to three thousand inhabitants); and last, are the
business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
men of the town modern, progressive, and
up to date. In this respect Calias had the advantage
over Megory, as will be seen later.</p>
<p>Megory became my postoffice address after Calias
had moved to its new location, and about that
time the first rural mail route was established
on the reservation. Megory boasted of this.
The other things it boasted of, was its great
farming territory. For miles in every direction
tributary to the town, the land was ideal for farming
purposes, and at the beginning of the bitter rivalry
between the two towns, Megory had the big end of
the farm trade. They could see nothing else but
Megory, which helped the town's business considerably.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
<p class="center">IN THE VALLEY OF THE KEYA PAHA. THE RIVALS.
THE VIGILANTS</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_n.jpg"
alt="N" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">NOTHING is more essential to the upbuilding
of the small western town,
than a good agricultural territory, and
this was where Calias found its first
handicap. When it had moved to its new location,
scores of investors had flocked to the town,
paying the highest prices that had ever been paid
for lots in a new country town, of its kind, in the
central west.</p></div>
<p>Twenty-five miles south of the two towns, where
a sand stream known as the Keya Paha wends its
way, is a fertile valley. It had been settled thirty
years before by eastern people, who hauled their
hogs and drove their cattle and sheep fifty miles
in a southerly direction, to a railroad. Although
the valley could not be surpassed in the production
of corn, wheat, oats, and alfalfa, the highlands on
either side are great mountains of sand, which produce
nothing but a long reddish grass, that stock
will not eat after it reaches maturity, and which
stands in bunches, with the sand blown from around
its roots, to such an extent that riding or driving
over it is very difficult.</p>
<p>These hills rise to heights until they resemble
the Sierras, and near the top, on the northwest slope
of each, are cave-like holes where the strong winds
have blown a squeegee.</p>
<p>The wagon road to the railway on the south was
sandy and made traveling over it slow and hazardous
by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
the many pits and dunes. Therefore, it is
to be seen, when the C. & R.W. pushed its line
through Megory County, everything that had been
going to the road on the south began immediately
to come to the road on the north—where good hard
roads made the traveling much easier, and furthermore,
it was only half the distance.</p>
<p>Keya Paha County was about as lonely a place
as I had ever seen. After the sun went down, the
coyotes from the adjacent sand hills, in a series of
mournful howls, filled the air with a noise which
echoed and re-echoed throughout the valley, like
the music of so many far-away steam calliopes and
filled me with a cold, creepy feeling. For thirty
years these people had heard no other sound save the
same monotonous howls and saw only each other.
The men went to Omaha occasionally with cattle,
but the women and children knew little else but
Keya Paha County.</p>
<p>During a trip into this valley the first winter I
spent on the homestead, in quest of seed wheat,
I met and talked with families who had children, in
some instances twenty years of age, who had never
seen a colored man. Sometimes the little tads
would run from me, screaming as though they had
met a lion or some other wild beast of the forest.
At one place where I stopped over night, a little
girl about nine years of age, looked at me with so
much curiosity that I became amused, finally
coaxing her onto my knee. She continued to look
hard at me, then meekly reached up and touched
my chin, looked into my eyes, and said: "Why don't
you wash your face?" When supper was ready
went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
to the sink and washed my face and hands;
she watched me closely in the meanwhile, and when
I was through, appeared to be vexed and with an
expression as if to say: "He has cleaned it thoroughly,
but it is dirty still."</p>
<p>About twenty years previous to this time, or about
ten years after settlement in this valley, the pioneers
were continually robbed of much of their young
stock. Thieving outlaws kept up a continuous
raid on the young cattle and colts, driving them onto
the reservation, where they disappeared. This
continued for years, and it was said many of the
county officials encouraged it, in a way, by delaying
a trial, and inasmuch as the law and its procedure
was very inadequate, on account of the county's
remote location, the criminals were rarely punished.</p>
<p>After submitting to such until all reasonable patience
had been exhausted, the settlers formed "a
vigilant committee," and meted out punishment to
the evil doers, who had become over-bold and were
well known. After hanging a few, as well as whipping
many, the vigilanters ridded the county of
rustlers, and lived in peace thereafter.</p>
<p>At the time the railroad was built to Megory there
was little activity other than the common routine
attending their existence. But with Megory
twenty-five miles to the north, and many of her
former active and prosperous citizens living there;
and while board walks and "shack" buildings still
represented the Main Street, Megory was considered
by the people of the valley very much of a city, and
a great place to pay a visit. Many had never seen
or ridden on a railroad train, so Megory sounded in
Keya<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
Paha County as Chicago does to the down
state people of Illinois.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i134" name="i134"></a>
<img src="images/i134.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Made a declaration that he would build a town. <a href="#Page_122">(page 122.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>The people of Keya Paha County had grown
prosperous, however, and the stock shipments comprised
many train loads, during an active market.
Practically all this was coming to Megory when
Calias began to loom prominent as a model little
city.</p>
<p>I could see two distinct classes, or personages, in
the leaders of the two towns. Beginning with
Ernest Nicholson, the head of the firm of Nicholson
Brothers and called by Megoryites "chief," "high
mogul," the "big it" and "I am," in absolute control
of Calias affairs; and the former Keya Paha County
sand rats—as they are sometimes called—running
Megory. The two contesting parties presented a
contrast which interested me.</p>
<p>The Nicholson Brothers were all college-bred
boys, with a higher conception of things in general;
were modern, free and up-to-date. While Megory's
leaders were as modern as could be expected, but
were simply outclassed in the style and perfection
that the Calias bunch presented. Besides, the
merchants and business men—in the "stock yards
west of Megory," as Calias was cartooned by a
Megory editor, were much of the same ilk. And
referring to the cartoon, it pictured the editor of the
Calias News as a braying jackass in a stock pen,
which brought a great laugh from Megoryites, but
who got it back, however, the next week by being
pictured as a stagnant pond, with two Megory editors
as a couple of big bull-frogs. This had the effect
of causing the town to begin grading the streets,
putting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
in cement walks and gutters, for Megory
had located in the beginning in an extremely bad
place. The town was located in a low place, full of
alkali spots, buffalo wallows underlaid with hardpan,
which caused the surface to hold water to such an
extent, that, when rain continued to fall any
length of time, the cellars and streets stood in water.</p>
<p>But Megory had the start, with the largest and
best territory, which had by this time been developed
into improved farms; the real farmer was fast replacing
the homesteader. It had the biggest and best
banks. Regardless of all the efficiency of Calias,
it appeared weak in its banking. Now a farmer
could go to Nicholson Brothers, and get the largest
farm loan because the boys' father was president of
an insurance company that made the loan, but
the banks there were short in the supply of
time loans on stock security, but Calias' greatest
disadvantage was, that directly west in Tipp County
the Indians had taken their allotments within
seven or eight miles of the town, and there was
hardly a quarter section to be homesteaded.</p>
<p>Now there was no doubt but that in the course
of time the Indian allotments would be bought,
whenever the government felt disposed to grant
the Indian a patent; which under the laws is
not supposed to be issued until the expiration of
twenty-five years. People, however, would probably
lease the land, break it up and farm it; but that
would not occur until some future date, and Calias
needed it at the present time.</p>
<p>A western town, in most instances, gets its boom
in the beginning, for later a dry rot seems an inevitable
condition,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
and is likely to overtake it after the
first excitement wears away. Resurrection is rare.
These were the conditions that faced the town on
the Little Crow, at the beginning of the third year of
settlement.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
<p class="center">THE OUTLAW'S LAST STAND</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_a.jpg"
alt="A" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">AFTER the vigilants had frightened the
outlaws into abandoning their operations
in the valley, the thieves skulked
across the reservation to a strip of country
some twenty-five miles northeast of where Megory
now stands. Here, on the east, the murky
waters of the Missouri seek their level; to the
north the White River runs like a cow-path through
the foot hills—twisting and turning into innumerable
bends, with its lime-like waters lapping the sides,
bringing tons of shale from the gorgeous, dark banks,
into its current; while on the south runs the Whetstone,
inclosed by many rough, ragged brown hills,
and to the west are the breaks of Landing Creek.
In an angle between these creeks and rivers, lies a
perfect table land known as Yully Flats, which is
the most perfectly laying land and has the richest
soil of any spot on the Little Crow. It took its
name from a famous outlaw and squaw-man, by the
name of Jack Yully. With him the thieves from the
Keya Paha Valley found co-operation, and together
had, a few years previously operated as the most
notorious band of cattle rustlers the state had
known. For a hundred miles in every direction
this band plundered, stole, and ran the cattle and
horses onto the flats, where they were protected by
the breaks of the creeks and rivers, referred to.
Mixed with half, quarter, eighth and sixteenth
breeds, they knew every nook and crook of the
country.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
These operations had lasted until the
year of the Little Crow opening, and it was there
that Jack Yully made his last stand.</p></div>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i140" name="i140"></a>
<img src="images/i140.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Although the valley could not be surpassed in the production of grain and alfalfa, the highlands on either side were
great mountains of sand. <a href="#Page_126">(Page 126.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>He had for many years defied the laws of the
county and state, and had built a magnificent
residence near a spring that pours its sparkling
waters into a small lake, where now stands a sanitarium.
Yully had been chief overseer, dictator,
and arbitrator of the combined forces of Little Crow
and Keya Paha County outlaws and mixed bloods.
The end came when, on a bright day in June, a posse
led by the United States Marshal sneaked across
the Whetstone and secreted themselves in a cache
between Yully's corral and the house. Yully was
seen to enter the corral and having laid a trap, a
part of the men, came in from another direction and
made as if to advance when Yully made a run for
his house, which took him alongside the men hidden.
Before he could change his course he was halted and
asked to surrender. He answered by dropping to
the opposite side of the horse and began firing. In
the skirmish that followed the horse was shot and
fell on Yully, but in the shot's exchange two of the
posse and Yully were killed.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
<p class="center">THE BOOM</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t2.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THIS valuable tract of land comprising
about fifty thousand acres had been
entered after the opening, by settlers,
and lay about as near to Kirk as it did
to Megory, hence its trade was sought by both
towns, but with Kirk getting the larger part until
Megory established a mill, which paid two cents
more for wheat, and the farmers took advantage by
hauling most of their produce to the former town.
This included another strip of rich territory to the
north of Megory and west of Landing Creek, where
the soil is a rich gumbo, and the township thickly
settled so it is readily seen that Megory was advantageously
situated to draw from all directions.
This soon brought such a volume of business into the
town as to make the most fastidious envy it, and
the Megoryites were well aware of their enviable
position. The town continued to grow in a sound,
substantial way.</p></div>
<p>Nicholson Brothers began leading booster trade
excursions to the north, south, and east, with Ernest
at the head in a big "Packard" making clever
speeches and inviting all the farmers to come to
Calias, where a meal at the best hotel was given
free. A good, live, and effective commercial club
was organized, which guaranteed to pay all a hog,
cow, or calf would bring on the Omaha market,
minus the freight and expenses.</p>
<p>Ernest would explain with deep sincerity which
impressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
the farmers of the valley, as well as the
settlers on the Little Crow, that Calias wanted a
share of their business, and was willing to sacrifice
profit for two years in order to have the farmers
come to the town and get acquainted, to see what
the merchants, bankers and real estate dealers had
to offer. In making this offer the people of Calias
had the advantage over Megory, in that it derived
profits from other sources, chiefly from great numbers
of transients who were beginning to fill the hotels,
restaurants, saloons, and boarding houses of the
town. Being the end of the road and the place where
practically every settler coming to Tipp County
must stay at least one night, it stood to reason they
could make such an inducement and stick to it.</p>
<p>However, this was countered immediately by
Megoryites who promptly organized a commercial
club and began the same kind of bid for trade.
Thus the small ranchmen of the valley found themselves
an object of much importance and began to
awaken a little.</p>
<p>Now the land of the reservation had taken on a
boom such as had never been realized, or dreamed
of. Land in the states of Iowa, Minnesota, Illinois,
and Nebraska had doubled in valuation in the previous
ten years, and was still on the increase in value.
Crops had been good and money was plentiful;
with a number of years of unbroken prosperity, the
farmers had paid off mortgages and had a good
surplus in the bank. Their sons and daughters
were looking for newer fields. Retired farmers
with their land to rent now, instead of the customary
one-third delivered, demanded and received from two-fifths
to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
one-half, or cash, from three to five and six
dollars per acre. And with the prices in these states
ranging from ninety to one hundred and fifty dollars
per acre, which meant from fifteen to twenty-five
thousand dollars to buy a quarter section, which
the renters felt was too high to ever be paid for by
farming it. Therefore, western lands held an attraction,
where with a few thousand dollars, some
stock, and machinery a man could establish a good
home. As this land in southern South Dakota is
in the Corn Belt, the erstwhile investor and home-seeker
found a haven.</p>
<p>There is always more or less gossip as regards insufficient
moisture in a new country. The only
thing to kill this bogy is to have plenty of rain, and
plenty of rain had fallen on the Little Crow, too much
at times. Large crops of everything had been
harvested, but if the first three years had been wet,
this fourth was one of almost continual rainfall.</p>
<p>In the eastern states the corn crop had been badly
drowned out on the low lands, and rust had cut the
yield of small grain considerably, while on the rolling
land of the Little Crow the season was just right and
everything grew so rank, thick and green that it
gave the country, a raw prairie until less than four
years before, the appearance of an old settled country.
It looked good to the buyers and they bought.
Farms were sold as soon as they were listed. The
price at the beginning of the year had been from
twenty-five to forty dollars per acre, some places
more, but after the first six months of the year it
began to climb to forty-five and then to fifty dollars
per acre. Those who owned Little Crow farms
became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
objects of much importance. If they desired
to sell they had only to let it be known, and a
buyer was soon on hand.</p>
<p>The atmosphere seemed charged with drunken
enthusiasm. Everybody had it. There was nothing
to fear. Little Crow land was the best property
to be had, better, they would declare, than government
bonds, for its value was increasing in leaps and
bounds. Choice farms close to town, if bought at
fifty dollars per acre, could be sold at a good profit
in a short time.</p>
<p>This was done, and good old eastern capital
continued to be paid for the land.</p>
<p>The spirit of unrest that seem to pervade the atmosphere
of the community was not altogether the
desire to have and to hold, but more, to buy and to
sell. Homesteads were sold in Megory county and
the proceeds were immediately reinvested in Tipp,
where considerable dead Indian land could be purchased
at half the price.</p>
<p>At about that time the auto fever began to infect
the restless and over-prosperous settlers, and business
men alike. That was the day of the many
two-cylinder cars. They made a dreadful noise but
they moved and moved faster than horses. They
sailed over the country, the exhaust of the engine
making a cracking noise. The motion, added to
the speed, seemed to thrill and enthuse the investor
until he bought whether he cared to or not.</p>
<p>In previous years, when capital was not so plentiful,
and when land was much cheaper and slower to
sell, the agent drove the buyer over the land from
corner to corner, cross-wise and angling, and the
buyer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
would get out here and there and with a spade
dig into the ground, and be convinced as to the
quality of the soil. He then pondered the matter
over for days, weeks, and sometimes months.
Then maybe he would go back and bring "the
woman." The land dealers seriously object to
buyers bringing "the woman" along, especially if
the farm he has to sell has any serious drawbacks,
such, for instance, as a lack of water. There were
numerous farms on the high lands of the Little Crow
where water could not be found, but they were invariably
perfect in every other respect. The perfection
in the laying of the land and quality of the
soil was severely offset by the inability to get water.
While on the rougher and less desirable farms water
can be easily obtained in the draws and the hills.
But the high lands were the more attractive and
were sold at higher prices and much quicker, regardless
of the obvious defects.</p>
<p>Now if "the woman" was brought to look it over
one of the first inquires she made would be, "Now
is there plenty of water?" furthermore she was liable
to steal a march on the dealer by having her husband
hire a livery team, and with the eastern farmer and
his wife drive out to the place and look the farm over
without the agent to steer them clear of the bad
places. They not only looked it over, but make
inquiries of the neighbors as to its merits. Now
country people have the unpardonable habit of
gossip, and have complicated many deals of the real-estate
men by this weakness, even caused many to
fall through, until, the land sharks are usually
careful to prevent a buyer from having a conversation
with "Si."</p>
<p>In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
my case, however, this was quite different.
I was known as "a booster", and since my land was
located between the Monca and Megory—this was
considered the cream of the county as to location
soil, and other advantages—instead of being nervous
over meeting me, the dealers would drive into the
yard or into the fields, and as I liked to talk, introduce
the prospective buyers to me and we would engage
in a long conversation at times. I might add that
exaggerated tales were current, which related how
I had run as P——n porter, saved my money,
come to the Little Crow, bought a half section,
and was getting rich. The most of the buyers from
Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota and Nebraska were unused
to seeing colored farmers, and my presence
all alone on the former reserve added to their interest.
In my favor was the fact that my service
in the employ of the P——n Company had taken
me through nearly every county in the central
states and therefore, always given to observation,
I could talk with them concerning the counties they
had come from.</p>
<p>Land prices continued to soar. Higher and higher
they went and to boost them still higher, as well
as to substantiate the values, the bogy concerning
insufficient moisture was drowned in the excessive
rainfall. From April until August it poured, and the
effect on the growing crops in the east became
greater still in the way of drowned out corn-fields
and over-rank stems of small grain that grew to abnormal
heights and with the least winds lodged and
then fell to the ground. The crops on the reservation
could not have been better and prices were high.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
<p class="center">THE PRESIDENT'S PROCLAMATION</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_c.jpg"
alt="C" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">COINCIDENT with the expectation came
the president's proclamation throwing
four thousand claims in Tipp county
open to settlement under the lottery
system at six dollars per acre. Among the towns
designated in the proclamation where the people
could make application for a claim, Megory and
Calias were nearest to the land. These were the
places where the largest crowds were expected.
Therefore, the citizens of these two vigorous municipalities
began extensive preparations to "entertain
the crowds." Megory, being more on the country
order, made more homelike preparations. Among
the many "conveniences" prepared were a ladies'
rest room and information bureau, which were located
in a large barn previously used for storing
hay.</p></div>
<p>Calias, under the criticism that as soon as the
road extended farther west it would be as dead as
Oristown—now all but forgotten—prepared to
"get theirs" while the crowds were in town. And
they did, but that is ahead of the story.</p>
<p>The time for the opening approached. People
seemingly from every part of the universe, and from
every vocation in life, drifted into the towns.
Among these were included the investors, who stated
that in the event of a failure to draw they would
buy deeded land. Next in order were the gamblers,
from the "tin horn" and "piker" class to the "fat"
professionals.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
Although every precaution was taken
to keep out the characters of the city's underworld,
who had characterized former openings, both towns
were fully represented with a large share of pickpockets,
con-men, lewd women and their consorts.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i150" name="i150"></a>
<img src="images/i150.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">On the east the murky waters of the Missouri seek their level. <a href="#Page_132">(page 132.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>The many vacant lots on Main street of both the
towns were decorated with the typical scene at
land openings. There were little tents with notaries
assisted by many beautiful girls to "prepare
your application." There were many hotels with
three and four beds to a room, as well as "rooms
to let" over all the places of business containing
two stories or more. There were tents with
five hundred cots, and "lest we forget", there
were the numerous "drinking fountains," with bars
the length of the building, behind which were scores
of bartenders to serve the "how dry I am", on one
side. On the other, in tents, back rooms and overhead
could be heard the b-r-r-r-r of the little ivory
marble as it spun a circuit over the roulette wheel,
and the luck cages, where the idle sports turned them
over for their own amusement, to pass away the time.
The faro-bank and numerous wheels of fortune also
had a place. From the rear came the strains of
ragtime music. These were some of the many attractions
that met the trains carrying the first arrivals
on the night of October fifth.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
<p class="center">WHERE THE NEGRO FAILS</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_l.jpg"
alt="L" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">LONG before I came west and during the
years I had spent on the homestead, my
closest companion was the magazines.
From the time Thomas W. Lawson's
"Frenzied Finance" had run as a serial article in a
leading periodical, to Ida M. Tarbell's "The History
of the Standard Oil Company," I fairly devoured
special articles on subjects of timely interest. I
enjoyed reading anything that would give me a
more complete knowledge of what made up this
great country in which we live and which all Americans
are given to boasting of as the "greatest country
in the world."</p></div>
<p>And this brings to my mind certain conditions
which exist concerning the ten odd millions of the
black race in America; and more, this, in itself had
a tendency to open wider the gap between a certain
class of the race and myself.</p>
<p>There are two very distinct types or classes,
among the American negroes. I am inclined to feel
that this is more prominent than most people are
aware. I have met and known those who are quick
to think, practical, conservative as well as progressive,
while there are those who are narrow in their
sympathies and short-sighted in their views. Now
as a matter of argument, my experience has taught
me there are more of this class than most colored
people have any idea.</p>
<p>The worst feature of this situation, however, is
that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
a large number of the latter class have commingled
with the former in such a way as to easily
assume all the worthy proportions. They are a
sort of dog in the manger, and are not in accord
with any principle that is practical and essential
to the elimination of friction and strife between the
races.</p>
<p>Among the many faults of this class is, that they
do not realize what it takes to succeed, nor do they
care, but spend their efforts loudly claiming credit
for the success of those who are honest in their convictions
and try to prove themselves indispensable
citizens. Nothing is more obvious and proves
this more conclusively than to take notice, as I
have, of their own selection of reading matter.</p>
<p>Now, for instance, a few years ago a series of articles
under the title of "Following the Color Line"
appeared in a certain periodical, the work of a very
well known writer whose specialty is writing on
social conditions, strikes, etc.</p>
<p>In justice to all concerned, the writer described
the conditions which his articles covered, just as
he found them and in this, in my opinion, he differed
largely from many of the southern authors whose
articles are still inclined to treat the Ethiopians as
a whole, as the old "time worn" aunt and uncle.
Not intending to digress, I want to put down here,
that negroes as a whole are changing to some extent,
the same as the whites and no liberty-loving
colored man appreciates being regarded as "aunt,"
or "uncle" even though some of these people were as
honorable as could be. This is a modern age.</p>
<p>Now getting back to the discussion that I seem to
have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
for the moment forgotten and as regards the
article, while worthy in every respect, it was no different
in its way from any number of other articles
published at that time, as well as now, that deal on
great and complex questions of the day. Yet, this
article caused thousands of colored people, who never
before bought a magazine or book, to subscribe for
that magazine. It was later published in book form
and is conspicuous in the libraries of many thousands
of colored families.</p>
<p>What I have intended to put down in this lengthy
discourse regarding my race is, if they see or hear
of an article concerning the race, they will buy that
magazine, to read the article spoken of and nothing
more.</p>
<p>Since living in the state, as a recreation I was in
the habit of taking trips to Chicago once or twice
a year, and as might be expected I would talk of
South Dakota. In the course of a conversation I
have related a story of some one's success there and
would be listened to with unusual attention. As I
had found in them many who were poor listeners,
at these times when I found myself the object of so
much undivided attention I would warm up to the
subject until it had evolved into a sort of lecture,
and remarks of, "my," "you don't say so," and "just
think of it" would interrupt me—"and a colored
man." No, I would correct, the least bit hesitant,
a white man. Then, just like the sun disappearing
behind a cloud, all interest would vanish, furthermore,
I have on occasions of this kind had attention
of a few minutes before turned to remarks of criticism
for taking up the time relating the success of a white
man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
The idea is prevalent among this class that
all white people should be rich, and regardless of how
ideal the success has been, I learned that no white
person could be accepted as an example for this
class to follow.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i156" name="i156"></a>
<img src="images/i156.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">The real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader. <a href="#Page_130">(Page 130.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>By reading nothing but discussions concerning
the race, by all but refusing to accept the success of
the white race as an example and by welcoming any
racial disturbance as a conclusion that the entire
white race is bent in one great effort to hold him—the
negro, down, he can not very well feel the thrill
of modern progress and is ignorant as to public
opinion. Therefore he is unable to cope with the
trend of conditions and has become so condensed
in the idea that he has no opportunity, that he is
disinteresting to the public. One of the greatest
tasks of my life has been to convince a certain class
of my racial acquaintances that a colored man can
be anything.</p>
<p>Now on the entire Little Crow reservation, less
than eight hundred miles from Chicago, I was the only
colored man engaged in agriculture, and moreover,
from Megory to Omaha, a distance of three hundred
miles. There was only one other negro family engaged
in the same industry.</p>
<p>Having lived in the cities, I therefore, was not
a greenhorn, as some of them would try to have
me feel, when they referred to their clubs and social
affairs.</p>
<p>Among the many facts that confronted me as I
meditated the situation, one dated back to the time
I had run on the road. The trains I ran on carried
thousands monthly into the interior of the northwest.
Among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
these were a great number of
emigrants fresh from the old countries, but there
was seldom a colored person among them, and those
few that I had seen, with few exceptions, went on
through to the Pacific coast cities and engaged in
the same occupation they had followed in the east.</p>
<p>During these trips I learned the greatest of all the
failings were not only among the ignorant class,
but among the educated as well. Although more
agreeable to talk to, they lacked that great
and mighty principle which characterizes Americans,
called "the initiative." Colored people are possible
in every way that is akin to becoming good
citizens, which has been thoroughly proven and is
an existing fact. Yet they seem to lack the "guts"
to get into the northwest and "do things." In
seven or eight of the great agricultural states there
were not enough colored farmers to fill a township
of thirty-six sections.</p>
<p>Another predominating inconsistency is that
there is that "love of luxury." They want street
cars, cement walks, and electric lights to greet them
when they arrive. I well remember it was something
near two years before I saw a colored man on the
reservation, until the road had been extended. They
had never come west of Oristown, but as the time for
the opening arrived, the kitchens and hotel dining-rooms
of Megory and Calias were filled with waiters
and cooks.</p>
<p>During the preparation for the opening the commercial
club of Megory had lengthy circulars printed,
with photographs of the surrounding country,
farms, homes, and the like, to accompany. These
circulars<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
described briefly the progress the country
had made in the four years it had been opened to
settlement, and the opportunities waiting. By
giving the name and address the club would send
these to any address or person, with the statement,
"by the request" of whoever gave the name.</p>
<p>I gave the name of not less than one hundred
persons, and sent them personally to many as well.
I wrote articles and sent them to different newspapers
edited by colored people, in the east and other
places. I was successful in getting one colored person
to come and register—my oldest brother.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
<p class="center">"AND THE CROWDS DID COME." THE PRAIRIE FIRE</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t2.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THE registration opened at twelve o'clock
Monday morning. Seven trains during
the night before had brought something
like seven thousand people. Of this
number about two thousand got off at Megory, and
the remainder went on through to Calias. The
big opening was on, and the bid for patronage made
the relations between the towns more bitter than
ever.</p></div>
<p>After the first few days, however, the crowds,
with the exception of a few hundred, daily went
on through to Calias and did not heed the cat calls
and uncomplimentary remarks from the railway
platform at Megory. Among these remarks flung
at the crowded trains were: "Go on to Calias and buy
a drink of water", "Go on to Calias and pay a
dime for the water to wash your face"—water was
one of Calias's scarcities, as will be seen later.
However, this failed to detract the crowd.</p>
<p>The C. & R.W. put on fifteen regular trains daily,
and the little single track, unballasted and squirmy,
was very unsafe to ride over and the crowded trains
had to run very slowly on this account. Because
of the fact that it was difficult to find adequate side
tracking, it took two full days to make the trip from
Omaha to Calias and return.</p>
<p>All the day and night the "toot, toot" of the
locomotives could be heard and the sound seemed to
make the country seem very old indeed. Megory's
brass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
band—organized for the purpose—undaunted,
continued to play frantically at the depot to try
to induce the crowded trains to unload a greater
share, but to no avail, although the cars were stuffed
like sandwiches.</p>
<p>Those times in Calias were long to be remembered.
As the trains disgorged the thousands daily it seemed
impossible that the little city could care for
such crowds. The sidewalks were crowded from
morn till night. The registration booths and the
saloons never closed and more automobiles than I
had ever seen in a country town up to that time,
roared, and with their clattering noise, took the
people hurriedly across the reservation to the west.</p>
<p>Along toward the close of the opening a prairie
fire driven by a strong west wind raced across Tipp
county in a straight line for Calias. Although fire
guards sixty feet wide had been burned along the
west side of the town, it soon became apparent that
the fire would leap them and enter the town, unless
some unusual effort on the part of the citizens was
made to stop it.</p>
<p>It was late in the afternoon and as seems always
the case, a fire will cause the wind to rise, and it
rose until the blaze shut out the western horizon.
It seemed the entire world to the west was afire.</p>
<p>Ten thousand people, lost in sight-seeing, gambling
and revelry, all of a sudden became aware of the
approaching danger, and began a rush for safety.
To the north, south, and east of the town the lands
were under cultivation, therefore, a safe place from
the fire that now threatened the town. All business
was suspended, registration ceased, and the huge
cans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
containing more than one hundred thousand
applications for lands, were loaded on drays and taken
into the country and deposited in the center of a
large plowed field, for safety. The gamblers put
their gains into sacks and joined the surging masses,
and with grips got from the numerous check rooms,
all the people fled like stampeding cattle to a position
to the north of town which was protected by a corn
field on the west.</p>
<p>Ernest Nicholson, leading the business men and
property owners, bravely fought the oncoming
disaster. The chemical engine and water hose
were rushed forward but were as pins under the
drivers of a locomotive. The water from the hose
ran weakly for a few minutes and then with a blowing
as of an empty faucet, petered out from lack of
water. The strong wind blew the chemical into the
air and it proved as useless. The fire entered the
city. One house, a magnificent residence, was soon
enveloped in flames, which spread to another, and
still to another.</p>
<p>The thousands of people huddled on a bare spot,
but safe, watched the minature city of one year and
the gate-way to the homesteads of the next county,
disappear in flames.</p>
<p>Megoryites, seeing the danger threatening her
hated rival five miles away, called for volunteers
who readily responded and formed bucket brigades,
loaded barrels into wagons, filled them with water
and burned the roads in the hurry-up call to the apparently
doomed city.</p>
<p>I could see the fire from where I was harvesting
flax ten miles away, and the cloud of smoke, with the
little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
city lying silent before, it reminded me of a
picture of Pompeii before Vesuvius. It looked as
if Calias were lost. Then, like a miracle, the wind
quieted down, changed, and in less than twenty
minutes was blowing a gale from the east, starting
the fire back over the ground over which it had
burned. There it sputtered, flickered, and with
a few sparks went out, just as L.A. Bell pulled onto
the scene with lathered and bloody eyed mules drawing
a tank of Megory's water, and was told by the
Nicholson Brothers—who were said to resemble
Mississippi steamboat roustabouts on a hot day—that
Calias didn't need their water.</p>
<p>Following the day of the high wind which brought
the prairie fire that so badly frightened the people
of the town, the change of the wind to the east
brought rain, and about two hundred automobiles
that had been carrying people over Tipp
county into the town. I remember the crowds but
have no idea now many people there were, but that
it looked more like the crowds on Broadway or
State street on a busy day than Main Street in a
burg of the prairie. This was the afternoon of the
drawing and a woman drew number one, while here
and there in the crowd that filled the street before
the registration, exclamations of surprise and delight
went up from different fortunates hearing their names
called, drawing a lucky number. I felt rather bewildered
by so much excitement and metropolitanism
where hardly two years before I had hauled one
of the first loads of lumber on the ground to start
the town. I could not help but feel that the world
moved swiftly, and that I was living, not in a wilderness—as
stated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
in some of the letters I had received
from colored friends in reply to my letter that informed
them of the opening—but in the midst of
advancement and action.</p>
<p>When the drawing was over and the crowds had
gone, it was found that the greatest crowds had
registered—not at Calias—but at a town just south,
in Nebraska, which received forty-five thousand
while Calias came second with forty-three thousand
and Megory only received seven thousand, something
like one hundred fifteen thousand in all having applied.</p>
<p>The hotels in Calias had charged one dollar the
person and some of the large ones had made small
fortunes, while the saloons were said to have averaged
over one thousand dollars a day.</p>
<p>After the opening, land sold like hot hamburger
sandwiches had a few weeks before.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
<p class="center">THE SCOTCH GIRL</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">IT had been just four years since I bought
the relinquishment and seven since leaving
southern Illinois. I had been very
successful in farming although I had
made some very poor deals in the beginning, and
when my crops were sold that season I found I had
made three thousand, five hundred dollars. Futhermore,
I had in the beginning sought to secure the
best land in the best location and had succeeded.
I had put two hundred eighty acres under cultivation,
with eight head of horses—I had done a little
better in my later horse deals—and had machinery,
seed and feed sufficient to farm it. My efforts in
the seven years had resulted in the ownership of
land and stock to the value of twenty thousand dollars
and was only two thousand dollars in debt and
still under twenty-five years of age.</p></div>
<p>During the years I had spent on the Little Crow
I had "kept batch" all the while until that summer.
A Scotch family had moved from Indiana that
spring consisting of the father, a widower, two sons
and two daughters. One of the boys worked for
me and as it was much handier, I boarded with them.</p>
<p>The older of the two girls was a beautiful blonde
maiden of twenty summers, who attended to the
household duties, and considering the small opportunities
she had to secure an education, was an
unusually intelligent girl. She had composed some
verses and songs but not knowing where to send
them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
had never submitted them to a publisher.
I secured the name of a company that accepted
some of her writings and paid her fifty dollars for
them. She was so anxious to improve her mind
that I took an interest in her and as I received much
literature in the way of newspapers and magazines
and read lots of copy-right books, I gave them to
her. She seemed delighted and appreciated the gifts.</p>
<p>Before long, however, and without any intention
of being other than kind, I found myself being drawn
to her in a way that threatened to become serious.
While custom frowns on even the discussion of the
amalgamation of races, it is only human to be kind,
and it was only my intention to encourage the desire
to improve, which I could see in her, but I found
myself on the verge of falling in love with her. To
make matters more awkward, that love was being
returned by the object of my kindness. She, however,
like myself, had no thought of being other
than kind and grateful. It placed me as well as her
in an awkward position—for before we realized it,
we had learned to understand each other to such
an extent, that it became visible in every look and
action.</p>
<p>It reached a stage of embarrassment one day when
we were reading a volume of Shakespeare. She
was sitting at the table and I was standing over her.
The volume was "Othello" and when we came to
the climax where Othello has murdered his wife,
driven to it by the evil machinations of Iago, as
if by instinct she looked up and caught my eyes and
when I came to myself I had kissed her twice on the
lips she held up.</p>
<p>After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
that, being near her caused me to feel
awkwardly uncomfortable. We could not even
look into each other's eyes, without showing the
feeling that existed in the heart.</p>
<p>Now during the time I had lived among the white
people, I had kept my place as regards custom, and
had been treated with every courtesy and respect;
had been referred to in the local papers in the most
complimentary terms, and was regarded as one of
the Little Crow's best citizens.</p>
<p>But when the reality of the situation dawned
upon me, I became in a way frightened, for I did
not by any means want to fall in love with a white
girl. I had always disapproved of intermarriage,
considering it as being above all things, the very
thing that a colored man could not even think of.
That we would become desperately in love, however,
seemed inevitable.</p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<p>Lived a man—the history of the American Negro
shows—who had been the foremost member of
his race. He had acquitted himself of many honorable
deeds for more than a score of years, in the
interest of his race. He had filled a federal office
but at the zenith of his career had brought disappointment
to his race and criticism from the
white people who had honored him, by marrying
a white woman, a stenographer in his office.</p>
<p>They were no doubt in love with each other, which
in all likelihood overcame the fear of social ostracism,
they must have known would follow the marriage.
I speak of love and presume that she loved him for
in my opinion a white woman, intelligent and
respectable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
and knowing what it means, who would
marry a colored man, must love him and love him
dearly. To make that love stronger is the feeling
that haunts the mind; the knowledge that custom,
tradition, and the dignity of both races are against
it. Like anything forbidden, however, it arouses
the spirit of opposition, causing the mind to battle
with what is felt to be oppression. The sole claim
is the right to love.</p>
<p>These thoughts fell upon me like a clap of thunder
and frightened me the more. It was then too, that
I realized how pleasant the summer just passed
had been, and that I had not been in the least lonesome,
but perfectly contented, aye, happy. And
that was the reason.</p>
<p>During the summer when I had read a good
story or had on mind to discuss my hopes, she had
listened attentively and I had found companionship.
If I was melancholy, I had been cheered in the same
demure manner. Yet, on the whole, I had been unaware
of the affection growing silently; drawing two
lonesome hearts together. With the reality of
it upon us, we were unable to extricate ourselves
from our own weak predicament. We tried avoiding
each other; tried everything to crush the weakness.
God has thus endowed. We found it hard.</p>
<p>I have felt, if a person could only order his mind
as he does his limbs and have it respond or submit
to the will, how much easier life would be. For
it is that relentless thinking all the time until one's
mind becomes a slave to its own imaginations, that
brings eternal misery, where happiness might be
had.</p>
<p>To<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
love is life—love lives to seek reply—but I
would contend with myself as to whether or not
it was right to fall in love with this poor little white
girl. I contended with myself that there were
good girls in my race and coincident with this I
quit boarding with them and went to batching again,
to try to successfully combat my emotions. I continued
to send her papers and books to read—I
could hardly restrain the inclinations to be kind.
Then one day I went to the house to settle with
her father for the boy's work and found her alone.
I could see she had been crying, and her very expression
was one of unhappiness. Well, what is
a fellow going to do. What I did was to take
her into my arms and in spite of all the custom, loyalty,
or the dignity of either Ethiopian or the
Caucasian race, loved her like a lover.</p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<p>It was during a street carnival at Megory sometime
before the Tipp county opening, when one
afternoon in company with three or four white
men, I saw a nice looking colored man coming along
the street. It was very seldom any colored people
came to those parts and when they did, it was with
a show troupe or a concert of some kind. Whenever
any colored people were in town, I had usually
made myself acquainted and welcomed them—if
it was acceptable, and it usually was—so when I
saw this young man approaching I called the attention
of my companions, saying, "There is a nice-looking
colored man." He was about five feet,
eleven, of a light brown complexion, and chestnut-like
hair, neatly trimmed. He wore glasses and
was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
dressed in a well-fitting suit that matched his
complexion. He had the appearance of being intelligent
and amiable.</p>
<p>I was in the act of starting to speak, when one
of the fellows nudged me and whispered in my ear,
that it was one of the Woodrings from a town a
short distance away in Nebraska, who was known
to be of mixed blood but never admitted it.</p>
<p>According to what I had been told, the father of
the three boys was about half negro but had married
a white woman, and this one was the youngest son.
Needless to say I did not speak but kept clear of
him.</p>
<p>There is a difference in races that can be distinguished
in the features, in the eyes, and even if
carefully noted, in the sound of the voice.</p>
<p>It seemed the family claimed to be part Mexican,
which would account for the darkness of their
complexion. But I had seen too many different
races, however, to mistake a streak of Ethiopian.
Having been in Mexico, I knew them to be almost
entirely straight-haired (being a cross between
an Indian and a Spaniard). When I observed
this young man, I readily distinguished the
negro features; the brown eyes, the curly hair, and
the set of the nose.</p>
<p>The father had come into the sand hills of Nebraska
some thirty-five years before, taken a homestead,
but from where he came from no one seemed
to know. It was there he married his white wife,
and to the union was born the three sons, Frank,
the eldest, Will, and Len, the youngest.</p>
<p>The father sold the homestead some twenty
years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
before and moved to another county, and had
run a hotel since in the town of Pencer, where they
now live.</p>
<p>Unlike his younger brother, Frank, the eldest son,
could easily have passed for a white, that is, so
long as no one looked for the streak. But when the
fellow whose timely information had kept me from
embarrassing myself, and perhaps from insulting
the young man, a few minutes later called out,
"Hello, Frank!" to a tall man, one look disclosed
to my scrutiny the negro in his features. I was
not mistaken. It was Frank Woodring.</p>
<p>In view of the fact, that in some chapters of this
story I dwell on the negro, and on account of the
insistence of many of them who declare they are
deprived of opportunities on account of their color,
I take the privilege of putting down here a sketch of
this Frank Woodring's life. And although these
people deny a relation to the negro race, it was
well known by the public in that part of the country,
that they were mixed, for it had been told to
me by every one who knew them, therefore the
instance cannot be regarded altogether as an exception.</p>
<p>Shortly after coming to Pencer, he went to work
for an Iowa man on a ranch near by, and later a
prosperous squaw-man, who owned a bank, took
him in, where in time he became book-keeper and
all round handy man, later assistant cashier. The
ranchman whom Woodring had worked for previous
to entering the bank, bought the squaw-man out,
made Woodring cashier, and sold to him a block
of stock and took his note for the amount. In
time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
Woodring proved a good banker and his efficient
management of the institution, which had
been a State bank with a capital stock of twenty-five
thousand dollars, had been incorporated into
a National bank and the capital increased to fifty
thousand dollars, and later on to one hundred
thousand dollars. He dealt in buying and selling
land as well as feeding cattle, on the side, and had
prospered until he was soon well-to-do. Coincident
with this prosperity he had been made president
of not only that bank—whose footing was near a
half-million dollars—but of some other three or
four local banks in Nebraska, also a Megory county
bank at Fairview—which is the county depository—and
a large bank and trust company at the town of
Megory, with a capital stock of sixty thousand dollars.
Today Frank Woodring is one of the wealthiest
men in northwest Nebraska.</p>
<p>The local ball team of their town was playing
Megory that day, and a few hours later out at the
ball park, I was shouting for the home team with
all my breath, the batter struck a foul, and when I
turned to look where the ball went, there, standing
on the bench above me, between two white girls,
and looking down at me with a look that betrayed
his mind, was Len Woodring. Our eyes met for
only the fraction of a minute but I read his thoughts.
He looked away quickly, but I shall not soon forget
that moment of racial recognition.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i174" name="i174"></a>
<img src="images/i174.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Everything grew so rank, thick and green.</p>
</div>
<p>And now when I found my affections in jeopardy
regarding the love of the Scotch girl, I thought long
and seriously over the matter, and pictured myself
in the place of the Woodring family, successful,
respected,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
and efficient business men, but still
members of the down-trodden race. I pondered as
to whether I could make the sacrifice. Maybe they
were happy, the boys had never known or associated
with the race they denied, and maybe were not so
conscientious as myself, although the look of Len's
had betrayed what was on his mind.</p>
<p>I had learned that throughout these Dakotas and
Nebraska, that other lone colored men who had
drifted from the haunts and homes of the race, as
I had—maybe discontented, as I had been—and
had with time and natural development, through the
increase in the valuation of their homesteads or
other lands they had acquired, grown prosperous
and had finally, with hardly an exception, married
into the white race. Even the daughter of the only
colored farmer between the Little Crow and Omaha
was only prevented from marrying a white man, at
the altar, when it was found the law of the state
forbids it.</p>
<p>I could diagnose their condition by my own.
Life in a new country is always rough in the beginning.
In the past it had taken ten and fifteen
years for a newly opened country to develop into
a state of cultivation and prosperity, that the Little
Crow had in the four years.</p>
<p>At the time it had been opened to settlement,
the reaction from the effects of the dry years and
hard times of 93-4 and 5 had set in and at that
time, with plenty of available capital, the early extension
of the railroad, and other advantages too
numerous to mention, life had been quite different
for the settlers. Such advantages had not been
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>
lot of the homesteader twenty and thirty years
before.</p>
<p>These people had no doubt been honorable and
had intended to remain loyal to their race, but
long, hard years, lean crops, and the long, lonesome
days had changed them. It is easier to control
the thoughts than the emotions. The craving for
love and understanding pervades the very core of
a human, and makes the mind reckless to even such
a grave matter as race loyalty. In most cases it
had been years before these people had the means
and time to get away for a visit to their old homes,
while around them were the neighbors and friends
of pioneer days, and maybe, too, some girl had come
into their lives—like this one had into mine—who
understood them and was kind and sympathetic.
What worried me most, however, even frightened
me, was, that after marriage and when their children
had grown to manhood and womanhood, they, like
the Woodring family, had a terror of their race;
disowning and denying the blood that coursed
through their veins; claiming to be of some foreign
descent; in fact, anything to hide or conceal the
mixture of Ethiopian. They looked on me with
fear, sometimes contempt. Even the mixed-blood
Indians and negroes seemed to crave a marriage
with the whites.</p>
<p>The question uppermost in my mind became,
"Would not I become like that, would I too, deny
my race?" The thought was a desperate one.
I did not feel that I could become that way, but
what about those to come after me, would they
have to submit to the indignities I had seen some
of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>
these referred to, do, in order that they may marry
whites and try to banish from memory the relation
of a race that is hated, in many instances, for no
other reason than the coloring matter in their pigment.
Would my life, and the thought involved
and occupied my mind daily, innocent as my life
now appeared, lead into such straits if I married
the Scotch girl. It became harder for me, for at
that time, I had not even a correspondence with
a girl of my race. As I look back upon it the condition
was a complicated affair. I confess at the
time, however, that I was on the verge of making
the sacrifice. This was due to the sights that had
met my gaze when I would go on trips to Chicago,
and such times I would return home feeling disgusted.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2>
<p class="center">THE BATTLE</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_s.jpg"
alt="S" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">SOME time after the opening it was announced
from Washington that the
Land Office, which was located in one
of the larger towns of the state, about
one hundred and fifty miles from the Little Crow,
would be moved to one of the towns in the new
territory. The Land Office is something like a
County Seat in bringing business to a town, and
immediately every town in Megory County began
a contest for the office. However, it was soon
seen that it was the intention of the Interior Department
to locate it in either Megory or Calias.
So the two familiar rivals engaged in another
battle. But in this Megory held the high card.</p></div>
<p>That was about the time the insurgents and stalwarts
were in a struggle to get control of the State's
political machinery. It had waxed bitter in the
June primaries of that year and the insurgents had
won. Calias had supported the losing candidate,
who had been overwhelmingly defeated, and both
senators and one representative in Congress from the
state were red-hot insurgents. The Nicholson
Brothers, bowing to tradition, were stand pats.
Their father had been a stalwart before them in
Iowa, where Cummins had created so much commotion
with his insurgency.</p>
<p>Ernest, with his wife, had left for the Orient to
spend the winter. After leaving, the announcement
came that the land office would be moved. Even had
he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
been in Calias the result would likely have been
the same, but I had a creepy feeling that had he
been on the ground Megory would have had to
worked considerably harder at least.</p>
<p>After sending many men from each town down to
the National Capital, the towns fought it out. With,
as I have stated, and which was to be expected, with
both Senators recommending Megory as having
advantages over Calias in the way of an abundant
supply of water and a National Bank with a capital
stock of fifty thousand dollars, the Interior Department
decided in favor of Megory, and Calias lost.</p>
<p>Ernest, on hearing of the fight, hurriedly returned,
went in to Washington, secured an appointment
with the Secretary and is said to have made a worthy
plea for Calias; but to no avail and the Megoryites
returned home the heroes of the day.</p>
<p>I was away at the time, but was told a good share
of the men of Megory were drunk the greater part
of the week.</p>
<p>Some evidence of the rejoicing was visible on my
return, in the loss of an eye, by a little gambler who
became too enthusiastic and run up against a
"snag." What amused me most however, was an
article written especially for one of the Megory
papers by a keeper of a racket store and a known
shouter for the town. The article represented the
contest as being a big prize fight on the Little Crow
and read something like this.</p>
<blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
<p class="center">
BIG PRIZE FIGHT ON THE LITTLE CROW</p>
<p class="center">PRINCIPALS</p>
<p class="center">MEGORY, THE METROPOLIS OF THE
LITTLE CROW</p>
<p class="center">REPUTATION, THE SQUARE DEAL</p>
<p class="center">CALIAS BOASTER</p>
<p class="center">REPUTATION GRAFTING</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—Little Crow Reservation.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Time.</span>—A.D. 190— Referee—Washington, D.C.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Seconds For Megory.</span>—Flackler, of the Megory
National.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fred Crofton, Postmaster.</span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">For Calias, Mayor Rosie and A Has-been,
Formerly of Washington.</span></p>
<p>Round one. September. Principals enter the
ring and refuse to shake hands, referee Washington,
D.C. announces fight to be straight Marquis of
Queensbury. No hitting in the clinches, and a
clean break; a fight to the finish. They are off.
Calias leads with a left to the face, Megory countering
with a right to the ribs, they clinch. Referee
breaks them, then they spar and as the gong sounded
appeared evenly matched.</p>
<p>Round two. October. They rush to the center
of the ring and clinch, referee tells them to break.
Just as this is done Calias lands a terrific left to
Megory's jaw following with a right to the body,
and Megory goes down for the count of nine, getting
up with much confusion, only to be floored again
with a right to the temple. Megory rises very
groggy, when Calias lands a vicious left to the
mouth, a right to the ear just as the gong sounded,
saving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
her from a knock-out. They go to their
corners with betting three to one on Calias and no
takers. During the one minute's rest the crowd
whooped it up for Calias, thousands coming her
way. Megory looked serious, sitting in the corner
thinking how she had fallen down on some well-laid
plans.</p>
<p>Round three. November. They rush to a
clinch and spar. Referee cautions Calias for butting.
They do some more sparring, and both seem
cautious, with honors even at the end of the third
round.</p>
<p>Round four. December. They rush to the
center of the ring and begin to spar, then like a
flash, Megory lands a terrific swing on Calias' jaw,
following it up with a right to the heart. Calias
cries foul, but referee orders her to proceed, while
Megory, with eyes flashing and distended nostrils,
feints and then like the kick of a mule, lands a hard
left to the mouth, following in quick succession with
jolts, swings, jabs and upper cuts. Mayor Rosie
wants to throw up the sponge, but the referee says
fight. Megory, with a left to the face and right to
the stomach, then rushing both hands in a blow to
the solar plexus, Calias falls and is counted out with
Megory winning the prize,—Great Land Office.</p></blockquote>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
<p class="center">THE SACRIFICE—RACE LOYALTY</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_g2.jpg"
alt="G" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">GETTING back to the affair of the Scotch
girl, I hated to give up her kindness and
friendship. I would have given half
my life to have had her possess just a
least bit of negro blood in her veins, but since she
did not and could not help it any more than I could
help being a negro, I tried to forget it, straightened
out my business and took a trip east, bent on finding
a wife among my own.</p></div>
<p>As the early morning train carried me down the
road from Megory, I hoped with all the hope of
early manhood, I would find a sensible girl and not
like many I knew in Chicago, who talked nothing
but clothes, jewelry, and a good time. I had no
doubt there were many good colored girls in the
east, who, if they understood my life, ambition and
morality, would make a good wife and assist me in
building a little empire on the Dakota plains, not
only as a profit to ourselves, but a credit to the negro
race as well. I wanted to succeed, but hold the
respect and good will of the community, and there
are few communities that will sanction a marriage
with a white girl, hence, the sacrifice.</p>
<p>I spent about six weeks visiting in Chicago and
New York, finally returning west to southern
Illinois to visit a family in C—dale, near M—boro,
who were the most prosperous colored people in
the town. They owned a farm near town, nine
houses and lots in the city, and were practical
people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
who understood business and what it took
to succeed.</p>
<p>They had a daughter whom I had known as a
child back in the home town M—plis, where she had
cousins that she used to visit. She had by this
time grown into a woman of five and twenty. Her
name was Daisy Hinshaw. Now Miss Hinshaw was
not very good-looking but had spent years in school
and in many ways was unlike the average colored
girl. She was attentive and did not have her mind
full of cheap, showy ideals. I had written to her
at times from South Dakota and she had answered
with many inviting letters. Therefore, when I
wrote her from New York that I intended paying
her a visit, she answered in a very inviting letter, but
boldly told me not to forget to bring her a nice
present, that she would like a large purse. I did
not like such boldness. I should have preferred
a little more modesty, but I found the purse, however,
a large seal one in a Fifth Avenue shop, for
six dollars, which Miss Hinshaw displayed with
much show when I came to town.</p>
<p>The town had a colored population of about one
thousand and the many girls who led in the local
society looked enviously upon Miss Hinshaw's
catch—and the large seal purse—and I became the
"Man of the Hour" in C—dale.</p>
<p>The only marriageable man in the town who did
not gamble, get drunk and carouse in a way that
made him ineligible to decent society, was the professor
of the colored school. He was a college
graduate and received sixty dollars a month. He
had been spoiled by too much attention, however,
and was not an agreeable person.</p>
<p>Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
Hinshaw was dignified and desired to marry,
and to marry somebody that amounted to something,
but she was so bold and selfish. She took a
delight in the reports, that were going the rounds,
that we were engaged, and I was going to have her
come to South Dakota and file on a Tipp County
homestead relinquishment that I would buy, and
we would then get married.</p>
<p>The only objector to this plan was myself. I had
not fallen in love with Miss Hinshaw and did not
feel that I could. Daisy was a nice girl, however,
a little odd in appearance, having a light brown
complexion, without color or blood visible in the
cheeks; was small and bony; padded with so many
clothes that no idea of form could be drawn. I
guessed her weight at about ninety pounds. She had
very good hair but grey eyes, that gave her a cattish
appearance.</p>
<p>She had me walking with her alone and permitted
no one to interfere. She would not introduce me
to other girls while out, keeping me right by her
side and taking me home and into her parlor, with
her and her alone, as company.</p>
<p>One day I went up town and while there took a
notion to go to the little mining town, to see the
relatives who had got me the job there seven years
before. But it was ten miles, with no train before
the following morning. Just then the colored
caller called out a train to M—boro and St. Louis,
and all of a sudden it occurred to me that I had
almost forgotten Miss Rooks. Why not go to
M—boro? I had not expected to pay her a visit
but suddenly decided that I would just run over
quietly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
and come back on the train to C—dale at
five o'clock that afternoon. I jumped aboard and
as M—boro was only eight miles, I was soon in the
town, and inquiring where she lived.</p>
<p>I found their house presently—they were always
moving—and just a trifle nervously rang the bell.
The door was opened in a few minutes and before
me stood Jessie. She had changed quite a bit in
the three years and now with long skirts and the
eyes looked so tired and dream-like. She was quite
fascinating, this I took in at a glance. She stammered
out, "Oh! Oscar Devereaux", extending her
hand timidly and looking into my eyes as though
afraid. She looked so lonely, and I had thought
a great deal of her a few years ago—and perhaps
it was not all dead—and the next moment she was
in my arms and I was kissing her.</p>
<p>I did not go back to C—dale on the five nor on
the eight o'clock—and I did not want to on the
last train that night. I was having the most carefree
time of my life. They were hours of sweetest
bliss. With Jessie snugly held in the angle of my
left arm, we poured out the pent-up feelings of the
past years. I had a proposition to make, and had
reasons to feel it would be accepted.</p>
<p>The family had a hard time making ends meet.
Her father had lost the mail carrier's job and had
run a restaurant later and then a saloon. Failing
in both he had gone to another town, starting
another restaurant and had there been assaulted
by a former admirer of Jessie's, who had struck him
with a heavy stick, fracturing the skull and injuring
him so that for weeks he had not been able to
remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
anything. Although he was then convalescing,
he was unable to earn anything. Her
mother had always been helpless, and the support
fell on her and a younger brother, who acted as
special delivery letter carrier and received twenty
dollars a month, while Jessie taught a country
school a mile from town, receiving twenty-five dollars
per month. This she turned over to the support
of the household, and made what she earned
sewing after school hours, supply her own needs.
It was a long and pitiful tale she related as we
walked together along a dark street, with her clinging
to my arm and speaking at times in a half sob.
My heart went out to her, and I wanted to help
and said: "Why did you not write to me, didn't
you know that I would have done something?"</p>
<p>"Well," she answered slowly, "I started to
several times, but was so afraid that you would
not understand." She seemed so weak and forlorn
in her distress. She had never been that way when
I knew her before, and I felt sure she had suffered,
and I was a brute, not to have realized it. Twelve
o'clock found me as reluctant to go as five o'clock
had, but as we kissed lingeringly at the door, I
promised when I left C—dale two evenings later
I would stop off at M—boro and we would discuss
the matter pro and con. This was Saturday night.</p>
<p>The next morning I called to see Daisy. I was
unusually cheerful, and taking her face in my hands,
blew a kiss. She looked up at me with her grey
eyes alert and with an air of suspicion, said: "You've
been kissing somebody else since you left here."
Then leading me into the parlor in her commanding
way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
ordered me to sit down and to wait there until
she returned. She had just completed cleaning
and dusting the parlor and it was in perfect order.
She seemed to me to be more forward than ever
that morning, and I felt a suspicion that I was going
to get a curtain lecture. However, I escaped the
lecture but got stunned instead.</p>
<p>Daisy returned in about an hour, dressed in a
rustling black silk dress, with powdered face and her
hair done up elegantly and without ceremony or
hesitation planted herself on the settee and requested,
or rather ordered me to take a seat beside her.
She opened the conversation by inquiring of South
Dakota, and took my hand and pretended to pare
my finger nails. I answered in nonchalant tones
but after a little she turned her head a little slantingly,
looked down, began just the least hesitant,
but firmly: "Now what arrangements do you wish
me to make in regard to my coming to South
Dakota next fall?"</p>
<p>For the love of Jesus, I said to myself, if she
hasn't proposed. Now one advantage of a dark
skin is that one does not show his inner feeling
as noticeably as those of the lighter shade, and
I do not know whether Miss Hinshaw noticed the
look of embarrassment that overspread my countenance.
I finally found words to break the deadly
suspense following her bold action.</p>
<p>"Oh!" I stammered more than spoke, "I would
really rather not make any arrangements, Daisy."</p>
<p>"Well," she said, not in the least taken back, "a
person likes to know just how they stand."</p>
<p>"Yes, of course," I added hastily. "You see,"
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
was just starting in on a lengthy discourse trying
to avoid the issue, when the door bell rang and
a relative of mine by the name of Menloe Robinson,
who had attended the university the same time
Miss Hinshaw had, but had been expelled for
gambling and other bad habits, came in. He was
a bore most of the time with so much of his college
talk, but I could have hugged him then, I felt so
relieved, but Miss Hinshaw put in before he got
started to talking, wickedly, that of course if I
did not want her she could not force it.</p>
<p>The next day at noon I left for St. Louis but did
not mention that I was scheduled to stop off at
M—boro. Miss Hinshaw had grown sad in appearance
and looked so lonely I felt sorry for her
and kissed her good-bye at the station, which
seemed to cheer her a little. She was married to a
classmate about a year later and I have not seen
her since.</p>
<p>Jessie was glad to see me when I called that evening
in M—boro, and we went walking again and had
another long talk. When we got back, I sang the
old story to which she answered with, "Do you
really want me?"</p>
<p>"Sure, Jessie, why not." I looked into her eyes
that seemed just about to shed tears but she closed
them and snuggled up closely, and whispered,
"I just wanted to hear you say you wanted me."</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
<p class="center">THE BREEDS</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_h.jpg"
alt="H" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">HERE the story may have ended, that is,
had I taken her to the minister, but as
everybody had gone land crazy in
Dakota and I had determined to own
more land myself, I told her how I could buy a
relinquishment and she could file on it and then
we would marry at once. Now when a young man
and a girl are in love and feel each other to be the
world and all that's in it, it is quite easy to plan,
and Miss Rooks and I were no exception. Had we
been in South Dakota instead of Southern Illinois,
and had it been the month of October instead of
January, nine months before, we would have carried
out our plans, but since it was January we mutually
agreed to wait until the nine months had elapsed,
but something happened during that time which
will be told in due time.</p></div>
<p>I enjoyed feeling that I was at last engaged. It
was positively delightful, and when I left the next
morning to visit my parents in Kansas, I was a
very happy person. While visiting there, shooting
jack-rabbits by day and boosting Dakota to the
Jayhawkers half the night, I'd write to Miss Rooks
sometime during each twenty-four hours, and for
a time received a letter as often. Two sisters were
to be graduated from the high school the following
June, and wanted to come to Dakota in the fall and
take up claims, but had no money to purchase
relinquishments. I agreed to mortgage my land
and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
loan the money, but when all was arranged it
was found one of them would not be old enough in
time, so my grandmother, who had always possessed
a roving spirit, wanted to come and so it was settled.</p>
<p>When I got back to Dakota and jumped into my
spring work it was with unusual vigor and contemplation,
and all went well for a while. Soon,
however, I failed to hear from Jessie and began to
feel a bit uneasy. When three weeks had passed
and still no letter, I wrote again asking why she did
not answer my letters. In due time I heard from
her stating that she had been afraid I didn't love
her and that she had been told I was engaged to
Daisy, and as Daisy would be the heir to the money
and property of her parents she felt sure my marriage
to Miss Hinshaw would be more agreeable
to me than would a marriage with her, who had
only a kind heart and willing mind to offer, so she
had on the first day of April married one whom she
felt was better suited to her impoverished condition.</p>
<p>Now, what she had done was, in her effort to
break off the prolonged courtship of the little fellow
referred to in the early part of this story (and who
was still working for three dollars a week), she had
commenced going with another—a cook forty-two
years of age, and had thought herself desperately
in love with him at the time. I had not even
written to Miss Hinshaw and knew nothing whatever
of any engagement. I was much downcast
for a time, and like some others who have been
jilted, I grew the least bit wicked in my thoughts,
and felt she would not find life all sunshine and
roses with her forty-two-year-old groom. Lots
of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
excitement was on around Megory and Calias,
and as I liked excitement, I soon forgot the matter.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i192" name="i192"></a>
<img src="images/i192.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Had put 280 acres under cultivation. <a href="#Page_153">(Page 153.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>With the location of the land office in Megory
and its subsequent removal from east of the Missouri,
it was found there was only one building in
the town, outside of the banks, that contained a
vault, and a vault being necessary, it became expedient
for the commercial club to provide an
office that contained one. Two prosperous real-estate
dealers, whose office contained a vault,
readily turned over their building to the register
and receiver until the land office building, then
under construction, should be completed. A building
twenty-five by sixty feet was built in the street
just in front of the office, to be used as a temporary
map room, and to be moved away as soon as the
filing was over.</p>
<p>The holders of lucky numbers had been requested
to appear at a given hour on a certain day to offer
filings on Tipp county claims. By the time the
filing had commenced, the hotels of both towns
were filled, and tents covered all the vacant lots,
while one hundred and fifty or more autos, to be
hired at twenty-five dollars per day, did a rushing
business. The settlers seemed to be possessed of
abundant capital, and deposits in the local banks
increased out of all proportion to those of previous
times.</p>
<p>Besides the holders of numbers, hundreds of other
settlers, who had purchased land in Megory county,
were moving in at the same time, bringing stock,
machinery, household goods and plenty of money.
Those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>
were bountiful days for the locators and
land sharks.</p>
<p>When Megory county opened for settlement a
few years previous, it was found that the Indians
had taken practically all their allotments along the
streams, where wood and water were to be had.
The most of these allotments were on the Monca
bottom below Old Calias. In fact, they had taken
the entire valley that far up. The timber along
the creek was very small, being stunted from many
fires, and consisted mostly of cottonwood, elm,
box-elder, oak and ash. All but the oak and ash
being easily susceptible to dry rot, were unfit for
posts or anything except for shade and firewood.
This made the valley lands cheaper than the uplands.</p>
<p>The Indians were always selling and are yet,
what is furnished them by the government, for all
they can get. When given the money spends it as
quickly as he possibly can, buying fine horses, buggies,
whiskey, and what-not. Their only idea being that
it is to spend. The Sioux Indians, in my opinion,
are the wealthiest tribe. They owned at one time
the larger part of southern South Dakota and northern
Nebraska, and own a lot of it yet. Be it said,
however, it is simply because the government will
not allow them to sell.</p>
<p>The breeds near Old Calias were easily flattered,
and when the white people invited them to anything
they always came dressed in great regalia, but after
the settlers came there was not much inter-marrying,
such as there had been before. A family of
mixed-bloods by the name of Cutschall, owned
all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
the land just south of Old Calias, in fact the site
where Calias had stood, was formerly the allotment
of a deceased son. The father, known as
old Tom Cutschall, was for years a landmark on
the creek.</p>
<p>Now and then Nicholson Brothers had invited
the Cutschalls to some of their social doings, which
made the Cutschalls feel exalted, and higher still,
when Ernest suggested he could get them a patent
for their land and then would buy it. This suited
Cutschalls dandy. Ernest offered seven thousand
dollars for the section, and they accepted. At that
time, by recommending the Indian to be a competent
citizen and able to care for himself, a patent would
be granted on proper recommendation, and Nicholson
Brothers attended to that and got Mrs. Cutschall
the patent. Tom, her husband, being a white
man, could not be allotted, and she had been given
the section as the head of the family. It is said
they spent the seven thousand dollars in one year.
The company of which the father of the Nicholson
Brothers was president made a loan of eight thousand
dollars on the land, and shortly afterward
they sold it for twenty-three thousand dollars.
The lots had brought more than one hundred
thousand dollars in Calias and were still selling, so
this placed the "Windy Nicholsons," as they had
been called by jealous Megoryites, in a position of
much importance, and they were by this time recognized
as men of no small ability.</p>
<p>Years before Megory county was opened to settlement,
many white men had drifted onto the reservation
and had engaged in ranching, and had in
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
meantime married squaws. This appears to
have been done more by the French than any other
nationality, judging by the many French names
among the mixed-bloods. Among these were a
family by the name of Amoureaux, consisting of
four boys and several girls. The girls had all
married white men, and the little while Old Calias
was in existence, two of the boys, William and
George, used to go there often and were entertained
by the Nicholson Brothers with as much splendor
as Calias could afford. The Amoureaux were high
moguls in Little Crow society during the first two
years and everybody took off their hats to them.
They were called the "rich mixed-bloods," and were
engaged in ranching and owned great herds in Tipp
county. When they shipped it was by the trainloads.
The Amoureaux and the Colones, another
family of wealthy breeds, were married to white
women, and the husbands, as heads of families, held
a section of land and the children each held one
hundred and sixty acres.</p>
<p>Before the Nicholson Brothers had left Old
Calias and before they had reached the position
they now occupied, as I stated, they had shown the
Amoureaux a "good time." They did not have
much Indian blood in their veins, being what are
called quarter-breeds, having a French father and
a half-blood Indian mother, and were all fine looking.
George had seven children and the family
altogether had eleven quarter sections of land and
two thousand head of cattle, so there was no reason
why he should not have been the "big chief," but
so much society and paid-for notoriety had brought
about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
a change to him and his brother. William,
who had always been a money-maker and a still
bigger spender, with the fine looks thrown in, had
shown like a skyrocket before bursting.</p>
<p>A rich Indian is something worth associating
with, but a poor one is of small note. The Amoureaux
spent so freely that in a few years they were
all in, down and out—had nothing but their allotments
left, and these the government would not
give patents to, the Colones had done likewise, and
together they had all moved into Tipp county.</p>
<p>Now there was another Amoureaux, the oldest
one of the boys, who like the others had "blowed
his roll," but happened to have an allotment in
the very picturesque valley of the Dog Ear, in Tipp
county, near the center of the county, and when a
bunch of promoters decided to lay out a town they
made a deal with Oliver, taking him into the company,
he furnishing the land and they the brains.
They laid out the site and began the town, naming
it "Amoureaux" in honor of the breed, which made
Oliver feel very big, indeed.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2>
<p class="center">IN THE VALLEY OF THE DOG EAR</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">THE boom in Megory and Calias took
such proportions that it made every
investor prosperous, a goodly number
of whom sold out, settled in Amoureaux,
and the beautiful townsite soon became one of
the most popular trade centers in the new county.
It was the only townsite where trees stood, and
the investors thought it a great thing that they
would not have to wait a score of years to grow them.</p></div>
<p>Among the money investors in the town was old
Dad Durpee, the former Oristown and Megory stage
driver. When talking with him one day he told
me he had saved three thousand dollars while running
the stage line and had several good horses
besides. "Dad," as he was familiarly called, had
invested a part of his bank account in a corner
lot and put up a two-story building, and soon
became an Amoureaux booster. Old "Dad" opened
up a stage line between Calias and the new town,
but this line did not pay as well as the old one, for
no one rode with him except when the weather was
bad, as the people were all riding now in automobiles.
In a short time every line of business was
represented in Amoureaux and when the settlers
began to arrive, Amoureaux did a flourishing business.</p>
<p>In coming from Calias, the trail led over a monstrous
hill, and from the top "Amro," the name
having been shortened, nestling in the valley below,
reminding me of Mexico City as it appeared from
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
highlands near Cuernavaca. A party from
Hedrick, by the name of Van Neter, built a hotel
fifty by one hundred feet, with forty rooms, and
during the opening and filing made a small fortune.
The house was always full and high prices were
charged, and thus Amro prospered.</p>
<p>During the month of April the promoters succeeded
in having the governor call an election
to organize the county, the election to be held in
June following. The filing had been made in April
and May, and as conditions were, no one could
vote except cowboys, Indians and mixed-bloods.
In the election Amro won the county seat, and
settlers moving into the county were exceedingly
mortified over the fact, having to be governed
eighteen months by an outlaw set who had deprived
them of a voice in the organization of the county.
As Amro had won, it soon became the central city
and grew, as Calias had grown, and in a short time
had a half-dozen general stores, two garages, four
hotels, four banks, and every other line of business
that goes to make up a western town. Its four
livery barns did all the business their capacity would
permit, while the saloons and gamblers feasted on
the easy eastern cash that fell into their pockets.
In July the lot sales of the government towns were
held, but only one amounted to much, that town
being farthest west and miles from the eastern line
of the county. This was Ritten, and under a
ruling of the Interior Department, a deposit of
twenty-five dollars was accepted on an option of
sixty days, after which a payment of one-half the
price of the lot was required. Here it must be said
that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
almost every dollar invested on the Little Crow
had been doubled in a short time, and in many
instances a hundred dollars soon grew to a thousand
or more.</p>
<p>Practically all the lowest number holders had
filed around Ritten, including numbers one and two.
Ever since the opening of Oklahoma in 1901, when
number one took a claim adjoining the city of
Lawton, and the owner is said to have received
thirty thousand dollars for it, the holder of number
one in every opening of western land since has been
a very conspicuous figure, and this was not lost on
the holder of number one in Tipp county—who was
a divorced woman. She took her claim adjoining
the town of Ritten, which fact brought the town
considerable attention. The lots in the town
brought the highest price of any which had been
sold in any town on the Little Crow, up to that time,
several having sold for from one thousand, two hundred
to one thousand, four hundred dollars and one
as high as two thousand and fifty dollars.</p>
<p>The town of Amro, being surrounded by Indian
allotments, had few settlers in its immediate vicinity.
The Indians, profiting by their experience in Megory
county, where they learned that good location
meant increase in the value of their lands, had, in
selecting allotments, taken nearly all the land just
west of Amro, as they had taken practically all of
the good land just west of Calias in the eastern part
of Tipp county. The good land all over the county
had been picked over and the Indians had selected
much of the best, but Tipp county is a large one,
and several hundred thousand acres of good land
were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
available for homesteading, though much
scattered as to location.</p>
<p>When July arrived and still no surveyors for the
railroad company had put in their appearance, it
was feared that no extension work would be commenced
that year, but shortly after the lot sale at
Ritten, the surveyors arrived in the county and ran
a survey west from Calias eleven miles to a town
named after the Colones, referred to, striking the
town, then proceeding northwest, missing Amro
and crossing the Dog Ear about two miles north of
the town, then following a divide almost due west
to the county line on the west, running just south
of a conspicuous range of hills known as the "Red
Hills," missing every town in the county except
Colone. This caused a temporary check in the
excitement around Amro, but as it had the county
seat it felt secure, as a county seat means much to
a western village, and felt the railroad would eventually
go there. In fact the citizens of the town boasted
that the road could not afford to miss it, pointing
with pride to the many teams to be seen in her
streets daily and the bee-like activity of the town
in general. I visited the town many times, but
from the first time I saw the place I felt sure the
railroad would never go there as two miles to the
north was the natural divide, that the survey had
followed all the way from Colone to the Dog Ear
and on to the west side of the county, which is
a natural right-of-way. When I argued with the
people in the town, that Amro would not get the
railroad, I brought out a storm of protest.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2>
<p class="center">ERNEST NICHOLSON TAKES A HAND</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_a.jpg"
alt="A" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">AFTER completing the first survey, however,
the surveyors returned, and made
another that struck Amro. This survey
swerved off from the first survey to the
southwest between Colone and Amro and struck
the valley of a little stream known as Mud Creek,
which empties into the Dog Ear at Amro. But
being a most illogical route, I felt confident the
C. & R.W. had no intention of following it, perhaps
only making the survey out of courtesy to the people
in Amro, or possibly to show to the state railroad
commissioners, if they became insistent, why they
could not strike the town.</p></div>
<p>About this time Ernest Nicholson appeared on
the scene, and purchased a forty acre tract of land
north of the town, for which he paid fifty-five dollars
an acre, later paying ten thousand dollars for a
quarter, joining the forty. Still later he purchased
the entire section of heirship land, belonging to a
man named Jim Riggins, an Oristown city justice,
and a former squaw-man, whose deceased wife had
owned the land. For this section of land the
Nicholsons paid thirty-five thousand dollars. The
price staggered the people of Amro, who declared
Nicholson had certainly gone crazy. They set
up a terrible "howl." "What were the d— Nicholsons
sticking their noses into Tipp county towns
for? Were they not satisfied with Calias, where
they had grafted everybody out of their money?"
No,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>
the trouble, they all agreed, was that Ernest
wanted to run the country and wanted to be the
"big stick." But they consoled themselves for
awhile with the fact that Amro had the county seat
and was growing. The settlers were trading in
Amro, for Amro had what they needed. An indignation
meeting was held, where with much feeling
they denounced the actions of Ernest Nicholson
in buying land north of the town and announcing
that he would build a town such as the Little Crow
had never dreamed of, and that Amro should at
once begin to move over to the new townsite and
save money; but they were hot. Old Dad Durpee,
in his shirt sleeves, corduroy and boots, his shaggy
beard flowing, declared that the low-down, stinking,
lying cuss would not dare to ask him to move to
the town he had as yet not even named; but Ernest,
at the wheel of a big new sixty-horse power Packard,
continued to buy land along the railroad survey
all the way to the west line of the county. In fact
he bought every piece of land that was purchasable.</p>
<p>I watched this fight from the beginning, with
interest, for I had become well enough acquainted
with Ernest to feel that he knew what he was about.
When the surveyors had arrived in Calias, Ernest
had gone to Chicago. In declaring the road could
not miss Amro the people were much like inhabitants
of Megory had been a few years before. While
they prattled and allowed their ego to rule, they
should have been busy, and when it was seen that
the town might not get the railroad, they should
have gone to Chicago and seen Marvin Hewitt,
putting the proposition squarely before him, and
requested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
that if he could not give them the road, to
give them a depot, if they moved to the line of the
survey. By that time it was a town with two solid
blocks of business houses and many good merchants
and bankers. I often wondered how such men
could be so pinheaded, sitting back, declaring the
great C. & R.W. railway could not afford to miss
a little burg like Amro, but from previous observations
and experience I felt sure they would wait
until the last dog was dead, before trying to see
what they could do. And they did.</p>
<p>In the meantime the promoters, who were
nearly all from Megory or somewhere in Megory
county, had learned that Ernest Nicholson was
nobody's fool. They hooted the Nicholsons, along
with the rest of the town, declaring Ernest to be
anything but what he really was, until they had
roused enough excitement to make Amro seem like
a "good thing." Then they quietly sold their
interest to the Amoureaux Brothers, who raked up
about all that was left of the fortune of a few years
previous, and paid six thousand, six hundred dollars
for the interest of the promoters which made the
Amoureaux the sole owners of the townsite and
placed them in obvious control of the town's affairs,
and again in the white society they liked so well.</p>
<p>All the Calias lumber yards owned branch yards
at Amro and everybody continued to do a flourishing
business. The Amroites paid little attention
to the platting of the townsite to the north, nor
made a single effort to ascertain which survey the
railroad would follow, but continued to boast that
Amro would get the road. About this time Ernest
Nicholson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
called a meeting in Amro, inviting all
the business men to be present and hear a proposition
that he had to make, stating he hoped the
citizens of the town and himself could get together
without friction or ill-feeling. The meeting was
held in Durpee's hall and everybody attended;
some out of curiosity, some out of fear, and but
few with any expectation or intention of agreeing
to move to the north townsite. Ernest addressed
the meeting, first thanking them for their presence,
then plunged headlong into the purpose of the
meeting. He explained that it was quite impossible
for the road to go to Amro, this he had feared
before a survey was made, but that he had ascertained
while in Chicago that the road would not
strike Amro. He then read a letter from Marvin
Hewitt, the "man of destiny," so far as the location
of the railroad was concerned, which stated that the
road would be extended and the depot would be
located on section twenty, which was the section
Ernest had purchased. Then he brought up the
matter of the distribution of lots which was, that
to every person who moved or began to move to
the new townsite within thirty days, one-half of the
purchase price of the lot would be refunded. The
price of the business lots ranged from eight hundred
to two thousand dollars, while residence lots were
from fifty to three hundred. "Think it over," he
said, in closing, and was gone.</p>
<p>Needless to say they paid little attention to the
proposition. The Amro Journal "roasted" and
cartooned the Nicholson Brothers in the same way
Megory papers had done, on account of the town of
Calias.</p>
<p>After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
thirty days had elapsed, the Nicholsons
warned the people of Amro that it was the last
opportunity they would have to accept his proposition,
and when they paid no attention to his warning,
he named the new town. I shall not soon forget
how the people outside of the town of Amro laughed
over the name applied to the new town, as its application
to the situation was so accurate and descriptive
of later events, that I regret I must substitute
a name for the purposes of this story, but which is
the best I am able to find, "Victor."</p>
<p>Instead of moving to Victor, taking advantage
of choice of location and the purchase of a lot at
half price, the Amroites began making improvements
in their town, putting down cement walks
ten feet wide the length of the two business blocks
and walks on side streets as well. A school election
was called and as a result an eleven-thousand-dollar
school house was erected, a modern two-story building,
with basement and gymnasium. The building
was large enough to hold all the population of Amro
if all the men, women and children were of school
age, and still have room for many more. This act
brought a storm of criticism from the settlers, and
even many of the people of the town thought it
quite a needless extravagance; but Van Neter, who
was strong for education and for Amro, had put
it through and figured he had won a point. He was
the county superintendent. Most of the people
claimed the town would soon grow large enough
to require the building, and let it go at that.</p>
<p>People began drifting into Victor, buying lots
and putting up good buildings. Nicholsons announced
a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
lot sale and preparations began for much
active boosting for the new town. In the election
to be held a year later, they hoped to wrest the
county seat from Amro.</p>
<p>When Ernest Nicholson saw the improvements
being made in Amro and no sign of moving the
town, he began to scheme, and I could see that if
Amro wasn't going to move peacefully he would
help it along in some other way. However, nothing
was done before the lot sale, which was advertised
to take place in the lobby of the Nicholson Brothers'
new office building in Calias.</p>
<p>On the date advertised for the lot sale, crowds
gathered and many who had no intentions of investing,
attended the sale out of curiosity. I took
a crowd to Calias from Megory, among whom was
Joy Flackler, cashier of the Megory National Bank,
who stated that Frank Woodring had loaned the
Nicholsons fifty thousand dollars to buy the townsite.
Megoryites still held a grudge against the
Nicholsons, and Flackler seemed to wish they had
asked the loan of him so he might have had the
pleasure of turning them down.</p>
<p>The second day of the lot sale, a bunch of bartenders,
gamblers and Amro's rougher class appeared
on the scene and distributed handbills which
announced that Amro had contracted for a half
section on the survey north of the town and would
move in a body if moving was necessary. The
crowd styled themselves "Amro knockers," whose
purpose it was to show prospective lot buyers that
in purchasing Victor lots they were buying "a pig
in a poke." The knocking was done mostly in
saloons,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
where the knockers got drunk and were
promptly arrested before the sale started. The
sale went along unhindered. The auctioneer, standing
above the crowds, waxed eloquent in pointing
out the advantages, describing Sioux City on the
east and Deadwood and Lead on the west, and
explaining that eventually a city must spring up
in that section of the country, that would grow into
a prairie metropolis of probably ten thousand
people, and whether the crowd before him took his
eloquence seriously or not, they at least had the
chance at the choice of the lots and locations, and
eighty-four thousand dollars worth of lots were
sold.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i210" name="i210"></a>
<img src="images/i210.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Bringing stock, household goods, and plenty of money. <a href="#Page_177">(page 177.)</a></p>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2>
<p class="center">THE McCRALINES</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_a2.jpg"
alt="A" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">AS before mentioned, I was given largely
to observation and to reading and was
fairly well posted on current events.
I was always a lover of success and
nothing interested me more after a day's work in
the field than spending my evening hours in reading.
What I liked best was some good story with a moral.
I enjoyed reading stories by Maude Radford Warren,
largely because her stories were so very practical
and true to life. Having traveled and seen much
of the country, while running as a porter for the
P——n Company, I could follow much of her
writings, having been over the ground covered by
the scenes of many of her stories. Another feature
of her writings which pleased me was the fact that
many of the characters, unlike the central figures
in many stories, who all become fabulously wealthy,
were often only fairly successful and gained only
a measure of wealth and happiness, that did not
reach prohibitive proportions.</p></div>
<p>Perhaps I should not have become so set against
stories whose heroes invariably became multi-millionaires,
had it not been for the fact that many
of the younger members of my race, with whom I
had made acquaintance in my trips to Chicago
and other parts of the country, always appeared to
intimate in their conversation, that a person should
have riches thrust upon them if they sacrificed all
their "good times," as they termed it, to go out
west.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
Of course the easterner, in most stories,
conquers and becomes rich, that is, after so much
sacrifice. The truth is, in real life only about one
in ten of the eastern people make good at ranching
or homesteading, and that one is usually well
supplied with capital in the beginning, though of
course there are exceptions. Colored people are
much unlike the people of other races. For instance,
all around me in my home in Dakota were
foreigners of practically all nations, except Italians
and Jews, among them being Swedes, Norwegians,
Danes, Assyrians from Jerusalem, many Austrians,
some Hungarians, and lots of Germans and Irish,
these last being mostly American born, and also
many Russians. The greater part of these people
are good farmers and were growing prosperous
on the Little Crow, and seeing this, I worked the
harder to keep abreast of them, if not a little ahead.
This was my fifth year and still there had not been
a colored person on my land. Many more settlers
had some and Tipp county was filling up, but still
no colored people. My white neighbors had many
visitors from their old homes and but few but had
visitors at some time to see them and see what they
were doing.</p>
<p>During my visit to Kansas the spring previous,
I had found many prosperous colored families, most
of whom had settled in Kansas in the seventies
and eighties and were mostly ex-slaves, but were not
like the people of southern Illinois, contented and
happy to eke a living from the farm they pretended
to cultivate, but made their farms pay by careful
methods. The farms they owned had from a
hundred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
and sixty acres to six hundred and forty
acres, and one colored man there at that time owned
eleven hundred acres with twelve thousand dollars in
the bank.</p>
<p>Wherever I had been, however, I had always
found a certain class in large and small towns alike
whose object in life was obviously nothing, but
who dressed up and aped the white people.</p>
<p>After Miss Rooks had married I was again in the
condition of the previous year, but during the summer
I had written to a young lady who had been
teaching in M—boro and whom I had met while
visiting Miss Rooks. Her name was Orlean McCraline,
and her father was a minister and had
been the pastor of our church in M—pls when I
was a baby, but for the past seventeen years had
been acting as presiding elder over the southern
Illinois district. Miss McCraline had answered
my letters and during the summer we had been
very agreeable correspondents, and when in September
I contracted for three relinquishments of
homestead filings, I decided to ask her to marry
me but to come and file on a Tipp county claim
first.</p>
<p>To get the money for the purchase of the relinquishments,
I had mortgaged my three hundred
and twenty acres for seven thousand, six hundred
dollars, the relinquishments costing in the neighborhood
of six thousand, four hundred dollars.
October was the time when the land would be
open to homestead filing, and Miss McCraline had
written that she would like to homestead. After
sending my sister and grandmother the money to
come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
to Dakota, I went to Chicago, where I arrived
one Saturday morning. I had, since being in the
west, stopped at the home of a maiden lady about
thirty-five years of age, and in talking with her I
had occasion to speak of the family. Evidently
she did not know I had come to see Orlean, or that
I was even acquainted with the family. I spoke
of the Rev. McCraline and asked her if she knew
him.</p>
<p>"Who, old N.J. McCraline?" she asked.
"Humph," she went on with a contemptuous snort.
"Yes, I know him and know him to be the biggest
old rascal in the Methodist church. He's lower
than a dog," she continued, "and if it wasn't for
his family they would have thrown him out of the
conference long ago, but he has a good family and
for that reason they let him stay on, but he has no
principle and is mean to his wife, never goes out
with her nor does anything for her, but courts every
woman on his circuit who will notice him and has
been doing it for years. When he is in Chicago he
spends his time visiting a woman on the west side.
Her name is Mrs. Ewis."</p>
<p>This recalled to my mind that during the spring
I had come to Chicago I had become acquainted
with Mrs. Ewis' son and had been entertained at
their home on Vernon Avenue where at that time
the two families, McCraline and Ewis, rented a flat
together, and although I had seen the girls I had
not become acquainted with any of the McCraline
family then. Orlean was the older of the two girls.
What Miss Ankin had said about her father did not
sound very good for a minister, still I had known
in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
southern Illinois that the colored ministers
didn't always bear the best reputations, and some of
the colored papers I received in Dakota were continually
making war on the immoral ministers, but
since I had come to see the girl it didn't discourage
me when I learned her father had a bad name although
I would have preferred an opposite condition.</p>
<p>I went to the phone a few minutes after the conversation
with Miss Ankin and called up Miss
McCraline, and when she learned I was in the city
she expressed her delight with many exclamations,
saying she did not know I would arrive in the city
until the next day and inquired as to when I would
call.</p>
<p>"As nothing is so important as seeing you," I
answered, "I will call at two o'clock, if that is
agreeable to you."</p>
<p>She assured me that it was and at the appointed
hour I called at the McCraline home and was
pleasantly received. Miss McCraline called in her
mother, whom I thought a very pleasant lady. We
passed a very agreeable evening together, going
over on State street to supper and then out to
Jackson Park. I found Miss McCraline a kind,
simple, and sympathetic person; in fact, agreeable
in every way.</p>
<p>I had grown to feel that if I ever married I would
simply have to propose to some girl and if accepted,
marry her and have it over with. I was tired of
living alone on the claim and wanted a wife and love,
even if she was a city girl. I felt that I hadn't the
time to visit all over the country to find a farmer's
daughter. I had lived in the city and thought if
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
married a city girl I would understand her, anyway.
I could not claim to be in love with this girl,
nor with anyone else, but had always had a feeling
that if a man and woman met and found each other
pleasant and entertaining, there was no need of a
long courtship, and when we came in from a walk
I stated the object of my trip.</p>
<p>Miss McCraline was acquainted with a part of
the story for, as stated, she had been teaching in
M—boro at the time I went there to see Miss Rooks,
and had seen her take up with the cook and marry
foolishly. She had stated in her letters that she
had been glad that I wrote to her and that she
thought Miss Rooks had acted foolishly, and when
I explained my circumstances and stated the proposition
she seemed favorable to it. I told her to
think it over and I would return the next day and
explain it to her mother.</p>
<p>When I called the next morning and talked with
her and her mother, they both thought it all right
that Orlean should go to Dakota and file on the
homestead, then we would marry and live together
on the claim, but her mother added somewhat
nervously and apparently ill at ease, that I had
better talk with her husband. As the Reverend
was then some three hundred and seventy-five miles
south of Chicago attending conference, I couldn't see
how we could get together, but we put in the Sunday
attending church and Sunday School, and that evening
went to a downtown theatre where we saw
Lew Dokstader's minstrels with Neil O'Brien as
captain of the fire department, which was very
funny and I laughed until my head ached.</p>
<p>The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
next day was spent in trying to communicate
with the Reverend over the long distance but we
did not succeed. Fortunately, at about five o'clock
Mrs. Ewis came over from the west side. I had
known Mrs. Ewis to be a smart woman with a
deeper conviction than had Mrs. McCraline, whom
she did not like, but as Mrs. McCraline was in
trouble and did not know which way to turn, Mrs.
Ewis was approached with the subject. Orlean
was an obedient girl and although she wanted to
go with me, it was evident that I must get the consent
of her parents. She was nearly twenty-seven
years old and girls of that age usually wish to get
married. Her younger sister had just been married,
which added to her feeling of loneliness. The result
of the consultation with Mrs. Ewis, as she afterward
explained to me, was that it was decided that it
would not be proper for Orlean to go alone with
me but if I cared to pay her way she would accompany
us as chaperon. I was getting somewhat uneasy
as I had paid twelve hundred dollars into the
bank at Megory for the relinquishment, which I
would lose if someone didn't file on the claim by the
second of October. It was then about September
twenty-fifth and I readily consented to incur the
expense of her trip to Megory, where we soon
landed. While I had been absent my sister and
grandmother had arrived. On October first, all three
were ready to file on their claims, and Dakota's
colored population would be increased by three, and
four hundred and eighty acres of land would be
added to the wealth of the colored race in the state.
Hundreds of others had purchased relinquishments
and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
were waiting to file also. A ruling of the department
had made it impossible to file before October
first, and when it was seen that only a small
number would be able to file on that day, the register
and receiver inaugurated a plan whereby all desiring
to file on Tipp county claims should form a
line in front of the land office door, and when the
office opened, the line should file through the office
in the order in which they stood, and numbers would
be issued to them which would permit them to
return to the land office and make their filings in
turn, thereby avoiding a rush and the necessity
of remaining in line until admitted to the land office.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2>
<p class="center">A LONG NIGHT</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_p.jpg"
alt="P" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">PEOPLE began forming into line immediately
after luncheon, on the afternoon
of the last day of September and continued
throughout the afternoon. When
I saw such a crowd gathering, I got my folks into
the line. When it is taken into consideration that
the land office would not open until nine o'clock
the next morning, this seemed like a foolish proceeding.
It was then four o'clock and the crowd would
have to remain in line all night to hold their places
(to be exact, just seventeen hours). Remaining in
line all night was not pleasantly anticipated, and
nights in October in South Dakota are apt to get
pretty chilly, but the line continued to increase
and by ten o'clock the street in front of the land
office was a surging mass of humanity, mostly
purchasers of relinquishments, waiting for the opening
of the land office the next morning and to be in
readiness to protect the claim they had contracted
for. Hot coffee and sandwiches were sold and kept
appetites supplied, and drunks mixed here and there
in the line kept the crowd wakeful, many singing
and telling stories to enliven the occasion. I held
the place for my fiancee through the night, and although
I had become used to all kinds of roughness,
sitting up in the street all the long night was far
from pleasant.</p></div>
<p>About two o'clock in the morning, squatters, who
had spent the early part of the night on the prairie
in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
order to be on their claims after midnight, began
to arrive and took their places at the foot of the
line. All land not filed on by the original number
holders was to be open for filing as soon as the land
office opened, and squatters had from midnight until
the opening of the land office in which to beat the
man who waited to file, before locating on the land,
a squatters right holding first in such cases. Many
had hired autos to bring them in from the reservation
immediately after midnight, or as soon after
midnight as they had made some crude improvements
on the land. Many auto loads arrived with
a shout and claimants leaped from the tonneaus,
falling into line almost before the vehicles had
stopped. The line wound back and forth along the
street like a snake and formed into a compact mass.
Until after sunrise the noisy autos kept a steady
rush, dumping their weary passengers into the street.</p>
<p>By the time the land office opened in the morning,
the line filled the street for half a block, and fully
seventeen hundred persons were waiting for a chance
to enter the land office. An army of tired, swollen-eyed
and dusty creatures they appeared, some of
whom commenced dealing their positions in the line
to late comers, having gotten into line for speculation
purposes only, and offered their places for from
ten to twenty-five dollars, and in a few instances
places near the door sold for as high as fifty dollars.</p>
<p>Under a ruling of the land officials, no filings were
to be accepted except from holders of original
numbers until October first, and this ruling made it
expedient for holders of relinquishments of early
numbers to get into line early, as the six months
allowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
for establishing residence expired for the
first hundred original numbers on that day, and in
cases where residence had not been properly established,
the land would be open to contest as soon
as this period had expired. Many hundreds had
purchased relinquishments, hence the value placed
on the positions nearest the land-office door. It
was three o'clock by the time the line had passed
through the land office and received their numbers.
The land office closed at four o'clock for the day,
which left but one hour for the protection of those
who must offer their filings that day or face the
chances of a contest.</p>
<p>Some had protected their claims by going into
the land office before the ruling was made and filing
contests on the claims for which they held relinquishments,
but most of the buyers had not thought
of such a thing, and land grafters had complicated
matters by filing contests on various claims for which
they knew relinquishments would be offered and
then withdrawing the contest, for a consideration.
This practice met with strong disapproval as most
of the people had invested for the purpose of making
homes, and the laws made it impossible to change
the circumstances. These transactions had to be
completed before the line formed, however, as after
the line formed no one could enter the land office
to offer either filing, relinquishment or contest,
without a number issued by the officials. The line
was full of such grafters, and as not more than one
hundred filings could be taken in a day, it can readily
be seen that some of the relinquishment holders
were in danger of losing out through a contest
offered before they had an opportunity to file.</p>
<p>The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
crowds that flock to land openings, like other
games of chance, are made up in a measure of
speculators, people who journey to one of the
registration points and make application for land,
figuring that if they should draw an early number
(that is, in the first five hundred) they would file,
no thought of making a home, but simply to sell
the relinquishment for the largest possible price.</p>
<p>When the filings were made, about sixty had
dropped out of the first five hundred and even more
out of the second five hundred, evidently thinking
they were not likely to get enough for the relinquishment
to pay them for their trouble and original
investment, since it cost them a first payment of
two hundred and six dollars on the purchase price
of six dollars per acre and a locating fee of twenty-five
dollars, and in some cases the first expense
reached three hundred dollars. If the relinquishment
was not sold before the six months allowed
for establishing residence expired, it was necessary
to establish residence making sufficient improvement
for that purpose, or lose the money invested.</p>
<p>Out of the first four thousand numbers some two
thousand had filed, and practically half of this
number had contracted to sell their relinquishments.
The buyers had deposited the amount to be paid in
some bank to the credit of the claimant, to be turned
over when the purchaser had secured filing on the
land, the bank acting as agent between the parties
to the transaction.</p>
<p>I shall long remember October 1, 190— in Megory—called
the "Magic City," and claiming a
population of three thousand, but probably not
exceeding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
one thousand, five hundred actual inhabitants,
though filled with transients from the
beginning of the rush a year before, and had at no
time during this period less than two thousand, five
hundred persons in the town.</p>
<p>My bride-to-be and my grandmother had received
numbers 138 and 139 which would likely
be called to file the second day, while my sister
received 170. On the afternoon of the second,
Orlean, and my grandmother, who had
raised a family in the days of slavery, and was
then about seventy-seven years of age, were called,
and came out of the land office a few minutes later
with their blue papers, receipts for the two hundred
six dollars, first payment and fees, which I had given
the agent before they entered the land office. Their
agent went into the land office with them to see
that they got a straight filing, which they received.
My sister, however, was not called that day and the
next day being Sunday, she would not be called until
the following Monday.</p>
<p>The place my grandmother had filed on had been
bought by a Megory school teacher, who had paid
one thousand, four hundred dollars to a real estate
dealer for the relinquishment of the same place.
The claimant had issued two relinquishments, which
was easy enough to do, though the relinquishment
accompanied by his land office receipt was the only
bona fide one and we had the receipt. The teacher
had stood in line the long night through, behind
my sister and then lost the place. The dealer who
sold her the relinquishment was very angry, as he
was to get six hundred dollars in the deal, giving
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
claimant only eight hundred. When I learned
this and that the teacher had lost out I was very
sorry for her, but it was a case of "first come first
served," and many other mix-ups between buyers
and dealers had occurred. I went to the teacher
and apologized as best I could. She looked very
pitiful as she told me how she had taught so many
years to save the money and her dreams had been
of nothing but securing a claim. Her eyes filled
with tears and she bent her head and began crying,
and thus I left her.</p>
<p>The next morning I sent Miss McCraline and
Mrs. Ewis back to Chicago and proceeded to the
claims of my sister and grandmother, which I found
to be good ones. I had whirled around them in an
auto before I bought them, and though being satisfied
that they laid well I had not examined the soil or
walked across them.</p>
<p>In a week I had two frame houses, ten by ten, built
on them and within another week they had commenced
living on them. Shortly after they moved
onto the claims came one of the biggest snowstorms
I had ever seen. It snowed for days and then came
warm weather, thawing the snow, then more snow.
The corn in the fields had not been gathered nor
was it all gathered before the following April.</p>
<p>Most of the settlers in the new county were from
twenty to fifty miles from Calias and winter caught
many of them without fuel, and the suffering from
cold was intense. The snow continued to fall
until it was about four feet deep on the level.
Fortunately I had hauled enough coal to last my
folks through the winter, and they had only to
get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
to Ritten, a distance of eight miles, to get food.
I had just gathered two loads out of a ninety-acre
field. Being snowbound, with nothing to do, I
watched the fight between Amro and Victor, with
interest.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2>
<p class="center">THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_a.jpg"
alt="A" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">AFTER the lot sale Amro still refused
to move. It was then Ernest Nicholson
said the town had to be overcome somehow
and he had to do it. The business
men of the town continued to hold meetings and pass
resolutions to stick together. They argued that all
they had to do to save the town was to stick together.
This was the slogan of each meeting. The county seat
no doubt held them more than the meetings, but
it was not long before signs of weakening began to
appear here and there along the ranks.</p></div>
<p>Victor to the north, in the opinion of the people
abroad, would get the road; lots were being bought
up and business people from elsewhere were continuing
to locate and erect substantial buildings
in the new town, and then it was reported that Geo.
Roane, who had recently sold his livery barn in
Amro where he had made a bunch of money, had
bought five lots in Victor, paying fancy prices for
them but getting a refund of fifty per cent if he
moved or started his residence hotel by January first.
This report could not be confirmed as Roane could
not be found, but soon conflicting reports filled the
air and old Dad Durpee, who loved his corner lot
in Amro like a hog loves corn, made daily trips up
and down Main street, railing the boys. The more
he talked the more excited he became. "My good
men!" he would shout, with his arms stretched
above his head like Billy Sunday after preaching
awhile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
"Stick together! Stick together! We've
got the best town in the best county, in the best
state in the best country in the world. What more
do you want?" He would fairly rave, with his
old eyes stretched widely open, and his shaggy
beard flowing in the breeze. He continued this
until he bored the people and weakened the already
weakening forces.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i228" name="i228"></a>
<img src="images/i228.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Were engaged in ranching and owned great herds in Tipp county. <a href="#Page_180">(Page 180.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>There were many good business men in Amro,
among them young men of sterling qualities, college-bred,
ambitious and with dreams of great success
and of establishing themselves securely. Many of
them had sweethearts in the east, and desired
to make a showing and profit as well, and how
were they to do this in a town in which even outsiders,
though they might not admire the Nicholsons,
were predicting failure for those who remained, and
declaring they were foolish to stay. This young
blood was getting hard to control, and to hold them
something more had to be done than declaring
Ernest Nicholson to be trying to wreck the town
and break up their homes. Poor fools—I would
think, as I listened to them, talking as though
Ernest Nicholson had anything to do with the railroad
missing the town. It was simply the mistaken
location.</p>
<p>It had been an easy matter for the promotors,
whose capital was mostly in the air, to locate Amro
on the allotment of Oliver Amoureaux, because
they could do so without paying anything, and did
not have to pay fifty-five dollars an acre for deeded
land as Nicholson had done. Being centrally
located and with enough buildings to encourage
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
building of more, they induced the governor
to organize the county when few but illiterate
Indians and thieving mixed-bloods could vote,
fairly stealing the county seat before the bona-fide
settlers had any chance to express themselves on
the matter. They had doggedly invested more
money in cement walks and other improvements,
when disinterested persons had criticized their
actions, loading the township with eleven thousand
dollars, seven per cent interest bearing bonds, that
sold at a big discount, to build a school house large
enough for a town three times the size of Amro.
This angered the settlers and being dissatisfied because
they were disfranchised by the rascals who engineered
the plan, Amro began rapidly to lose outside
sympathy.</p>
<p>Ernest Nicholson had a pleasing personality and
forceful as well. He was a king at reasoning and
whenever a weak Amroite was in Calias he was invited
into the townsite company's office which was
luxuriously furnished, the walls profusely decorated
with the pictures of prominent capitalists and
financiers of the middle west, some of whom were
financing the schemes of the fine looking young
men who were trying to show these struggling
waifs of the prairie the inevitable result.</p>
<p>All that was needed was to break into the town
in some way or other, for it was essential that Amro
be absorbed by Victor before the election, ten months
away. The town should be entirely broken up.
If it still existed, with or without the road, it had
a good chance of holding the county seat. A county
seat is a very hard thing to move. In fact, according
to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
the records of western states, few county seats
have ever been moved.</p>
<p>Megory's county seat was located forty miles
from Megory, in the extreme east end of the county,
where the county ran to a point and the river on
the north and the south boundary of the county
formed an acute angle; yet the county seat remains
at Fairview and the voters keep it there, where no
one but a handful of farmers and the few hundred
inhabitants of the town reside. When trying to
remove the county seat every town in the county
jumps into the race, persisting in the contention
that their town is the proper place for the county
seat and when election comes, the farmers who
represent from sixty-five to ninety per cent of the
vote in states like Dakota, vote for the town nearest
their farm, thinking only of their own selfish interests
and forgetting the county's welfare, as the
victor must have a majority of all votes cast.
Another example of this condition is near where this
story is written, on the east bank of the Missouri.
It is a place called Keeler, the most God-forsaken
place in the world, with only three or four ramshackle
buildings and a post office, with little or no country
trade, yet this is a county seat, the capital of one
of the leading counties of the state; while half a
dozen good towns along the line of the C.M. & St.
L. road, cart their records and hold court in Keeler,
twenty miles from the railroad. Every four years
for thirty years the county seat has been elected
to stay at Keeler, as no town can get a majority
of all votes cast against Keeler, which doesn't even
enter the race.</p>
<p>All<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
of these facts had their bearing on Ernest
Nicholson in his office at Calias, and had helped
to hold Amro together, until Van Neter was called
into Calias and into the private office of "King
Ernest" as Amro had named him. What passed
in that office at this interview is a matter of conjecture,
but when Van Neter came out of the office
he carried a check for seven thousand, five hundred
dollars and Ernest Nicholson became the owner
of the two-story, fifty by one hundred foot hotel and
lot, Amro's most popular corner. When this news
reached Amro pandemonium reigned, business men
passed from one place of business to another talking
in low tones, and shaking their heads significantly,
while old Dad Durpee, nearer maniac than ever
before, went the rounds of the town shouting in
a high staccato tone: "What do you think of it?
What do you think of the ornery, low-down rascal's
selling out. Selling out to that band of dirty
thieves and town wreckers. By the living gods!"
With his arms folded like a tragedian, eyes rolled
to the skies and his form reared back until his knees
stuck forward, then raising his hand he solemnly
swore: "I'll stay in Amro! I'll stay in Amro!
I'll stay in Amro," until his voice rose to a hoarse
scream. "I'll stay in Amro until the town is deserted
to the last d—n building and the last dog
is dead." And he did, though I cannot say as to
the last dog.</p>
<p>Nicholson had the hotel closed and although the
snow was more than knee-deep on the level, a force
of carpenters at once began cutting the building in
two, preparatory to moving it to the new town.
Old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
Machalacy Finn, a one-armed, hatchet-faced
Irishman, with a long sandy mustache and pop-eyes,
who had moved brick buildings in the windy
city, was sent to Amro and declared in Joe Cook's
saloon that he'd put that damned crackerbox in
Victor in fifteen days, and armed with a force of
carpenters and laborers, the plaster was soon knocked
off the walls of the largest and best building in
Amro and thrown into the streets; while the new
cement walks, only fifty feet in front and one hundred
by eight at the side, were broken into slabs and
piled roughly aside, then huge timbers twenty-four
by thirty-two inches and sixty feet long, from the
redwood forests of Washington, followed the jack-screws
and blocks under the building. Two
sixty-horse power mounted tractors, with double
boilers and horse power locomotive construction,
low wheels and high cabs, where the engineer
perched like a bird, steamed into the town and
prepared to pull the structure from its foundations.</p>
<p>The crowd gathered to watch as the powerful
engines began to cough and roar, with an occasional
short puff, like fast passenger engines on the New
York Central, the power being sufficient to tear
the building to splinters. Creaking in every joint,
the hotel building began slowly moving out into
the street.</p>
<p>The telephone wires, which belonged to the
Nicholsons, had been cut and thrown aside and the
town was temporarily without telephonic communication.
The powerful engines easily pulled the
hotel between banks of snow, which had been
shoveled aside to make room for the passing of the
building<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
across the grades and ditches and on toward
Victor. A block and tackle was used whenever the
building became stuck fast and in a few days the
hotel was serving the public on a corner lot in
Victor, where it added materially to the appearance
of the town.</p>
<p>Following in the footsteps of old Calias, the town,
now being broken by the removal of the hotel, the
dark cellar over which it stood gaping like an open
grave, to be gazed into at every turn, became of
small consequence, and in Victor the price of corner
lots had advanced from one thousand, five
hundred to two thousand and three thousand
dollars, while inside lots were being offered
at from one thousand, two hundred to one
thousand, eight hundred dollars which had formerly
priced from eight hundred to one thousand, two
hundred dollars. This did not discourage those
who wanted to move to the new town. All that
was desired by former rock-ribbed Amroites was
to get to Victor. They talked nothing but Victor.
The name of Amro was almost forgotten.</p>
<p>Before the hotel building had fairly left the town,
other traction engines were brought to the town.
The snow was a great hindrance and to get coal
hauled from Calias cost seventy-five cents a hundred.
Labor and board was high, and in fact all prices
for everything were very high. It was in the middle
of one of the cold winters of the plains, but money
had been made in Amro and was offered freely in
payment for moving to the new town. It was
bitter cold and the snow was light and drifting,
the ground frozen under the snow two feet deep,
but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>
the frozen ground would hold up the buildings
better than it would when the warm weather came
and started a thaw. The soil being underlaid with
sand it would be impossible to move buildings over
it, if rain should come, as it would be likely to do in
the spring, and with the melted snow to hinder, it
would then be very difficult to move the buildings.
It was small wonder that they were anxious to get
away from the disrupted town at this time, and the
road between Amro and Victor became a much
used thoroughfare.</p>
<p>The traction engines pounding from early morning
until late at night filled the air with a noise as
of railroad yards, while the happy faces of the owners
of the buildings arriving in Victor, and the anxious
ones waiting to be moved, gave material for interesting
study of human nature.</p>
<p>George Roane had built a new barn in Victor and
was much pleased over having sold the old one in
Amro before the town went to pieces, thereby saving
the expense of removal and getting a refund of
fifty per cent of the purchase price of the lots he
purchased in Victor. Many buildings continued
to arrive from Amro, and new ones being erected
did credit to the name of the new town by growing
faster than any of the towns on the reservation,
including Calias or Megory.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2>
<p class="center">EAST OF STATE STREET</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">I HAD in due time heard from Orlean saying
she and Mrs. Ewis had arrived safely
home. She wrote: "When I came into
the house mama grabbed me and held
me for a long time as though she was afraid I was
not real. She had been so worried while I was
away and was so glad I had returned before father
came." They had received a telegram from her
father saying that he had again been appointed
presiding elder of the Cairo district and would be
home within a few days.</p></div>
<p>I judged from what Mrs. Ewis had told me that
the Reverend was not much of a business man and
a hard one to make understand a business proposition
or to reason with. He had only two children,
and Orlean, as Mrs. Ewis informed me, was his
favorite. She had always been an obedient girl,
was graduated from the Chicago high school and
spent two years at a colored boarding school in Ohio
that was kept up by the African M.E. Church, had
taught two years, but had not secured a school that
year.</p>
<p>She had saved a hundred dollars out of the money
she had earned teaching school. The young man
who married her sister worked for a trading-stamp
corporation and received thirteen dollars a week,
while the Reverend was supposed to receive about
a thousand dollars a year as presiding elder. There
were some twelve or fifteen churches on his circuit,
where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
quarterly conference was held every three
months, and each church was expected to contribute
a certain amount at that time. Each member was
supposed to give twenty-five cents, which they did
not always do.</p>
<p>In a town like M—boro, for instance, where the
church had one hundred members, not over twenty-five
are considered live members; that is, only
twenty-five could be depended upon to pay their
quarterly dues regularly, the others being spasmodic,
contributing freely at times or nothing at
all for a long time.</p>
<p>Orlean often laughed as she told me some of the
many ways her father had of making the "dead
ones" contribute, but with all the tricks and turns
the position was not a lucrative one, there being
no certainty as to the amount of the compensation.
Mrs. Ewis told me the family had always been poor
and got along only by saving in every direction.
I could see this as Orlean seemed to have few clothes
and had worn her sister's hat to Dakota.</p>
<p>Her sister was said to be very mean and disagreeable,
and if anyone in the family had to do
without anything it was never the sister. She was
quarrelsome and much disliked while Orlean was
the opposite and would cheerfully deprive herself
of anything necessary. Her mother, Mrs. Ewis
went on to tell me, was a "devil, spiteful and mean
and as helpless as a baby." I believed a part of
this but not all. I had listened to Mrs. McCraline,
and while I felt she was somewhat on the helpless
order, I did not believe she was mean, nor a "devil."
Meanness and deviltry are usually discernible in
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
eyes and I had seen none of it in the eyes of
either Mrs. McCraline or Orlean, but I did not like
Ethel, and from what little Miss Ankin told me about
the Reverend I was inclined to believe that he was
likely to be the "devil," and Mrs. Ewis' information
regarding Mrs. McCraline was probably inspired
by jealousy.</p>
<p>I remembered that back in M—pls the preachers'
wives were timid creatures, submissive to any order
or condition their "elder" husbands put upon them,
submitting too much in order to keep peace, never
raising a row over the gossip that came to their
ears from malicious "sisters" and church workers.
As long as I could remember the colored ministers
were accused of many ugly things concerning them
and the "sisters," mostly women who worked in
the church, but I had forgotten it until I now began
hearing the gossip concerning Rev. McCraline.</p>
<p>Orlean, her father and her brother-in-law had
begun buying a home on Vernon avenue for which
they were to pay four thousand, five hundred dollars.
Of this amount three hundred dollars had been paid,
one hundred by each of them. It was a nice little
place, with eight rooms and with a stone front.
Ethel had not paid anything, using her money in
preparation for her wedding, which had taken place
in September. Claves and her father had spent
two hundred on it, which seemed very foolish, and
were pinched to the last cent when it was done.</p>
<p>Claves had borrowed five dollars from his brother
when they went on the wedding trip, to pay for a
taxi to the depot. The wedding tour and honeymoon
lasted two weeks and was spent in Racine,
Wisconsin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
sixty miles north of Chicago. They
had just returned when I went to Chicago. When
I first called, Mrs. Claves did not come down but
when we returned to the house she condescended
to come down and shake hands. She put on enough
airs to have been a king's daughter.</p>
<p>With the three hundred dollars already paid on
the home, they figured they should be able to pay
for it in seven years in monthly installments of
thirty-five dollars, paying the interest upon the
principal at the same time, excepting two thousand
which was in a first mortgage and drew five per cent
and payable semi-annually. The house was in a
quiet neighborhood much unlike the south end of
Dearborn street and Armour avenue where none
but colored people live.</p>
<p>The better class of Chicago's colored population
was making a strenuous effort to get away from the
rougher set, as well as to get out of the black belt
which is centered around Armour, Dearborn, State
and Thirty-first. Here the saloons, barbershops,
restaurants and vaudeville shows are run by colored
people, also the clubs and dance houses. East from
State street to the lake, which is referred to by the
colored people of the city as "east of State," there
is another and altogether different class. Here for
a long while colored people could hardly rent or
buy a place, then as the white population drifted
farther south, to Greenwood avenue, Hyde Park,
Kenwood and other parts now fashionable districts,
some of the avenues including Wabash, Rhodes,
Calumet, Vernon and Indiana began renting to
colored people and a few began buying.</p>
<p>Chicago<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
is the Mecca for southern negroes. The
better class continued to desert Dearborn and Armour
and paid exorbitant rent for flats east of State
street. Some lost what they had made on Armour
avenue where rent was sometimes less than one-half
what was charged five blocks east, and had to move
back to Armour. As more colored people moved
toward the lake more white people moved farther
south, rent began falling and real estate dealers
began offering former homes of rich families first
for rent then for sale, and many others began buying
as Rev. McCraline had done, making a small cash
payment, and in this way otherwise unsalable
property was disposed of at from five to ten per cent
more than it would have brought at a cash sale.</p>
<p>The place they were buying could have been purchased
for three thousand, eight hundred dollars or
four thousand dollars in cash. After moving east
of State street, these people formed into little sets
which represented the more elite, and later developed
into a sort of local aristocracy, which was
not distinguished so much by wealth as by the airs
and conventionality of its members, who did not
go to public dances on State street and drink "can"
beer. Here for a time they were secure from the
vulgar intrusion of the noisy "loud-mouths," as
they called them, of State street. The last time I
was in Chicago State street, the "dead line," had
been crossed and a part of Wabash avenue is almost
as noisy and vulgar as Dearborn. Beer cans,
rough clubs and dudes were becoming as familiar
sights as on Armour, and a large part of that part
of the east side is so filled up with colored people
that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
it is only a question of time until it will be a
part of the black belt.</p>
<p>Orlean's brother-in-law had come to Chicago
several years previous from a stumpy farm in the
backwoods of Tennessee. He was the son of a
jack-legged preacher and was very ignorant, but
had been going with the girl he married some six
years and she had trained him out of much of it
and when he finally figured in the two hundred
dollar wedding referred to, he felt himself admitted
into society and highly exalted. He thought the
Reverend a great man, Mrs. Ewis had told me, referring
to him as a Simian-headed negro who tried
to walk and act like the Reverend. The
McCralines, especially Ethel, referred to themselves
as the "best people." I thought they were. They
were not wicked, and I also guessed that Ethel felt
very "aristocratic," and I wondered whether I
would like the Reverend. He seemed to be regarded
as a sort of monarch judging from the way he was
spoken of by the family, but I had a "hunch" that
he and I were not going to fall in love with each
other. Still I hoped not to be the one to start any
unpleasantness and would at least wait until I met
him before forming an opinion. I received a letter
from him when he returned from the conference.
He did not write a very brilliant letter but was
very reasonable, and tried to appear a little serious
when he referred to my having his daughter come
to South Dakota and file on land. He concluded
by saying he thought it a good thing for colored
people to go west and take land.</p>
<p>I received another letter from Orlean about the
same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
time telling me how her father had scolded her
about going to the theatre with me the Sunday
night I had taken her, and pretended, as he had to
me, to be very serious about the claim matter, but
she wrote like this: "I know papa, and I could see
he was just pleased over it all that he just strutted
around like a rooster." She wanted to know when
I was going to send the ring, but as I had not thought
about it I do not recall what answer I made her, but
do remember that my trip to get her and Mrs. Ewis
and send them home again, including my own
expenses, amounted to one hundred sixty dollars,
besides the cost of the land, and having had to pay
my sister's and grandmother's way also and get
them started on their homesteads had taken all
of the seven thousand, six hundred dollars I had
borrowed on my land; that I was snow-bound with
my corn in the field and my wheat still unthreshed.
I began to write long letters trying to reason this
out with her. She was willing to listen to reason
but seemed so unhappy without the ring, and I
imagined as I read her letters that I could see tears.
She said when a girl is engaged she feels lost without
a ring, "and, too," here she seemed to emphasize
her words, "everybody expects it." I was sure
she was telling the truth, for with girls "east of
State street," and west as well, the most important
thing in an engagement is the ring, sometimes being
more important than the man himself.</p>
<p>When I lived in Chicago and since I had been
living in Dakota and going to Chicago once a year,
I knew that Loftis Brothers had more mortgages
on the moral future and jobs of the young society
men,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
for the diamonds worn by their sweethearts
or wives, than would appear comforting to the
credit man. It made no difference what kind of
a job a man might have, as all the way from a boot-black
or a janitor to head waiters and post-office
clerks were included, and their women folks wore
some size of a diamond. I asked myself what I was
to do. I could not hope to begin changing customs,
so I bought a forty dollar diamond set in a small
eighteen-karat ring which "just fit," as she wrote
later in the sweetest kind of a letter.</p>
<p>I had written I was sorry that I could not be
there to put it on (such a story!). I had never
thought of diamond rings or going after my wife
after spending so much on preliminaries. What I
had pictured was what I had seen, while running
to the Pacific coast, girls going west to marry their
pioneer sweethearts, who sent them the money or
a ticket. They had gone, lots of them, to marry
their brawny beaux and lived happily "ever after,"
but the beaux weren't negroes nor the girls colored.
Still there are lots of colored men who would be
out west building an empire, and plenty of nice
colored girls who would journey thither and wed, if
they really understood the opportunities offered; but
very few understand the situation or realize the
opportunities open to them in this western country.</p>
<p>I had expected to get married Christmas but the
snow had put a stop to that plan. Besides, I was
so far behind in my work and had no place to bring
my wife. I had abandoned my little "soddy"
and was living in a house on the old townsite, where
I intended staying until spring. Then I would
build<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
and move onto my wife's homestead in Tipp
county. When Christmas came grandma and sister
came down from Ritten and stayed while I went to
Chicago. I could scarcely afford it but it had become
a custom for me to spend Christmas in Chicago
and I wanted to know Orlean better and I wanted
to meet her father. I had written her that I wasn't
coming and when I arrived in the city and called
at the house her mother was surprised, but pleasantly.
I thought she was such a kind little soul.
She promised not to tell Orlean I was in the city,
(Orlean had secured a position in a downtown store—ladies'
furnishings—and received five-fifty per week)
but couldn't keep it and when I was gone she called
up Orlean and told her I was in the city. When
I called in the evening, instead of surprising Orlean,
I was surprised myself. The Reverend hadn't
arrived from southern Illinois but was expected
soon.</p>
<p>Orlean had worked long enough to buy herself
a new waist and coat, and Mrs. Ewis, who was a
milliner, had given her a hat, and she was dressed
somewhat better than formerly. The family had
wanted to give her a nice wedding, like Ethel's,
but found themselves unable to do so. The semiannual
interest on their two-thousand-dollar loan
would be due in January and a payment also, about
one hundred and fifty dollars in all. The high
cost of living in Chicago did not leave much out of
eighteen dollars and fifty cents per week, and colored
people in southern Illinois are not very prompt
in paying their church dues, especially in mid-winter;
in fact, many of them have a hard time
keeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
away from the poorhouse or off the county,
and when the Reverend came home he was very
short of money.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i246" name="i246"></a>
<img src="images/i246.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">As the people were now all riding in autos. <a href="#Page_182">(Page 182.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>I remember how he appeared the evening I
called. He had arrived in town that morning.
He was a large man standing well over six feet and
weighed about two hundred pounds, small-boned
and fleshy, which gave him a round, plump appearance,
and although he was then near sixty not a
wrinkle was visible in his face. He was very dark,
with a medium forehead and high-bridged nose,
making it possible for him to wear nose-glasses, the
nose being very unlike the flat-nosed negro. The
large square upper-lip was partly hidden by a
mustache sprinkled with gray, and his nearly white
hair, worn in a massive pompadour, contrasted
sharply with the dark skin and rounded features.
His great height gave him an unusually attractive
appearance of which he, I later learned, was well
aware and made the most. In fact, his personal
appearance was his pride, but his eye was not the
eye of an intelligent or deep thinking man. They
reminded me more of the eyes of a pig, full but
expressionless, and he could put on airs, such a
drawing-up and spreading-out, seeming to give
the impression of being hard to approach.</p>
<p>When introduced to him I had another "hunch"
we were not going to like each other. I was always
frank, forward and unafraid, and his ceremonious
manner did not affect me in the least. I went
straight to him, taking his hand in response to the
introduction and saying a few common-place things.
They were very home-like for city people, inviting
me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
to supper and treating me with much respect.
The head of the table was occupied by the Reverend
when he was at home and by Claves when the
Reverend was away. I could readily see where
Ethel got her airs. It took him about thirty
minutes to get over his ceremonious manner, after
which we talked freely, or rather, I talked. He was
a poor listener and, although he never cut off my
discourse in any way, he didn't listen as I had been
used to having people listen, apparently with encouragement
in their eyes, which makes talking a
pleasure, so I soon ceased to talk. This, however,
seemed still more awkward and I grew to feel a
trifle displeased in his company.</p>
<p>On the following Sunday we went to morning
service on Wabash avenue at a big stone structure.
It appeared to be a rule of the household that the
girls should go out together. This displeased me
very much, as I had grown to dislike Ethel and
Claves did not interest me. Both talked of society
and "swell people" they wanted me to meet, putting
it in such a way as to have me feel I was meeting
my betters, while the truth of the matter was that
I did not desire to meet any of their friends nor to
have them with us anywhere we went. When
church services were over we went to spend the
time before Sunday School opened, with some
friends of theirs named Latimer, who lived on Wabash
avenue near the church, and who were so nearly
white that they could easily have passed for white
people.</p>
<p>The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Latimer
and Mr. Latimer's sister, and were the most interesting
people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>
I had ever met on any of my trips
to Chicago. They inquired all about Dakota and
whether there were many colored settlers in the
state, listening to every word with careful attention
and approving or disapproving with nods and
smiles. While they were so deeply interested,
Claves, who had a reputation for "butting in" and
talking too much, interrupted the conversation,
blurting out his opinion, stopping me and embarrassing
them, by stating that colored people had
been held in slavery for two hundred years and
since they were free they did not want to go out into
the wilderness and sit on a farm, but wanted to be
where they could have freedom and convenience,
and this was sanctioned by a friend of Claves's
who was still more ignorant than he. This angered
Orlean and when we were outside even Ethel expressed
her disgust at Claves' ignorance.</p>
<p>They told me that the Latimers were very well-to-do,
owning considerable property besides the
three-story building where they lived. To me this
accounted for their careful attention, for it is my
opinion that when you find a colored man or woman
who has succeeded in actually doing something,
and not merely pretending to, you will find an interesting
and reasonable person to converse with,
and one who will listen to a description of conditions
and opportunities with marked intelligence.</p>
<p>Orlean and I attended a few shows at the downtown
theatres during the week, the first being a
pathetic drama which our friends advised us to see
entitled "Madam X". I did not like it at all. The
leading character is the wife of a business man who
has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
left her husband and remains away from him two
years, presumably discouraged over his lack of
affection; is very young and wants to be loved, as
the "old story" goes, and the husband is too busy
to know that she is unhappy. She returns after
two years and asks forgiveness and love, but is
turned away by the husband. Twenty years later,
in the closing act, a court scene decorates the stage;
a woman is on trial for killing the man she has lived
with unlawfully. She had been a woman of the
street and lived with many others before living with
the one murdered. The young lawyer who has
her case, is her son, although he is not aware of this
fact. He has just been admitted to the bar and
this is his first case, having been appointed to the
defense by the court. He takes the stand and
delivers an eloquent address on behalf of the woman,
who appears to be so saturated with liquor and
cocaine as to be quite oblivious of her surroundings.
She expires from the effect of her dissipations, but
just before death she looks up and recognizes her
son, she having been the young wife who left her
home twenty-two years before. The unhappy
father, who had suffered as only a deserted husband
can and who had prayed for many years for the
return of the wife, is present in the court room and
together with the son, are at her side in death. As
the climax of the play is reached, suppressed sobs
became audible in the balcony, where we had seats.
The scene was pathetic, indeed, and I had hard
work keeping back the tears while my betrothed was
using her handkerchief freely.</p>
<p>What I did not like about the play was the fact
of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
her going away and taking up an immoral life
instead of remaining pure and returning later to
her husband. The husband, as the play goes, had
not been a bad man and was unhappy throughout
the play, and I argued this with Orlean all the way
home. Why did she not remain good and when she
returned he could have gathered her into his arms
and "lived happy ever after." Not only my fiancee
but most other women I have talked with about
the play contend that he could have taken her back
when she returned and been good to her. The man
who wrote the play may have been a tragedian but
the management that put it on the road knew a
money-maker and kept it there as long as the people
patronized the box office.</p>
<p>The next play we attended suited me better as,
to my mind, it possessed all that "Madam X"
lacked and, instead of weakness and an unhappy
ending, this was one of strength of character and
a happy finale. It was "The Fourth Estate," by
Joseph Medill Patterson, who served his apprenticeship
in writing on the Chicago Tribune. It
was a newspaper play and its interest centered
around one Wheeler Brand, who, through the purchase
of a big city daily by a western man, with the
bigness to hand out the truth regardless of the
threats of the big advertisers, becomes managing
editor. He relentlessly goes after one Judge Barteling
whose "rotten" decisions had but sufficed to
help "big business" and without regard to their
effect upon the poor. The one really square decision
was recalled before it took effect. To complicate
matters the young editor loves the judge's
daughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
and while Brand holds a high place
in Miss Barteling's regard, he is made to feel
that to retain it he must stop the fight on her
father. Brand pleads with her to see the moral
of it but is unable to change her views. One evening
Brand secures a flashlight photo and telephone
witnesses of an interview with the judge, the photo
showing the judge in the act of handing him a
ten-thousand-dollar bribe. Late that night Brand
has the article exposing this transaction in type
and ready for the press when the proprietor, who
has heretofore been so pleased with Brand's performance,
but whose wife has gained an entrance into
society through the influence of Judge Barteling,
enters the office with the order to "kill the story."</p>
<p>This was a hard blow to the coming newspaper
man. The judge calls and jokes him about being
a smart boy but crazed with ideals, but is shocked
when he turns to find his daughter has entered the
office and has heard the conversation. He tells
her to come along home with papa, but she decides
to remain with Brand. She has thought her father
in the right all along, but now that she has heard her
father condone dishonesty she can no longer think
so. Wheeler disobeys orders and sends the paper
to press without "killing the story," and "all's well
that ends well."</p>
<p>In a week or so I was back in Dakota where the
thermometer registered twenty-five below with
plenty of snow for company. I received a letter
from the Reverend shortly after returning home
saying they hoped to see me in Chicago again soon.
I did not know what that meant unless it was that
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
was expected to return to be married, but as I
had been to Chicago twice in less than four months
and had suggested to Orlean that she come to
Megory and be married there, I supposed that it
was all settled, but this was where I began to learn
that the McCraline family were very inconsiderate.</p>
<p>I had not claimed to be wealthy or to have unlimited
amounts of money to spend in going to and
from Chicago, as though it were a matter of eighty
miles instead of eight hundred. I had explained
to the Reverend that it was a burden rather than
a luxury to be possessed of a lot of raw land, until
it could be cultivated and made to yield a profit.
I recalled that while talking with the Reverend in
regard to this he had nodded his head in assent but
with no facial expression to indicate that he understood
or cared. The more I knew him the more
I disliked him, and was very sorry that Orlean regarded
his as a great man, although his immediate
family were the only ones who regarded him in
that light. I had learned to expect his ceremonious
manner but was considerably tried by his apparent
dullness and lack of interest or encouragement of
practical ideas.</p>
<p>I put volumes into my letters to Orlean, trying to
make clear why she should condescend to come to
Megory and be quietly married instead of obliging
me to return to Chicago. I had no more money,
as it was expensive to keep my grandmother and
sister on their claims. They had no money and I
had no outside support, not even the moral support
of my people nor of Orlean's, who all seemed to
take it for granted that I had plenty of ready money.
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
had not taken a cent out of the crop I had raised,
the corn still standing in the field, with a heavy snow
on the ground and my small grain still unthreshed.</p>
<p>However, my letters were in vain. Miss McCraline
could see no other way than that if I cared
for her I'd come and marry her at home, which she
contended was no more than right and would look
much better. I sighed wearily over it all and began
to suspect I was "in the right church, but in the
wrong pew."</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2>
<p class="center">AN UNCROWNED KING</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_t.jpg"
alt="T" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">TOWARD spring the snow melted and
with gum boots I plunged into the cold,
wet corn field and began gathering the
corn. It was nasty, cold work. The
damp earth sent cold chills up through my limbs
and as a result I was ill, and could do nothing for
a week or more. In desperation I wrote the Reverend
and being a man, I hoped he'd understand. I
told him of my sickness and the circumstances, of
Orlean's claim and of my crops to be put in. It was
then April and soon the oats, wheat and barley
should be seeded. It was a business letter altogether,
but I never heard from him, and later
learned that he had read only a part of the letter.</p></div>
<p>While in Chicago, one evening I had called at
the house and found the household in a ferment of
excitement, with everyone saying nothing and
apparently trying to look as small and scarced as
possible, while in their midst, standing like a jungle
king and in a plaided bathrobe, the Reverend was
pouring a storm of abuse upon his wife and shouting
orders while the wife was trotting to and fro like
a frightened lamb, protesting weakly. The way he
was storming at her made me feel ashamed but after
listening to his tirade for some fifteen minutes I
was angry enough to knock him down then and there.
He reminded me more of a brute than a pious minister.
When he had finally exhausted himself he
turned without speaking to me and strode up the
stairs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
head reared back and carrying himself like
a brave soldier returning from war. I wondered
then how long it would be before I would be commanded
as she had been. Shortly afterward I
could hardly control the impulse to take her in my
arms and comfort her. She was crying quietly
and looked so pitiful. I was told she had been
treated in a like manner off and on for thirty years.</p>
<p>As stated, I did not hear from the Reverend and
when I wrote to Orlean I implied that I did not
think her father much of a business man. Perhaps
this was wrong, at least when I received another
letter from her it contained the receipt for the payment
on the claim, and the single sheet of paper
comprising the letter conveyed the intelligence
that since she thought it best not to marry me she
was forwarding the receipt with thanks for my kindness
and hopes for future success. I received the
letter on Friday. Saturday night I went into
Megory and took the early Sunday morning train
bound for Chicago and to marry her, and while I
did not think she had treated me just right I would
not allow a matter of a trip to Chicago to stand in
the way of our marriage. I had an idea her father
was indirectly responsible. He and I were much
unlike and disagreed in our discussions concerning
the so-called negro problem, and in almost every
other discussion in which we had engaged.</p>
<p>Arriving in Omaha I sent a telegram to Orlean
asking her not to go to work that day, as I would
be in Chicago in the morning. At the depot I
called up the house and Claves answered the phone
and was very impertinent, but before he said much
Orlean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
took the receiver and without much welcome
started to tell me about the criticisms of her father
in my letters.</p>
<p>"You are not taking it in the right way," I
hurriedly told her. "I'll come to the house and
we'll talk it over. You will see me, won't you?"</p>
<p>"Yes," she answered hesitatingly, appearing to
be a little frightened. Then added, "I'll do you
that honor."</p>
<p>The Reverend had returned to Southern Illinois,
and when I entered the house the rest of the family
appeared to have been holding a consultation in
the kitchen, which they had, as Orlean informed
me later, with Orlean standing poutingly to one
side. She commenced telling me what she was not
going to do, but I went directly to her, and gathered
her in my arms, with her making a slight resistance
but soon succumbing. I looked down at her still
pouting face and remonstrated teasingly.</p>
<p>Ethel broke in, her voice resembling a scream,
protesting against such boldness on my part, saying:
"Orlean doesn't want you and she isn't going
to go onto your old farm". Here Orlean silenced
her saying that she would attend to that herself,
and took me to the front part of the house, with her
mother tagging after us in a sort of half-stupor and
apparently not knowing what to do. We sat down
on the davenport where she began giving me a
lecture and declaring what she was not going to do.
Her mother interposed something that angered me,
though I do not now recall what it was, and a look
of dissatisfaction came into my face which Orlean
observed.</p>
<p>"Don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
you scold mama," she finished. "Now,
do you hear?"</p>
<p>"Yes, dear," I answered, meekly, with my arm
around her waist and my face hidden behind her
shoulder. "Anything more?"</p>
<p>"Well, well." She appeared at a loss to know
what further to say or how to proceed.</p>
<p>Ethel remarked afterward to her mother that
Orlean had not been near me a half hour until she
was listening to everything I said.</p>
<p>She finally succeeded in getting off to work
after commanding me to free her as she wanted
to get away to think. Her mother bristled up
with an, "I'll talk to you." This was entirely to
my liking. I loved her mother as well as my own
and had no fear that we would not soon agree, and
we did. She couldn't be serious with me very long.
She persisted in saying, however:</p>
<p>"I want my husband to know you are here and
to know all about this. You must not expect to
run in and get his daughter just like something wild,
nor you just must not!"</p>
<p>"All right, mother," I assented. "But I must
hurry back to Dakota, you know, for I can't lose
so much time this time of year."</p>
<p>"You're the worst man I ever saw for always
being in a hurry. I—I'll—well, I do declare!"
And she bustled off to the kitchen with me following
and talking.</p>
<p>"Oh, can't I get away from you? This is just
awful, Mr. Devereaux."</p>
<p>"Don't you like the name?" I put in winningly
and cutting off her discourse, and in spite of her attempt
at seriousness she smiled.</p>
<p>"It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
is a beautiful name," she admitted, looking
at me slyly out of her small black eyes. She was
part Indian, just a trifle, but sufficient to give her
black eyes instead of brown, as most colored
people have, and she had long black hair.</p>
<p>Before Orlean returned from the store her mother
and I were like mother and son and Orlean seemed
pleased, while Ethel looked at Claves and admitted
that I would get Orlean, anyhow. The only thing
necessary now was to reach the elder, and the next
morning we spent a couple of hours trying to locate
him by telephone. We finally succeeded, as I
thought, but he denied later he was the party,
though I would have sworn to the voice being his as
I could hear him distinctly. In answer to my
statement that we were ready to marry he shouted
in a frantic voice:</p>
<p>"I don't approve of it! I don't approve of it!
I don't approve of it!" and kept shouting it over
and over until the operator called the time was up.</p>
<p>A letter had been sent him by special delivery the
day I arrived and the following morning a reply
was received stating that if Orlean married me,
without my convincing him that I was marrying
her for love, and not to hold down a Dakota claim,
she would be doing so without his consent. In
discussing the matter later Ethel, who had become
resigned to the inevitable, said:</p>
<p>"If you want to get along with papa you must
flatter him. Just make him think he is a king."</p>
<p>"Ah," I thought. "Here is where I made my
mistake."</p>
<p>I had started wrong. "Just make him think he
is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
a king, His Majesty Newton Jasper." The
idea kept revolving in my mind as I realized the
reason I had not made good with him. I was too
plain and sincere. I must flatter him, make him
think he was what he was not, and my failure to do
that was the reason for his listening to me in such
an expressionless manner.</p>
<p>Somewhere I had read that to be a king was to
look wise and say nothing. This is what he had
done. Evidently he liked to feel great. I recalled
the name he was known by, "the Reverend N.J.,"
and I had heard him spoken of jokingly as the "Great
N.J." The N.J. was for Newton Jasper. Ha!
Ha! The more I thought of his greatness the more
amused I became. I might have settled the matter
easily if I had no objection to flattering him. He
arrived home the next morning and was sitting in
the parlor when I called, trying to look serious, and
surveying me as I entered, just as a king might have
done a disobedient subject. I had been so free
and without fear for so long that it was beyond my
ability to shrivel up and drop as he continued to
look me over. I proceeded to tell him all that I had
written in my letter to him, the one he had not
read, but did not intimate that I knew he had not
read it.</p>
<p>In the dining room where we gathered a few
minutes later, with the family assembled in mute
attention, he asked Orlean whether she wanted
to marry me and live in Dakota and she admitted
that she did. Then turning to me he began a
lengthy discourse with many ifs and if nots and kept
it up until I cut in with:</p>
<p>"My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>
dear people, when I first came to see Orlean
I didn't profess love. Circumstances had not
granted us the opportunity, but we entered a mutual
agreement that we would wait and see whether we
could learn to love each other or not." Hesitating
a moment, I looked at Orlean and gaining confidence
as I met her soft glance, I went on: "I cannot
guarantee anything as to the future. We may be
happy, and we may not, but I hope for the best."</p>
<p>That seemed to satisfy him and he was very nice
about it afterward. Orlean and I had been to the
court house the day previous and got the license,
and when her father told us we should go and get
the license we looked at each other rather sheepishly,
and stammered out something, but went down town
and bought a pair of shoes instead. When we arrived
home preparations were being made for the
wedding. The elder called up the homes of two
bishops who lived in the city, and when he found one
sick and the other out of town he was somewhat
disappointed, as it had always been his desire to
have his daughters married by a bishop. He had
failed in the first instance and was compelled to
accept the services of the pastor of one of the three
large African M.E. Churches of the city at the
wedding of Ethel, and had to call upon this pastor
again but found he also was out of the city. He
finally secured the services of another pastor, by
whom we were married in the presence of some
twenty or more near friends of the family, Orlean
wearing her sister's wedding dress and veil. The
dress was becoming and I thought her very beautiful.
I wore a Prince Albert coat and trousers to match
which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
belonged to Claves and were too small and
tight, making me uncomfortable. I was not long
in getting out of them after undergoing the ordeal
of being kissed by all the ladies present. Mrs. Ewis
invited us to spend the evening at her home and
the next day we left for South Dakota.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i264" name="i264"></a>
<img src="images/i264.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">A beautiful townsite where trees stood. <a href="#Page_182">(page 182.)</a></p>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2>
<p class="center">A SNAKE IN THE GRASS</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_u.jpg"
alt="U" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">USUALLY in the story of a man's life, or
in fiction, when he gets the girl's consent
to marry, first admitting the love, the
story ends; but with mine it was much
to the contrary. The story did not end there,
nor when we had married that afternoon at two
o'clock. Instead, my marriage brought the change
in my life which was the indirect cause of my writing
this story. From that time adventures were numerous.
We arrived in Megory several hours late and
remained over night at a hotel, going to the farm the
next morning and then to the house I had rented
temporarily.</p></div>
<p>I breathed a sigh of relief when I looked over the
fields, and saw that the boy I hired had done nicely
with the work during my absence. The next night
about sixty of the white neighbors gave us a charivari
and my wife was much pleased to know there
was no color prejudice among them. We purchased
about a hundred dollars worth of furniture in the
town and at once began housekeeping. My bride
didn't know much about cooking, but otherwise
was a good housekeeper, and willing to learn all
she could. She was not a forceful person and could
not be hurried, but was kind and good as could be,
and I soon became very fond of her and found marriage
much of an improvement over living alone.</p>
<p>In May we went up to her claim and put up a sod
house and stayed there awhile, later returning to
Megory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
county to look after the crops. Our first
trouble occurred in about a month. I was still
rather angry over the Reverend's obliging me to
spend the money to go to Chicago. This had cost
me a hundred dollars which I needed badly to pay
the interest on my loan. Letters began coming
from the company holding the mortgages, besides
I had other obligations pending. I had only fifty
dollars in the bank when I started to Chicago and
while there drew checks on it for fifty more, making
an overdraft of fifty dollars which it took me a month
to get paid after returning home. The furniture
required for housekeeping and improvements in
connection with the homesteads took more money,
and my sister went home to attend the graduation
of another sister and I was required to pay the bills.
My corn was gathered and I now shelled it. As the
price in Megory was only forty cents at the elevators
I hauled it to Victor, where I received seventy and
sometimes seventy-five cents for it, but as it was
thirty-five miles, that took time and the long drive
was hard on the horses. Orlean's folks kept writing
letters telling her she must send money to buy something
they thought nice for her to have, and while
no doubt not intending to cause any trouble, they
made it very hard for me. Money matters are
usually a source of trouble to the lives of newly-weds
and business is so cold-blooded that it contrasts
severely with love's young dream.</p>
<p>My position was a trying one for the reason that
all the relatives on both sides seemed to take it for
granted that I should have plenty of money, and
nothing I could say or do seemed to change matters.
From<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
his circuit the Reverend wrote glowing letters
to his "daughter and son," of what all the people
were saying. Everybody thought she had married
so well; Mr. Devereaux, or Oscar, as they put it,
was of good family, a successful young man, and
was rich. I hadn't written to him and called him
"dear father." Perhaps this is what I should have
done. In a way it would have been easy enough
to write, and since my marriage I had no letters to
spend hours in writing. Perhaps I should have
written to him, but when a man is in the position
I faced, debts on one side and relatives on the other,
I thought it would not do to write as I felt, and I
could not write otherwise and play the hypocrite, as
I had not liked him from the beginning, and now disliked
him still more because I could find no way of
letting him know how I felt. This was no doubt
foolish, but it was the way I felt about it at the time.
My father-in-law evidently thought me ungrateful,
and wrote Orlean that I should write him or the
folks at home occasionally, but I remained obdurate.
I felt sure he expected me to feel flattered over the
opinions of which he had written in regard to my
being considered rich, but I did not want to be
considered rich, for I was not. I had never been
vain, and hating flattery, I wanted to tell her people
the truth. I wanted them to understand, if they
did not, what it took to make good in this western
country, and that I had a load and wanted their
encouragement and invited criticism, not empty
praise and flattery.</p>
<p>Before I had any colored people to discourage me
with their ignorance of business or what is required
for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
success, I was stimulated to effort by the example
of my white neighbors and friends who were doing
what I admired, building an empire; and to me that
was the big idea. Their parents before them knew
something of business and this knowledge was a
goodly heritage. If they could not help their
children with money they at least gave their moral
support and visited them and encouraged them
with kind words of hope and cheer. The people
in a new country live mostly on hopes for the first
five or ten years. My parents and grandparents
had been slaves, honest, but ignorant. My father
could neither read nor write, had not succeeded in a
large way, and had nothing to give me as a start,
not even practical knowledge. My wife's parents
were a little different, but it would have been better
for me had her father been other than "the big
preacher" as he was referred to, who in order to
be at peace with, it was necessary to praise.</p>
<p>What I wanted in the circumstances I now faced
was to be allowed to mould my wife into a practical
woman who would be a help in the work we had
before us, and some day, I assured her, we would
be well to do, and then we could have the better
things of life.</p>
<p>"How long?" She would ask, weeping. She
was always crying and so many tears got on my
nerves, especially when my creditors were pestering
me with duns, and it is Hades to be dunned, especially
when you have not been used to it.</p>
<p>"Oh!" I'd say. "Five or ten years."</p>
<p>And then she'd have another cry, and I would
have to do a lot of petting and persuading to keep
her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
from telling her mother. This all had a tendency
to make me cross and I began to neglect
kissing her as much as I had been doing, but she
was good and had been a nice girl when I married
her. She could only be made to stop crying when
I would spend an hour or two petting and assuring
her I still loved her, and this when I should have been
in the fields. She would ask me a dozen times a
day whether I still loved her, or was I growing tired
of her so soon. She was a veritable clinging vine.
This continued until we were both decidedly unhappy
and then began ugly little quarrels, but when
she would be away with my sister to her claim in
Tipp county I would be so lonesome without her,
simple as I thought she was, and days seemed like
weeks.</p>
<p>One day she was late in bringing my dinner to
the field where I was plowing, and we had a quarrel
which made us both so miserable and unhappy that
we were ashamed of ourselves. By some power for
which we were neither responsible, our disagreements
came to an end and we never quarreled again.</p>
<p>The first two weeks in June were hot and dry,
and considerable damage was done to the crops in
Tipp county and in Megory county also. The
winds blew from the south and became so hot the
young green plants began to fire, but a big rain on
the twenty-fourth saved the crops in Megory
county. About that time the Reverend wrote that
he would come to see us after conference, which
was then three months away.</p>
<p>One day we were going to town after our little
quarrels were over, and I talked kindly with Orlean
about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
her father and tried to overcome my dislike
of him, for her sake. I had learned by that time
just how she had been raised, and that was to
to praise her father. She would say:</p>
<p>"You know, papa is such a big man," or "He
is so great."</p>
<p>She had begun to call me her great and big husband,
and I think that had been the cause of part of
our quarrels for I had discouraged it. I had a
horror of praise when I thought how silly her father
was over it, and she had about ceased and now
talked more sensibly, weighing matters and helping
me a little mentally.</p>
<p>We talked of her father and his expected visit.
She appeared so pleased over the prospect and said:</p>
<p>"Won't he make a hit up here? Won't these
white people be foolish over his fine looks and that
beautiful white hair?" And she raised her hands
and drew them back as I had seen her do in stroking
her father's hair.</p>
<p>I agreed with her that he would attract some
attention and changed the subject. When we
returned home she gave me the letter to read that
she had written to him. She was obedient and did
try so hard to please me, and when I read in the
letter she had written that we had been to town and
had talked about him all the way and were anxious
for him to visit us; that we had agreed that he would
make a great impression with the people out here,
I wanted very much to tell her not to send that
letter as it placed me in a false light, and would
cause him to think the people were going to be
crazy about him and his distinguished appearance;
but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
she was watching me so closely that I could
not be mean enough to speak my mind and did not
offer my usual criticism.</p>
<p>A short time before her father arrived, a contest
was filed against Orlean's claim on the ground that
she had never established a residence. We had
established residence, but by staying much of the
time in Megory county had laid the claim liable
to contest. The man who filed the contest was a
banker in Amro, this bank being one of the few
buildings left there. I knew we were in for a
big expense and lots of trouble, which I had feared,
and had been working early and late to get through
my work in Megory county and get onto her claim
permanently.</p>
<p>We did not receive the Reverend's letter stating
when he would arrive so I was not at the train to
meet him, but happened to be in town on horse
back. In answer to my inquiries, a man who had
come in on the train gave me a description of a
colored man who had arrived on the same train,
and I knew that my father-in-law was in town.
I went to the hotel and found he had left his baggage
but had gone to the restaurant, where I found him.
He seemed pleased to be in Megory and after I
explained that I had not received his letter, I went
to look up a German neighbor who was in town in
a buggy, thinking I would have the Reverend ride
out with him. When we got ready to go the German
was so drunk and noisy that the Reverend was
frightened and remarked cautiously that he did
not know whether he wanted to ride out with a
drunken man or not. The German heard him and
roared in a still louder tone:</p>
<p>"You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
don't have to ride with me. Naw! Naw!
Naw!"</p>
<p>The elder became more frightened at this and
hurriedly ducked into the hotel, where he stayed.
I hitched a team of young mules to the wagon the
next morning and sent Orlean to town after him.</p>
<p>The Reverend seemed to be carried away with
our lives on the Little Crow, and we got along fine
until he and I got to arguing the race question,
which brought about friction. It was as I had
feared but it seemed impossible to avoid it. He had
the most ancient and backward ideas concerning
race advancement I had ever heard. He was filled
to overflowing with condemnation of the white
race and eulogy of the negro. In his idea the negro
had no fault, nor could he do any wrong or make
any mistake. Everything had been against him
and according to the Reverend's idea, was still.
This he would declare very loudly. From the race
question we drifted to the discussion of mixed
schools.</p>
<p>The Reverend had educated his girls with the
intention of making teachers of them and would
speak of this fact with much pride, speaking slowly
and distinctly like one who has had years of oratory.
He would insist that the public schools of Chicago
have not given them a chance. "I am opposed
to mixed schools," he would exclaim. "They are
like everything else the white people control. They
are managed in a way to keep the colored people
down."</p>
<p>Here Orlean dissented, this being about the only
time she did openly disagree with him. She was
firm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>
in declaring there was no law or management
preventing the colored girls' teaching in Chicago
if they were competent.</p>
<p>"In the first place," she carefully continued,
"the school we attended in Ohio does not admit
to teach in the city."</p>
<p>In order to teach in the city schools it is either
necessary to be a graduate of the normal, or have had
a certain number of years' experience elsewhere.
I do not remember all the whys, but she was emphatic
and continued to insist that it was to some
extent the fault of the girls, who were not all as
attentive to books as they should be; spending too
much time in society or with something else that
kept them from their studies, which impaired their
chances when they attempted to enter the city
schools.</p>
<p>She held up instances where colored girls were
teaching in Chicago schools and had been for years,
which knocked the foundation from his argument.</p>
<p>There are very few colored people in a city or
state which has mixed schools, who desire to have
them separated. The mixed schools give the colored
children a more equal opportunity and all the
advantage of efficient management. Separate
schools lack this. Even in the large cities, where
separate schools are in force, the advantage is invariably
with the white schools.</p>
<p>Another advantage of mixed schools is, it helps
to eliminate so much prejudice. Many ignorant
colored people, as well as many ignorant white
people, fill their children's minds with undue prejudice
against each race. If they are kept in separate
schools<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
this line becomes more distinct, with
one colored child filling the mind of other colored
children with bad ideas, and the white child doing
likewise, which is never helpful to the community.
By nature, in the past at least, the colored children
were more ferocious and aggressive; too much so,
which is because they have not been out of heathenism
many years. The mixed school helps to eliminate
this tendency.</p>
<p>With the Reverend it was a self-evident fact, that
the only thing he cared about was that it would
be easier for the colored girls to teach, if the schools
were separate. I was becoming more and more
convinced that he belonged to the class of the negro
race that desires ease, privilege, freedom, position,
and luxury without any great material effort on
their part to acquire it, and still held to the time-worn
cry of "no opportunity."</p>
<p>Following this disagreement came another. I
had always approved of Booker T. Washington,
his life and his work in the uplift of the negro.
Before his name was mentioned I had decided just
about how he would take it, and I was not mistaken.
He was bitterly opposed to the educator.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2>
<p class="center">THE PROGRESSIVES AND THE REACTIONARIES</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i2.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">IT is not commonly known by the white
people at large that a great number of
colored people are against Mr. Washington.
Being an educator and philanthropist,
it is hard to conceive any reason why they
should be opposed to him, but the fact remains
that they are.</p></div>
<p>There are two distinct factions of the negro race,
who might be classed as Progressives and Reactionaries,
somewhat like the politicians. The
Progressives, led by Booker T. Washington and
with industrial education as the material idea, are
good, active citizens; while the other class distinctly
reactionary in every way, contend for more equal
rights, privileges, and protection, which is all very
logical, indeed, but they do not substantiate their
demands with any concrete policies; depending
largely on loud demands, and are too much given
to the condemnation of the entire white race for
the depredations of a few.</p>
<p>It is true, very true indeed, that the American
negro does not receive all he is entitled to under
the constitution. Volumes could be filled with the
many injustices he has to suffer, and which are not
right before God and man; yet, when it is considered
that other races in other countries, are persecuted
even more than the negro is in parts of the United
States, there should be no reason why the American
negro allow obvious prejudice to prevent his taking
advantage of opportunities that surround him.</p>
<p>I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
have been called a "radical," perhaps I am, but
for years I have felt constrained to deplore the negligence
of the colored race in America, in not seizing
the opportunity for monopolizing more of the many
million acres of rich farm lands in the great northwest,
where immigrants from the old world own
many of acres of rich farm lands; while the millions
of blacks, only a few hundred miles away, are as
oblivious to it all as the heathen of Africa are to
civilization.</p>
<p>In Iowa, for instance, where the number of farms
total around two hundred and ten thousand, and
include the richest land in the world, only thirty-seven
are owned and operated by negroes, while
South Dakota, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North
Dakota have many less. I would quote these facts
to my father-in-law until I was darker in the face
than I naturally am. He could offer no counter
argument to them, but continued to vituperate the
sins of the white people. He was a member in
good standing of the reactionary faction of the
negro race, the larger part of which are African M.E.
ministers.</p>
<p>Since Booker T. Washington came into prominence
they have held back and done what they could
to impede and criticize his work, and cast little
stones in his path of progress, while most of the
younger members of the ministry are heart and
soul in accord with him and are helping all they can.
The older members are almost to a unit, with some
exceptions, of course, against him and his industrial
educational ideas.</p>
<p>A few years ago a professor in a colored university
in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>
Georgia wrote a book which had a tremendous
sale. He claimed in his book that the public had
become so over-enthused regarding Booker T.
and industrial education, that the colored schools
for literary training were almost forgotten, and,
of course, were severely handicapped by a lack of
funds. His was not criticism, but was intended to
call attention of the public to the number of colored
schools in dire need of funds, which on account of
race prejudice in the south, must teach classics.
This was true, although industrial education was
the first means of lifting the ignorant masses into
a state of good citizenship. Immediately following
the publication of the volume referred to, thousands
of anti-Booker T.'s proceeded to place the writer
as representing their cause and formed all kinds of
clubs in his honor, or gave their clubs his name.
They pretended to feel and to have everyone else
feel, that they had at last found a man who would
lead them against Booker T. and industrial education.</p>
<p>They made a lot of noise for a while, which soon
died out, however, as the author of the book was
far too broad minded and intelligent in every way,
to be a party to such a theory, much less, to lead
a lot of reckless people, who never had and never
would do anything for the uplifting of their race.</p>
<p>The Reverend and I could not in any way agree.
He was so bitter against industrial education and the
educator's name, that he lost all composure in
trying to dodge the issue in our argument, and found
himself up against a brick wall in attempting to
belittle Mr. Washington's work. Most of the
trouble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
with the elder was, that he was not an intelligent
man, never read anything but negro papers,
and was interested only in negro questions. He was
born in Arkansas, but maintained false ideas about
himself. He never admitted to having been born
a slave, but he was nearly sixty years of age, and
sixty years ago a negro born in Arkansas would have
been born in slavery, unless his parents had purchased
themselves. If this had been the case, as
vain as he was, I felt sure he would have had much
to say about it. He must have been born a slave,
but of course had been young when freed. He had
lived in Springfield, Missouri, after leaving Arkansas,
and later moving to Iowa, where, at the
age of twenty-seven years, he was ordained a minister
and started to preach, which he had continued
for thirty years or more. He never had any theological
training. This was told me by my wife, and
she added despairingly:</p>
<p>"Poor papa! He is just ignorant and hard-headed,
and all his life has been associated with
hard-headed negro preachers. He reads nothing
but radical negro papers and wants everybody to
regard him as being a brilliant man, and you might
as well try to reason with two trees, or a brick wall,
as to try to reason with him or Ethel. I'm so sorry
papa is so ignorant. Mama has always tried to
get him to study, but he would never do it. That's
all."</p>
<p>We went up to the claims, taking the elder along.
My sister had married and her husband was making
hay on the claims.</p>
<p>I might have been more patient with the Reverend,
if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>
he had not been so full of pretense, when
being plain and truthful would have been so much
better and easier. I had quit talking to him about
anything serious or anything that interested me,
but would sit and listen to him talk of the big
preachers, and the bishops, and the great negroes
who had died years before. He seemed fond of
talking of what they had done in the past and what
more could be done in the future, if the white people
were not so strongly banded against them. After
this, his conversation would turn to pure gossip,
such as women might indulge in. He talked about
the women belonging to the churches of his district,
whether they were living right or wrong, and could
tell very funny stories about them.</p>
<p>In Dakota, like most parts of the west, people
who have any money at all, carry no cash in the
pocket, but bank their money and use checks.
The people of the east and south, that is, the common
people, seldom have a checking account, and,
with the masses of the negroes, no account at all.
During the summer Orlean had sent her father my
checks with which to make purchases. The Reverend
told me he checked altogether, but my wife
had told me her father's ambition had always been
to have a checking account, but had not been able
to do so. I had to laugh over this, for it was no
distinction whatever. We discussed the banking
business and the elder tried to tell me that if a
national bank went broke, the government paid all
the depositors, while if it was a state bank, the
depositors lost. As this was so far from correct, I
explained the laws that governed national banks
and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
state banks alike, as regards the depositors, in
the event of insolvency. I did not mean to bring
out such a storm but he flew into an accusation,
exclaiming excitedly:</p>
<p>"That's just the way you are! You must have
everything your way! I never saw such a contrary
man! You won't believe anything!"</p>
<p>"But, Reverend," I remonstrated. "I have no
'way' in this. What I have quoted you is simply
the law, the law governing national and state bank
deposits, that you can read up on yourself, just the
same as I have done. If I am wrong, I very humbly
beg your pardon."</p>
<p>The poor old man was so chagrined he seemed
hardly to know what to do, though this was but one
of many awkward situations due to his ignorance
of the most simple business matters. Another time
he was trying to listen intelligently to a conversation
relating to the development of the northwest, when
I had occasion to speak of Jim Hill. Seeing he
did not look enlightened, I repeated, this time
referring to him as James J. Hill, of the Great
Northern, and inquired if he had not heard of the
pioneer builder.</p>
<p>"No, I never heard of him," he answered.</p>
<p>"Never heard of James J. Hill?" I exclaimed,
in surprise.</p>
<p>"Why should I have heard of him," he said,
answering my exclamation calmly.</p>
<p>"O, no reason at all," I concluded, and remained
silent, but my face must have expressed my disgust
at his ignorance, and he a public man for thirty
years.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i282" name="i282"></a>
<img src="images/i282.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">Ernest Nicholson takes a hand. <a href="#Page_186">(Page 186.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>
this conversation I forced myself to remain
quiet and listen to common gossip. Instead of
being pleased to see us happy and Orlean contented,
he would, whenever alone with her, discourage her
in every way he could, sighing for sympathy, praising
Claves and telling her how much he was doing
for Ethel, and how much she, Orlean, was sacrificing
for me.</p>
<p>The contest trial occurred while he was with us,
and cost, to start with, an attorney's fee of fifty
dollars, in addition to witnesses' expenses. I had
bought a house in Megory and we moved it onto
Orlean's claim. The Reverend helped with the
moving, but he was so discouraging to have around.
He dug up all the skeletons I left buried in M—pls
and bared them to view, in deceitful ways.</p>
<p>We had decided not to visit Chicago that winter.
The crop was fair, but prices were low on oats and
corn, and my crops consisted mostly of those cereals.
I tried to explain this to the Reverend when he
talked of what we would have, Christmas, in
Chicago.</p>
<p>"Now, don't let that worry you, my boy," he
would say breezily. "I'll attend to that! I'll
attend to that!"</p>
<p>"Attend to what?" I asked.</p>
<p>"Why, I'll send both of you a ticket."</p>
<p>"O, really, Reverend, I thank you ever so much,
but I could not think of accepting it, and you must
not urge it. We are not coming to Chicago, and I
wish you would not talk of it so much with Orlean,"
I would almost plead with him. "She is a good
girl and we are happy together. She wants to help
me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>
but she's only a weak woman, and being so far
away from colored people, she will naturally feel
lonesome and want to visit home."</p>
<p>He paid no more attention to me than if I had
never spoken. In fact, he talked more about
Chicago than ever, saying a dozen times a day:</p>
<p>"Yes, children, I'll send you the money."</p>
<p>I finally became angry and told him I would not,
under any circumstances whatever, accept such
charity, and that what my money was invested in,
represented a value of more than thirty thousand
dollars, and how could I be expected to condescend
to accept charity from him.</p>
<p>He had told me once that he never had as much
as two hundred dollars at one time in his life. I
did not want a row, but as far as I was concerned,
I did not want anything from him, for I felt that he
would throw it up to me the rest of his life. I was
convinced that he was a vain creature, out for a
show, and I fairly despised him for it.</p>
<p>At last he went home and Orlean and I got down
to business, moving more of our goods onto the
claim, and spending about one-third of the time
there. We intended moving everything as soon
as the corn was gathered. As Christmas drew near,
her folks wrote they were looking for her to come
home, the Reverend having told them that she was
coming, and that he was going to send her the money
for her to come. Her mother wrote about it in
letter, saying she didn't think it was right. Just
before Christmas, she wrote that maybe if she
wrote Cousin Sam he would send her the money.
Cousin Sam was a porter in a down town saloon.
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>
felt so mortified that I swore I would never again
have anything to do with her family. They never
regarded my feelings nor our relations in the least,
but wrote a letter every few days about who was coming
to the house to see Orlean Christmas, of who
was going to have her at their homes for dinner
when she came home, until the poor girl, with a
child on the way, was as helpless as a baby, trying
to be honest with all concerned. It had never been
her lot to take the defensive.</p>
<p>My sister came down from her claim and took
Orlean home with her. While she was in Tipp
county a letter came from her father for her, and
thinking it might be a matter needing immediate
attention, I opened it and found a money order for
eighteen dollars, sent from Cairo, with instructions
when to start, and he would be home to meet her
when she arrived, suggesting that I could come
later.</p>
<p>I was about the maddest man in Megory when
I was through reading the letter, fairly flying to the
post office, enclosing the money order and all, with
a curt little note telling what I had done; that
Orlean was out on her claim and would be home in
a few days, but that we were not coming to Chicago.
I would have liked to tell him that I was running
my own house, but did not do so. I was hauling
shelled corn to a feeder in town, when Orlean came.
She was driving a black horse, hitched to a little
buggy I had purchased for her, and I met her on
the road. I got out and kissed her fondly, then told
what I had done. My love for her had been growing.
She had been gone a week and I was so glad to see
her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>
and have her back with me. I took the corn
on into town and when I returned home she had
cleaned up the house, prepared a nice supper and
had killed a chicken for the next day, which was
Christmas. She then confessed that she had
written her father that he could send the money.</p>
<p>"Now, dear," she said, as though a little frightened,
"I'm so sorry, for I know papa's going to
make a big row."</p>
<p>And he did, fairly burned the mail with scorching
letters denouncing my action and threatening what
he was liable to do about it, which was to come out
and attend to me. I judged he did not get much
sympathy, however, for a little while after
Orlean had written him he cooled down and wrote
that whatever Orlean and I agreed on was all right
with him, though I knew nothing of what her letter
contained.</p>
<p>The holidays passed without further event,
excepting a letter from Mrs. Ewis, to my wife, in
which she said she was glad that she had stayed in
Dakota and stuck by her husband. The letter
seemed a little strange, though I thought nothing
of it at the time. A few months later I was to know
what it meant, which was more than I could then
have dreamed of. We were a lone colored couple,
in a country miles from any of our kind, honest,
hopeful and happy; we had no warning, nor if we
had, would we have believed. Why, indeed, should
any young couple feel that some person, especially
one near and dear, should be planning to put
asunder what God had joined together?</p>
<p>It was now the last of February and we
expected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>
our first-born in March. My wife had
grown exceedingly fretful. Grandma was with us,
having made proof on her homestead. Orlean kept
worrying and wanting to go to her claim, talking
so much about it, that I finally talked with some
neighbor friends and they advised that it would
be better to take her to the homestead, for if she
continued to fret so much over wanting to be there,
when the child was born, it might be injured in some
way. When the weather became favorable, I
wrapped her and grandma up comfortably, and
sent them to the claim in the spring wagon, while
I followed with a load of furniture, making the trip
in a day and a half. We had close neighbors who
said they would look after her while I went back
after the stock. A lumber yard was selling out
in Kirk, and I bought the coal shed, which was strongly
built, being good for barns and granaries. Cutting
it into two parts, I loaded one part onto two wagons
and started the sixty miles to the claim. A thaw
set in about the time I had the building as far as
my homestead south of Megory. I decided to leave
it there and tear down my old buildings and move
them, instead. I received a letter from Orlean
saying they were getting along nicely, excepting
that the stove smoked considerably; and for me
to be very careful with Red and not let him kick
me. Red was a mule I had bought the summer
before and was a holy terror for kicking.</p>
<p>My sister arrived that night from a visit to
Kansas, and on hearing from Orlean that she was
all right, I sent my sister on to her claim, and hiring
more men, moved the balance of the building onto
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
old farm, tore down the old buildings, loaded
them onto wagons, and finally got started again for
Tipp county. That was on Saturday. The wind
blew a gale, making me feel lonely and far from home.
Sunday morning I started early out of Colone
planning to get home that night, but the front axle
broke and by the time we got another it was growing
late. We started again and traveled about two
miles, when the tongue broke, and by the time that
was mended it was late in the afternoon. About
six o'clock we pulled into Victor, tired and weary.
The next day, when about five miles from home, we
met one of the neighbors, who informed me that he
had tried to get me over the phone all along the
way; that my wife had been awfully sick and that
the baby had been born, dead. It struck me like
a hammer, and noting my frightened look, he spoke
up quickly:</p>
<p>"But she's all right now. She had two doctors
and didn't lack for attention."</p>
<p>On the way home I was so nervous that I could
hardly wait for the horses to get there. I would
not have been away at this time for anything in the
world. I knew Orlean would forgive me, but we
had not told her father. Orlean had told her
mother and thought she would tell him. He made
so much ado about everything, we hoped to avoid
the tire of his burdensome letters, but now, with the
baby born during my absence, and it dead, when
we had so many plans for its future. It was to
have been the first colored child born on the Little
Crow, and we thought we were going to make history.</p>
<p>When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>
I got to the claim I was weak in every
way. My wife seemed none the worse, but my
emotions were intense when I saw the little dead
boy. Poor little fellow! As he lay stiff and cold
I could see the image of myself in his features. My
wife noticed my look and said:</p>
<p>"It is just like you, dear!"</p>
<p>That night we buried the baby on the west side
of the draw. It should have been on the east, where
the only trees in the township, four spreading
willows, cast their shadows.</p>
<p>"Well, dear, we have each other," I comforted
her as she cried.</p>
<p>Between sobs she tried to tell me how she had
prayed for it to live, and since it had looked so much
like me, she thought her heart would break.</p>
<p>When the child was born they had sent a telegram
to her father which read:</p>
<p>"Baby born dead. Am well."</p>
<p>This was his first knowledge of it. We received
a telegram that night that he was on the way and
the next day he arrived, bringing Ethel with him.
When he got out of the livery rig that brought them
I could see Satan in his face. A chance had come
to him at last. It seemed to say:</p>
<p>"Oh, now I'll fix you. Away when the child was
born, eh?"</p>
<p>His very expression seemed jubilant. He had
longed for some chance to get me and now it had
arrived. He did not speak to me, but bounded
into the room where my wife was, and she must
have read the same thing in his expression, for,
as he talked about it later, I learned the first thing
she said was:</p>
<p>"Now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>
papa. You must not abuse Oscar. He
loves me and is kind and doing the best he can, but
he is all tied up with debt."</p>
<p>He would tell this every few hours but I could
see the evil of his heart in the expression of his eyes,
leering at me, with hatred and malice in every look.
He and Ethel turned loose in about an hour. From
that time on, it was the same as being in the house
with two human devils. They nearly raised the
roof with their quarreling. Of the two, the Reverend
was the worst, for he was cunning and deceitful,
pretending in one sentence to love, and in the next
taking a thrust at my emotions and home. I shall
never forget his evil eyes.</p>
<p>Ethel would cry out in her ringing voice:</p>
<p>"You're practical! You're practical! You and
your Booker T. Washington ideas!"</p>
<p>Then she would tear into a string of abusive words.
One day, after the doctor had been to the house, he
called me aside and said:</p>
<p>"Oscar, your wife is physically well enough, but
is mentally sick. Something should be done so
that she may be more quiet."</p>
<p>"Is she quite out of danger?" I asked.</p>
<p>He replied that she was. That night I told my
wife of our conversation and the next day I left for
Megory county.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2>
<p class="center">SANCTIMONIOUS HYPOCRISY</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i2.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">I WAS preparing to seed the biggest crop
I had ever sown. With Orlean helping
me, by bringing the dinner to the field
and doing some chores, during the fall
we had put the farm into winter wheat and I had
rented the other Megory county farm. I hired a
steam rig, to break two hundred acres of prairie
on the Tipp county homesteads, for which I was to
pay three dollars an acre and haul the coal from
Colone, a distance of thirty-five miles, the track
having been laid to that point on the extension west
from Calias.</p></div>
<p>I intended to break one hundred acres with my
horses and put it into flax. I had figured, that with
a good crop, it would go a long way toward helping me
get out of debt. I worked away feverishly, for I
had gotten deeper into debt by helping my folks
get the land in Tipp county.</p>
<p>After putting in fifteen acres of spring wheat, I
hauled farm machinery to my sister's claim, and
then began hauling coal from Colone. It was on
Friday. I was driving two horses and two mules
abreast, hitched to a wagon loaded with fifty hundred
pounds of coal, and trailing another with thirty
hundred pounds, when one of the mules got unruly,
going down a hill, swerved to one side, and in less
time than it takes to tell it, both wagons had turned
turtle over a fifteen-foot embankment and I was
under eight thousand pounds of coal, with both
wagons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>
upside down and the hind wagonbox splintered
almost to kindling. That I was not hurt
was due to the fact that the grade had been built
but a few days previously, had not settled and the
loose dirt had prevented a crash. I attempted to
jump when I saw the oncoming disaster, but caught
my foot in the brake rope which pulled me under
the loads.</p>
<p>A day and a half was lost in getting the wreck
cleared so I could proceed to my sister's claim, from
where I had intended going home to my wife, fifteen
miles away. I had left the Reverend in charge
after he and Ethel had said about all the evil things
words could express, and he, finding that I was
inclined to be peaceful, had shown his hatred of me
in every conceivable manner, until Orlean, who
could never bear noise or quarreling, decided it
would be better that I go away and perhaps he
would quit. I did not get home that trip on account
of the delay caused by the wreck, but sent my sister
with a letter, stating that I would come home the
next trip, and describing the accident.</p>
<p>I went back to Colone, and while eating supper
someone told me three colored people were in Colone,
and one of them was a sick woman. I could hardly
believe what I heard. My appetite vanished and
I arose from the table, paid the cashier and left the
place, going to the hotel around the corner, and there
sat my wife. I went to her side and whispered:</p>
<p>"Orlean, what in heaven's name are you doing
here? And why did you come out in such weather."</p>
<p>She was still very sick and wheezed when she
answered, trembling at the same time:</p>
<p>"You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>
said I could go home until I got well."</p>
<p>"Yes, I know," I answered, controlling my
excitement. "But to leave home in such weather
is foolhardy."</p>
<p>It had been snowing all day and was slippery
and cold outside.</p>
<p>"And, besides," I argued, "you should never
have left home until I returned. Didn't you get
my letter?" I inquired, looking at her with a
puzzled expression.</p>
<p>"No," she replied, appearing bewildered. "But
I saw Ollie hand something to papa."</p>
<p>I then recalled that I had addressed the letter
to him.</p>
<p>"But," I went on, "I wrote you a letter last week
that you should have received not later than Saturday."</p>
<p>"I—I—I never received it," she answered, and
seemed frightened.</p>
<p>I could not understand what had taken place.
I had left my wife two weeks before, feeling that I
held her affections, and had thought only of the
time we'd be settled at last, with her well again.</p>
<p>The Reverend had said so much about her going
home that I had consented, but had stipulated that
I would wait until she was better and would then
see whether we could afford it or not.</p>
<p>Suddenly a horrible suspicion struck me with
such force as almost to stagger me, but calming
myself, I decided to talk to the elder. He came in
about that time and looked very peculiar when he
saw me.</p>
<p>The town was full of people that night and he had
some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
difficulty in getting a room, but had finally
succeeded in getting one in a small rooming house,
and to it we now helped Orlean, who was anything
but well.</p>
<p>As we carried her, I could hardly suppress
the words that came to my lips, to say to him when
we got into the room, but thought it best not to say
anything. Ethel, who was sitting there when we
entered, never deigned to speak to me, but her eyes
conveyed the enmity within. The Reverend was
saying many kind words, but I was convinced they
were all pretense and that he was up to some dirty
trick. I was further convinced that he not only was
an arrant hypocrite, but an enemy of humanity as
well, and utterly heartless. When he and Ethel
had entered our home three weeks before, neither
shed a tear nor showed any emotion whatever, and
had not even referred to the death of the baby, but
set up a quarrel that never ceased after I went away.</p>
<p>"Reverend," I said. "Will you and Ethel kindly
leave the room for a few minutes? I would like
to speak with Orlean alone."</p>
<p>They never deigned to move an inch, but finally
the Reverend said:</p>
<p>"We'll not leave unless Orlean says so."</p>
<p>In that moment he appeared the most contemptible
person I ever knew. My wife began crying
and said she wanted to see her mother, that she
was sick, and wanted to go home until she got well.
I was angry all over and turned on the preacher,
exclaiming hotly:</p>
<p>"Rev. McCraline, I left you in charge of my wife
out of respect for you as her father, but," here I
thundered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>
in a terrible voice, "you have been up to
some low-lived trick and if I thought you were
trying to alienate my wife's affections, or had done
so, I would stop this thing right here and sue you, if
you were worth anything."</p>
<p>At this he flushed up and answered angrily:</p>
<p>"I'm worth as much as you."</p>
<p>He was a poor hand at anything but quarreling,
but knowing we'd make a scene, I said no more.
It was a long night, Orlean was restless, and wheezed
and coughed all through the night.</p>
<p>I have wondered since why I did not take the
bull by the horns and settle the matter then, but
guess it was for the sake of peace, that I've accepted
the situation and remained quiet. I decided it
would be best to let her go home without a big row,
and when she had recovered, she could come home,
and all would be well.</p>
<p>My wife had informed me that Claves kept up the
house, paid for the groceries and half of the installments,
while her father paid for the other half, but
never bought anything to eat, nor sent any money
home, only bringing eggs, butter, and chickens
when he came into the city three or four times a
year. But Claves' name was not on the contract
for the home, only her father's name appearing.
Her father was extremely vain and I had not pleased
him because I was independent, and he did not like
independent people. She also told me that her
father always kept up a row when he was at home,
but always charged it to everybody else.</p>
<p>The next morning, just before we started for the
depot, I said:</p>
<p>"I'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
step into the bank and get a check cashed
and give Orlean some money. I haven't much, but
I want her to have her own money."</p>
<p>"Never mind, my son, just never mind. I can
get along," said the Reverend, keeping his head
turned and appearing ill at ease, though I thought
nothing of that at the time.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't think of such a thing!" I answered,
protesting that he was not able to pay her way.
"I wouldn't think of allowing her to accept it."</p>
<p>"Now! Now! Why do you go on so? Haven't
I told you I have enough?" he answered in a tenor
voice, trying to appear winsome.</p>
<p>Feeling that I knew his disposition, I said no more,
but as we were passing the bank, I started to enter,
saying to my wife:</p>
<p>"I am going to get you some money."</p>
<p>She caught me by the sleeve and cried excitedly:
"No! No! No! Don't, because I have money."
Hesitating a moment and repeating, "I have
money."</p>
<p>"You have money?" I repeated, appearing to
misunderstand her statement. "How did you get
money?"</p>
<p>"Had a check cashed," she answered nervously.</p>
<p>"O, I see!" I said. "How much?"</p>
<p>"Fifty dollars," she answered, clinging to my
arm.</p>
<p>"Good gracious, Orlean!" I exclaimed, near to
fright. "We haven't got that much in the bank."</p>
<p>"Oh! Oh! I didn't want to," and then called to her
father, who was just coming with the baggage:
"Papa! Papa! You give Oscar back that money.
He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>
hasn't got it. Oh! Oh! I didn't want to do this,
but you said it would be all right, and that the
cashier at the bank, where you got it cashed, called
up the bank in Calias and said the check was all
right. Oh! Oh!" she went on, beside herself with
excitement, and holding her arms out tremblingly
and repeating: "I didn't want to do this."</p>
<p>I can see the look in his face to this day. All
the hypocrisy and pretense vanished, leaving him
a weak, shame-faced creature, and looking from one
side to the other stammered out:</p>
<p>"I didn't do it! I didn't do it! You—You—You
know, you told her she should write a check for
any money she needed and she did it, she did it."</p>
<p>Here again my desire for peace over-ruled my
good judgment. Instead of stopping the matter
then and there, I spoke up gravely, saying:</p>
<p>"I don't mind Orlean's going home. In fact, I
want her to go home and to have anything to help
her get well and please her, but I haven't the money
to spare. Her sickness, with a doctor coming into
the country twice daily, has been very expensive,
and we just have not the money, that is all."</p>
<p>When he saw I was not going to put a stop to it,
he took courage and spoke sneakingly:</p>
<p>"Well, the man in the bank at Carlin called up
the bank of Calias, and they said the money was
there."</p>
<p>"O," I said, "as far as that goes, I had five hundred
dollars there last week, it has all been checked
out, but some of the checks likely are still out."</p>
<p>I took twenty-five dollars of the money and gave
Orlean twenty-five dollars. Her ticket was eighteen
dollars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
I went with them as far as Calias, to see
how my account stood. I kissed Orlean good-bye
before leaving the train at Calias, then I went directly
to the bank and deposited the twenty-five
dollars. The checks I had given had come in that
morning, and even after depositing the twenty-five,
I found my account was still overdrawn thirty
dollars.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2>
<p class="center">BEGINNING OF THE END</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_i.jpg"
alt="I" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">I WAITED to hear from my wife in Chicago
but at the end of two weeks I had not
heard from her, although I had written
three letters, and a week later I journeyed
to Colone and took a train for Chicago.
When I called at the house the next day her mother
admitted me, but did not offer to shake hands.
She informed me Orlean was out, but that it was the
first time she had been out, as she had been very
sick since coming home. When I asked her why
Orlean had not written, she said:</p></div>
<p>"I understand you have mistreated my child."</p>
<p>"Mistreated Orlean!" I exclaimed. Then, looking
into her eyes, I asked slowly, "Did Orlean tell
you that?"</p>
<p>"No," she answered, looking away, "but my
husband did."</p>
<p>Gradually, I learned from her, that the Reverend
had circulated a report that Orlean was at death's
door when he came to her bedside; if he had not
arrived when he did, she would have died, and when
she was well enough to travel, he brought her home.</p>
<p>It was at last clear to me, as I sat with bowed
head and feeling bewildered and unable to speak.
I recalled the words of Miss Ankin eighteen months
before, "the biggest rascal in the Methodist church."
I remembered the time I had called and saw him
driving his wife, who was now sitting before me,
and the rest of it. I saw all that he had done. He
had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>
abused this woman for thirty years, and here
and now, out of spite and personal malice, because
I had criticized the action of certain members of the
race, and eulogized the work of Booker T. Washington,
whom the elder, along with many of the older
members of the ministry, hated and would not
allow his name mentioned in his home, I was to lose
my wife, to pay the penalty.</p>
<p>He had disliked me from the beginning, but there
had been no way he could get even. He was "getting
even," spiting me, securing my wife by coercion,
and now spreading a report that I was mistreating
her, in order to justify his action.</p>
<p>"Mrs. McCraline," I said, speaking in a firm
tone, "Do you believe this?"</p>
<p>Evading the direct question, she answered:</p>
<p>"You should never have placed yourself or Orlean
in such a position." And then I understood. When
Orlean had written her mother of the coming of the
child, Mrs. McCraline had not written or told the
Reverend about it.</p>
<p>I now understood, further, that she never told
him anything, and never gave him any information
if she could avoid it. What my wife had told me
was proving itself, that is, that they got along with
her father by avoiding any friction. He could not
be reasoned with, but I could not believe any man
would be mean enough to deliberately break up a
home, and that the home of his daughter, for so
petty a reason. It became clear to me that he ruled
by making himself so disagreeable, that everyone
near gave in to him, to have peace.</p>
<p>He had only that morning gone to his work.
On<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>
hearing me, Ethel came downstairs and called
up Claves. A few minutes later her mother called
me, saying Claves wanted to talk to me. When I
took the receiver and called "hello," he answered
like a crazy man. I said:</p>
<p>"What is the matter? I do not understand what
you are talking about."</p>
<p>"What are you doing in my house, after what you
said about me?" he shouted excitedly.</p>
<p>"Said about you?" I asked.</p>
<p>"Yes," he replied, "I hear you treated my wife
like a dog, after I sent her out there to attend to
your wife, called me all kinds of bad names, and said
I was only a fifteen-cent jockey."</p>
<p>"Treated your wife ugly, and called you a jockey,"
here I came to and said to myself that here was
some more of the elder's work, but I answered
Claves: "I haven't the faintest idea of what you
are talking about. I treated your wife with the
utmost courtesy while she was in Dakota, I never
mentioned your name in any such terms as you
refer to, and I am wholly at a loss to understand
the condition of affairs I find here. I am confused
over it all."</p>
<p>"Well," he answered, "suppose you come down
to where I work and we will talk it over."</p>
<p>"I'll do that," I answered, and went down town
where he worked on Wabash avenue.</p>
<p>One thing I had noticed about him was, that
while he was ignorant, he was at least an honest,
hard-working fellow, but was kept in fear by his
wife and the elder. I saw after talking to him, that
he, like Mrs. McCraline, did not believe a word of
what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>
the Reverend had told about my mistreating
his daughter, and that he submitted to the elder,
as the rest of the family did, for the sake of peace.
But they were all trained and avoided saying anything
about the elder.</p>
<p>During the conversation with Claves he told me
he kept up the house, paid all the grocery bills, and
half the payments. He had been advanced to a
salary of eighteen dollars a week and seemed to be
well liked by the management.</p>
<p>I went to a hotel run by colored people, and at
about seven-thirty that evening, called up the house
to see if Orlean had returned. She came to the
phone but before we had said much, were accidentally
cut off. Hearing her voice excited me, and I
wanted to see her, so hung up the receiver and
hurried to the house, some ten or twelve blocks
away. When I rang the bell, Claves came to the
door. Before he could let me enter, Ethel came
running down the stairs, screaming as loudly as
she could:</p>
<p>"Don't let him in! Don't let him in! You
know what papa said! Don't you let him in,"
and continued screaming as loud as possible.</p>
<p>I heard my wife crying in the back room. Claves
had his hat on and came outside, saying:</p>
<p>"For God's sake, Ethel, hush up! You'll have
all the neighborhood out."</p>
<p>She continued to scream, and to stop her, he
closed the door. We went together on State street
and I took a few Scotch highballs and cocktails
to try to forget it.</p>
<p>The next day being Sunday, Claves said he would
try<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>
to get Ethel off to church and then I could slip
in and see Orlean, but she refused to go and when
I called up, about the time I thought she would be
gone, she was on guard. My wife was at the phone
and told me to come over and she would try to slip
out, but when I called, Ethel had made her go to bed.
It seemed that she ran the house and all in it, when
the elder was away. Mrs. McCraline came outside,
took me by the arm and led me over to Groveland
park, near the lake. Here she unfolded a plan
whereby I should find a room nearby, and she would
slip Orlean over to it, but this proved as unsuccessful
as the other attempt, to steal a march on Ethel.
She held the fort and I did not get to see my wife
but one hour during the four days I was in Chicago.
That was on Tuesday following, after Claves had
tried every trick and failed to get Ethel away. This
time he succeeded by telling her I had left town,
but when I had been in the house an hour, Ethel
came and started screaming. I had to get out before
she would stop.</p>
<p>The next day I called up and suggested to Orlean
that I bring a doctor and leave her in his charge
for I must return to Dakota. She consented and I
went to a young negro doctor on State street and
took him to the house, but when we arrived, Ethel
would not admit us. The doctor and I had roomed
together before I left Chicago, while he was attending
the Northwestern Medical School, and we had always
been good friends. He had been enthusiastic over
my success in the west and it made me feel dreadfully
embarrassed when we were refused admittance.
When I called up the house later Ethel came to the
phone, and said:</p>
<p>"How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
dare you bring a 'nigger doctor' to our
house? Why, papa has never had a negro doctor
in his house. Dr. Bryant is our doctor."</p>
<p>Dr. Bryant, a white doctor, is said to have the
biggest practice among colored people, of any physician.
That recalled to my mind some of the
elder's declarations of a short time before. He had
said on more than one occasion:</p>
<p>"I am sacrificing my life for this race," and would
appear much affected.</p>
<p>After I returned home, my wife began writing
nice letters, and so did Claves, who had done all a
hen-pecked husband could do to help my wife and
me. He wrote letters from the heart, declaring his
intention to be more than a friend. He would be
a brother. I received a letter from him, which
read:</p>
<blockquote class="small"><p>
Chicago, Ill., May 30, 19—.<br />
</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friend Devereaux</span>:</p>
<p>Your kind and welcome letter was received a few days ago
and the reason you did not receive my last letter sooner was
because I left it for Ethel to mail, and she didn't do so. I am
glad to hear you are getting your flax in good shape, and the
prospects are fair for a good crop, and now I will tell you about
Orlean. She seems happier of late than she has been at any
time since she came home. Now, I don't know how you will
feel, but I know it relieves my conscience, when I say that your
wife loves you, and talks of you—to me—all the time.</p>
<p>Those papers, and pamphlets you sent telling all about the
display Nicholson brothers had on at the Omaha land show.
She had opened it and when I came home she told me she could
not wait because she was so anxious to hear about the Little
Crow. She told me that Nicholson brothers were your best
friends. I imagine they must be smart fellows for every paper
in the batch you sent me had something about them in it.
She took the money you sent her and bought some shoes and
had<span class="pagenum1"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>
some pictures made, so as to send you one. Mrs. Warner
was over the next day, and said; "Where did you get the
shoes?" and she answered, "My husband sent them to me."</p>
<p>Now, I hope you will not worry because she told me as
soon as she was well enough she was going back to Dakota,
and as for me, I intend to be more than a friend to you. I'm
going to be a brother.</p>
<p>
From your dear friend,<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">E.M. Claves</span>.<br />
</p></blockquote>
<p>My wife had written at the same time and used
many "we" and "ours" in her letter, and I felt
the trouble would soon be over and she would be
at home.</p>
<p>That was the last letter I received from Claves,
and when I heard from my wife again, it was altogether
different. Instead of an endearing epistle,
it was one of accusation, downright abusive. I made
no complaint, nor did I write to Claves to inquire
why he had ceased writing. I had always judged
people by their convictions and in this I knew the
cause.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2>
<p class="center">THE MENNONITES</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_d.jpg"
alt="D" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">DURING the first half of the sixteenth
century, Menno Simons founded a denomination
of Christians in Friesland,
a province of the Netherlands. Many
of these Mennonites settled in Northern Germany.
This religious belief was opposed to military service
and about the close of the American Revolution
the Mennonites began emigrating, until more than
fifty thousand of their number had found homes
west of the Dneiper, near the Black Sea, in Southern
Russia, around Odessa. These people were fanatical
in their belief, rejected infant baptism and
original sin, believing in baptism only on profession
of faith, and were opposed to theological training.</p></div>
<p>In Russia, as in Germany, they led lives of great
simplicity, both secularly and religiously and lived
in separate communities.</p>
<p>The gently rolling lands, with a rich soil, responded
readily to cultivation, and history proves the Germans
always to have been good farmers. The
Mennonites found peace and prosperity in southern
Russia, until the Crimean war. Being opposed to
military service, when Russia began levying heavy
taxes on their lands and heavier toll from their
families, by taking the strong young men to carry
on the war, the Mennonites became dissatisfied under
the Russian government, and left the country in
great numbers, removing to America, and settling
along the Jim river in South Dakota.</p>
<p>Among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>
these settlers was a family by the name of
Wesinberger, who had grown prosperous, their
forefathers having gone to Russia among the first,
although they were not Mennonites. Christopher
the youngest son, was among those drawn to go to
the war, but the Wesinbergers were prosperous, and
paid the examining physician twelve hundred and
fifty rubles (about one thousand dollars) to have
Christopher "made sick" and pronounced unfit
for service. With the approach of the Russian-Japanese
War, when it was seen that Russia would
be forced into war with Japan, the boys having
married, and with sons of their own, who would
have to "draw," the Wesinberger brothers sold
their land and set sail for America. At the time the
war broke out, John and Jacob were living on homesteads,
in the county adjoining Tipp county on the
north, Christopher having settled in western Canada.</p>
<p>It was while they were breaking prairie near my
sister's homestead, that I became acquainted with
the former, who, at that time owned a hundred and
fifty head of cattle, seventy-five head of horses,
hogs, and all kinds of farm machinery, besides a
steam prairie breaking outfit and fifteen hundred
acres of land between them.</p>
<p>During rainy days along in April, to pass the time
away, I would visit them, and while sitting by the
camp fire was told of what I have written above, but
where they interested me most was when they discussed
astronomy and meteorology. They could
give the most complete description of the zodiacal
heavens and the different constellations. It seems
that astronomy had interested their ancestors
before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>
leaving Germany nearly one hundred and
thirty years before, and it had been taught to each
succeeding generation. They seemed to know the
position of each planet, and on several occasions
when the nights were clear, with a powerful telescope,
they would try to show them to me, but as I
knew little or nothing of astronomy, I understood
but little of their discussions concerning the heliocentric
longitude of all the planets, or the points
at which they would appear if seen from the sun.</p>
<p>Before many months rolled around I had good
reason to believe at least a part of what they tried
to explain to me, and that was, that according to
the planets we were nearing a certain Jupiter disturbance.</p>
<p>"And what does that mean?" I asked.</p>
<p>"That means," they explained, "It will be dry."</p>
<p>"Jupiter" said John, as he leisurely rolled a
cigarette, "circumnavigates the sun once while
the earth goes around it twelve times. In Russia
Jupiter's position got between the sun and the constellation
Pisces, Aries, Taurus and Gemini, it
was invariably wet and cool and small grain crops
were good, but as it passed on and got between the
sun and the constellations Libra and Scorpio it was
always followed by a minimum of rainfall and a
maximum heat, which caused a severe drouth."</p>
<p>They had hoped it would be different in America,
but explained further that when they had lived in
Russia it commenced to get dry around St. Petersburg,
Warsaw and all northern Russia a year or so
before it did in southern Russia.</p>
<p>They had relatives living around Menno, in
Hutchinson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>
County, South Dakota, who had witnessed
the disastrous drouth during Cleveland's
administration. Jupiter was nearing the position
it had then occupied and would, in sixty days, be
at the same position it had been at that time.</p>
<p>While few people pay any attention to weather
"dopsters," I did a little thinking and remembered
it had been dry in southern Illinois at that time, and
I began to feel somewhat uneasy. According to
their knowledge, if the same in southern America
as it had been in southern Russia, it would begin
to get dry about a year before the worst drouth,
then a very dry year, the third year would begin
to improve, and after the fourth year conditions
would again become normal, but the concensus
of their opinion was there would be a drouth.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI</h2>
<p class="center">THE DROUTH</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_a.jpg"
alt="A" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">A CLOUDY and threatening day in May,
there came an inch of rainfall. I had
completed sowing two hundred and fifty
acres of flax a few days before, and soon
everything looked beautiful and green. I felt
extremely hopeful.</p></div>
<p>During the six years I had been farming in
Dakota, I had raised from fair to good crops every
year. The seasons had been favorable, and if a
good crop had not been raised, it was not the fault
of the soil or from lack of rainfall. The previous
year had not been as wet as others, but I had raised
a fair crop, and at this time had four hundred and
ten acres in crop and one hundred and ten acres
rented out, from which I was to receive one third
of the crop. I had come west with hopes of bettering
my financial condition and had succeeded fairly
well.</p>
<p>Around me at this time others had grown prosperous,
land had advanced until some land adjoining
Megory had brought one hundred dollars per
acre, and land a few miles from town sold for fifty
to eighty dollars per acre.</p>
<p>Before settling in the west I had read in real
estate advertisements all about the wheat land that
could be bought from ten to twenty-five dollars
per acre, that would raise from twenty-five to forty
bushels of wheat to the acre. While all this was
quite possible I had never raised over twenty-five
bushels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>
per acre, and mostly harvested from ten
to twenty. I had wondered, before I left Chicago,
how, at a yield of thirty bushels per acre (and for
the last seven or eight years prices had ranged from
seventy cents to one dollar per bushel for wheat)
the farmers could spend all the money. Of course,
I had learned, in six years, that twenty-five to forty
or fifty bushels per acre, while possible, was far from
probable, and considerably above the average.</p>
<p>The average yield for all wheat raised in the
United States is about fourteen bushels per acre,
but crops had averaged from fair to good all over
the northwest for some fifteen or sixteen years, with
some exceptions, and the question I had heard asked
years before, "Will the drouth come again," was
about forgotten.</p>
<p>During the three years previous to this time, poor
people from the east, and around Megory and Calias
as well, who were not able to pay the prices demanded
for relinquishments and deeded lands in
Megory, Tipp county, or the eastern states, had
flocked by thousands to the western part of the
state and taken free homesteads. At the beginning
of this, my seventh season in Dakota, the agricultural
report showed an exceedingly large number of
acres had been seeded, and the same report which
was issued June eighth, reported the condition of all
growing crops to be up to the ten-year average and
some above.</p>
<p>It was on Sunday. I had quit breaking prairie
on account of the ground being too dry, and while
going along the road, I noticed a field of spelt that
looked peculiar. Going into the field, I dug my
fingers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>
into the soil, and found it dry. I could not
understand how it had dried out so quickly; but
thinking it would rain again in a few days, it had
been but ten days since the rain, I thought no more
about it. The following week, although it clouded
up and appeared very threatening, the clouds passed
and no rain fell. On Saturday I drove into Ritten,
and on the way again noticed the peculiar appearance
of the growing plants. It was the topic of discussion
in the town, but no one seemed willing to admit
that it was from the lack of moisture. The weather
had been very hot all week and the wind seemed to
blow continually from the south.</p>
<p>In past years, after about two days of south
winds, we were almost sure to have rain. The fact
that the wind had blown from the south for nearly
two weeks and no rain had fallen caused everybody
to be anxious. That night was cloudy, the thunder
and lightning lasted for nearly two hours, but when
I went to the door, I could see the stars, and the
next day the heat was most intense.</p>
<p>The Wesinbergers had said the heavens would
be ablaze with lightning and resound with peals
of thunder but that they were only solstice storms,
coming up in unusual directions, and that such
storms were characteristic of a dry season. Furthermore,
that heavy, abnormal rains would occur in
scattered localities, at the same time, but they
would be few and far apart.</p>
<p>June fifteenth I took my sister to Victor to make
proof on her homestead, and from there drove to
Megory, stopping in Calias to send my wife a telegram
to the effect that I felt I was going to be sick
and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>
for her to draw a draft on the Bank of Calias,
and come home. The telegram was not answered.</p>
<p>Next morning my sister left for Kansas, and that
afternoon a heavy downpour of rain fell all over
Megory county and as far west as Victor, but north
of Ritten, where I had my flax crop, there was
scarcely sufficient rain to lay the dust. On that day
the hot winds set in and lasted for seven weeks, the
wind blowing steadily from the south all the while.</p>
<p>I had never before, during the seven years,
suffered to any extent from the heat, but during
that time I could not find a cool place. The wind
never ceased during the night, but sounded its
mournful tune without a pause. Then came a
day when the small grain in Tipp county was beyond
redemption, and rattled as leaves in November.
The atmosphere became stifling, and the scent of
burning plants sickening.</p>
<p>My flax on the sod, which was too small to be
hurt at the beginning of the drouth, began to need
rain, and reports in all daily papers told that the great
heat wave and the drouth in many places were
worse than in Tipp county. All over the western
and northern part of the state, were localities where
it had not rained that season. Potatoes, wheat,
oats, flax, and corn, in the western part of the state,
had not sprouted, and, it was said, in a part of Butte
county, where seed had been sown four inches deep
the year before, there had not been enough rain
since to make it sprout.</p>
<p>The government had spent several million dollars
damming the Belle Fourche river for the purpose of
irrigation, and the previous autumn, when it had
been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>
completed, the water in it had been run onto
the land, to see how it would work, and since had
been dry. No snow had fallen in the mountains
during the winter, and all the rivers were as dry as
the roads; while all the way from the gulf, to
Canada, the now protracted drouth was burning
everything in its wake.</p>
<p>At Kansas City, where the treacherous Kaw
empties its waters into the Missouri, and had for
years wrought disaster with its notorious floods,
drowning out two and sometimes three crops in a
single spring, was nearly dry, and the crops were
drying up throughout its valley.</p>
<p>I spent the Fourth of July in Victor, where the
people shook their heads gravely and said, "Tipp
county will never raise a crop." The crops had
dried up in Tipp county the year before. I read
that the railroad men who run from Kansas City
to Dodge City reported that the pastures through
Kansas were so dry along the route, that a louse
could be seen crawling a half mile away. In parts
of Iowa the farmers commenced to put their stock
in pens and fed them hay from about the middle
of June, there being no feed in the pastures.
Through eastern Nebraska, western Iowa and southern
Minnesota, the grasshoppers began to appear
by the millions, and proceeded to head the small
grain. To save it, the farmers cut and fed it to
stock, in pens.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i316" name="i316"></a>
<img src="images/i316.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">The crops began to wither. <a href="#Page_289">(page 289.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>The markets were being over-run with thin cattle
from the western ranges, where the grass had never
started on account of lack of moisture. I watched
my flax crop and early in July noticed it beginning
to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
wilt, then millions of army worms began cutting
it down. On the eleventh I left for Megory
county, with my stock, to harvest the winter wheat
there. It had been partially saved by the rain in
June. The two hundred and eighty-five acres of
flax was a brown, sickly-looking mess, and I was
badly discouraged, for outside of my family trouble,
I had borrowed my limit at the bank, and the flax
seed, breaking, and other expenses, had amounted
to eleven hundred dollars.</p>
<p>About this time the settlers all over the western
highlands began to desert their claims. Newspapers
reported Oklahoma burned to a crisp, and Kansas
scorched, from Kansas City to the Colorado line.
Homesteaders to the north and west of us began
passing through the county, and their appearance
presented a contrast to that of a few years before.
Fine horses that marched bravely to the land of
promise, drawing a prairie schooner, were returning
east with heads hanging low from long, stringy
necks, while their alkalied hoofs beat a slow tattoo,
as they wearily dragged along, drawing, in many
cases, a dilapidated wagon over which was stretched
a tattered tarpaulin; while others drew rickety
hacks or spring wagons, with dirty bedding and
filthy looking utensils. These people had not made
a dollar in the two years spent on their homesteads.
At Pierre, it was said, seven hundred crossed the
the Missouri in a single day, headed east; while
in the settlements they had left, the few remaining
settlers went from one truck patch to another,
digging up the potatoes that had been planted in
the spring, for food.</p>
<p>One<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>
day I crossed the White river and went to
visit the Wisenbergers, who lived seventeen miles
to the north. On the way, out of forty-seven
houses I passed, only one had an occupant. The
land in that county is underlaid with a hardpan
about four inches from the surface, and had not
raised a crop for two years. The settlers had left
the country to keep from starving. As I drove
along the dusty road and gazed into the empty
houses through the front doors that banged to and
fro with a monotonous tone, from the force of the
hot south winds, I felt lonely and faraway; the only
living thing in sight being an occasional dog that
had not left with his master, or had returned, but
on seeing me, ran, with tucked tail, like a frightened
coyote.</p>
<p>Merchants were being pressed by the wholesale
houses. The recent years had been prosperous,
and it is said prosperity breeds contempt and recklessness.
The townspeople and many farmers had
indulged lavishly in chug-chug cars. Bankers and
wholesale houses, who had always criticised so much
automobilism, were now making some wish they had
never heard the exhaust of a motor. In addition
to this the speculators were loaded to the guards,
with lands carrying as heavy mortgage as could
be had—which was large—for prosperity had caused
loan companies to increase the amount of their loans.
No one wanted to buy. Every one wanted to sell.
The echo of the drouth seventeen years before and
the disaster which followed, rang through the
country and had the effect of causing prices to slump
from five to fifteen dollars per acre less than a year
before.</p>
<p>Now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>
what made it worse for Tipp county was,
that it had been opened when prosperity was at its
zenith. The people were money mad. Reckless
from the prosperity which had caused them to dispense
with caution and good judgment, they were
brought suddenly to a realization of a changed
condition. The new settlers, all from eastern points,
came into Tipp county, seeing Tipp county claims
worth, not six dollars per acre, the price charged by
the Government, but finding ready sales at prices
ranging from twenty-five to forty-five dollars, and
even fifty dollars per acre. They had spent money
accordingly. And now, when the parched fields
frowned, and old Jupiter Pluvius refused to speak,
the community faced a genuine panic.</p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<p>Came a day, sultry and stifling with excessive
heat, when I drove back to the claims. Everywhere
along the way were visible the effects of the drouth.
Vegetation had withered, and the trails gave forth
clouds of dust.</p>
<p>Late in the afternoon clouds appeared in the northwest
and the earth trembled with the resounding
peals of thunder. The lightning played dangerously
near, and then, like the artillery of a mighty
battle, the storm broke loose and the rain fell in
torrents, filling the draws and ravines, and overflowing
the creeks, which ran for days after. All
over the north country the drouth was broken and
plant life began anew.</p>
<p>My wheat threshed about eight hundred bushels,
and when marketed, the money received was not
sufficient to pay current expenses. Therefore, I
could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
not afford the outlay of another trip to Chicago,
but wrote many letters to Orlean, imploring
her to return, but all in vain.</p>
<p>During the summer I had received many letters
from people in Chicago and southern Illinois, denouncing
the action of the Elder, in preventing my
wife from returning home. The contents of these
letters referred to the matter as an infamous outrage,
and sympathized with me, by hoping my wife
would have courage to stand up for the right. I
rather anticipated, that with so much criticism of
his action by the people belonging to the churches
in his circuit, he would relent and let her return
home; but he remained obstinate, the months
continued to roll by, and my wife stayed on.</p>
<p>I had not written her concerning the drouth,
which had so badly impaired crops. I knew her
people read all the letters she received, and felt that
with the knowledge in their possession that my crop
had been cut short, along with the rest, would not
help my standing. They would be sure to say to
her, "I told you so." The last letter that I received
from my wife, that year, was written early in the
fall, in answer to a letter that I wrote her, and in
which I had sent her some money, with which to
buy some things for my grandmother. When
Orlean had been in Dakota, she had been very
fond of my grandmother, and had asked about her
in every letter, whether the letter was kind or abusive,
as regarded me. My wife's letter, stated that
she had received the money, and thanked me also
stated that she would get the things for "Grandma"
that day. Neither grandmother or I received the
things.</p>
<p>I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>
was so wrought up over it all, yet saw no place
where I could get justice. In order to show the
Reverend that he was being criticized by friends of
the family, I gathered up some half dozen or more
letters, including the last one from Claves and one
from Mrs. Ewis, and sent them to him. The one
from Mrs. Ewis related how he had written to her,
just before he took my wife away, saying that she
was in dire need, and wanted to borrow twenty-five
dollars to bring her home. Needless to say,
she had not sent it, nor assisted him in any other
way, in helping to break up the home. As a result,
she said, he had not spoken to her since.</p>
<p>I learned later that the letters I had sent had
made him terribly angry. I received a letter from
him, the contents of which were about the same as
his conversation had been, excepting, that he did
not profess any love for me, which at least was a
relief; but, from the contents, I derived that he had
expected his act to give him immortality, and
expressed surprise that he should be criticized for
coming to Dakota and saving the life of his child—as
he put it—from the heartless man, that was
killing her in his efforts to get rich.</p>
<p>He seemed to forget to mention any of the facts
which had occurred during his last trip, namely;
his many declarations of undying love for us; of
how glad he was that we were doing so much toward
the development of the great west; and his remarks
that if he was twenty-five years younger it was
where he would be. He also suggested that he
would try to be transferred to the Omaha District,
so that he might be nearer us.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII</h2>
<p class="center">A YEAR OF COINCIDENCES</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_a2.jpg"
alt="A" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">ALTHOUGH the drouth had been broken
all over the north, it lingered on, to the
south. My parents wrote me from
Kansas, that thousands of acres of
wheat, sown early in the fall, had failed to sprout.
It had been so dry. The ground was as dry as
powder, and the winds were blowing the grain out
of the sandy soil, which was drifting in great piles
along the fences and in the road.</p></div>
<p>The government's final estimated yield of all
crops was the smallest it had been for ten years.
As a result, loan companies who had allowed interest
to accumulate for one and two years, in the
hope that the farmers and other investors would
be able to sell, such having been the conditions of
the past, now began to threaten foreclosure and
money became hard to get.</p>
<p>From the south came reports that many counties
in Oklahoma, that were loaded with debt, had
defaulted for two years on the interest, and County
warrants, that had always brought a premium, sold
at a discount.</p>
<p>The rain that had followed the drouth, in the
north, as the winter months set in, began to move
south, and about Christmas came the heaviest
snows the south had known for years. With the
snows came low temperatures that lasted for weeks.
As far south as Oklahoma city, zero weather gripped
the country, and to the west the cattle left on
the ranges froze to death by the thousands. A
large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>
part of those that lived—few were fit for the
market, they were so thin—were sold to eastern
speculators at gift prices, due to the fact that rough
feed was not to be had.</p>
<p>The heavy snows that covered the entire country,
from the Rocky Mountains to the Atlantic, and the
bitter cold weather that followed, made shipping
hazardous. Therefore, the rural districts suffered
in every way. Snow continued to fall and the cold
weather held forth, until it was to be seen, when
warm weather arrived, the change would be sudden,
and floods would result, such was the case.</p>
<p>It was a year of coincidences; the greatest drouth
known for years, followed by the coldest winter
and the heaviest snows, and these in turn by disastrous
floods, will live long in memory.</p>
<p>To me the days were long, and the nights lonely.
The late fall rains kept my flax growing until winter
had set in, and snow fell before it was all harvested.
All I could see of my crop was little white elevations
over the field. There was no chance to get it
threshed. My capital had all been exhausted, and
it was a dismal prospect indeed. I used to sit there
in my wife's lonely claim-house, with nothing else
to occupy my mind but to live over the happy
events connected with our courtship and marriage,
and the sad events following her departure.</p>
<p>During my life on the Little Crow, I had looked
forward joyfully to the time when I should be a
husband and father, with a wife to love, and a home
of my own. This had been so dominant in my mind,
that when I thought it over, I could not clearly
realize the present situation. I lived in a sort of
stupor and my very existence seemed to be a dreadful
nightmare.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>
I would at times rouse myself,
pinch the flesh, and move about, to see if it was my
real self; and would try to shake off the loneliness
which completely enveloped me. My head ached
and my heart was wrung with agony.</p>
<p>I read a strange story, but its contents seemed so
true to life. It related the incident of a criminal
who had made an escape from a prison—not for
freedom, but to get away for only an hour, that he
might find a cat, or a dog, or something, that he
could love.</p>
<p>It seems he had been an author, and by chance
came upon a woman—during the time of his escape—who
permitted him to love her, and during the
short recess, to her he recited a poem entitled, "The
right to love." The words of that poem burned
in my mind.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4q">"Love is only where is reply,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">I speak, you answer; There am I,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">And that is life everlasting."<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4q">"Love lives, to seek reply.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">I speak, no answer; Then I die,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">To seek reincarnation."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>As the cold days and long nights passed slowly
by, and I cared for the stock and held down my wife's
claim, the title of that story evolved in my mind,
and I would repeat it until it seemed to drive me
near insanity. I sought consolation in hope, and
the winter days passed at last; but I continued to
hope until I had grown to feel that when I saw my
wife and called to her name, she would hear me and
see the longing in my heart and soul; then would
come the day of redemption.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII</h2>
<p class="center">"AND SATAN CAME ALSO."</p>
<div class="drop">
<img src="images/drop_c.jpg"
alt="C" width="90" height="90"
class="cap" />
<p class="cap_1">CAME a day when the snow had disappeared;
my threshing was done; I had money
again, and to Chicago I journeyed.</p></div>
<p>During the winter I had planned a
way to get to see my wife, and took the first step
toward carrying it out, immediately following my
arrival in the city.</p>
<p>I went to a telephone and called up Mrs. Ewis.
She recognized my voice and knew what I had come
for. She said: "I am so glad I was near the phone
when you called up, because your father-in-law is
in the house this very minute." On hearing this
I was taken aback, for it had not occurred to me
that he might be in the city. As the realization
that he was, became clear to me, I felt ill at ease,
and asked how he came to be in the city at that
time.</p>
<p>"Well," and from her tone I could see that she
was also disturbed—"you see tomorrow is election
and yesterday was Easter, so he came home to vote,
and be here Easter, at the same time. Now, let
me think a moment," she said nervously. Finally
she called: "Oscar, I tell you what I will do, P.H.
is sick and the Reverend has been here every day
to see him." Here she paused again, then went on:
"I will try to get him to go home, but he stays late.
However, you call up in about an hour, and if he
is still here, I'll say 'this is the wrong number, see?'"</p>
<p>"Yes," I said gratefully, and hung up the receiver.</p>
<p>I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>
had by this time become so nervous that I
trembled, and then went down into Custom House
place—I had talked from the Polk Street station—and
took a couple of drinks to try to get steady.</p>
<p>In an hour and a half I called up again and it was
the "wrong number," so I went out south and called
on a young railroad man and his wife, by the name
of Lilis, who were friends of Orlean's and mine.</p>
<p>After expressing themselves as being puzzled as
to why the Reverend should want to separate us,
Mrs. Lilis told me of her. During the conversation
Mrs. Lilis said: "After you left last year, I went
over to see Orlean, and spoke at length of you, of
how broken hearted you appeared to be, and that she
should be in Dakota. Mrs. McCraline looked uncomfortable
and tried to change the subject, but I said
my mind, and watched Orlean. In the meantime
I thought she would faint right there, she looked
so miserable and unhappy. She has grown so fat,
you know she was always so peaked before you
married her. Everybody is wondering how her
father can be so mean, and continue to keep her
from returning home to you, but Mrs. Ewis can and
will help you get her because she can do more with
that family than anyone else. She and the Elder
have been such close friends for the last fifteen
years, and she should be able to manage him."</p>
<p>Then her mother said: "Oscar, I have known
you all your life; I was raised up with your parents;
knew all of your uncles; and know your family
to have always been highly respected; but I cannot
for my life see, why, if Orlean loves you, she
lets her father keep her away from you. Now here
is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>
my Millie," she went on, turning her eyes to her
daughter, "and Belle too, why, I could no more
separate them from their husbands than I could
fly—even if I was mean enough to want to."</p>
<p>"But why does he do it, Mama? The Reverend
wants to break up the home of Orlean and Oscar,"
Mrs. Lilis put in, anxiously.</p>
<p>"Bless me, my child," her mother replied, "I
have known N.J. McCraline for thirty years and
he has been a rascal all the while. I am not
surprised at anything that he would do."</p>
<p>"Well," said Mrs. Lilis, with a sigh of resignation,
"it puzzles me."</p>
<p>I then told them about calling up Mrs. Ewis and
what I had planned on doing. It was then about
nine-thirty. As they had a phone, I called Mrs.
Ewis again.</p>
<p>While talking, I had forgotten the signal, and
remembered it only when I heard Mrs. Ewis calling
frantically, from the other end of the wire, "This
is the wrong number, Mister, this is the wrong
number." With an exclamation, I hung up the
receiver with a jerk.</p>
<p>Mrs. Ankin lived about two blocks east, so I
went to her house from Mrs. Lilis'. On the street,
the effect of what had passed, began to weaken me.
I was almost overcome, but finally arrived at Mrs.
Ankins'. Just before retiring, at eleven o'clock,
I again called up Mrs. Ewis, and it was still the
"wrong number." I went to bed and spent a
restless night.</p>
<p>I awakened about five-thirty from a troubled
sleep, jumped up, dressed, then went out and caught
a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>
car for the west side. I felt sure the Elder would
go home during the night.</p>
<p>It is always very slow getting from the south to
the west side in Chicago, on a surface car, and it
was after seven o'clock when I arrived at the address,
an apartment building, where Mrs. Ewis'
husband held the position as janitor, and where
they made their home, in the basement.</p>
<p>She was just coming from the grocery and greeted
me with a cheerful "Good Morning," and "Do you
know that rascal stayed here until twelve o'clock
last night," she laughed. She called him "rascal"
as a nickname. She took me into their quarters,
invited me to a chair, sat down, and began to talk
in a serious tone. "Now Oscar, I understand your
circumstances thoroughly, and am going to help
you and Orlean in every way I can. You understand
Rev. McCraline has always been hard-headed,
and the class of ministers he associates with, are
more hard-headed still. The Elder has never liked
you because of your independence, and from the
fact that you would not let him rule your house and
submit to his ruling, as Claves does. Now Oscar,
let me give you some advice. Maybe you are not
acquainted with the circumstances, for if you had
been, in the beginning, you might have avoided this
trouble. What I am telling you is from experience,
and I know it to be true. Don't ever criticize the
preachers, to their faces, especially the older ones.
They know their views and practices, in many instances,
to be out of keeping with good morals, but
they are not going to welcome any criticism of their
acts. In fact, they will crucify criticism, and persecute
those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>
who have criticized them. Furthermore,
you are fond of Booker T. Washington, and
his ideas, and Rev. McCraline, like many other
negro preachers, especially the older ones, hates
him and everybody that openly approves of his
ideas. His family admire the educator, and so do
I, but we don't let on to him. Now I have a plan
in mind, which I feel a most plausible one, and which
I believe will work out best for you, Orlean, and
and myself. Before I mention it, I want to speak
concerning the incident of last fall. When you sent
him that bunch of letters, with mine in it, he fairly
raised cain; as a result, the family quit speaking
to me, and Orlean has not been over here for six
months, until she and Ethel came a few days before
Easter, to get the hats I have always given them.
Now, she went on, seeming to become excited, if I
should invite Orlean over, the Elder would come
along," which I knew to be true. "When you wrote
me last summer in regard to taking her to a summer
resort, so you could come and get her, I told Mary
Arling about it. Now to be candid, Mrs. Arling and
I are not the best of friends. You know she drinks
a little too much, and I don't like that, but Mary
Arling is a friend of yours, and a smart woman."</p>
<p>"Is that so?" I asked, showing interest, for I
admired Mrs. Arling and her husband.</p>
<p>"Yes," Mrs. Ewis reassured me, "she is a friend of
yours and you know all the McCraline family
admire the Arlings, and Orlean goes there often."
"Well, as I was saying", she went on, "last summer
out at a picnic, Mrs. Arling got tipsy enough to speak
her mind and she simply laid the family out about
you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
She told the Reverend right to his teeth that
he was a dirty rascal, and knew it; always had
been, and that it was a shame before God and man
the way he was treating you. Yes, she said it,"
she reassured me when I appeared to doubt a little.
"And she told me she wished you had asked her to
take Orlean away; that she would not only have
taken her away from Chicago, but would have
carried her on back to Dakota where she wanted
to be, instead of worrying her life away in Chicago,
in fear of her father's wrath. So now, my plan is
that you go over to her house, see? You know the
address."</p>
<p>I knew the house. "Well," and she put it
down on a piece of paper, "you go over there, and she
will help you; and Oscar, for God's sake, she implored,
with tears in her eyes, do be careful. I
know Orlean loves you and you do her, but the Reverend
has it in for you, and if he learned you were in
the city, Orlean would not be allowed to leave the
house. Now, she added, I will get him over here as
soon as I can and you do your part. Good-bye."</p>
<p>I took a roundabout way in getting back to the
south side, keeping out of the colored neighborhood
as long as possible, by taking a Halsted street car
south, got a transfer, and took a Thirty-fifth
street car.</p>
<p>I was careful to avoid meeting anyone who might
know me, but who might not be aware of my predicament,
and who might thoughtlessly inform the
McCralines.</p>
<p>I arrived at Mrs. Arlings without meeting anyone
who knew me, however. They owned and occupied
an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>
elaborate flat at an address in the Thirty-seventh
block on Wabash avenue. I rang the bell, which
was answered by a young lady unknown to me, but
who, I surmised, roomed at the house. She inquired
the name, and when I had told her she let out an "O!"
and invited me into the parlor. She hurried away
to tell Mrs. Arling, who came immediately, and
holding both hands out to me, said, "I am so glad
you came at last, Oscar, I am so glad."</p>
<p>After we had said a few words concerning the
weather, etc., I said in a serious tone, "Mrs. Arling,
I am being persecuted on account of my ideas."</p>
<p>"I know it, Oscar, I know it," she repeated, nodding
her head vigorously, and appeared eager.</p>
<p>I then related briefly the events of the past year,
including the Reverend's trip to Dakota.</p>
<p>Raising her arms in a gesture, she said: "If you
remember the day after you were married, when we
had the family and you over to dinner, and you and
Richard (her husband), talked on race matters, that
the Elder never joined. Well, when you had gone
Richard said: 'Oscar and the Elder are not going
to be friends long, for their views are too far apart.'
When he brought Orlean home last year I said to
Richard, 'Rev. McCraline is up to some trick.'"
Continuing, she went on to tell me, "You are aware
how bitter most of the colored preachers are in regard
to Booker T. Washington." "Yes," I assented.
"Mrs. Ewis and I talked the matter over and she
said the Reverend had it in for you from the beginning,
that is, he wanted to crush your theories, and
have you submissive, like Ethel's husband. He was
more anxious to have you look up to him because
you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>
had something; but after he found out you were
not going to, well, this is the result."</p>
<p>"Now, Oscar, whatever you suggest, if it is in my
power to do so, I will carry it out, because I am sure
Orlean loves you. She always seems so glad when I
talk with her about you. She comes over often,"
she went on, "and we get to talking of you. Now
before I tell you more, you must not feel that she
does not care for you, because she allows her father
to keep her away from you. Orlean is just simple,
babylike and is easy to rule. She gets that from her
mother, for you know Mary Ann is helpless." I
nodded, and she continued. "As for the Reverend,
he has raised them to obey him, and they do, to the
letter; the family, with Claves thrown in, fear him,
but as I was going to say: Orlean told me when I
asked her why she did not go on back to you, 'Well,
I don't know.' You know how she drags her speech.
'Oscar loves me, and we never had a quarrel. In
fact, there is nothing wrong between us and Oscar
would do anything to please me. The only thing I
did not like, was, that Oscar thought more of his
land and money than he did of me, and I wanted to
be first.'"</p>
<p>"Isn't that deplorable," I put in, shaking my head
sadly.</p>
<p>"Of course it is," she replied with a shrug, "why,
that could be settled in fifteen minutes, if it were
not for that old preacher. She always likes to talk
of you and it seems to do her good."</p>
<p>"Now, my plan is," I started, with a determined
expression, "to have you call her up, see?"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes," she answered anxiously.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="i334" name="i334"></a>
<img src="images/i334.jpg" alt="" />
<p class="ctext">The cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and I cared for the stock. <a href="#Page_296">(Page 296.)</a></p>
</div>
<p>"And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>
invite her over on pretense of accompanying
you to a matinee."</p>
<p>"Yes, yes," and then, her face seemed to brighten
with an idea, and she said: "Why not go to a matinee?"</p>
<p>"Why yes," I assented. "I had not thought of
that," then, "Why sure, fine and dandy. We will
all go, yes, indeed," I replied, with good cheer.</p>
<p>She went to the phone and called up the number.
In a few minutes she returned, wearing a jubilant expression,
and cried: "I've fixed it, she is coming
over and we will all go to a matinee. Won't it be
fine?" she continued, jumping up and down, and
clapping her hands joyfully, beside herself, with enthusiasm,
and I joined her.</p>
<p>Two hours later, Mrs. Hite—the young lady that
answered the door when I came that morning—called
from the look-out, where she had been watching
while Mrs. Arling was dressing, and I, too nervous
to sit still, was walking to and fro across the room—that
Orlean was coming. We had been uneasy for
fear the Elder might hear of my being in the city,
before Orlean got away. I rushed to the window and
saw my wife coming leisurely along the walk, entirely
ignorant of the anxious eyes watching her from the
second-story window. I could see, at the first glance,
she had grown fleshy; she had begun before she left
South Dakota. It was a bay window and we
watched her until she had come up the steps and
pulled the bell.</p>
<p>Mrs. Arling had told me my wife did not have any
gentleman company. I had not felt she had, for,
in the first place, she was not that kind of a woman,
and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>
if her father, by his ways, discouraged any men
in coming to see her while she was single, he was sure
to discourage any afterward. But Mrs. Arling had
added: "I told her I was going to get her a beau, so
you get behind the door, and when she comes in I
will tell her that I have found the beau."</p>
<p>I obeyed, and after a little Orlean walked into the
room, smiling and catching her breath, from the
exertion of coming up the steps. I stepped behind
her and covered her eyes with my hands. Mrs.
Arling chirped, "That is your beau, so you see I
have kept my word, and there he is." I withdrew
my hands and my wife turned and exclaimed "Oh!"
and sank weakly into a chair.</p>
<p>We had returned from the theatre, where we witnessed
a character play with a moral, A Romance
of the Under World. We had tickets for an evening
performance to see Robert Mantell in Richelieu.
Mrs. Arling ushered us into her sitting room, closed
the door, and left us to ourselves.</p>
<p>I took my wife by the hand; led her to a rocker;
sat down and drew her down on my knee, and began
with: "Now, dear, let us talk it over."</p>
<p>I knew about what to expect, and was not mistaken.
She began to tell me of the "wrongs" I
had done her, and the like. I calculated this would
last about an hour, then she would begin to relent,
and she did. After I had listened so patiently
without interrupting her, but before I felt quite
satisfied, she wanted to go to the phone and call
up the house to tell the folks that I was in town.</p>
<p>"Don't do that, dear," I implored. "I don't
want them to know, that is, just yet." The reason
I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>
was uneasy and wanted her to wait awhile was,
that I felt her father would go to call on Mrs. Ewis
about eight o'clock and it was now only seven. But
she seemed restless and ill at ease, and persisted
that she should call up mother, and let her know,
so I consented, reluctantly. Then as she was on
the way to the phone I called her and said: "Now,
Orlean there are two things a woman cannot be
at the same time, and that is, a wife to her husband
and a daughter to her father. She must sacrifice
one or the other."</p>
<p>"I know it," she replied, and appeared to be confused
and hesitant, but knowing she would never
be at ease until she had called up, I said "Go ahead,"
and she did.</p>
<p>I shall not soon forget the expression on her face,
then the look of weak appeal that she turned on me,
when her father's deep voice rang through the phone
in answer to her "Hello." The next instant she
appeared to sway and then leaned against the wall
trembling as she answered, "Oh! Pa-pa, ah," and
seeming to have no control of her voice. She now
appeared frightened, while Mrs. Arling and Mrs.
Hite stood near, holding their breath and looked
discouraged. She finally managed to get it out,
but hardly above a whisper, "Oscar is here."</p>
<p>"Well," he answered, and his voice could be
heard distinctly by those standing near. "Well,"
he seemed to roar in a commanding way, "Why
don't you bring him to the house?"</p>
<p>What passed after that I do not clearly remember,
but I have read lots of instances of where people
lost their heads, where, if they would have had
presence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>
of mind, they might have saved their
army, won some great victory or done something
else as notorious, but in this I may be classed as
one of the unfortunates who simply lost his head.
That is how it was described later, but speaking
for myself, when I heard the voice of the man who
had secured my wife by coercion and kept her away
from me a year; which had caused me to suffer,
and turned my existence into a veritable nightmare,
the things that passed through my mind during the
few moments thereafter are sad to describe.</p>
<p>I heard his voice say again, "Why don't you
bring him to the house?" But I could only seem
to see her being torn from me, while he, a massive
brute, stood over lecturing me, for what he termed,
"my sins," but what were merely the ideas of a
free American citizen. How could I listen to a
lecture from a person with his reputation. This
formed in my mind and added to the increasing
but suppressed anger. I could see other years
passing with nothing to remember my wife by, but
the little songs she had sung so often while we were
together in Dakota.</p>
<div class="poem small"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4q">"Roses, roses, roses bring memory of you, dear,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Roses so sweet and endearing,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Roses with dew of the morn;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">You were fresh for a day then you faded away.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Red roses bring memories of you."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The next moment I had taken the receiver from
her hand, and called, "Hello, Rev. McCraline,"
"Hello, Rev. McCraline," in a savage tone. When
he had answered, I continued in a more savage
voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>
"You ask my wife why she did not bring me
to the house?"</p>
<p>"Yes," he answered. His voice had changed
from the commanding tone, and now appeared a
little solicitous. "Yes, why don't you come to
the house?" I seemed to hear it as an insult.
I did not seem to understand what he meant,
although I understood the words clearly. They
seemed, however, to say; "Come to the house, and
I will take your wife, and then kick you into the
street."</p>
<p>I answered, with anger burning my voice; "I
don't want to come to your house, because the last
time I was there, I was kicked out. Do you
hear? Kicked out."</p>
<p>"Well, I did not do it." Now, I had looked for
him to say that very thing. I felt sure that he
had put Ethel up to the evil doing of a year before,
and now claimed to know nothing about it, which
was like him. It made me, already crazed with
anger, more furious, and I screamed over the phone
"I know you didn't, and I knew that was what you
would say, but I know you left orders for it to
be done."</p>
<p>"Where is Orlean?" he put in, his voice returning
to authoritative tone.</p>
<p>"She is here with me," I yelled, and hung the
receiver up viciously.</p>
<p>It was only then I realized that Mrs. Arling and
Mrs. Hite had hold of each arm and had been
shouting in my ears all this while, "Oscar, Mr.
Devereaux, Oscar, don't! don't! don't!" and in the
meantime fear seemed to have set my wife in a state
of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>
terror. She now turned on me, in tones that did
not appear natural. The words I cannot, to this
day, believe, but I had become calm and now plead
with her, on my knees, and with tears; but her eyes
saw me not, and her ears seemed deaf to entreaty.
She raved like a crazy woman and declared she
hated me. Of a sudden, some one rang the bell
viciously, and Mrs. Arling commanded me to go up
the stairs. I retreated against my will. She
opened the door, and in walked the Reverend.</p>
<p>Orlean ran to him and fell into his arms and cried:
"Papa, I do not know what I would do if it were
not for you," and kissed him—she had not kissed
me. After a pause, I went up to him. As I approached
he turned and looked at me, with a dreadful
sneer in his face, which seemed to say, "So I
have caught you. Tried to steal a march on me, eh?"
And the eyes, they were the same, the eyes of a pig,
expressionless.</p>
<p>Feeling strange, but composed, I advanced to
where he stood, laid my hands upon his shoulder,
looked into his face and said slowly, "Rev.
McCraline, don't take my wife"—paused, then
went on, "why could you not leave us for a day.
We were happy, not an hour ago." Here my
stare must have burned, my look into his face was
so intense, and he looked away, but without
emotion. "And now I ask you, for the sake of
humanity, and in justice to mankind, don't take
my wife."</p>
<p>Not answering me, he said to my wife: "Do you
want your papa?"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes," she said and leaned on him. Then
she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>
looked into his face and said: "He insulted
you."</p>
<p>"Yes yes, dear," he answered. "He has done
that right along, but you step outside and Papa
will tend to him."</p>
<p>She still clung to him and said: "He has made
you suffer."</p>
<p>He bowed his head, and feigned to suffer. I
stood looking on mechanically. He repeated, "Run
outside, dear," and he stood holding, the door open,
then, realization seemed to come to her, she turned
and threw herself into Mrs. Arling's arms, weakly,
and broke into mournful sobs. Her father drew
her gently from the embrace and with her face in
her hands, and still sobbing, she passed out. He
followed and through the open door I caught a
glimpse of Clavis on the sidewalk below, the man
who had written—not a year before, "I am going
to be a brother, and help you."</p>
<p>The next moment the door closed softly behind
them. That was the last time I saw my wife.</p>
<p class="center">THE END</p>
<div class="figcenter"><a id="iback_cover" name="iback_cover"></a>
<img src="images/iback_cover.jpg" alt="" />
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div class="notes">
<p>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</p>
<p>Illustrations have been moved to the nearest paragraph break,
but otherwise reflect the location where they are placed in
the original publication. Hyperlinks have been included when
a specific page number is mentioned in the illustration
caption.</p>
<p>Obvious typos and printer errors have been corrected
without comment.</p>
<p>With the exception of obvious printer errors,
inconsistencies in the author's spelling, punctuation, and
use of hyphens have been retained as in the original book.
Examples of such inconsistencies include, but are not limited
to:</p>
<blockquote><p>
far-away/ faraway<br />
batch/ bach<br />
Governor Reulbach/ Governor Reulback<br />
</p></blockquote>
<p>Unconventional spelling has been retained in words such as
(but not limited to) the following:</p>
<blockquote><p>
physicological: page 35<br />
monoply: page 50<br />
minature: page 150<br />
futhermore: page 153<br />
concensus: page 283<br />
</p></blockquote>
</div>
<pre>
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Conquest, by Oscar Micheaux
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONQUEST ***
***** This file should be named 39237-h.htm or 39237-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/2/3/39237/
Produced by Cathy Maxam, Glen Fellows and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
gbnewby@pglaf.org
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
http://www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
</pre>
</body>
</html>
|
