THE SUNDAY OltEGOXIAN", PORTLAND, AUGUST 21, 1921
How Lon Baxter,
Pioneer, Confront
ed the Fate of
Lovers Who Wait
Too Long.
THE eun, dwarfted to a hard red
ball, had dropped behind the
level, sharp-cut line where sky
and prairie stopped. Grain fields lay
spread out, a dark, flat monotone un
der a sheet of cold, gray cloud. Close
reefed poplars shivered sibilantly in a
chill breeze.- Yet the boy. and girl,
merged into one dim blot on the steps
of the shallow porch, in front of a bis,
square, mud tinted house, were caught
into a romance world as soft and
warm and entrancingly beautiful as
love ever finds.
But. presently, Lon Baxter broke its
pell. "I can't ask you to marry me,
yet, Edna not until I have a home
ready. If you will wait T'
"Oh, Lon," Edna came back to Grin
don. Ia., with protest in her luminous
face. "Why should we wait for that?
Why shouldn't I do my share in mak
Ins the home?"
"Because I will never let my wife
po through what my mother did. I
can never get away from that "
The boyish face, already shadowed by
pain-breeding experience, set in hard
lines. "I can see it now the day she
died. Thw little bedroom off the
kitchen like an overa she'd cooked
for threshers all day and her gasp
ing and fighting for breath! And my
father bending over, twisting his
hands and moaning. It's the cu'ssed
xoor'gage that's killed her!"'
Biting tears stood in the boy's eyes.
Not even the clasp of Edna's tender
hands, the brush of her fresh cheek,
could take the sting from that mem
ory. The rasping chant of frogs filled
their ears; moonless dark wrapped
them close; for the first time, Lon's
brooding passion found speech:
"I hated that mortgage as if it was
a. living thing! I wanted to tear it
to torture it like a cat does a mouse!
I hated my father, too. He always
worked like a horse you know. Edna
and he expected me and my mother
sometimes I felt that he was down
right cruel."
The wisdom of womanhood was
strong in Edna, though she was but
IS. She. knew words would draw out
buried! bitterness. Gently she led him
on to speak.
"Only the year after ma died he
came home one night and showed us
children a long, dirty paper, covered
with figures and blots. .It was the
mortgage, he said. The last cent was
paid. He lifted the stove lid and
dropped it on to the, coals and we all
atood by and watched it burn. Then
he almost whispered, 'I wish mother
could a seen that!' I couldn't hold in
then. I told him I'd never mortgage
anything o' mine I'd -die first. And
the old mad sat down and spoke quiet
almost as if he was apologizing to
me said he borrowed money first
when ma was sick and had to h,ve a
doctor, and medicine, and nourishing
food. Then the grasshoppers come
three years runnin', and he had to
borrow to keep us all from starvjng
and freezing, and after that, little
Emmy died and that meant another
loan. I could see there hadn't been
nothing else for hlra to do. I hadn't
ought to have blamed him so and I
did feel different after that but "
His voice was hard with determina
tion. "But I made up my mind right
then that I'd never let myself be
trapped the way he was. I'd never
have a wife and children until I was
fixed so I'd- never need to borrow
or mortgage "
With the sweet, clear sense that
was hers Edna spoke:
Yes, Lon. But that can t be you
know. Things happen, good and bad,
and married folks just have to take
the chances together."
"A man ought to have his farm
clear and a comfortable bouse before
be asks a woman to begin to take
chances," Lon, boy sure, pronounced.
"That will take a long time years,
perhaps." Edna's voice had lost some
of its Joy trill.
"No, I am young and strong, and I
can work. God. How I'll work for
you, Edna!"
"I know. I understand how you
feel," she admitted. "But," shyly,
am young and strong, too. Lon. And
I am not afraid of work, either with
you."
His arms tight about her, hepe and
gladness pulsing high in the swift
rebound of youth, he told -her confi
dently.
"ThereH be work enough for yon
when I have the farm and the house
ready that won't be long."
Brave words easily said.
But how were these words to be
made good? That was the question
with which young Baxter wrestled
all through the rushing days of har
vesting and threshing the crops of
Edna's father he was only a hired
man on the Goodrich place. How was
he to secure a farm of his own? How
was he to prepare a home fit for
Edna Goodrich he, with only his
two hands and the great urge of
love in his heart? The problem was
in his mind when he dropped into the
deep sleep compelled by long days
of hard work, and it was with hini
when he tumbled into his clothes in
the pale light of early dawn. In their
snatches of talk at noontime and
after the chores were done he and
Edna discussed it.
They knew well that or man
Goodrich," who was popularly called
"the richest, the nighest, and the
meanest man In four counties.
would never give his consent to Lon
as a son-in-law. As children in the
little white schoolhouse on the cor
ner of "24," Lon and Edna had
spelled one another down and fig
ured the same sums on the!
scratched slates. As a boy and girl,
Lon had seen Edna home from even
ing services, escorted her to th
skating rink and church socials. Only
the girl's own tact, with friendly
connivance on the part of "ma Good
rich," had kept "pa" from discover
ing what every one else knew that
"Lon Baxter was goin' with Edn
Goodrich."
It was in sheer bravado that th
boy had offered his services to Good
rich His own father, to the amaze
ment of his son. his neighbors, and,
very possibly, of himself, had sud
denly married the Widow Graves,
who came in occasionally to "red up"
and do the family mending. Lon,
though he saw that his father and
the younger children were sorely in
need of a woman's hand, resented the
presence of the new wife as a dese
cration of his mother's memory. With
a tactiturn understanding, Sam Bax
ter spoke: ' "
Ye worked well for me, Lon, in
the days when I needed help the
most. Ye shall have your time from
ow on an' thls'll give ye a start,"
e put a hundred dollars into the
boy's hands. "Don't throw it away!"
Lon had worked his way through
high school Edna was attending it,
too. Then he had hunted a Job. The
nsuspecting Goodrich, blind through
selfishness, thinking only of the
sturdy, brawn of the lad who had
one a man's work since his tenth
ear. hired the young man at once.
Twenty-five dollars a month seemed.
t first, a fortune to Lon, who had
worked so many years at home for
is "keeps." Yet, it was such a
oy to live underthe same roof with
Edna that he would ' gladly have
labored for that alone had the "ol'
man" but known it. And now, before
the summer had fairly begun, Lon
ad spoken his love and Edna con
fessed hers .
We won't say anything to any
ne but mother," Edna decided. "Of
course, pa'll object."
Yes, I s'pose he will," Lon agreed.
'But he'll have to give in, when he
sees that I am going to give you a
good home and living."
Still, as the months slipped by, Lon
began to realize that it would take
ears as a hired man to save money
enough to buy a good farm in their
wn neighborhood. "And I won't buy
on time that would mean a mort
gage," he declared. "And renting is
ust putting money in the other fel
low's pockets," he finished with a
sober face.
"Yes," Edna answered. "Still, If
crops were good, we a save some
thing, too, wouldn't we?"
1 tell you. Edna," Lon spoke with
sidden decision, "I've about made up
my mind that I'll have to go to a
newer country there's good govern
ment land, yet, in Dakota and Ne
braska I'll Just have to do what our
lathers did, strike out and pioneer.
And I'll go along " she cried
csgerly. "Our mothers pioneered,
too," she reminded him, thinking only
ot her own strong, brave-spirited
mother.
His face darkened. "Yes, they did,
And it killed my mother. No, Edna,
you must stay here and wait until I
getk a good start."
All through the long winter months
they studied the possibilities and
made plans. Lon was buoyantly con
fident now. He would locate a good
homestead a crop, or at most two
crops, would build the house then
And Edna, with wistful eyes, listened
and suggested and gave him the en
couragement of her love and faith.
One Sunday afternoon, when he
found his father alone, feet upon the
stove-hearth, paper and pipe finished,
Lon with a yearning for the sym
pathy of his own haltingly flung
cut his new purpose and its reason.
The response was a surprise
levelation, indeed. "So ye've picked
cl' man Goodrich fer a father-in
law?" Sam Baxter chuckled under
his tongue. "Well, ye must think a
heap o" the girl! But, ye're right.
Ye'll have to go out to Dakoty an'
take your turn at pioneerin' in a new
country. There'll be hardships but
there's advantages, too. I can't do
what Td like fer ye, Lonnle," his
rough voice Boftened. "But the roan
celts is yours, ye know, an' they ain't
a finer span in the country "
Lon's chair . dropped to four feet.
He had thought his father bad for
gotten a promise made long ago to
his mother.
"Then, there's the Toledo wagon
'taint new, but it's in good condition.
When your year is up, come home,
Lon, and ye shan't start out empty
landed." "I should say not," the youth ex
'jlted. "And when I sell my pigs, I'll
hive nigh $400 cash, too. I ought to
make it all right!"
"Yes," the older man assented.
"Ye'll have a fair start, an' ye've got
a head on your shoulders. With the
help of a good girl like Edna, ye'll
make it all right 'f the hand o" God
don t fall on ye, like it done on us in
'hopper times."
In the fullness of untried courage
the youngster asserted:
"I'll not take Edna's help until I
Lave a good house ready for 'her-
and I'll be ready for the 'hoppers,'
too."
"Ye don't know much about wim
men, then an' ye can't forestall
natur. my boy," his father comment
ed dryly.
But Lon was still certain of his own
wisdom and ready to defy nature her
self.
When Goodrich, as spring ap
proached, proposed a renewal of their
Its come over.
His voice
contract for another year,
Lon told
him:
"I have decided to go out to Da
ota, Mr. Goodrich, and locate a
homestead."
"Ye- have? Well, that may be a
good move," grudgingly, "fer a young
tallow like you. Still there's lots o'
chances in farming, ye know. Ye'd
probably have more money at the
tud o' the year staying right here at
good wages and found. I'll hire ye.
if ye want to stay ye ain't so dum
triflin' as most o' the help nowadays."
Lon's tanned face reddened with
pleasure. Even this acknowledg
ment from "ol' man Goodrich" was
encouraging. On the strength of it
be ventured:
And, Mr. Goodrich, when I've got
my land and a comfortable house on
it I am coming back for Edna."
'.Like hell ye are!" The father
sprang to his feet in a rage. "So
that's it! That's the foolishness that's
Ireen going on right under my nose!
Put it right out o' your heads, I tell
ye Do you think I'll let my girl go
out to Dakoty to live in a sod hut and
wash overalls? What do ye reckon
I paid her school and music bills fer?
She will stay right here with her par
ccts until she marries a man that can
give her a good livin" in a civilized
country!"
"I'm not asking her to marry me
until. I can give her a good living,"
Lon spoke proudly.
"Ye'll both be gray headed before.
that time!"
"Pa'll never consent." Ma Goodrich
said when Lon reported this inter
view. "Not that he has a thing
agains ye, Lonny, except that you're
poor. But as fer me," with a consol
ing smile, "I never knew a finer
woman than your mother was an'
you are like her in ways 't ye are a
boy."
When the time for the parting
came it was harder than Lon had
counted on. Now, at the last, he had
to argue against his own heart cry
as well as Edna's wistful eyes and
unspoken plea. v
"I couldn't bear to see you working
too hard and, maybe breaking down."
he told her as be took her into the
last embrace. "You know it's be
cause I love you so much, Edna, tHat
I can't''
"Yes. But it seems wrong to me,"
she protested. "I'm ready I want to
help you get started, Lon. Our par
ents and our grandpartents started
out in life together, with nothing.
Why should not we? When you find
the right place then you'll let me
come, won't you, Lon?"
Just as soon as I can get a good
crop and build a house I'll come back
for you maybe," with a wild hope.
it'll be before next Christmas."
Traveling at the slow pace of farm
horses, Lon spentthree months in
prospecting He went through freez
ing nights, blinding rains, and teas
ing winas. e neara tales of poor
crops and disappointed hopes to say
nothing, of actual suffering. Yet on
every hand, he saw untitled lands,
carrying untold promise in its vir
ginity. At last he struck a claim
that suited him 160 acres of flowing
green, spattered with patches of bril
liant wild flowers. A gentle elop'e
would protect buildings from the
north winds and a strip of slough
was lush with waist-high wild hay.
It was August before he had cut and
stacked an ample supply of hay for
the coming winter and finished a
dugout for himself and a shack for
his team.
Then he turned the first sod. As
he looked back down the long black
bands that fell away from the plow
he saw fields of grain, promising
rich harvests next year. He picked
out the Bite for the house and set out
rows of poplar switches to form a
windbreak. And as he worked he
visioned the home complete, with
Edna waiting in the door for his
homecoming another year.
Long before he was ready for it
the first blizzard stopped his work
One morning, he awoke, shivering; the dry winds retarded growth; then a
shrieking of the wind drowned his heavy hailstorm beat down the head
senses; swirling snow and frost-(ins grain. Long before fall Lon knew
was wtvery
"It's son, toward homcT
laden windows dimmed daylight to
thick fog..
"It's come," Lon thought as he
started a fire in his little cookstove.
"I did hope it would hold off until 1
got to town again I'm short on pro
visions and coal, too."
He had seen blizzards back home,
but he bad never before been alone
in one. Now, as his dugout walls
trembled and the wild keening of the
wind enaompassed him, he was home
sick and lonely.
"Sounds like all the wind in the
world was trying to bu'st in that
door," he muttered as he swallbwed
hot coffee and assured himself that
it could not last long.
For three days he huddled over the
stove and listened and waited, while
the storm raged on with no signs
of a let-up. To the lonesome, heart
sick boy it seemed as though all the
furies of hell had been turned loose
upon that defenseless little sod hut.
Over and over again he assured him
self that he was glad Edna was not
here that he would' not have her
pass through such an experience. And
still, a long winter of storms here
aloDe how was he to stick it out?
On the fourth morning when he
opened his door he looked upward to
depth upon depth of blue stillness;
he looked outward over billows of
frost-crested snow, blinding in its
glittering brilliance; and then he
turned and saw a thread of smoke
rising above the nearest cabin, two
miles away, and his heart thrilled
to the feel of human companionship
After he had dug out his well and
barn he harnessed his team and
struck across fields to the Prosser
a young couple who had come from an
eastern city the year before. They
had known little of the difficulties to
be overcome in homesteadlng a Da
kota claim. The philosophic good
cheer with which they met privations
and discomforts had already won
Lon's admiration. Today Molly was
singing as she set her one room in
order, though she was still pale and
confessed that she had stayed in bed
during the storm, "with the covers
over my head to keep out the roaring.
Daniel, sitting in a nice warm den.
with a few lions around, wasn't a
circumstance to a Dakota blizzard
she announced.
When the men had excavated the
hayrack Molly Joined them. The air
was still sharp and the snowdrifts
treacherous; yet the three turned the
hay hauling into a frolic that Lon
wished Edna might have shared. As
he looked about at the homelike com
fort Molly had created in the rough
floored, mud walled room and re
membered the awful loneliness of his
own shack, resolution wavered. An
other year of waiting alone seemed
unbearable; perhaps his father and
Edna were right, after all.
There were no more such fierce or
deals but Lon spent many days shut
In by cold and storm, thinking, as He
twisted prairie hay into knots that
burned fiercely while they lasted
many thoughts. He knew that Edna
would come to him if he but Bpoke
the word. She, too, could make a
home out of a dugout; she was better
fitted for frontier life than Molly
Prosser. Yet visions of his mother's
folded, toil-worn hands and recollec
tions of her father's whiplash tongue
mingled and Jarred In his mind. And
the terror of debt obsessed him. He
could not speak the words that would
bring Edna and possible debt.
Almost before the fro6t was out of
the ground the new homesteader was
in the field with his plow. By the
end of spring he had prepared and
seeded nearly 100 acres of ground.
He and his team were alike hollow
ribbed and Jaded. With exultant an
ticipation he watched his corn and
wheat push through the soil and be
gin to count the returns they would
bring. Once more he figured the cost
of lumber, then sent the plans he
had drawn to Edna, writing, "I'll
come for you by next Christmas be
ready."
But as the season advanced cold,
she questioned anxiously.
that building a house this year was
out of the question. After he had
paid for necessary Implements and
provisions and bought a cow and
brood sow there was nothing left
even a trip home was not to be
thought of.
Edna's disappointment when she
learned that he would not be at home
for Christmas tempted young Baxter,
for the first time, to consider asking
for a loan. He was half way to the
railroad station, 20 miles away, with
the letter to his father, before he tors
it up and turned back, telling him
self sharply:
"I won't begin borrowing, even with
pa first thing I know I'll b asking
'ol' man Goodrich to help me out
or mortgaging my team."
And he hugged the belief that be
was suffering in a righteous cause,
in spite of Edna's wounded plea: "I
believe I'd sooner you'd st;s.i the
money, if you won't borrow it, rf.th
er than not to have you come home
at all."
His Christmas box and the Pros
sers' turkey did not wipe out his
keen sense of failure over the year's
results. Yet the sturdy, boyish spirit
could not be long depressed. Soon
sure that the coming year would
bring better luck, Lo -was making
plans for tilling all his acreage ex
cept the slough. A first omen of
good fortune came through Saul
Prewltt, an old neighbor, who was
now the chief merchant and stock
buyer at the railway station. He of
fered transportation to Chicago, with
a fewT days' stopover at home, in re
turn for piloting a carload of hogs to
the stockyards. Lon Jumped at this
chance.
He had never before seen a large
city but no sights could hold him
when his business was ended. He
was impatiently eager; the train
crawled until the station names grew
familiar. Two stops from Grlndon the
banker's wife from home he had
known her all his life entered the
car. As he started to speak to her
he caught sight of his bare, chapped
wrist. He was wearing the same suit
of clothes he had worn away from
Grlndon, now shabby and outgrown
A glance told him his hat still bore
marks of his freight car journey; his
overcoat was soiled and frayed. He
sank back into his seat, pulling at his
coat sleeves, awkward, miserable.
Edna might well be ashamed of him
She was meeting well dressed men
mfen who could give her comforts and
pleasures; while he, after two years.
was coming back to her with nothing
but unfilled promises. Panic stricken.
he was the last to leave the car
when the train pulled into his station
As he came slowly down the steps
he vaguely saw familiar faces. Then
Edna was in front of him, her arm
wire about his neck, her lips on his.
Doubt and misery were sponged ou
in a great, throbbing heartbeat as he
gathered her close.
When he let her go, his father
gripped his hand: "A welcome like
that is wuth comih' home to, eh, son?"
"You bet your sweet life." It was
the spontaneous outburst of a full
heart. Edna laughed in sheer joy at
the words.
Later, as she dabbed at the lines
above ,his eyes, she said tenderly,
"You're growing old too fast, Lon.
You work too hard. It isn't fair I
ought to be out there, looking after
you." Let me go back with you."
"If only I could if I dared," he
groaned, looking at her with hungry
longing. She was round and supple,
his Edna, with flashing lights in her
cjes and flushing colors in her face.
Yet there was a suggestion of fra
gility about "her that reminded him
of his mother. He shook His head.
"No, Edna, I can't take you out there
to that dug-out."
"You don't think I am as brave as
Molly Prosser and Annie Lane?"
He had written her of Molly's gay
expedients and of Nick Lane's bride
who had brought her piano with her.
It so filled their single room that
Nick swore he slept doubled up, and
Atnie boasted that she could sit on
the stool and play "Little Buttercup"
and fry potatoes at the same time.
"I know you'd stand fire better
than any of 'em," he cried- "It's me
that's the coward! You see. I know
how it might end and they don't,
yet." '
"Oh, she broke out. "if only my
father were like other men! He could
Just as well give us the money to
build a house now, as let it all wait
until he is gone!"
"Yes. But I'd rather build my own
house. I don't want to give him any
show for thinking I'm marrying you
for his money! And if things go
right this year, I'll be ready to come
for you by New Year's," ha promised
oiice again.
At home. Sam Baxter led the way
to the little cubicle off the kitchen
and opened the old black trunk where
tee family treasures had always been
kept. Lon watched him lift out a
dress and a shawl his mother had
wcrn, and take out soma heavy
sheets..
"Give1 these to Edna," his father
said, "and tell her your ma wove 'em
with her own hands and this," he
added a brooch that was one of Lon's
earliest recollections. Then he took
up a daguerreotype and opened its
embossed case. The two men locked
together at the clean-cut, girlish face
with smooth band of hair laid over
her ears.
"Ye're the eldest, son," Baxter said
in a hushed voice. "Sometime thls'll
come to ye but I can't spare it.
et-"
With new comprehension, the son
laid his hand upon his father's shoul
der. Presently he spoke low:
"I guess mother'd be glad if she
knew I was going to marry Edna.'
Yes," the older man, agreed, as he
shut the trunk. "Edna's a fine worn
an, in spite o' her relationship to the
old man." Then, clutching his son's
arm, he spoke out: "What are ye
waitin' so long fer, Lon? Whyn't ye
take her back with ye now? Is she
afraid o" beln' a poor man's wife?"
'It's me that's afraid not her,'
Lon acknowledged. "She was ready
tc- go, first off. She's offering to go
now. But, I ain't ready for her, yet.
Mebbe ye're right mebbe ye won't
have so much to regret " Sam Bax
ter's voice was unsteady. "But It's
a mighty hard thing to know when
W6 are ready to live."
I don't guess I'll have any trouble
telling when I'm ready," Lon stated
fervently, still blind to the wisdom
of age. "Only I'm not going into
debt for it."
And though Edna, once more pat
ting reserve aside, urged, pleaded
even, that she was ready to go back
with him, he refused to listen and
left her with a renewed promise,
'I'll have the house done and ready
for you by New Year's."
Another spring was come and Lon
with high hopes In his heart, again
walked step by step, hour after hour,
day succeeding day, week in and
week out, over his fields, ploughing,
harrowing, seeding going through
all the infinite motions, performed
with blind faith in forces beyond
human control, that makes up the gi
gantic game called farming. "
Again he saw the gentle mist of
green creeping over black loam; th
delicate curling fingers of corn reach
ing upward; the ethereal blueness o
flax blossoms, bending and blending
in the breeze. And later on he saw
the sun rise higher and higher, shin
ing each day with a pitiless hea
from a -cloudless sky. He kept th
plough going while the parched soil
burned his soles and clouds of dus
choked his lungs. But the dry wind
and the blazing grain, the half-grown
corn blades wilted and the flax stalk
bec'ame dry straw.
Lon watched It all. at times with
a heavy, dead feeling of despair an
again In a blaze of resentment. "It
tough," he cried out to Jim Prosser,
"it's damned tough after all the rest
And there's my well water without
end you know how it nearly got
away with me before I could get th
curb in. If I "
Yes," Prosser nodded, "that's it.
We must have irrigation in this coun
try. There is plenty of water under
ground we've got to get it on top,
where we can use it when we need it
But you can't do anything this year,
We'll Just have to lose this crop."
T wonder " Lon began. With
sudden desperate hope he set him
self to rigging up a crude flume an
opening up furrows. Then he began
pumping water by hand on to his
cornfield. The greedy sun and thirsty
soil snatched up the little streams al
most before they reached the field.
After pumping steadily for two day
to put a flow through two furrows h
decided: "I'll pump at night the su
won't eat it up so fast then."
"It's no use, Lon," Prosser object
ed. ''You can't beat the drought this
year. But we'll go the thing right
ana dc reaay xur ni ary spell.
"I can't wait, man," Lon burst out
"I've got to have a crop, or at least
part of a crop, this year!"
Despite the protests of his friend
he started in to pump at sunset. Hour
after hour he stood, steadily moving
the pump handle up and down with a
dogged persistence from which all
spring of youth and faith had been
drained. ' He kept' on pumping until
it seemed as though his very heart
would be torn out by the strain. Pros
ser, Lane and other neighbors came
to watch, to offer to spell him, to ad
monish and to ridicule; but Lon kept
on pumping, first with one hand, then
with the other, until at moonset he
crept away with bleeding hands and
sore muscles for a few hours of ex
hausted sleep.
He succeeded in saving a portion of
his corn before be sank down one
night, unknowing, uncaring. The cool
of morning air brought his to con
sciousness of racking pains and burn
ing flesh. He managed to crawl into
the house and to bed. There Prosser
found him tossing with fever. For
three weeks he lay helpless with a
low fever that left him weak and
despondent. But through it all he
would not permit the Prossers to
write to his father or Edna. Molly
rebelliously asserted that she would
take the responsibility on her own
shoulders and wrote Edna a long
letter. But her husband refused to
mail It without Lon's consent.
"But he's too sick to know what is
right." Molly scolded. "He's weak as
a baby in mind as well as in body."
"Forget It!" Jim scoffed. "Lonax
ter may be as wobbly as a kitten on
his legs, bt his head Is all right.
He knows what's what talks Irriga
tion plant all the time."
And still no rain came. Lon wu
p and about. As he saw months of
ard labor for man and for beast-
turned into useless wisps of straw
nd all his carefully matured plana
changed Into 'Idle dreams, the subtls
ardening of character and softening
t judgment that turns the boy into
the man went on within him.
It was the man who sat down one
unday afternoon before the rough
board table of his shack and wrote:
"I made a big mistake when I
Icked out my homestead. It seems
there Is liable to be one dry year out
of three in this section of the coun
try. I'll have to put in a windmill
nd an irrigation plant before I can
build the house. I can't ask you to
wait any logger, Edna, I s'pose your
father was right I hadn't ought to
avs asked you to marry me. And
ou ought to have said 'No' first off.
dear girl, you are free. Try to
forget me, and forgive me for taking
o much out of your life you know
how it has been with me "
He sent the letter and. as he picked
his stunted corn he brooded deapair-
ngly over his failure. When Prosser
houted:
"Here, old man! Your girl hasn't
forgotten you it's a fat one!" he took
the envelope in a hand that shook.
Alone he read: "Unless you mads
a mistake In picking me out. too, Lon.
we will keep, on waiting .together if
ou insist on waiting."
In spite of her loyalty he looked -
ahead that dismal winter with deter
mination rather than the confidence
hat had carried him forward thus
far. The firm conviction and the
courage that had counted each hin
drance simply as a delay almost went
out of him.
"Perhaps I havs been wrong from
the start maybe I'd ought to have
borrowed the money and married
Edna, that first year," he ruminated.
I might not have made such a flat
failure that way, though everything
was against me."
He had taken out his final papers
now and could easily place a mort
gage on his land. Edna, knowing
this, wrote:
'The way is open now, Lon. By
borrowing $500 you can build a house
that will be plenty good to start with,
and I am sure I can save you $500 in
a year or two. It's business, dear.
Everybody borrows In order to make.
know how you feel but be rea
sonable."
Yet, thoug-h Lon acknowledged that
he was unreasonable; though he knew
In his own soul that his fear was cow
ardly; though he felt that his desire
for happiness matched Edna's own.
the dread of debt and the obstinacy
bred of the long struggle were so
unyielding that he could not bring
himself to act upon her counsel.
There was a difference after that.
No complaints, no reproaches ap
peared' In Edna's letters; but there
was less of the cheerful expectation
and of details of her dally living. And
Lon, toiling winter and summer now.
from day-wake to the last streak of
light, was too engrossed in his fight
to give much heed to anything not
present and tangible. Sometimes weeks
elapsed between their letters. -
A new year's crop was promising
well. If the harvest, threshing and
marketing all went through without
disasted Lon would be able to set up
his windmill and be ready for the
next dry season. It was now harvest
time. By exchanging work with Pros
ser and Lane, Baxter had their aid in
cutting and stacking his wheat. He
v.as driving the moving machine one
scorching August forenoon. Ae he
looked back over the even rifts of
straw he was thinking:
"If nothing happens I'll come out
ahead at last this season. Edna'll be
glad."
And then he began to think. When
had Edna's last letter come? "Why,"
In sudden realization, "that letter was
before haying! She hasn't answered
my last letter It wasn't really worth
answering just a note. I maybe she's
got tired at last. I couldn't blame
her."
He drove on, conscious now of the
heat, the dust, the sting of chaff and
perspiration. What was the use of
all this grinding work if it were not
for Edna? He tried to think of life
without Edna what would happen
if she had really changed her mind?
At last he could stand this new fear
no longer. He was ahead of the rake.
He left his team standing and went
to the house. He found her last let
tar and read It over. It was brief. It
answered none of the questions in his
mind.
"Edna darling," he wrote, "It's a
long time since your last letter; you
haven't answered my last note. I
know you can't be sick or my father
would let me know. I am afraid
maybe you have made up your mind
not to wait any longer. I couldn't
blame you for that. I know I haven't
done right keeping you waiting for
me so long. And I haven't even writ
ten to you like I ought. Somehow I
couldn't tell you how hard things
were. Sometimes it has seemed as if
it was no use. I'd have to give up and
go back to hiring out. It looks like
a fair yield this year, and then but
I don't dare make any more promises,
I have broken so many I want you
to be happy, Edna. More than any
thing else I want that. If you have
found seme other man who can make
you happier than I can I won't say a
word. Only, I shall always love. you
I'll try to stand it but I can't" think
about it."
That night, when the last ehore
was done, Lon Baxter started for the
nearest postofficej nine miles away. .
He would not put this added burden
on his faithful horses. Wearily he
plodded on through soft darkness,
thinking messages of love and longing
which he had not put on the paper
perhaps they reached Edna's heart
just the same.
The long years of waiting had not
been easy for Edna. Her father had
never ceased his reviling of Lon and
ugly comments upon her foolishness.
As time went on his anger became
constant and harassing. At first Edna,
living In her own world of happy
dreams, heard him indifferently. She
spent her spare hours In preparing
against her bridal days the dainty
things no real girl will give up. She
pieced quilts, sewed carpet rags, she
saved feathers for her pillows and
bed. with her mother's aid she accu
mulated bed and table linen. Gradu
ally her trunk and box were filled to
overflowing.
After the third year her father in
sisttd that he would have no more of
(Continued. On. Fa S,i
Ik