PART I
The Wild Land
I
One January day, thirty years ago, the little
town of Hanover, anchored on a windy Ne-
braska tableland, was trying not to be blown
away. A mist of fine snowflakes was curling
and eddying about the cluster of low drab
buildings huddled on the gray prairie, under a
gray sky. The dwelling-houses were set about
haphazard on the tough prairie sod; some of
them looked as if they had been moved in
overnight, and others as if they were straying
off by themselves, headed straight for the open
plain. None of them had any appearance of
permanence, and the howling wind blew under
them as well as over them. The main street
was a deeply rutted road, now frozen hard,
which ran from the squat red railway station
and the grain "elevator" at the north end of
the town to the lumber yard and the horse
pond at the south end. On either side of this
road straggled two uneven rows of wooden
buildings; the general merchandise stores, the
two banks, the drug store, the feed store, the
saloon, the post-office. The board sidewalks
were gray with trampled snow, but at two
o'clock in the afternoon the shopkeepers, hav-
ing come back from dinner, were keeping well
behind their frosty windows. The children were
all in school, and there was nobody abroad in
the streets but a few rough-looking country-
men in coarse overcoats, with their long caps
pulled down to their noses. Some of them had
brought their wives to town, and now and then
a red or a plaid shawl flashed out of one store
into the shelter of another. At the hitch-bars
along the street a few heavy work-horses, har-
nessed to farm wagons, shivered under their
blankets. About the station everything was
quiet, for there would not be another train in
until night.
On the sidewalk in front of one of the stores
sat a little Swede boy, crying bitterly. He was
about five years old. His black cloth coat was
much too big for him and made him look like
a little old man. His shrunken brown flannel
dress had been washed many times and left a
long stretch of stocking between the hem of his
skirt and the tops of his clumsy, copper-toed
shoes. His cap was pulled down over his ears;
his nose and his chubby cheeks were chapped
and red with cold. He cried quietly, and the
few people who hurried by did not notice him.
He was afraid to stop any one, afraid to go into
the store and ask for help, so he sat wringing his
long sleeves and looking up a telegraph pole
beside him, whimpering, "My kitten, oh, my
kitten! Her will fweeze!" At the top of the
pole crouched a shivering gray kitten, mewing
faintly and clinging desperately to the wood
with her claws. The boy had been left at the
store while his sister went to the doctor's office,
and in her absence a dog had chased his kit-
ten up the pole. The little creature had never
been so high before, and she was too frightened
to move. Her master was sunk in despair. He
was a little country boy, and this village was to
him a very strange and perplexing place, where
people wore fine clothes and had hard hearts.
He always felt shy and awkward here, and
wanted to hide behind things for fear some one
might laugh at him. Just now, he was too un-
happy to care who laughed. At last he seemed
to see a ray of hope: his sister was coming, and
he got up and ran toward her in his heavy
shoes.
His sister was a tall, strong girl, and she
walked rapidly and resolutely, as if she knew
exactly where she was going and what she was
going to do next. She wore a man's long ulster
(not as if it were an affliction, but as if it were
very comfortable and belonged to her; carried
it like a young soldier), and a round plush cap,
tied down with a thick veil. She had a serious,
thoughtful face, and her clear, deep blue eyes
were fixed intently on the distance, without
seeming to see anything, as if she were in
trouble. She did not notice the little boy until
he pulled her by the coat. Then she stopped
short and stooped down to wipe his wet face.
"Why, Emil! I told you to stay in the store
and not to come out. What is the matter with
you?"
"My kitten, sister, my kitten! A man put
her out, and a dog chased her up there." His
forefinger, projecting from the sleeve of his coat,
pointed up to the wretched little creature on
the pole.
"Oh, Emil! Didn't I tell you she'd get us
into trouble of some kind, if you brought her?
What made you tease me so? But there, I
ought to have known better myself." She went
to the foot of the pole and held out her arms,
crying, "Kitty, kitty, kitty," but the kitten
only mewed and faintly waved its tail. Alex-
andra turned away decidedly. "No, she won't
come down. Somebody will have to go up after
her. I saw the Linstrums' wagon in town. I'll
go and see if I can find Carl. Maybe he can do
something. Only you must stop crying, or I
won't go a step. Where's your comforter? Did
you leave it in the store? Never mind. Hold
still, till I put this on you."
She unwound the brown veil from her head
and tied it about his throat. A shabby little
traveling man, who was just then coming out of
the store on his way to the saloon, stopped and
gazed stupidly at the shining mass of hair she
bared when she took off her veil; two thick
braids, pinned about her head in the German
way, with a fringe of reddish-yellow curls blow-
ing out from under her cap. He took his cigar
out of his mouth and held the wet end between
the fingers of his woolen glove. "My God, girl,
what a head of hair!" he exclaimed, quite
innocently and foolishly. She stabbed him with
a glance of Amazonian fierceness and drew in
her lower lip--most unnecessary severity. It
gave the little clothing drummer such a start
that he actually let his cigar fall to the side-
walk and went off weakly in the teeth of the
wind to the saloon. His hand was still unsteady
when he took his glass from the bartender. His
feeble flirtatious instincts had been crushed
before, but never so mercilessly. He felt cheap
and ill-used, as if some one had taken advan-
tage of him. When a drummer had been knock-
ing about in little drab towns and crawling
across the wintry country in dirty smoking-
cars, was he to be blamed if, when he chanced
upon a fine human creature, he suddenly wished
himself more of a man?
While the little drummer was drinking to
recover his nerve, Alexandra hurried to the
drug store as the most likely place to find Carl
Linstrum. There he was, turning over a port-
folio of chromo "studies" which the druggist
sold to the Hanover women who did china-
painting. Alexandra explained her predica-
ment, and the boy followed her to the corner,
where Emil still sat by the pole.
"I'll have to go up after her, Alexandra. I
think at the depot they have some spikes I can
strap on my feet. Wait a minute." Carl thrust
his hands into his pockets, lowered his head,
and darted up the street against the north
wind. He was a tall boy of fifteen, slight and
narrow-chested. When he came back with the
spikes, Alexandra asked him what he had done
with his overcoat.
"I left it in the drug store. I couldn't climb
in it, anyhow. Catch me if I fall, Emil," he
called back as he began his ascent. Alexandra
watched him anxiously; the cold was bitter
enough on the ground. The kitten would not
budge an inch. Carl had to go to the very top
of the pole, and then had some difficulty in tear-
ing her from her hold. When he reached the
ground, he handed the cat to her tearful little
master. "Now go into the store with her, Emil,
and get warm." He opened the door for the
child. "Wait a minute, Alexandra. Why can't
I drive for you as far as our place? It's get-
ting colder every minute. Have you seen the
doctor?"
"Yes. He is coming over to-morrow. But
he says father can't get better; can't get well."
The girl's lip trembled. She looked fixedly up
the bleak street as if she were gathering her
strength to face something, as if she were try-
ing with all her might to grasp a situation which,
no matter how painful, must be met and dealt
with somehow. The wind flapped the skirts of
her heavy coat about her.
Carl did not say anything, but she felt his
sympathy. He, too, was lonely. He was a thin,
frail boy, with brooding dark eyes, very quiet
in all his movements. There was a delicate pallor
in his thin face, and his mouth was too sensitive
for a boy's. The lips had already a little curl
of bitterness and skepticism. The two friends
stood for a few moments on the windy street
corner, not speaking a word, as two travelers,
who have lost their way, sometimes stand and
admit their perplexity in silence. When Carl
turned away he said, "I'll see to your team."
Alexandra went into the store to have her pur-
chases packed in the egg-boxes, and to get warm
before she set out on her long cold drive.
When she looked for Emil, she found him sit-
ting on a step of the staircase that led up to the
clothing and carpet department. He was play-
ing with a little Bohemian girl, Marie Tovesky,
who was tying her handkerchief over the kit-
ten's head for a bonnet. Marie was a stranger
in the country, having come from Omaha with
her mother to visit her uncle, Joe Tovesky. She
was a dark child, with brown curly hair, like a
brunette doll's, a coaxing little red mouth,
and round, yellow-brown eyes. Every one
noticed her eyes; the brown iris had golden
glints that made them look like gold-stone, or,
in softer lights, like that Colorado mineral
called tiger-eye.
The country children thereabouts wore their
dresses to their shoe-tops, but this city child
was dressed in what was then called the "Kate
Greenaway" manner, and her red cashmere
frock, gathered full from the yoke, came almost
to the floor. This, with her poke bonnet, gave
her the look of a quaint little woman. She had
a white fur tippet about her neck and made
no fussy objections when Emil fingered it
admiringly. Alexandra had not the heart to
take him away from so pretty a playfellow, and
she let them tease the kitten together until Joe
Tovesky came in noisily and picked up his little
niece, setting her on his shoulder for every
one to see. His children were all boys, and he
adored this little creature. His cronies formed
a circle about him, admiring and teasing the
little girl, who took their jokes with great good
nature. They were all delighted with her, for
they seldom saw so pretty and carefully nur-
tured a child. They told her that she must
choose one of them for a sweetheart, and each
began pressing his suit and offering her bribes;
candy, and little pigs, and spotted calves. She
looked archly into the big, brown, mustached
faces, smelling of spirits and tobacco, then she
ran her tiny forefinger delicately over Joe's
bristly chin and said, "Here is my sweetheart."
The Bohemians roared with laughter, and
Marie's uncle hugged her until she cried, "Please
don't, Uncle Joe! You hurt me." Each of Joe's
friends gave her a bag of candy, and she kissed
them all around, though she did not like coun-
try candy very well. Perhaps that was why she
bethought herself of Emil. "Let me down,
Uncle Joe," she said, "I want to give some of
my candy to that nice little boy I found." She
walked graciously over to Emil, followed by her
lusty admirers, who formed a new circle and
teased the little boy until he hid his face in his
sister's skirts, and she had to scold him for
being such a baby.
The farm people were making preparations
to start for home. The women were checking
over their groceries and pinning their big red
shawls about their heads. The men were buy-
ing tobacco and candy with what money they
had left, were showing each other new boots
and gloves and blue flannel shirts. Three big
Bohemians were drinking raw alcohol, tinctured
with oil of cinnamon. This was said to fortify
one effectually against the cold, and they
smacked their lips after each pull at the flask.
Their volubility drowned every other noise in
the place, and the overheated store sounded of
their spirited language as it reeked of pipe
smoke, damp woolens, and kerosene.
Carl came in, wearing his overcoat and carry-
ing a wooden box with a brass handle. "Come,"
he said, "I've fed and watered your team, and
the wagon is ready." He carried Emil out and
tucked him down in the straw in the wagon-
box. The heat had made the little boy sleepy,
but he still clung to his kitten.
"You were awful good to climb so high and
get my kitten, Carl. When I get big I'll climb
and get little boys' kittens for them," he mur-
mured drowsily. Before the horses were over
the first hill, Emil and his cat were both fast
asleep.
Although it was only four o'clock, the winter
day was fading. The road led southwest, toward
the streak of pale, watery light that glimmered
in the leaden sky. The light fell upon the two
sad young faces that were turned mutely toward
it: upon the eyes of the girl, who seemed to be
looking with such anguished perplexity into
the future; upon the sombre eyes of the boy,
who seemed already to be looking into the past.
The little town behind them had vanished as if
it had never been, had fallen behind the swell
of the prairie, and the stern frozen country
received them into its bosom. The homesteads
were few and far apart; here and there a wind-
mill gaunt against the sky, a sod house crouch-
ing in a hollow. But the great fact was the land
itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little
beginnings of human society that struggled in
its sombre wastes. It was from facing this vast
hardness that the boy's mouth had become so
bitter; because he felt that men were too weak
to make any mark here, that the land wanted
to be let alone, to preserve its own fierce
strength, its peculiar, savage kind of beauty,
its uninterrupted mournfulness.
The wagon jolted along over the frozen road.
The two friends had less to say to each other
than usual, as if the cold had somehow pene-
trated to their hearts.
"Did Lou and Oscar go to the Blue to cut
wood to-day?" Carl asked.
"Yes. I'm almost sorry I let them go, it's
turned so cold. But mother frets if the wood
gets low." She stopped and put her hand to
her forehead, brushing back her hair. "I don't
know what is to become of us, Carl, if father
has to die. I don't dare to think about it. I
wish we could all go with him and let the grass
grow back over everything."
Carl made no reply. Just ahead of them was
the Norwegian graveyard, where the grass had,
indeed, grown back over everything, shaggy
and red, hiding even the wire fence. Carl real-
ized that he was not a very helpful companion,
but there was nothing he could say.
"Of course," Alexandra went on, steadying
her voice a little, "the boys are strong and work
hard, but we've always depended so on father
that I don't see how we can go ahead. I almost
feel as if there were nothing to go ahead for."
"Does your father know?"
"Yes, I think he does. He lies and counts
on his fingers all day. I think he is trying to
count up what he is leaving for us. It's a com-
fort to him that my chickens are laying right
on through the cold weather and bringing in a
little money. I wish we could keep his mind off
such things, but I don't have much time to be
with him now."
"I wonder if he'd like to have me bring my
magic lantern over some evening?"
Alexandra turned her face toward him. "Oh,
Carl! Have you got it?"
"Yes. It's back there in the straw. Didn't
you notice the box I was carrying? I tried it all
morning in the drug-store cellar, and it worked
ever so well, makes fine big pictures."
"What are they about?"
"Oh, hunting pictures in Germany, and
Robinson Crusoe and funny pictures about
cannibals. I'm going to paint some slides for
it on glass, out of the Hans Andersen book."
Alexandra seemed actually cheered. There is
often a good deal of the child left in people who
have had to grow up too soon. "Do bring it
over, Carl. I can hardly wait to see it, and I'm
sure it will please father. Are the pictures col-
ored? Then I know he'll like them. He likes
the calendars I get him in town. I wish I could
get more. You must leave me here, mustn't
you? It's been nice to have company."
Carl stopped the horses and looked dubi-
ously up at the black sky. "It's pretty dark.
Of course the horses will take you home, but I
think I'd better light your lantern, in case you
should need it."
He gave her the reins and climbed back into the wagon-box, where he crouched down and made a tent of his overcoat. After a dozen trials he succeeded in lighting the lantern, which he placed in front of Alexandra, half covering it with a blanket so that the light would not shine in her eyes. "Now, wait until I find my box. Yes, here it is. Good-night, Alexandra. Try not to worry." Carl sprang to the ground and ran off across the fields toward the Linstrum homestead. "Hoo, hoo-o-o-o!" he called back as he disappeared over a ridge and dropped into a sand gully. The wind answered him like an echo, "Hoo, hoo-o-o-o-o-o!" Alexandra drove off alone. The rattle of her wagon was lost in the howling of the wind, but her lantern, held firmly between her feet, made a moving point of light along the highway, going deeper and deeper into the dark country.
