THE RACE FOR PRAIRIE HOMES 



IT was September 16, 1893. Had the dust been powder, it 

 would have flashed in the flames of the autumn sun. For 

 many weeks not a drop of rain had fallen, and the wind 

 rolled over the prairies like the breath of a furnace. The 

 dust around the registration booths where the hundreds of 

 weary home-seekers had waited for days and sleepless nights 

 was ankle-deep. 



But the time came when the last name was registered. 

 Then the eager multitude began to shift into position for 

 the race. It must be an even start from the State-line. 

 Footmen, horsemen, and occupants of all manner of con- 

 veyances shuffled into position side by side. They had 

 come from east, west, north, south, from far and near, and 

 from every walk in life, all "dreaming of home" and now 

 the hour of destiny was about to strike. A Government 

 soldier was leisurely riding his pony toward a knoll in the 

 coveted country about a half-mile away. Every eye fol- 

 lowed him, for at the boom of his gun the wild race would 

 begin. He is now at the knoll. The signal gun is lifted. A 

 little cloud of smoke is seen blown from the muzzle of the 

 soldier's gun, and away the runners fly. Men, women, and 

 horses go like the wind for the goal. Vehicles break, horses 

 fall, riders are thrown. But many are marking the nearby 

 claims, and others speed on to the lands along the river, and 

 on the other side, "Home, sweet home!" 



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