TI-IE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
January 17, 
THE LAND OF FULFILLMENT 
A STORY OF HOMESTEADING 
By ROSE SEELYE-MILLER 
CHAPTER II. “Go to it,” Norm said heartily, “I’m 
The New Brotherhood 
“Hello, pai d!” The boyish voice was 
full of grave anxiety, as the stalwart 
figure bent above a limp and white-feced 
object under a great tree. “Why. there’s 
blood on his lips—and wet—about done 
for.” The good blue eyes were full of 
sombre shadows as the strong young arms 
lifted Nate, and placed him upon a lum¬ 
ber wagon, near by. 
“Git up there, Red! Step lively 
Roan,” and Norman Duane using his 
ox goad as a persuader and eneourager, 
started towards his own woodland cabin 
not far away. In the midst of the woods 
the boy halted the oxen, and bore Nate 
to the cabin, aud laid him upon his own 
decent bed. He stripped off the sodden 
clothes, tucked blankets about him, aud 
set to work to build a tire. Rubbing 
Nate’s limbs with his rough hands, trying 
to force a hot liquid between his teeth, 
Norm was considerably astonished to 
have those teeth open suddenly and a 
voice cry out fretfully : 
“Haven’t I been soaked enough in rain, 
without being scalded into the bargain?” 
aud Nate’s arm that had been so inert, 
reached up swiftly, and dashed the cup 
of hot liquid away, almost before he had 
spoken. 
“Your wishes, have considerable 
weight.” Norm replied staring at the 
white face below him, “And you’ve broken 
a perfectly g'ood bowl into the bargain.” 
Nate’s dark eyes met the good blue 
ones, and he smiled wanly, “I guess—I 
must have—lost myself—a minute—” 
he said explanatorily. 
“I guess you must have,” Norm ad¬ 
mitted laconically, “and I found you, 
and finding is keeping, so for the 
time being you belong to me, and 
you’re going to do what you’re told, even 
if you’re told to drink scalding hot stuff.” 
Norm laughed, from sheer joy, that this 
strange boy, had so unexpectedly come 
back to sane consciousness. 
“Hand it over then.” Nate said faint¬ 
ly, “I'd rather take hot pepper tea in¬ 
ternally than externally though—Now 
remember that!” 
“You can’t have it now, you’ve spilled 
it, I say, and you get your arms under 
cover, you’re as cold as a ghost, and 
about as white. Here,” and Norman 
pushed a jug of hot water, to Nate’s feet, 
and then put a hot brick on either side 
of him. and got more bedding aud piled 
over him. “Now if you want to shut 
your eyes and faint away you can. but 
you don’t use very good judgment, lop¬ 
ping down under a tree for that purpose.” 
Nate did not faint away, nor close his 
eyes, but he watched Norm as he went 
about his log cabin, as neatly and as 
deftly as a woman. Suddenly Norm 
paused, in his task, and spoke to Nate ac¬ 
cusingly : 
“Say, I’ll bet your hungry. Now when 
did you have anything hot to eat?” 
sharply. 
“I’ll bet I am hungry, aud as to when I 
had anything hot to eat, I guess about a 
week ago.” Nate answered his inquisitor 
whimsically. 
“Spots of ,7upitor! No wonder you 
look as though you had pin-fever, with 
your legs swelled up as big as knitting 
needles.” With a look of pity. Norm 
rushed about making ready a meal in the 
shortest possible space of time. 
How like an Arabian Night’s dream 
it all seemed to Nate, as he lay there 
snuggled under the warm blankets, with 
the hot water jug at his feet, and the 
bricks at his sides. Why, it seemed 
heavenly just to be warm again, for he 
had rallied at once under Norm’s vigor¬ 
ous treatment. Norm fried bacon and 
eggs, he made coffee and cut great slabs 
of bread, then he drew his small table up 
close to the bedside, and placed the steam¬ 
ing hot food before Nate. “Wade right 
in anywhere,” Norm said hospitably. “Or 
shall I feed you?” with a twinkle. 
“Hardly,” Nate replied also twinkling, 
and then both boys laughed unroariously. 
“I didn’t suppose you’d ever laugh 
again, when I picked you up out there 
in the woods.” 
“Well, I’d about made up my mind that 
I wouldn’t laugh again myself, hut it’s 
easy enough to change your mind—if 
your circumstances change too. I’m in 
for a good time anyway,” and Nate 
helped himself with Norm’s assistance to 
the food before him. 
“My, but this is lickin’ good,” he said 
heartily. “I wonder if I did die out there 
and if I’ve got to heaven—” Nate’s dark 
eyes shone out at Norm luminously. 
“Maybe, hut I never heard of bacon 
and eggs in heaven.” 
“Nor red hot stoves and hot water 
bottles!” added Nate. 
“It’s pretty safe then to conjecture 
that you just struck earth a little harder 
than common.” 
“It’s an awful good strike anyway.” 
Nate said cordially, lying back on his 
pillows. 
“You're not quitting are you?” 
“Yes. I’ve had a full meal, but I £uess 
—I’m tired—I kept trying to walk and 
get warm or get somewhere, and I 
couldn’t do either—I seem to have to 
sleep an awful let,” apologetically. 
going out to taxe care ot tne oxen. 
Nate slept a great deal that day, and 
the next, but along towards night the 
second day, he slipped into his clothes, 
which Norm had cleaned and dried, and 
when that young man came in from his 
evening chores, Nate sat by the window 
waiting for him. 
“This looks good,” Norm’s voice was 
full of pleasure. 
“I’m all right now,” Nate agreed, “I’ll 
be ready to start out again tomorrow.” 
“Where are you bound anyway?” there 
was both curiosity and wistfulness in 
Norm’s voice.^ “I wish you’d stay here.” 
“Why-—” Nate gasped surprised—then 
seeing the look in Norm’s eyes, he 
reached out his long, slim hand, and 
Norm grasped it with a crushing grip. 
“Sit down,” said Nate, “I’d like to 
stay—there isn’t anything in the world 
that looks as good to me as this place 
and its owner does, but, I guess I’d bet¬ 
ter move along.” Nate’s voice was low 
and his eyes were looking far away. 
“Sort of down on your luck,” Norm 
said with understanding sympathy. 
“Oh. 1 don’t know, I’m lots better than 
I was,” Nate paused—and then because 
Norm was so humanly near, and he, 
Nate, had been so inhumanly alone, he 
blurted out the truth. “The doctor said 
I’d got to strike for the high altitudes— 
somewhere West. So I struck,” simply. 
“How loiig you been at it?” 
“I’ve walked about 400 miles, and I’ve 
got about ten more hundred to walk.” 
“Whew !” suspirated Norm. “Quite a 
contract,” and Norm looked at Nate’s 
long, thin legs critically. “If they were 
strong as they are Idfig—” Norm began. 
“Oh. they’re all right—” deprecating- 
l.v, “they’ve carried me to more pleasure 
than I’d ever had in my life before. I 
hadn’t slept in a house since I started, 
until you put me to bed here. If ’twould 
only stay pleasant I’d get along, or if 
there were barns or haystacks close 
enough or convenient when a storm came 
.up, hut people are inconsiderate enough 
to put such things out of my direct road. 
For I’ve gone straight West ever since 
I started.” 
“What are you going to do when you 
get there?” 
“Why I’m going to take up land, you 
can got it for almost nothing, and i’ve 
lived on almost nothing. If I could man¬ 
age to get there and get a tent, and any¬ 
thing to eat—it doesn’t cost hardly any¬ 
thing to eat—if you eat simple. A 25- 
ceut sack of cornmeal, made up into 
mush, ’ll last most a week—and you can 
pick up a tin can and dip water any¬ 
where to cook it in.” 
“Mabbe a fellow could live so cheap 
he’d git over livin’,” Norm put in thought¬ 
fully. “What are you going to do to pass 
away your time? Y’ou won’t spend much 
in cooking.” 
“I ligure on getting a piece of stony 
land—the stoniest I can find. I’ll exer¬ 
cise my muscles and get lots of deep 
breathing picking up stones.” Nate spoke 
quite earnestly. 
Norm laughed out uproariously. “Say, 
I know a man who's picked six hundred 
loads of stone off of ten acres and there’s 
plenty left.” 
“And how are you going to haul all 
those stones you pick up? You can’t 
carry them away yourself?” 
“Glo-ry!” said Nate, “I’d never even 
thought of that! If I had a team of 
oxen, like yours, they’d be just the thing. 
Quiet and slow, they wouldn’t mind 
standing still all day, waiting for me to 
dance around and get a load.” 
“They’re the best team in the State.” 
Norm said warmly, “and they’ll do what 
horses won’t do or can’t do. They’re 
patient, and noble and easy to keep!” 
Norm enumerated all these valuable qual¬ 
ities enthusiastically. It was easy to see 
how much attached he was to that identi¬ 
cal yoke of oxen. 
“IIow much are oxen worth?” Nate in¬ 
quired, vaguely speculative. 
“Oh, all prices. I wouldn’t sell Red and 
Roan for a bunch of money. They’re 
all the relations I’ve got. I make a good 
living with them too. Haul lumber and 
loads, and plow for folks. Say—” Norm 
paused. 
“I have a little hit of money laid up, 
that I earned with my work.” 
“I wish you were going along with 
me,” said Nate, “you’ve got such a clear 
sight for the glint of the golden egg.” 
“That’s just what I had started to say, 
when you interfered with that blamed 
cough of yours. I do want to go with 
you—earnestly. 
“What!” cried Nate. “Go with me—- 
Oh, here’s how,” and Nate’s slim, weak 
hand reached out to be lost in Norm’s 
large, strong one, “Brother!” joyed Nate. 
“Pard!” cried Norm. And so the com¬ 
pact was sealed, which should change 
and amalgamate their future lives. 
“There isn’t a thing to keep me here. We 
can hit the trail as fast with Red and Roan 
as we could afoot, and considerably easier. 
Then too if you should have many such 
spells as you’ve been having the past few 
days, you might need a proxy to do your 
stone picking, on rainy days anyway.” 
“This is better than any nest of golden 
eggs I ever dreamed of,” Nate said warm¬ 
ly and the large hand aud the slender 
one met again in giant grip. “I guess 
I’ve got money enough to grub stake us 
on the trip,” Nate said glowing, “I’ll 
furnish the eatin’s and you can furnish 
the oxen.” 
The boys sat long talking aud planning, 
and the next morning Norm began se¬ 
lecting the things he would take with him 
out iuto the wide world of the West. 
“We’ll want all the tools, and shovels 
and axes, the fishing tackle and my gun,” 
Norm rattled off happily, “and all the 
clothing, which isn’t much, and the bed¬ 
ding, and the cooking things and the 
stove, it’s small.” 
“I don’t imagine we will want to cart 
out much furniture,” Nate put in dubi¬ 
ously. 
“There isn’t much to cart, but I guess 
we won’t take a stick of it.” Deftly and 
quickly Norm packed his goods into a 
compact compass. 
“I don’t know, hardly what to do with 
the six chickens, and the cat,” Norm 
looked askance at the hens scratching 
cheerfully about the clearing, and the cat 
rubbing against his rough clothing. 
“Why, you couldn’t leave them,” Nate 
replied, “You might better kill them than 
do that. A cat’s a lot of company, and 
the hens—they lay eggs, don’t they?” 
“Y’ou’ll make a great farmer, won’t 
you,” Norm mocked. “W haven’t half 
a load for the oxen, I’ve a good mind to 
'put the chickens in a box and cart them 
along. We can eat them if we find we 
don’t want to do anything better with 
them.” And so Norm made a neat, slat¬ 
ted box, and installed the fowls therein. 
“I’m blamed if I’ll leave this cat here to 
fend for herself, anything but a homeless 
cat.” 
“Let’s take her for a mascot; she may 
bring us great prosperity or something.” 
Their last meal was cooked at the 
cabin, and the groceries and provisions 
were stored away safely on the wagon. 
Norm looked around his little domain 
thoughtfully, and his eye rested on a little 
pile of lumber which lay ready for use. 
t “I hate to leave that good lumber,” 
Norm said meditatively. “I’ve a good 
mind to take it along—we’ll need some 
lumber anyway,” suiting the action to 
the word, Norm reconstructed his load, 
and piled the lumber on the long wagon, 
then the two boys in the highest kind 
of spirits and feeling like the oldest of 
friends started on their quest—the quest 
of fortune. Norm turned back for one 
last look—drew his hand across his face 
at the sight of the deserted cabin, and 
garden patch, which had already taken on 
that look of loneliness and abandonment 
common to deserted buildings. 
“Sho!” deprecated Norm. “We can 
come back here any time, that little tract 
of land is mine, and it won’t hurt the 
log shanty if someone should shelter in 
it. I wish I’d carved ‘Come In’ on the 
door—hut then they’ll go in if they want 
to—so—” and then both boys lapsed into 
silence, Norm walking beside his oxen 
and Nate riding, by Norm’s insistence. 
“You can walk sometimes to rest your¬ 
self,” he had said, “but otherwise you’re 
part of the load.” 
Slowly they lumbered onward, Norm 
stopping at the first little village he came 
to and getting his precious nest egg, to 
take with him. 
“We’d better strike towards the rail¬ 
road and follow West by that,” Norm 
said, thoughtfully. 
“I tried, tjiat, but there were so many 
tramps 1 finally quit it, although I en¬ 
joyed an occasional chat even with a 
tramp, but my ways weren’t their ways, 
nor their,ways mine. I kept the main 
travelled road—or if possible keeping my 
direction and going through woods or 
fields. I always tried to find a stack of 
hay or straw or something to sleep in— 
or some out-house, where I could not pos¬ 
sibly trouble anyone. I’ve lived mostly 
on rolls and cheese, getting a small sup¬ 
ply as I passed through a town, and only 
enough to last till I could reach another 
place.” 
They jogged along steadily that day 
and until late that night, because they 
had not really put in a day’s work oil 
the road. Norm made a business-like 
camp, picketing the oxen in a rich, grassy 
place and near a stream of water; dig¬ 
ging a little pit, and in this making a 
little fire, over which when it had burned 
down to red coals, he made some good 
coffee and broiled some rich slices of ba¬ 
con. 
“That’s a great scheme, building a fire 
like that,” Nate commented approvingly. 
“That’s the only woods way to make 
a fire,” Norm replied. “Any woodsman 
must watch out that he sets no fire, and 
with this there is no possible danger, and 
a pail of water over the embers on quit¬ 
ting camp leaves everything as secure 
as it was found.” 
Both boys ate heartily, aud it seemed 
to Nate he had never eaten so delicious a 
meal before, lie fell asleep on a rich bed 
of pine needles, with the starlight sifting 
in upon him softly, and while he did not 
thank God in so many words for this new¬ 
found brotherhood, his whole attitude of 
mind was full of joy and gratitude. He 
had left home (?) without a “good bye.” 
and had tramped many, many lonely miles 
without a friend, and then, when he 
seemed to have reached the limit of his 
endurance this wonderful thing had hap¬ 
pened ! A friend, a real friend, and one 
who would not be separated from him! 
Perhaps there would never be any separ¬ 
ation. Such infinite comfort and quiet¬ 
ness lay in this thought, his very sleep 
was made better thereby. 
And so day by day the boys travelled 
onward. The trend of their travelling 
was northwest, and in spite of Nate’s ob¬ 
jection. they did finally follow a rail¬ 
road knowing that by so doing they could 
not be led astray. The oxen made from 
15 to 25 miles a day, according to the 
roads, and while this would not have 
been much of a walk for a man, it seemed 
good to Nate to lie in the blankets on 
the wagon, a good share of the time, al¬ 
though he often walked up a hill as a 
constitutional, breathing deeply in conse¬ 
quence, Norm did not think it best for 
him to walk more than a mile or two at 
a time, for Nate’s cough still clung to 
him, and the color in his cheeks was not 
what Norm wanted to see. 
In Minneapolis, the boys secured some 
literature about land, and it was a puzzle 
to them to know which golden oppor¬ 
tunity to take, when there seemed so 
many, according to the glowing prospects, 
presented to the public. There seemed to 
be, then, a great deal of vacant land open 
to settlement. 
“It will cost us about fourteen dollars 
to file on land,” Nate observed, after some 
study of the land books. 
“Well, I reckon, we can put up the 
price,” Norm parried. 
“I guess I’ve got enough left for that,” 
Nate said thoughtfully. “But most things 
cost, a good deal more than they’re ad¬ 
vertised to—I’m wondering just what our 
expenses will be.” 
“They won’t be any more than the le¬ 
gal fees, we have our own team, and can 
do our own locating and haul out our 
own stuff. I believe it would be a good 
plan to buy here the supplies we think 
we will need for a few months, prob¬ 
ably prices will be high in the new coun¬ 
try.” 
Norm had been so long accustomed to 
buying his own supplies that he made a 
reasonable selection. Flour, cornmeal, 
oatmeal, bacon, and some tinned stuff. 
With these and other supplies packed 
compactly on the load, they were ready 
to go forward. Norm climbed on to the 
load beside Nate for the roads were hard 
and smooth, and they could talk much 
better when side by side. 
“Now we must decide on some definite 
point for our destination,” Norm said de¬ 
cisively. “We have made this jaunt with 
only ‘some place,’ in view, we must have 
a real location ” 
As the oxen jogged along, the boys 
looked over the land literature again, and 
finally decided to stop at the first place 
in Dakota (then a territory) where a 
land office could be found, and near 
enough vacant laud to make filing feasi¬ 
ble. They hit upon a place called We- 
taske, not very far from the Jim River, 
aud lying about 30fi miles west of Minne¬ 
apolis. Having settled this point to their 
satisfaction, and without much thought ex¬ 
cept that it seemed the nearest possible 
place, Norm jumped off the load, and 
with a hilarious, “Giddap!” to the oxen 
they started on the “home stretch,” of 
their long journey. 
The oxen were in fine fettle, and went 
along steadily and strongly, making. 30 
miles a day for two days, but the third 
day proved to be an exceedingly warm 
one, it being now about the first of Aug¬ 
ust. The way was rugged and difficult, 
and they were not making as much 
progress as they hoped to do, and 
when in mid-afternoon they came upon 
a thickly-wooded place, with a stream of 
water and everything ideal for camping, 
Norm thought it best to stop, and then 
get an early start the next morning, and 
so travel in the cool of the day. Both 
boys felt the heat, and were worn and 
dusty, for even Nate had walked a good 
deal, as the roads had been so rough and 
steep, riding had been no pleasure, and 
the load was heavier than it had been be¬ 
fore they had taken on their new supplies. 
The whole outfit, hoys and oxen seemed 
to rejoice in the cool shade of the trees. 
Norm curried the heated oxen, and when 
they had rested a little he fed grain, and 
picketed them out on a grassy plat, near 
a stream of water. The oxen waded out 
and stood knee deep in the water, chew¬ 
ing their cuds contentedly, and the boys 
after cooling somewhat took a plunge in 
the stream top. This refreshed them very 
much, and Norm went off with his gun to 
look for game, while Nate was ordered to 
lie down and sleep. This he did cheer¬ 
fully enough, although he protested that 
he too should go along to help with the 
hunting. 
“You stay right here, and ‘knit up the 
ravelled sleave of care,’ ” Norm ordered 
laughing. 
Nate slept and dreamed and dreamed 
and slept, the climax of his dreaming 
being that he was in the water, and the 
walls of the ravine fell in upon him with 
a terrific crash; with this he awoke to 
find that the crash hiul not been a mere 
dream, for the heavens were white with 
lightning, and the constant roar of 
thunder seemed almost deafening. For 
a moment Nate sat up questioningly, then 
looking about for Norm, but did not see 
him, nor could he see the oxen. The 
wagon, which stood in a comparatively 
sheltered place, would soon be drenched, 
aud their precious store of food be ruined. 
To care for these supplies kept him busy 
for some time, for he had to lift them 
down and put them under the wagon, 
and then make a shelter of some of the 
lumber on the windward side to keep the 
rain from beating in upon them. lie 
crept under the wagon too after his work 
was done, and the rain raged for a time, 
and then the sun came out. Nate rose 
and went to look for the oxen hut he 
