1!)] 4. 
THE RURAL, NEW-YORKER 
626 
The Land of Fulfillment 
A Story of Homesteading 
By Rose Seelye-Miller-- 
(Continued from page 492, March 28.) 
Nate had ground away at the buffalo 
horns too, with unceasing zest, on rainy 
days, or days when Jim’s team was too 
busy in other ways to be used for hauling 
the hones to the dumping place. To a 
boy like Nate, who had been accustomed 
to receive regular wages, this wageless 
life seemed peculiarly difficult. lie knew 
that Norm was furnishing much more in 
every way in this partnership than was 
he. What could he do, where there was 
no chance for paid work—and someway 
he fell asleep thinking of black, shining 
buffalo horns. 
Norm had cut and cared for the hay 
that grew on the valley plat, and it 
looked to him like a goodly supply for 
Winter, even should it be less open than 
the older settlers agreed to be common. 
It was too early to do Fall plowing, even 
should it be feasible to do it, and that 
would depend much upon whether it 
rained enough to make the breaking pos¬ 
sible. 
One fine day in September, Nate and 
Norm drove into the city, and Nate re¬ 
ceived several bulky letters and some thin 
ones, with circulars and catalogues. He 
was quite excited over these, and he tore 
open a catalogue and running through 
the pages swiftly, turned to poultry sup¬ 
plies, and bone cutters. 
“Gee, but they do cost quite a bunch,” 
he told himself, but even so he deter¬ 
mined to have one. sometime, if he could 
raise the price. The balance of his mail 
he stowed away carefully, but the very 
sight of that pictured bone cutter sent 
his blood thrilling through his veins. He 
believed he could make that machine pay 
for itself and the thought of a real, com¬ 
mercial transaction, however small, was 
a thrilling thing just then. They had 
attended to the few small items of busi¬ 
ness they had to do. and were standing on 
the street corner, idly enough, watching 
the people surging about, all seeming alert, 
and intent upon getting somewhere in 
the shortest possible space of time, when 
a big. cheerful looking man in blue denim 
accosted them : 
“Say, you! Are you looking for a 
job?” a hearty voice asked, and a pair 
of clear eyes, looked at Norm’s husky 
figure approvingly. 
“Yes,” replied Norm, instantly, al¬ 
though up to the time he met the speak¬ 
er, he had not been looking any further 
than his own plat of land for employ¬ 
ment. 
“I want a good pitcher on my steam 
thrashing outfit. Fellow left me in the 
lurch this morning. My name’s Tom 
Miller.” 
“Sure,” Norm assented simply, and his 
face shone as though a voice from heaven 
had accosted him. “Work, work, paid 
work,” his inner consciousness kept sing¬ 
ing- 
“Come on then, we’re just starting 
out. Hope I haven’t robbed you of a 
man,” Tom Miller said, turning to Nate 
questioningly, touching his rough cap as 
he spoke. 
“Not at all,” Nate replied smiling, 
“I’m not hiring any help just now.” 
"Lucky!” Tom Miller added. “Men 
are scarce. Don’t know of anyone who 
wants to go for a cook, do you?” 
“Yes,” Nate responded quickly. “If 
your crew are not too fastidious, I’d like 
to sling hash for them for a spell.” 
Tom Miller, looked at Nate’s neat .out¬ 
fit. his slim brown hands, his rather deli¬ 
cate, but fine face, his. broad, yet sunken 
chest, and his shoulders, which were 
stooped. 
“Lunger!” was Tom Miller’s correct 
mental comment, alound he said. “We 
pay the cook the same as the thrasher. 
You look as though you could wrestle 
with pots and swing a dislirag. Come 
on !” and Tom Miller plunged forward as 
though all he had to do in life was to 
say to others, “come,” and they should 
follow. 
“I’m peculiarly expert with dishrngs— 
and fond of them,” Nate added whimsi¬ 
cally measuring his stride to that of Tom 
Miller. 
“Hold on a minute, Mr. Miller,” Norm 
said. "We’ve got a yoke of oxen with 
us, and we’ll have to picket, or stall or 
stable them somewhere, we can’t leave 
them hitched to the wagon in the street.” 
“Fetch them along, grazing’s free— 
you may get a chance to work them some 
in shock thrashing—but they’re most too 
slow—everything is done with a slam 
and a rush out here.” And with this Tom 
Miller, untied his team of splendid 
draught horses, and climbed into the 
lumber wagon. “Follow me, I live out 
about 10 miles southeast.” 
Nate hustled to untie the oxen and 
Norm sent them scurrying along the 
road following the cloud of dust which 
he saw in the distance. The two boys 
looking at each other gravely and then, 
with eye answering to eye, they both 
broke into a hilarious laugh. 
"Glory !” said Nate. 
"Hot dollars!” exulted Norm. 
"How glad 1 am I have attended cook¬ 
ing school this Summer,” gurgled Nate, 
with a sort of “prunes and prisms” dig¬ 
nity. 
Then both lapsed into silence, broken 
only by Norm’s guiding calls to his oxen, 
a “gee,” here or a “haw” there, or a 
“giddap Reddy, hustle along Roan.” 
“The chickens!” blurted out Nate after 
some miles of silence. 
“And the setting hens and the cat!” 
appended Norm. 
“I rackon Jim’ll take care of them 
when he finds we don’t get back,” Nate 
said easily. 
“The cat can catch gophers enough 
for her living, and I'm sure Jiui’ll see to 
things,” Norm said, but he felt a little 
uneasy, although it was a common thing 
for one young land-holder to “see too” 
some ones’ else affairs, if the owner 
chanced to get home late at night. A 
state of affairs quite common, for the dis¬ 
tances were long in that new country, 
of many settlers and few cities. 
Nate found himself introduced to a 
cook shanty, a small building on wheels, 
which could be drawn from one thrash¬ 
ing place to another. In this shanty 
were long shelves on either side, for ta¬ 
bles, benches to sit on, and a narrow 
runway between, where the cook was 
supposed to move as he passed the food. 
A range in one corner, with monstrous 
kettles, and cooking dishes, flour bin, sun¬ 
dry supplies, and so on. 
“You two can bunk in together if you 
want to,” Tome Miller said in leaving. 
There’s springs and mattress, with blan¬ 
kets furnished for the cook, who’s sup¬ 
posed to sleep in the cook cabin. Blan¬ 
kets and a tent for the other men.” 
“We’ll bunk outside,” Norm said, 
cheerfully. 
“Never sleep indoors unless it rains,” 
Nate assented, “and we don’t either oue 
know what springs and mattresses are.” 
“Men must get to work as soon as they 
can see. so breakfast’ll have to be ready 
and eaten before daylight.” 
“All right.” the new cook responded, 
as he watched Tom Miller plunge away. 
“Now I’ll hop to it. and see what the 
cook can find for breakfast,” and laugh¬ 
ing and talking the two boys explored the 
contents of every utensil in the place, 
finding the supplies, good, abundant, and 
comfortable. It was pretty late when 
they wrapped the blankets about them, 
and slept under the clean September sky. 
And it was early, very early, when Norm 
dragged Nate from his slumbers and set 
him pottering over the cook stove. 
Both boys worked briskly, and deftly, 
for they were accustomed to a limited 
space and it seemed good to have such 
an abundance to draw from for the meal. 
The whistle blew for breakfast, and 
Nate stood, waiting for the coming of 
the crew. “I hope my halo is on 
straight,” he whispered to Norm as the 
onslaught began. But he forgot all jok¬ 
ing in the work before him, as he poured 
cup after cup of coffee, and dished up 
plateful after plateful of crisp bacon. 
“This tastes like real cooking,” one 
of the men affirmed, smiling up at Nate 
cordially. 
"It sure does,” agreed a second, and 
someway, Nate felt as though his halo 
was not only on straight but shining 
rather brilliantly. 
For four weeks the boys worked hard¬ 
er than they had ever worked in their 
lives and at the end of that time they 
had learned many things. They saw how 
grain is handled in the West, they caught 
the real Western spirit, of push, and 
rush and enthusiasm. Every worker was 
a friend and brother to every other work¬ 
er. but the drone had no place, and was 
pushed out as soon as he was found, 
in that^ busy hive of workers. When at 
last. Nate hung up his final dishrag, 
washed out the last towel, put away for 
the last time the tin cups and plates and 
dishes and slipped a cook book, he had 
smuggled in surreptitiously, into his 
pocket, with a little sigh of satisfaction. 
“Good bye, men.” said a heavy bass 
voice, and Nate looked up to see the crew 
gathered about the shanty door. 
"Hello boys!” he cried joyfully. 
“We’ve made up our minds you’ve 
done yourself proud on this trip, and 
we’ve brought you a little present.” said 
the spokesman, and forthwith handed out 
a package. 
Nate caught it. yanked off the string 
and held dangling in his hands six ging¬ 
ham aprons. He flushed, and then catch¬ 
ing the spirit of the joke, he jumped up 
nn the table and cried. “Hear, hear. 
Here’s thanks to you. and may you every¬ 
one find a gingham apron in your home 
some day.” 
"The same to you, the same.” and then 
followed a pandemonium of delight, as 
Nate carefully replaced the aprons in 
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