yea 
THE RURAL, NEW-YORKER 
May 30, 
The Land of Fulfillment 
A Story of Homesteading 
By Rose Seelye-Miller= := 
(Continued from page 626, April 26.) 
“I thought,” Mr. James said, through 
chattering lips, “that the Indians were 
all on reservations, and safe in the cus¬ 
tody of the government.” 
“They are,” Jim replied laconically, 
“but if they take it into their heads to 
murder the government officials, and hike 
out on a massacre, wliat’s going to pre¬ 
vent it?” Jim stared gloomily westward. 
“Do you—do you—think it’s—danger¬ 
ous?” Mr. James could hardly articulate. 
“Why, I don’t know as ’tis,” Jim re¬ 
plied reassuringly. “I’ve never been 
scalped, and it seems as though it would 
be a little inconvenient—if not exactly 
dangerous.” 
“Wh-what you going to do?” Mr. 
James inquired, wiping his face hurried¬ 
ly, for the cold sweat was oozing from 
his forehead. 
“I guess I’ll eat my breakfast,” Jim 
replied. “I may’s well have one more 
meal. Dome in and have a pot of cof¬ 
fee with me, and I’ll open a can of some¬ 
thing, might as well live high, if it’s only 
for a brief span,” dismally. 
“Where are the fellers that stopped to 
my house last night?” Mr. James asked 
furtively. 
“Someone stop there?” Jim inquired 
innocently. 
“Just almost dark,” Mr. James said, a 
little more quietly. 
“Oh, yes, an ox team,” Jime seemed to 
remember. “Why they turned around 
and went back didn’t they?” 
“They went down into my ravine.” 
“Do any damage? Wau’t Indians, was 
they ?” 
“I guess not—though both of ’em was 
brown enough to be ’most anything. I 
think they messed with my chickens, 
mebbe stole some eggs!” 
“What’d they want?” 
“Claimed the place, said ’twas theirn, 
’nd they’d give me till to-day to get off. 
’Spose they'l come back?” 
“Oh, the fellows that own the place!” 
Jim said understandingly. “They aren’t 
only kids, anyway.” 
“I come of fighting stock,” Mr. James 
spread his short legs apart, and puffed 
out his chest, proudly. “Land hain’t 
much good anyway, all shale mostly. 
Shale’s no good,” he added with a furtive 
look at Jim. 
“I’m no fighter myself,” Jim returned 
gloomily, “and I hope to glory I don’t 
have to fight. I guess I’ll clean my rifle, 
although I couldn’t shoot a flock of hay¬ 
stacks. Indians most always go in 
clusters, don’t they, like grapes, or buf¬ 
faloes or things? Might be easy enough 
to plug one in a bunch, but then it might 
be like firing into a wasps’ nest—you 
might get the rest stinging at you.” Jim 
went dismally into his house, and ate a 
hearty breakfast. 
Mr. James, with many furtive shoul¬ 
der-back glances, stubbed across the line, 
and after waiting, fearful for something 
and finding nothing doing, he crept out, 
and went down into the ravine, to inspect 
his setting hens. lie found them undis¬ 
turbed. 
“Harmless sort of fellers, them,” he 
murmured. “I wonder if I couldn’t take 
these settin’ hens with me, if the Injuns 
should come.” 
“Halloo, halloo, halloo!” came a shrill 
call, and a horseman halted on the hill, 
waving wildly to the man in the ravine. 
With heavily beating heart Mr. James 
ran up to meet the rider as fast as his 
stubby legs could carry him. 
“There are rumors—however vague I 
am not prepared to say—that there will 
be an Indian uprising; there have been 
ghost-dances, and some say the Indians 
are already this side of the river.” 
The rider spoke in well-modulated tones 
and with chosen words; evidently he 
wanted to keep wholly within the truth 
of his statements. 
“Do—do you think there’s any imme¬ 
diate danger?” Mr. James inquired fever¬ 
ishly. 
“I don’t say there is any danger at all. 
I merely say there are rumors. But I’m 
on to the city, and somewhat in a hurry,” 
and with a polite lifting of his hat the 
man rode down the hill, leaving Mi\ 
James staring blankly after him. 
In the afternoon some wagons with 
women and children passed by. These 
were followed by a wagon with four 
horses hitched to it, and in the wagon was 
piled a heterogenous lot of stuff, and to 
the first wagon was hitched a second, 
bearing a cow and a crate of something 
that might have been pigs. All these 
things looked to Mr. James as though 
moving on might be the better thing to 
do; but he was stubborn, and hated to 
give up just then ; so he went from shanty 
to shantv, from land-holder to land-holder. 
All seemed discussing the momentous 
question, and what would be best to do 
under the circumstances. Would it be 
best to face the enemy or to fly from 
them? Lome seemed wild for adventure, 
and others seemed anxious to pull out 
while there might be a chance. 
“Once get. into the city,” Hank Jones 
argued, “then we could put up a front; 
but here on the open plain we couldn’t do 
anything—just tomahawked and scalped 
and thrown out to the coyotes—ugh!” 
and Hank shuddered, as though he could 
see the gory sight and hear the howling 
of the wolves. 
At five o’clock three men rode up to 
Jim Maynard’s shanty. 
“I s'pose you’ve heard,” began the 
spokesman. 
“Yes,” Jim agreed, “we’ve heard,” and 
his words included the body of settlers 
then collected about him. “Mr. James, 
here, is of fighting stock, and he—” 
“Oh, I dunno’s I want to fight. I never 
fit Injuns.” Ilis ruddy face had lost 
much color and his voice much assurance 
and bravado. 
“The question is, what are we to do? 
Shall we all collect here and defend our 
land and ourselves, or shall we pack up 
and drive our cattle before us and go to 
the city?” 
“I'm for going to the—” began Jim. 
“So’m I,” Mr. James agreed hastily. 
“I don’t want to be sculped by no red¬ 
skins. ” 
“No, no!” cried a dozen voices. 
“Where’s your valor? Mr. James for 
leader. lie’s fighting stock. He’s the 
oldest.. Mr. James—Mr. James for lead¬ 
er!” and a wild babel ensued. 
“You see,” Jim said to Mr. James 
gloomily, “you’ve brought this on us. If 
you’d cleared out there wouldn’t have 
been anything to keep me, and I might 
have got away, too ; but now—” 
“Mr. James to the front! Mr. James 
to the front! He’ll lead and bear the 
brunt of the battle, and guide us to 
safety!” It was Hank Jones now, and 
the boys fell into order, pushing Mr. 
James to the front, and in this way 
they marched to the James shack, and 
filled it to overflowing and crowded 
around it on the outside. Once collected 
there, Hank Jones suggested a cheer for 
their leader. “Three cheers for Mr. 
James, and we’ll fight like him!” cried 
Hank, and the cheer went up. 
Mr. James had sulked into the shanty, 
hut at this he stubbed to the door. 
“Shut up, you young varmints! Do 
you want to let ’em know right where 
we be? Now. shut up. the hull bunch!” 
At nine o’clock Nate and Norm ar¬ 
rived. and Mr. James shrunk smaller 
than he had before. 
“I don’t believe there’s a word of truth 
in it,” Norm said, after listening to the 
rumors. 
“But we did hear some talking about 
ghost-dances.” Nate put in, grimly. 
“There’s been men warning us all 
day.” Jim Maynard contested. 
“And women and children and wagons 
and live stock have been going past, as 
though—” put in Hank Jones. 
“I believe I can smell paint now. 
The savages always paint up for a bat¬ 
tle,” Jim Maynard whispered alertly. 
“Mr. James is our leader. He is a 
fighter—” 
“Let him go out and reconnoitre,” 
suggested Hank Jones, and he thrust the 
unwilling Mr. James out into the night. 
His face was white and his lips were 
trembling, and as they pushed him to¬ 
wards the hill-crest a sinuous form 
glided out of the darkness, near Jim 
Maynard’s shanty. Mr. James trembled 
as lie stood, but he could not advance. 
“They’re here!” he muttered, and he 
lifted his half-palsied feet, but he could 
scarcely move. Jim Maynard, standing 
near, fired, and then a dozen torches 
flashed into light, and a band of painted 
braves, gay with color and feathers, gal¬ 
loped into sight not a quarter of a mile 
distant. 
“It’s all according to Hoyle,” Nate’s 
voice spoke close to Mr. James’s ear. 
“Feathers, paint, and—” here a mighty 
war whoop rent the air. “If you’ve 
ever done anything you’re sorry for, you 
had better say your prayers, captain,” 
Nate’s voice still pursued, and Nate’s 
long legs kept easily beside the older 
man’s short ones. 
The marauding band moved forward 
with a rush, shrieking, whooping, brand¬ 
ishing their torches. The boys in the 
shanty kept up a volley of shots, and 
pandemonium went wild. Mr. James 
was making for the creek bed. 
“What, aren’t you going to fight—to 
lead us on to victory?” Nate’s voice 
was still close to the fleeing man. Mr. 
James’s legs went like windmill wings, 
and he cursed the rank-growing grass in 
the valley. He stumbled over the buffalo 
bones, and sank deep in the soft earth of 
the garden, but with every fall he rose 
up again, and with every curse he sped 
forward, leaping, running, bounding, like 
one gone mad in a frenzy of fear, and as 
he plunged he muttered: “I wisbt that 
shale land was at the bottom of the 
brimstone pit! I wisht them savages 
was under it! I wish—” and here a 
sudden turning of the creek sent his 
plunging form into the waters below him. 
CHAPTER VI. 
Tiie Virgin Soil and the Virgin Crop. 
The Horn of Plenty. 
“Where’s James?” asked Norm eager¬ 
ly. And the question, “Where’s James?” 
went around the circle, but none could 
answer. 
“ He’s probably taken the trail, and 
will never bo heard of again,” Jim said, 
gaily. “The thieving, ornery land- 
jumper !” 
“And all this war-paint and feathers 
are wasted on the desert air,” wailed 
one of the Indian (?) braves. 
“I wanted to give him a smell of my 
torch,” a second voice moaned. 
“And I just thought I’d like to paint 
him a smile,” and another waved wildly 
with a paint pail. 
Nate came sprinting back to the dis¬ 
heveled group by the shanty, singing, 
“ ‘There’s one more river—there’s one 
more river to cross, and our friend, the 
enemy, is crossing it,” he volunteered to 
the dozen or more questioning voices. 
“You haven’t killed him?” protested 
Norm horrified. 
“Oh. no; nothing as good as that, but 
something pretty nearly, for l.e has had 
an impromptu bath in the creek—fell 
headlong; but his cursing was enough to 
make Ihe water boil. Wash up, fellows, 
and I’ll make some coffee.” Nate urged. 
“You’ve done us a mighty white turn, 
and you scared even me nearly to death. 
You’re sure you're harmless?” and Nate 
edged off fearfully. 
“He couldn't have held the land, any¬ 
way,” Hank Jones declared. “A man 
doesn’t have to live on his land for the 
first six months unless he wants to. He 
has that much grace, and the Govern¬ 
ment lets a fellow off if he needs to go 
to earn his living.” 
“He was such a consummate nui¬ 
sance!” put in Jim Maynard; “always 
nosing around, and he had a fair chance 
to go.” 
“I don’t know,” Norm put in for fair¬ 
ness. “lie came here and saw this land 
deserted. Maybe he didn’t mean to stay 
more than over night when he stopped, 
and then he stayed longer and found out 
no one came to claim it. and so he de¬ 
cided to stick to it himself.” 
“Oh, he meant to have it. We told 
him, singly and in pairs and collectively, 
that the laud was filed on fair ami 
square, and that you would be back 
sure. He knew, but he needl'd an earth¬ 
quake to shove him off. We tore his 
shanty down three times, and that would 
have given most anyone a hint of their 
unwelcomeness, but he’s nothing but a 
ornery old—” 
“He won’t bother any for awhile.” 
Nate put in soothingly. “He’ll probably 
spread this tale of the Indian uprising 
far and near, and that will discourage 
any other would-be claim jumpers.” 
Scattered feathers, half-burned torches 
and a pot of red paint decorated tin* 
landscape the next morning; but heavy 
clouds drove Nate and Norm to extra ef¬ 
forts to get their new lumber made up 
into something more habitable than the 
thin board shack. Mr. James had left the 
boys’ shanty. He had used it as a barn 
for his cow and one horse. 
“We must advertise this stuff he left,” 
Nate said, taking an inventory of the 
same. And so a few days later on an 
advertisement appeared in the local city 
paper: 
“Taken up on section 36.R.17, one 
8x12 frame dwelling; also one red cow 
and one dapple grey horse. Owner prove 
property, pay costs and remove the 
same.” 
This was signed by both boys. The 
advertisement ran for six months, but 
the owner did not appear, nor prove 
property, nor remove it. 
“Gee, but this feels like Fall,” Nate 
said as he began picking up the scat¬ 
tered war trophies. 
“ We’ve got a lot to do before we can 
go into Winter quarters with any com¬ 
fort,” Norm added, flinging a torch into 
the heap of debris collected. 
“I’m wondering," said Nate, “if James 
didn’t have some shred of right on his 
side. I’m not sure we are holding this 
land according to the full letter of the 
law, and I’m bound to hold it square.” 
“If we’d filed tree claims instead of 
pre-emptions, I am sure we would be 
safe with our .‘120 acres each. I believe 
when we go into Wetasket we will see 
about it and have the filing changed.” 
“We’ll hold it square, anyway. I won¬ 
der where our papers are? We left them 
when we went to thrash.” Nate spoke 
coolly enough, but Norm gasped. 
“Our papers! Could that tyke have 
taken them?” 
“Even if he did they’re put down at 
the Land Office. We may as well pound 
away at this building work till it rains 
so we can’t. We’ll have time enough to 
hunt for the papers.” 
But Norm would not delay, rushed 
into the shanty and began to look. 
“I wonder if they are in that fellow’s 
trunk,” Norm stormed. “I hate to open 
it, but I’ll have to. He showed little 
enough consideration when he chucked 
our things out.” 
The trunk was locked, but Nate man¬ 
aged to open it with a nail, and the 
missing papers were found safe, much to 
the satisfaction of both boys. As they 
stood reading a little stream of water 
trickled down and struck Norm in the 
back of the neck. 
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