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I'M 13 KURA I 
N EVV-VORKER 
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11 
The 
Land of Fulfi 
11 m e n t • 
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A Story of Homesteading 
11 
11 
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Nate and Norm had plenty of ideas and 
plans of work that would keep them busy 
till Christmas, but on the 30th day of 
October a little snow fell. It kept on 
falling from day to day, until the ground 
was too well covered to make continuous 
ranging possible for the stock. 
Each day the horses and oxen were 
turned out, and each night they were 
stabled with comfortable mangers of hay 
and grain in their feed boxes. 
No anxiety was felt, for even the old 
settlers agreed that they had never seen 
a snowy Winter. A little flurry now and 
then, but no heavy falls, and it was 
prophesied that the snow already accu¬ 
mulated would soon go off, when a thaw 
should come, which was daily expected. 
But the snow did not go, nor a thaw 
come; instead (ho snow kept falling more 
and still more. It drifted into the valley 
space heavily. The chicken coop, built 
there for shelter, had to be dug out each 
time it stormed. The hay, too—what lit¬ 
tle there was—had been stacked as made 
in the valley plat, and this, too, had to be 
dug out each time a fresh load was 
needed. 
“If this should keep on.’’ Norm said, 
breathlessly, resting a moment from his 
shovelling about the haystack, “I’m won¬ 
dering where we’ll get hay to keep the 
stock alive through the Winter. I don’t 
see why I hadn’t sense enough to put up 
more. This valley would have fed SO 
horses, and the few we have will starve 
long before Spring.” 
“I haven’t any sense about things like 
that,” Nate admitted. “But I wish we 
had put up more hay.” 
“Even if we hadn’t burned the straw,” 
Norm wailed. “East year I looked for 
Winter, and was ready for it, but no 
Winter came; and here in November we 
are covered up with snow, and no sign of 
a let-up.” 
“What are we going to do?” .Tim May¬ 
nard asked one morning, standing near 
one of Nate’s shivering horses. “My crit¬ 
ters are half frozen, and I haven’t enough 
hay for them into the bargain. They eat 
as much again when it’s so cold to keep 
their heat up. I—I’d hate to shoot ’em; 
but it seems to me I can’t stand by and 
see 'em freeze and starve.” 
“We haven’t half enough hay, either,” 
Norm said, sympathetically, “and we 
haven’t stock enough in the barn to keep 
it warm. I wonder if we could crowd 
your stock and ours in together, at night, 
anyway, and so keep them warm by their 
own heat.” So the livestock were shelt¬ 
ered together, but the hay in the valley 
dwindled and dwindled away, to such a 
degree that the oxen were turned out to 
rustle as best they might, and the hay 
was doled out to the horses and cow spar¬ 
ingly. 
Then came another serious problem. 
The fuel laid in for Winter had seemed 
generously adequate in the Fall, but much 
more fire had been needed than the pre¬ 
vious Winter, and the fuel, too, dwindled 
away rapidly. The climax was reached 
when Norm came home from a trip to 
Wetasket after coal, without it. A coal 
famine was on the land, as well as the 
hardest Winter ever experienced by the 
oldest settlers. 
“We’ll have to bunk in the barn with 
the cattle or live in the cellar,” Nate said 
cheerfully ; and when Norm had gone out 
to take care of his team, Nate went down 
into the cellar, which was warm and dry. 
The shale beneath made it as dry as ce¬ 
ment, and Nate, looking into the hole 
Hank had dug, remembered the stone 
ovens used by the Dagoes when they 
were doing railroad work. He believed 
that he could build a small fire in the 
hole, which would not only cook the need¬ 
ful food, but also make a sufficient 
warmth for comfort, for the shale would 
hold the heat like a vast soapstone foot- 
warmer. Nate took the top off of a small 
laundry stove—a variety much affected by 
the early settlers, as giving a maximum 
of heat and top surface. This he fitted 
over the smal hole in the cellar, and from 
the stove top he run a length of pipe to 
the room above, and thence out through 
the roof, for this, too, was the only chim¬ 
ney the settlers’ cabins had—a length of 
pipe run through the roof. Nate started 
a small fire in the little shale pit, and in 
a few minutes the small cellar was as 
comfortable as need be, and Nate felt that 
the fuel problem was solved for the time 
being, for very little would be needed in 
this basement kitchen, as he was pleased 
to call it. 
Norm came in growling: “What! no 
fire and no supper?” 
“ ‘Will you walk into my basement, 
said the cook unto the crowd.’ ” parodied 
Nate, and he led the way to the piping hot 
supper below, laid out on a box, which 
was spread with a clean paper. 
“What dido are you up to now?” in¬ 
quired Norm, somewhat appeased by the 
savory odors and the comforting warmth. 
“I’m just playing Dago.” Nate replied. 
“I’ve seen their fire pits a hundred times, 
and their good sense, too. We can heat 
this cellar, and it will hold heat for 
hours and hours and hours.” 
“You must be a descendant of Robin¬ 
son Crusoe, for you have a scheme for 
everything. Now, if you can find some 
substitute for hay.” 
But no substitute was found, and the 
feeding problem loomed large and larger. 
“I believe I’ve scraped up the last fork¬ 
ful of hay,” said Norm one morning, as 
he tossed his pitchfork on to the hay 
rack on the sleds. “Now we’ve got to do 
something. Somebody must have been 
provident, and somebody must have hay. 
I’m going to start out and travel till l 
find some. They ought to be shipping in 
to Wetasket.” 
“Couldn't the stock get along with just 
plenty of grain?” Nate asked with his 
lack of farming wisdom. 
“They must have roughage. But we’d 
try to keep them alive on grain for awhile 
if we had to.” 
“I’ll go along, too. then, after I’ve put 
a kettle of beans to cook in the pit.” In 
doing this Nate managed to slop a good 
deal of water, but it only hissed on the 
hot shale and did not put the fire out. 
Taking some bread and meat in a paper 
sack, and buttoning his sheepskin-lined 
coat up well. Nate was ready when Norm 
drove up with the team and the hay rack. 
They made haste but slowly, for the roads 
were full of snow, and practically un¬ 
broken. More than once the shovel was 
brought into requisition. Inquiries were 
made all along the way for hay—if the 
settlers had any, or if they knew where it 
could be had; but none could be found 
to sell. Some had enough to pull through 
and some had not burned their straw, but 
the majority were about as anxious as 
were Nate and Norm. Norm went about 
to livery barns and feed dealers and to 
farmers, but he found no hay for sale. 
“ Why don’t some blamed money-grab¬ 
ber ship in some hay?” Norm asked in 
disgust as his last hope failed. 
“Why don’t they?” cried Nate. “Why 
don’t we? We’ll wire Mansfield. lie 
knows all about the country travelling as 
he does for machinery. He’ll tell us 
where to hunt for hay, and we can ship it 
in ourselves.” 
“And we’ve been worrying over that!” 
Norm’s face lit up with a smile, brighter 
than it had worn for a great while. So 
the wire was sent, and the reply came, 
cheering, inspiring. 
When the telegram was at last handed 
out Nate tore the envelope off and read: 
“Hay in Edmonds County. Bale and 
ship. Good money. 
“Mansfield, St. Paul, Minn.” 
“Tou’d better go. Norm. Y'ou are 
worth a dozen like me.” And Norm took 
the first train to Edmonds County, and 
travelled until he came to a region 
abounding in generous haystacks. 
“Yes, we've got hay and straw in 
plenty,” one old settler told Norm, “for 
we’ve lived in Dakota long enough to 
know we do have Winter sometimes. 
This is a new country right here, but I’ve 
lived in Dakota for a good many years.” 
So Norm bought and baled hay, and Nate 
canvassed the country for buyers, until 
all were supplied. 
There was no money in it. for neither 
one of the boys wanted to make money of 
people who were just as limited in cir¬ 
cumstances as they were themselves. Still 
the expenses were all paid and the situa¬ 
tion saved. When at last enough hay 
had been shipped, and Norm was ready 
for home, he felt that he was leaving a 
place of very pleasant people and much 
comfort. Still he was glad to get home 
again, and Nate held a jubilee of welcome 
for him. The coal famine had lifted, and 
the rest of the Winter passed unevent¬ 
fully enough. To be sure. Norm had 
been absent from his clauns for some 
weeks, and Nate, too, had been absent 
from his, for he had lived most of that 
time of coal famine and hay scarcity right 
in Norm’s shack, because it was much 
better fitted up than was his own, besides 
being much nearer the stables, while the 
valley was so filled with the snow the 
usual access to his own shack had long 
been blocked and his shanty practically 
snowed under. Still there was no anx¬ 
iety regarding the matter, as when the 
weather moderated the boys shoveled 
through the snow, and made Nate’s habita¬ 
tion possible of access and comfortable to 
live in. The boys had part of their meals 
there, and Nate slept there, for the sake 
of holding his land by actual residence. 
With the breaking up of the snow the 
creek, that had never been more than a 
rod wide and from four to six feet in 
depth, began to fill up. But so gradual 
was the melting of the snow, and so deep 
had the Y\ inter’s fleece drifted into the 
valley that the .water seemed to make lit¬ 
tle difference in the creek itself, until 
there suddenly came a warm rain and a 
rapidly rising temperature. 
“If this warmth lasts we shall get into 
the fields before long,” Norm said jubil¬ 
antly, as he parted from Nate at night. 
I can hardly wait.” Nate replied joy¬ 
ously. “Id like to wake up and find the 
ground bare in the morning.” 
“Oh, I don’t know as that would be as 
much .of a blessing as you think. Better 
have it thaw slow, and soak the ground, 
than run .in a stream into the valley and 
creek. Why, there’s snow enough now in 
the valley almost to flood the land if it 
melted fast.” 
“And the water has been dribbling in 
there, too, for days. There’s no telling 
how much water there is beneath that 
white crust,” Nate agreed, quietly. “Well, 
we’ll have to take it as it comes. I can’t 
help but wish the chicken coop was on the 
top of the bluff, instead of in the low 
place.” 
“It has been a good warm place for the 
Winter, but if the rain holds and the 
weather is warm to-morrow we will move 
the chickens to the barn until the danger 
of the creek overflowing its banks is 
over.” 
It was grey morning when Nate awoke 
and looked out of his small window, to 
find the snow sodden and black with rot, 
the whole aspect of the country so 
changed he hardly recognized it. A 
strange, sullen, roaring smote his ears, 
and the noise seemed to grow louder and 
louder as he listened. Suddenly remem¬ 
bering the prophesy of Norm, and the 
peril of the chickens, he thrust himself 
into his overalls and rushed outside, to 
discover that the creek which had been 
such a peaceful stream, almost unrippled 
in its course, was swollen to a roaring ' 
torrent. It had overswept its banks by 
far. and had crept up over the valley in 
a flooding depth. Nate looked at the sul¬ 
len darkness of the waters in amazement, 
and as he watched he saw the chicken 
coop caught on the swirling tide and 
swept past him. While Nate stood per¬ 
plexed on the bank Norm appeared on the 
other side. 
“Our garden patch is getting a good ir¬ 
rigating,” Norm shouted above the noise 
of the waters. 
“So are our chickens.” Nate shouted 
back, pointing to the coop careening on 
the flood. “Get a picket rope,” he cried, 
“get all the rope you can." And while 
Norm dashed rway for the rope, Nate 
flung off his coat and boots, and cautious¬ 
ly essayed to descend the slippery shale 
of the high bank. Norm caught sight of 
him as he diseappeared around a curve of 
the very crooked stream, and he ran 
swiftly along the bank, keeping Nate well 
in sight. When he had come abreast of 
the coop, Nate threw himself into the 
water, intending to catch hold of it and 
fasten it with the rope Norm had brought. 
The force of the stream was much more 
than he had reckoned fjr, and he found 
that his ability for swimming came into 
no requisition save to keep him in line 
with the floating coop. This object of his 
rescue seemed constantly to elude him. 
The water was icy cold, and Nate was so 
unpractised in the art of swimming that 
his chase after an ever-vanashing thing 
began to wear on him. Norm, running 
along the bank, saw the suddenly relax¬ 
ing powers of his comrade, made a slip 
noose in the rope, and with a wild fling 
tried to lassoo him. but he had not been 
quick enough. Without a word, or cry, 
a sound, Nate went down into the surg¬ 
ing, crashing flood. Norm thought wildly 
of the jutting stones in the bottom of the 
creek, of the sharp out-cropping of the 
shale, and he grew sick and faint, but this 
did not prevent him from flinging off his 
own coat and boots, and almost as quick 
as Nate had gone down Norm was in the 
water, waiting for the reappearance of 
his friend. But when he did come up it 
was at such a distance that Norm could 
not reach him, strong swimmer though he 
was. Almost ho could reach him, almost 
he could catch and save him, but too late, 
too late, did his strong arm shoot out to 
grasp the sinking boy. With a quick in¬ 
drawing of his breath Norm dashed up 
the bank ; he did not know how he scaled 
the slippery steep, but he caught the rope 
he had discarded and crashed down the 
bank again to the very verge of the boil¬ 
ing water. With straining eyes and suffo¬ 
cating heart he waited, and he prayed— 
not that Norm knew himself to be pray¬ 
ing, but his heart went up in a wild cry 
of anguish, “Lord, save him! Lord, save 
him ! ” 
(Continued next month.) 
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