1914. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
1379 
The Land of Fulfillment 
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A Story of Homesteading 
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yes—after we make final proof 
V_/ and get out patents we’ll be free.” 
And yet, that thought did not give 
either boy the expected sense of exhilara¬ 
tion. They were not free, for they were 
tied by invisible cords to that land, to 
their homes, to their friends, to the coun¬ 
try. For the man who has once breathed 
the Western air, lived the Western life, 
grown and expanded with the largeness 
of the plains, can never go hack to the 
circumscribed areas of smaller things 
and people and places. 
The fifth year of land cropping was 
nearing its completion, and the adver¬ 
tisement for final proof was running in 
the local papers according to law. The 
crop on Jim Maynard’s land had doubled 
that on the shale hank that last year. 
The six gingham aprons given to Nate 
by the thrasher crew, the first Fall on 
the plains, had worn themselves out, one 
by one upon the line near the shanty, and 
the flapping folds of the last of the six 
attracted a party of real estate men, who 
were out ostensibly either to buy or sell 
land. Nate and Norm made the party 
welcome to their simple dinner, and after 
the usual chaffing about the apron, and 
the usual praise of the good cooking, the 
men wandered about with apparently 
aimlessness, looking at the land. 
“What’s the reason the crop on this 
land is so much lighter than it is over 
there?” inquired Mr. Measman the lead¬ 
er of the party, crumbling some bits 
of shale in his fingers as he spoke. 
.“Oh, I don’t know,” Nate replied. 
“My partner, who knows more about soils 
than I do, says this land would make an 
ideal cattle range.” 
“Hmmm! Stony?” inquired Mr. Meas¬ 
man. 
“No, you see what it is. just shale— 
old lake bed there, and the banks are 
nothing much but shale with a thin ven¬ 
eer of good soil, which has drifted on 
from the better land near by. The claim 
next us is as rich as fruit cake, and the 
valley there is knee deep in land like 
lard.” 
“Curious?” Mr. Measman commented, 
without interest. “Going to stay here?” 
“Oh, I reckon,” Nate said easily. 
“We expect to make final proof pretty 
soon.” 
“Own half a section, I suppose!’’ 
“My partner and I own a section, or 
will when we get our patents.” 
“You and your partner come out to¬ 
gether?” Mr/Measman inquired, appar¬ 
ently by way of making conversation, 
even though it seemed to bore him. 
“Drove out with oxen.” 
“Plucky! I call that great! And 
staid here all the time since!” 
“Oh, practically, we went away once 
or twice to work, but we’ve lived here 
really.” 
“I suppose you eat and sleep together, 
and keep a few old clothes, in the other 
shanty, to indicate possession,” Mr. 
Measman laughed lightly. 
“We’ve slept,” Nate replied laughing, 
too, “right across the dividing line, un¬ 
less we’ve been restless and kicked over 
to one side.” 
“Pretty cute!” Mr. Measman re¬ 
marked with approval. “You don’t want 
to sell out? I buy and sell, you know.” 
There was a keen look in Mr. Meas 
man’s eyes, although his voice was non¬ 
chalant, if not bored. 
“I guess not—just now,” Nate said 
slowly. 
“Good grit, I admire your spirit. It s 
just such steadfast men who will build 
up this country and make it one of the 
grandest in the Union.” 
“Make it grand!” cried Nate. “It is 
already made, and made grander and 
more wonderful than any man can make 
it or build it, or finish it.” Nate flushed, 
a little, and the two walked back to the 
edge of the bluff, where Mr. Measman 
again picked up a handful of loose shale, 
and crumbled it carelessly. 
“If you had that ground up and wet, 
it would make enough mud pies to satis¬ 
fy the entire infant output of the world.” 
The other man coming up just then 
Mr. Measman turned to Norm lazily. 
“Got any price on your land?” 
“Not just now. We’re making final 
proof soon, and a relinquishment is not 
worth quite as much as a place with a 
patent. Want to buy?” 
“I’m buying most anything folks want 
to get rid of, and I judged by what your 
partner said, you weren’t any too satis¬ 
fied with the agricultural value of your 
land.” 
“There is lots better laud than this,” 
Norm admitted cheerfully. 
Mr. Measman was still crumbling 
shale. ‘I like your pluck,” he said. “I 
just thought I’d like to see you in a 
better location. See this.” he said to 
one of the other men. “Wouldn’t that 
make great mud pie timber for the kids? 
They could mould most anything out of 
it. I’d just like to see them lam into 
a box of that stuff.” Mi*. Measman spoke 
jocularly. 
“Take a box,” said Nate. “I’ve made 
all sorts of chicken dishes out of it, and 
it holds its own all right.” 
“No, no. It’s too much bother,” Mr. 
Measman protested. “Oh well, if you 
insist. I suppose I could take a lit¬ 
tle,” and Nate swiftly ran down the 
bank, with a box. filled it with the finely 
ground shale, and brought it panting to 
the buggy. 
“Oh, thank you. It’s awful foolish 
lugging that stuff—but kids—” Mr. 
Measman said apologetically. “You’re 
mighty clever boys. I’ll give you ten 
dollars an acre for your land if you want 
to sell it. I’ve taken a great fancy to 
you—and you could take your money 
and buy land most anywhere. I could hunt 
you up a good wheat claim—” 
Nate and Norm faced each other, and 
there was a quick, questioning in the 
eyes of both. 
“Talk it over, and let me know. I’ll 
be in Wetasket tomorrow.” 
“We’ll talk it over,” Nate said pleas¬ 
antly. “It looks like a good chance.” 
Both boys watched the retreating ve¬ 
hicle as it disappeared over the hill, and 
then turning without words, they went 
about their work. It was not until after 
the evening chores were done, and the 
frugal supper over, that they seated 
themselves outside the shanty under the 
soft sheen of the coming night, that 
Norm spoke. 
“That would be six thousand four hun¬ 
dred dollars,” he spoke, as though the 
suggestion of sale had just been made, 
and in fact to both there had been no 
paramount thought. Both had gone over 
and over again, the idea of sale, the idea 
of possessing such a sum of money, with 
which to do as they pleased. 
“It’s a lot of money,” Nate admitted. 
“I don’t suppose I could have made 
that much money back there, in a life¬ 
time with Red and Roan, and every day 
full of work.” 
“You don’t want to go back then?” 
Nate’s voice was even, but questioning. 
“Go back!” Norm gasped. “Why, I 
don’t think I could live back there— 
after this!” 
"And yet you don’t want to go on 
here—this way?” Nate was relentless in 
his probing. 
“Oh, I don’t know,” wearily. “I feel 
more collapsed facing this idea of selling, 
than I ever have with any work however, 
hard or continuous.” 
“Yet you want the money,” Nate 
summed up grimly. I’m pretty sure we 
could take the money and go into most 
any town and make more with it in 
business-—” 
“Town!” snorted Norm. “I couldn’t 
live in town, after this,” and Norm 
swept his hand comprehensively towards 
the broad, beautiful land around him, 
where he could see their livestock grazing 
richly in an open space. They could see 
the coops where their young chickens 
were sheltered, and just then the cat 
came and rubbed against Norm, and it 
seemed as though that gentle touch, 
proved the balancing straw in the trans¬ 
action. Norm lifted the cat to his lap, 
and stroked her gently. 
“Say, Nate I’d rather sit here in this 
broad, open country, and hear this cat 
purr, than to hear the best singer in the 
world, cooped up in a city! And I 
wouldn’t trade off one of Red’s onyx 
hoofs for a whole row of candy jars or 
shelves of commercial calico.” With this 
declaration of independence, Norm rose, 
and stretched himself to his splendid 
height and laughed. “I feel free—as 
free as this prairie wind.” 
“Yes, we are free,” Nate echoed sim¬ 
ply. Then both lapsed into silence. 
Norm moving about amongst the little 
living things rapturously ; looking to see 
that the chickens were all right, strok¬ 
ing the calf, and finally depositing the 
cat in her nest with her ever-present kit¬ 
tens, stroking her, petting her, as though 
she had been the one, tangible thing 
which had held him to his own. Then 
he turned back and the sight of Nate 
lying in apparent listlessness upon the 
grass near the shanty, seemed to change 
the tenor of his thoughts. His exalta¬ 
tion passed away, and something gripped 
his heart with a sense akin to fear. 
He scrutinized Nate’s face, as he slumped 
down in a chair near him, and then he 
lapsed into thought—brooding, anxious 
thought, if the lines of his face meant 
anything. 
Nate rose to go to his own place for 
the night. “Good night, old pal,” he 
murmured quietly, and he cast a strange 
questioning look at Norm. 
“Wait! Wait a minute. Nate,” Norm 
spoke hurriedly. “Nate, if you want to 
go, if you want to sell out. and I can’t 
help but think you do—we’ll go. It was 
just the first thought of chance that un¬ 
nerved me. I’m one of the kind that 
get into a rut. and haven’t the force of 
character to get out. I’ve been thinking 
more, and there isn’t any use to hang 
on to a piece of almost worthless—” 
Norm gulped a little as he choked out 
that traitor word—for what he termed 
“worthless” seemed just then to be of the 
highest possible value to him, for it rep¬ 
resented to him. everything that had 
been worth while in all his young life. 
But he would be true to Nate, for Nate 
was of still greater value than any mere, 
material possession could be. 
CHAPTER X. 
The Grip of the Land. 
“Don’t get yourself wrought up any,” 
Nate said affectionately, laying his hand 
on Norm’s broad shoulder. “I don’t want 
to sell any more than you do. I 
just wanted to be sure that you were 
not sacrificing yourself to please me.” 
“We’ve always felt about the same,” 
Norm said, stopping between each word, 
as though something in his respiratory 
organs prevented speech. “The more I 
thought of selling, the w-orse it seemed to 
me. If we should sell—we might—drift 
apart. ” 
“We’ll anchor right here then,” Nate 
asserted warmly, clasping Norm’s big 
hand with both his strong, slender- ones.” 
We’ll stay together, and we’ll stay at 
HOME!” 
The two boys walked silently to Nate’s 
shack, and Nate threw his blanket down 
on the sod, • and pillowless he lay down 
to rest. 
“Pleasant dreams, kid,” Norm said 
lightly, because his heart was too full, 
for anything more. He bent to tuck the 
blanket over Nate’s chest, as he had done 
probably a thousand times before. He 
couldn’t seem to give up the idea that 
Nate needed caring for, as he had in the 
days of their early pal-dom. 
“I’m full of pleasant dreams awake,” 
Nate answered, also lightly, but his heart 
was very full of tenderness for the great 
fellow who was now striding towards his 
own place. 
“Norm,” said Nate the next day,” I’m 
wondering if that fellow, is as much in¬ 
terested in mud-pies, as he tried to make 
us believe. I would just like to know 
what he really wanted that soft shale 
for. They have clay put up on purpose 
for kids to model with—a good deal bet¬ 
ter and cleaner too, than this crude pro¬ 
duct. ” 
“I’m sure Mr. Tibbie told rSe, casual¬ 
ly, that Mr. Measman had no children.” 
“The low-down, lying cur,” Nate 
flamed. “He’s got some idea about this 
land. He knows something that we 
don’t,” Nate paused thoughtfully. “Do 
you remember those troughs I tried to 
make out of that fine stuff at the base of 
the hill; they didn’t work, but the bowl I 
made to warm chicken feed, that lasted 
a long time, and it got fierce hot some¬ 
times too.” 
“He’s bent on something,” Norm ad¬ 
mitted, thoughtfully. “I lay awake 
thinking a long time last night.” 
“I’m sure there isn’t anything very 
valuable about this, it certainly is not 
gold or silver or mica, but maybe some 
common stuff that would prove useful. 
I’m going to find out what.” 
It was firmly fixed in the minds of 
both, that Mr. Measman had some ul¬ 
terior motive in taking that box of shale, 
and that his nonchalance and apparent 
boredom were assumed for their benefit. 
It was not long before Nate had an er¬ 
rand to the cellar, and taking a light, he 
tried to lift out the stones which had 
lined his impromptu fireplace and baking 
pit, only to find that they were immov¬ 
able. He scraped away all the coals and 
ashes, which had lain there so long, and 
placing the light in the bottom of the 
cavity, he discovered something that made 
his hands tremulous with excitement. 
“Norm, come here.” Nate called, and 
Norm came plunging down the cellar.” 
“What’s the matter? Your voice sounds 
as though you had touched a lizard in 
the dark, or found a—” 
Nate stood bending over the pit. Norm 
too bent closer and closer, then he, too, 
attempted to lift the lining f ones. He 
struck a match and held it close to the 
bottom of the little, old, oven. 
“It’s hard as—’’ 
“It certainly is,” Nate agreed. “May¬ 
be we’ll get a crop off this land yet.” 
“Maybe,” admitted Norm. “It has 
yielded some unexpected crops, and it 
looks as though here might be another. 
“It’s hoodooed for good,” Nate said 
gaily. “I’m going to send » ^x of shale 
to my old boss.” and straightaway he 
made and packed a small box and ad¬ 
dressed it to his old employer, Mr. Rod- 
man. He also sent him an explanatory 
letter, the first since he had left him 
five years previously. 
(To he continued next month.) 
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