CHAPTER Vc.

ONE OF THE COURAGEOUS YOUTHS.

William Richard Boren was one of the boy pioneers. He was born in Seattle on the 4th of October, 1854.

The children necessarily shared with their parents and guardians the hardships, dangers, adventures and pleasures of the wild life of the early days.

When his father, Carson D. Boren, went to the gold diggings, William came to the D. T. Denny cottage and remained there for some time. As there was then no boy in the family (there were three little girls) he stepped into usefulness almost immediately. To bring home the cows, weed in the garden, carry flowers and vegetables to market, cut and carry wood, the "chores" of a pioneer home he helped to do willingly and cheerfully.

Every pair of hands must help, and the children learned while very young that they were to be industrious and useful.

It required real fortitude to go on lonely trails or roads through the dark, thick forest in the deepening twilight that was impenetrable blackness in the wall of sombre evergreens on either hand.

Some children seem to have little fear of anything, but it was different with William; he was afraid; as he graphically described it, he "_felt as if something would catch him in the back_." But he steadfastly traveled the dark trails, showing a remarkable quality of courage.

His sensations cannot be attributed to constitutional timidity altogether, as there were real dangers from wild beasts and savage men in those days.

He would often go long distances from the settlement through the great forest as the shadows were darkening into night, listening breathlessly for the welcome jingle of the bells of the herd, or anxiously to snapping twigs and creaking of lodged trees or voices of night-birds. But when the cattle were gathered up and he could hear the steady tinkle of the leader's bell, although to the eye she was lost in the dusk in the trail ahead, he felt safe.

He calmly faced dangers, both seen and unseen, in after years.

By the time he was twelve or fourteen he had learned to shoot very well with the shotgun and could bring home a fine bunch of blue grouse or "pheasants" (ruffed grouse).

Late one May evening he came into the old kitchen, laden with charming spoils from the forest, a large handful of the sweet favorite of the pioneer children, the lady's slipper or Calypso Borealis, and a bag of fat "hooters" for the stew or pie so much relished by the settlers.

The majority of the pioneer boys were not expected to be particular as to whether they did men's work or women's work, and William was a notable example of versatility, lending a hand with helpless babies, cooking or washing, the most patient and faithful of nurses, lifting many a burden from the tired house-mother.

He was a total abstainer from intoxicants and tobacco, and to the amusement of his friends said he "could not see any sense in jumping around the room," as he described the social dance. It surprised no one, therefore, that he should grow up straight and vigorous, able to endure many hardships.

William was a very Nimrod by the time he reached his majority, a fine shot with the rifle and successful in killing large game. As he came in sight one day on the trail to our camp in the deep forest, he appeared carrying the blackest and glossiest of bear cubs slung over one shoulder. I called to him, "Halt, if you please, and let me sketch you right there." He obligingly consented and in a few moments bear, gun and hunter were transferred to paper. And a good theme it was; with a background of dark firs and cedars, in a mass of brightest green ferns, stood the stalwart figure, clad in vivid scarlet and black, gun on one shoulder and bear cub on the other.

William Boren was an active and useful member of the M. E. or "White Church" in Seattle many years ago. This was the first church established in Seattle.

He removed from the settlement and lived on a ranch for a number of years.

For a time in youth he was in the mining district; while there he imposed upon himself heavy burdens, packing as much as two hundred pounds over the trail.

This was probably overexertion; also in later years, heavy lifting in a logging camp may have helped break his naturally strong constitution.

Many muscular and vigorous persons do not realize the necessity for caution in exertion. I have seen strong young men balancing their weight against the "hold" of huge stumps, by hanging across a large pole in mid-air.

During his ranch life he was waylaid, basely and cruelly attacked and beaten into insensibility by two ruffians. Most likely this caused the fatal brain trouble from which he died in January, 1899, at the home of his sister, Gertrude Boren, who through a long illness cared for him with affectionate solicitude.

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"O bearded, stalwart, westmost men, A kingdom won without the guilt Of studied battle; that hath been Your blood's inheritance.

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"Yea, Time, the grand old harvester, Has gathered you from wood and plain. We call to you again, again; The rush and rumble of the car Comes back in answer. Deep and wide The wheels of progress have passed on; The silent pioneer is gone."