CHAPTER XIV.

By the last of March the grain had all been sown and the first of the planting was beginning to force its tender shoots through the surface. The sun was growing brighter with each day and everything pointed to an early spring.

Travis Gully, with his wife and children, toiled early and late, making the best of the favorable season. Grudgingly they stopped for their meals and time for their horses to feed. Night brought no diminishing of their labors; brush was piled and burned, and even trips to the well for water were made by moonlight.

It became the custom of the settler that when one of them went to town to bring out the mail for the neighbors who lived along their route home, and to call and deliver it when passing. Almost daily mail came to the Gullys by this means, letters from people with whom they had been but slightly acquainted, asking for information in regard to the Northwest, of the chances for a man with but limited means, and the possibilities of their procuring a piece of the free land for a home.

Gully made no effort to reply to all these inquiries, nor did he feel justified in holding out alluring prospects to the writers, although he himself had absolute faith and confidence in the ultimate success of his undertaking. He was not certain as to whether all the anxious seekers for a home would be willing to endure, or could withstand, the hardships incident to the establishment of a home in the desert.

He would sit and talk the matter over with his wife during the evenings and at other spare times, and they agreed that while it would be nice to have some of their old friends as neighbors, the pleasure of their coming would be marred should conditions prove unsatisfactory upon their arrival.

They could recall a few of those among their former friends whom they felt assured would be easily convinced of the splendid future this country had, but there were others, many others, who they knew would expect to find conditions such as would guarantee immediate profitable results from their efforts. Of this latter class they were afraid, as evidence of their kind having been there and tried, failed and gone their way, was at every hand visible, and they did not care to be held to blame for their disappointment.

So they finally decided to write a letter to the editor of their little home paper, that it might be published, a letter setting forth bare facts. Conditions as they existed, without embellishment, the good and the evil alike, and let those who might read choose for themselves.

The preparation of this letter was a source of both worry and amusement to Travis Gully and his wife, and required several nights for its completion. Worry that in their enthusiasm and optimism they might make it too favorable in its tone, that they might infuse into it too much of their individual hopes and aspirations of which they had dreamed until they had become almost a reality. And again they would burst into hearty laughter at the recounting of some of their experiences, never realizing that these little incidents must be lived through to be appreciated.

When the letter was written, and after having been read and altered and rewritten a number of times, it was finally pronounced satisfactory and sealed, ready for mailing. Nearly a week elapsed before an opportunity to send the important packet to the post office came, and then only by the merest chance.

The news of the activities of the Government surveyors in the region the summer before had been spread broadcast throughout the East, and unscrupulous land boomers had announced that the reclamation by the Government of the vast area was an assured fact, some even going so far as to announce the exact amount of the appropriation made by Congress for this purpose and so, as a result of this, and also to the fact that the railroads had again put on a homeseekers excursion rate, the early spring brought an unusually large number of prospective settlers into the community.

They came in parties, toiling their way across the level stretch of country, now still moist from the melted snow, showed no evidence of the clouds of sand and dust that would follow after a few short weeks of sunshine. The surface of the unplowed ground was thickly carpeted with a specie of fine grass, known as sheep grass, that always came first in the spring, to be followed by the more succulent bunch grass.

Myriads of tiny plants were pushing their way through the surface and many were bursting into full blossom before they had lifted their dainty heads more than a few inches above the grass roots. Many and varied were their shapes and colors, each vieing with the other in hastening to bloom, that it might flaunt its beauty for the longest possible time before being forced to close its petals by the ever increasing heat of the sun.

To those of the tourists who came at this season of the year the prospects were most inviting. Never had they, in their homes in the East, had such a range of vision, such an unlimited expanse to sweep with their bewildered eyes, and the kaleidoscopic changes came so rapidly, as they turned to admire it.

It was like a dream. Starting with the snow capped peaks of the mountains, they could follow the scene downward past the snowline, over the barren space that intervenes between it and the timber, which starts in with its varied shades of green, the peculiar, yellowish green of the tamarack, that seldom grows at an altitude of less than three thousand feet. Intermingled with this would appear the spots of dull brown, showing the clumps of sarvic berries and choke cherries, the favorite haunts of the bear and deer. Towering above these thickets the slender white trunks and branches of the quaking asp could be plainly seen. Farther down the shades of green become darker as the forests of fir, pine and cedar come within the range of vision. Flaming patches of sumach adorn the edges of the rocky spots that occasionally occurred in the picture. On downward the dull gray of the sagebrush marks the upper rim of the breaks of the Columbia river, then a blank of smooth rock wall that drops for hundreds of feet to the water's edge. The river itself is hidden from view by the undulating hills that lay immediately adjacent to the plains. Here the scene changes from its wild rugged beauty to one indicating the presence of mankind. The vast expanse of sagebrush is dotted here and there with square patches of a new and different shade of green, the green of the freshly growing grain, each of these being marked by the presence of a newly constructed home. The green of the grain fields and the bare, unpainted walls of the homes refuse to harmonize with the color scheme of the desert and are easily distinguished as not being a part thereof, and do not figure in the picture. Passing them by with a hasty glance, barely sufficient to note their remoteness, one from the other, the beholder allows his gaze to gradually take notice of objects nearer at hand, and finally to lower his eyes, with a sigh of satisfaction, and looks with wonder into the faces of the little desert flowers blooming happily at his very feet, and asks himself what connection there is between these two, the glacial peaks and the tiny desert flower, so different in every way, and yet both so necessary for the completion of the picture.

Travis Gully and his wife anxiously awaited the arrival of the copy of the paper in which their letter was to be published and given to the world, and when it came they reread every word, and felt reassured that it contained no misleading statements, no invitation to others to come unprepared to take up the hardships of the life of a homesteader, but the entire article teemed with the elements of hope and optimism that showed their faith in a successful end.

During April and May the influx of homeseekers was at its height, and almost daily parties of prospective settlers stopped at the Gully home for information as to directions and locations of pieces of land they wished to secure. Gully's first year's experience had given him knowledge of conditions that had enabled him to overcome to a certain degree some of the difficulties with which he had to contend. During his enforced idleness of the winter just passed he had planned the course he proposed to pursue during the ensuing year. He had decided to introduce some of the dry land farming methods that had been successfully tried out in other sections of the Northwest, an idea of which he had gleaned from some Government Bulletins that had been given him by the postmaster of the village.

As a result of his experiments along these lines, and due to a most favorable season in the way of absence of hard winds and seasonable showers, Gully's homestead presented a most creditable appearance. His field of wheat was by far the best in the neighborhood, and as he had planted nothing but the most hardy varieties of corn and vegetables his garden promised to be a success, and as a result of the showing he was making, his place became one of the points of interest to which most of the visitors were directed by the people of the village, or to which the real estate agents always brought their clients, and would exclaim: "What this man has done in this country others can do."

Spurred on by his success and the ever increasing feeling of independence, Travis Gully toiled on thruout the spring. The constant recurrence of visitors to view their home was a source of diversion to the Gullys, and a means whereby many dollars came into their possession.

They made no charge for the hospitality extended to the strangers who came their way, but the offering of a glass of water or, as was often the case, a lunch and an hour's rest to the tired, dusty travelers who could not but see and appreciate their condition, was always rewarded by liberal offerings of change, made in most instances to the children. Thus the immediate requirements of the family were met and a small amount saved.

As the summer approached and the unusual showers became less frequent, the fitful gusts of wind started the restless sand, but too late to harm the grain that was now beginning to assume the golden tint that foretold an early harvest. The garden was beginning to wilt beneath the hot sunrays, but the ingenuity of Gully saved it. At the root of the melon vines and other plants empty cans were imbedded into which the waste water was poured and allowed to filter slow through, and by this method sufficient moisture was given the plants to mature them, and the yield was abundant.

The favorable season in the desert region had renewed the hopes of those who had chosen to make it their home, and scenes of unusual activity were apparent at every hand. New tracts of land were being cleared and plowed, and new buildings sprang up overnight; their glistening bare walls could be seen in many directions.

The services of a Miss Anderson as teacher for the little school had been secured, and though the season was late for starting, it was opened, and each school morning, early, the Gully children went joyfully across the sagebrush plain to the little school building, where they were joined by some half dozen other children who came from as many different directions.

The glint of the sunrays on their brightly shining dinner pails flashed heliographic warning of their approach long before the small pupils could be seen. The Sunday School was reorganized and the meetings of the literary society resumed. The hardships of the past winter were almost forgotten and were seldom referred to.

The middle of the month of June brought the harvest season. The grain in the desert maturing and ripening several weeks in advance of that in the grain belt to the north, thus affording the homesteader an opportunity to harvest their grain at home before leaving for the grain fields for their regular season's run.

Gully, whose harvest at home had yielded exceptional returns for which he found a ready market among his neighbors, was undecided as to whether to make another trip into the Big Bend country or remain at home and improve his place. But the desire to have a well, with abundance of water, which would give him an opportunity to irrigate and develop his home, soon caused him to decide to go. He had not forgotten his experience of the fall before, and his firm resolve never to leave his family alone in the desert again, but conditions had changed since them. They were better provided for, and there were neighbors, many of whom would have to leave for the winter, but still there were among them many who would leave their families behind. Besides he had bought another team and what they could earn, together with his earnings, would enable him to secure the coveted well, and he would not have to leave again.

As for the work, he was better equipped now and would know what to expect and consequently make the best of it. Thus he reasoned, and after fully determining to go, he wrote to the grower for whom he had worked the previous fall and arranged for work during the coming season.

The summer now being on, the heat of the sun was terrific, and no effort was made to accomplish anything during the day. When trips to the village became necessary the start was made early, and the home coming frequently postponed until after sundown, to avoid as much as possible the midday drive over the hot dusty roads. Rains were a thing of the past now, and the desert began to assume its accustomed dry, parched appearance. Many of the newcomers who had moved in during the early spring, when conditions were most favorable, were now becoming alarmed, and questioned the wisdom of their choice, and had it not been for the positive evidence of the possibilities of the district as seen at the Gully place, many of them would have become discouraged and given up in despair.

To many of these unfortunates the village was the only source of comfort. They would congregate there during the day and discuss the various subjects pertaining to home building in the wilderness. Many of them had had no experience at farming even under the most favorable conditions, and these presented a most pitiful appearance and woebegone manner. Fresh from within the confines of shop or office and launched upon a life of hardships and exposure, upon a sea of blistering sands, sizzling sagebrush and bunch grass, it was no wonder they blistered, peeled, freckled and tanned and seemed to shrivel and slouch when they had lain aside their neat fitting business suit and donned their overalls. It was a cruel test of stamina and manhood, and a surprising few that withstood it.

Many of the earlier settlers adhered to the belief that help would come to them through irrigation, and the fact of the surveyors having been in the field the summer before was related to the new settlers with convincing arguments that it had to come. Still no one had ever heard the slightest intimation of what the surveyors had accomplished in the way of favorable results or the nature of their official report.

The fact of this silence was looked upon by many as a good omen, and wild rumors were set afloat that the survey had been successful, and the plans for the installation of the gigantic system were then being prepared. On one occasion, while gathering driftwood along the shores of the Columbia, a homesteader saw a man working among the rocky cliffs far above him. He hastily drove home and reported his discovery to his neighbors, who added their ideas to the importance of this discovery, and by the next day it was a matter of common talk upon the streets of the village that work had started on the foundation for a huge power plant, to generate electricity for pumping. And so it went, every mysterious move or unusual occurrence immediately became the subject for speculation, and was supposed to have some bearing on the reclamation of the land with which they were now battling to bring into a state of productiveness.

Travis Gully was looked upon as a wizard, and his accomplishments under the existing conditions were the wonder of the neighborhood. Each little real estate office and many of the stores contained specimens of the stalks of grain, corn or other varieties of products grown by him. Many articles appeared in the papers published throughout the territory telling of what he had accomplished under his system of farming, and he frequently received communications asking for information as to the methods or kind of seed he had used. To all such he could only reply that his success was as much of a surprise to him as to others, and he took no special credit to himself. But it pleased him to think that it had fallen to his lot to prove to the world that his faith in the productiveness of the soil was well founded.

To Minnie Gully the effect of their success for the year was entirely different. She knew, or thought she knew, that it was due to the superiority of Travis' management. "Had he not studied the matter, and learned the exact time for plowing and seeding? Had he not so arranged the clearing of the land as to leave the sagebrush intact upon the high ground, that it might break the force of the wind, thus protecting the tender plants? And who but he would have had the forethought to save every condensed milk can that had been emptied, and had even brought hundreds of others to utilize in his novel method of irrigation for the vegetables and few nicely growing fruit and shade trees? Had she not saved every particle of waste water, even to the water used for the weekly laundering, and she and the children poured it carefully into the cans at the roots of the plants and covered them that the sand might not drift in and absorb the precious moisture?"

It was not chance to her. She felt that if they had acquired the distinction of being the most successful homesteaders in the district, they were entitled to it, and she prided herself on the fact; and she resolved that in the event of their securing a well, with abundance of water, even though irrigation never came, she would show the world further proof of what could be done, and would devote her life to making their home an ideal one.

Her blood would surge through her veins, and with flushed face and sparkling eyes she would go out into the yard and approaching one of the growing trees, then mere switches, would fondle its few green leaves and look upward, as if measuring the vast expanse above to see if she might imagine the height to which it would attain. She would go to the grain stack, and rubbing out in the palm of her hand a few of the well filled heads, blow away the husks and chaff, and admire the plump red grains, finally casting them to the patiently waiting chickens, and return singing joyously into the house and resume her household duties, a different Minnie Gully of a short year before.