The Defiance of Jackson Barry

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line through the farm gate of Elijah Barry. They ambled up to the door, stiff from their long ride, noisy, brutish, fiendish in man- ner and voice. The leader pounded with the butt end of his revolver on the door. "Come, open," he said, with a snarl. The door swung open inward, and Elijah Barry, rifle in hand, stood near the open door, with his oldest son, Jackson, just turned of age and a youth- ful giant, by his Back in the room could be seen, in the side.

dim autumn light, the mother and her younger brood. "Well, what does that mean?" asked Elijah, calmly. "We come to warn you 'Mormons' to git out of here inside the next week," yelled out the leader in his harsh voice, pushing his way into the room, while his followers crowded into the door- way. "Better go slow," said Barry. "To hell with going slow! ye got to git out o' Illinoy." The situation was reaching a climax. The angry gestures of the mob, with their blackened or masked faces, foreboded trouble. Barry was cool, and wise. "I knew you, Bill Wilton, when you sneaked out of Texas. I

never fought with Sam Houston, without learnin' how to take care of myself. Now, for the information of you fellows," he looked at the mob who slunk close together, "I'll tell you, that I calculate to leave early in the spring when the traveling gets good, and not before." "Better take our advice and git, or you won't find a roof over yer heads," gruffly threatened the leader. "I think," quietly said Barry, "we can take care of ourselves." "Ha, ha, ha," laughed Wilton, "we'll teach you a lesson." Jack stepped up to the leader, white with rage: "No cow- ardly mob can me out of this house, nor out of this ever drive place. Father can go, but I'll stay, and the first man that crosses our fence line, without my permission, will never get back, unless he's carried. Now, you fellows, git!" The leader looked at him and sneered, "Huh!" Next moment he went spinning, head first, among his followers. Barry coolly leveled his rifle, and Jack drew his pistol. The mob left hurriedly, and in confusion.

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A few weeks later, just at sunset, three masked men stopped at the gate. Jack saw them coming, and, taking his rifle from the rack, stepped to the door as the leader alighted from his horse. Jack raised his rifle: "The first man who crosses that fence line will get killed," he said in a cool, steady voice. The man drew back, hesitated, looked at the stern figure in the doorway, saw the keen eye sighted along the long steel barrel, then 3lowly mounted his horse and rode off, closely followed by his comrades. This was the last visit of the mobbers, although the family was alert and watchful at all times. Elijah Barry and wife had determined to join the exodus to the west, and join their fortunes with the Saints who were then journeying to the Rocky Mountains. They were forced to leave their farm, which they had been unable to sell up to this time,

and, with the feeling prevailing, they had no hope of selling. No arguments, protestations or persuasion could induce Jack to agree to go. "I am going to stay here just as long as I can stand it," he said, and prayers and tears were unavailing. "My boy," said the mother, one quiet evening as they sat on the doorstep, "we must go where the Saints are. There is no other place for us. They are seeking peace, freedom from mobs, freedom from persecution, and we must go with them. When we get strong enough, in number and in faith, to stand against our enemies, then we need not fear them. 'In the last days the

mountain of the Lord's house will be in the tops of the mountains/ There, free from our enemies, we can grow strong. Let us all go up to the mountain of the Lord's house." 'Mother, I have sworn they shall not drive me out, so you will have to be patient, I can't go." The mother wept. The father staid to help put in the spring crop, and then, loading the wagon with necessities, one bright May morning, the family was ready to begin their long journey. The big wagon was brought up to the front door. "Now Jack, we are ready," said Barry. "Well, father, I haven't changed my mind."

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''Very well, my boy, I'll not urge you further, good bye, God bless you." "Good bye, father." From out the house came the wife and mother. "I've looked around, and I reckon we've got everything we — need — everything 'cept Jack," she said, looking wistfully at her

son. "Aint ye coming, Jack." "Not now, mother," said Jack. "Oh, Jack, I wish you would." Jack put his arm around her to comfort her. "I'll come, sometime, little mother, don't worry," he said.

Soon the little party in the big prairie schooner drove out of the yard; the younger children shouting farewells to Jack who stood in the doorway waving his hat until the turn in the road, which led down into Bear Creek crossing, hid them from view. Jack stood for a long time in the doorway. "How could they leave," he said at length, and he looked at the well- tilled fields,

the pleasant home, and the beautiful country, green with the verdure of spring, while the air was ladened with the perfume of the blossoms. The rolling hills, green with grass and shaded by great oaks, relieved the line of level fields. It was a fair country. Jack went into the house, and, as he looked at the almost vacant rooms, partly dismantled of their furnishings, barren of the brisk life that had been ever present, he saw in his mind's eye the old wagon traveling westward, and a rush of homesickness, a longing for the loved ones, came over him, and, throwing himself upon the old wooden lounge, he wept the bitter tears of youth. The first Sunday after Jack's folks had started westward, he set out for Nauvoo to visit some friends whom he had known for several years, and with whom he was on intimate terms. Jack had little realized the lonesome hours he was facing when his folks left, and the farm had become almost unbearable. He thought a visit to his friends would relieve him of his homesickness, and restore his spirits. He reached Nauvoo, and hastily rode up to the Dutton homestead. There was an unusual quietness about the place, that he noticed, as he dismounted from his horse and entered at the gate. He knocked loudly at the door, but the knock resounded through empty rooms.

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"They're gone," he said gloomily. He slowly retraced his steps. Just as he turned his horse's head homeward, a woman came out of the house across the street and called to him. He rode up to her. "Were you lookin' for the Duttonses?" "Yes, ma'm, I was." "Well they've gone with the 'Mormons.'" "Is your name Jackson Barry?" "Yes, ma'm, it is." "Well, I reckon I got a letter for you," and from under her apron she drew a sealed letter. "The young lady left it, and said to give it to you, when you came. I reckon she was expecting you."

"Yes," said Jack as he took the letter, "thank you, ma'm." "Well, they been gone for a week, yes, week ago, yesterday." Jack could hardly wait for the woman to get through. "Well, thank you ma'm', good day," he jerked out and hur- riedly rode off. Here was one ray of sunlight, at least. He turned the first corner, carefully opened the letter and read:

Dear Jack: —We are going with the Saints. I can't help feeling that you will stay, because you said you would. I do wish you would come. But if you do stay for a while, be a good boy and don't give up the gospel. I don't know whether I ought to tell you, but I am afraid I will be lonesome without you. Good bye. Nan. P. S. —Look under the back door step.

Jack kissed the letter, and rode slowly back.

CHAPTER II. — LONGING. The days dragged their weary length, and to Jack each day seemed longer than the preceding one. The season was a good one for the crops, and Jack worked from early morning until late in the evening gathering the abundant harvest. The hard work was a respite from his lonesomeness, but he dreaded the loDg

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winter which would surely come. He had gone quietly at his work without paying any heed to the threats and murmurs of the men who composed the mob, and whose occupation was now gone, for the reason that most of those who held faith in the "Mormon" religion were now out of the State. Those left behind were either too poor to go at this time, or had so far receded from the faith that they did not care for further association and fellowship, and there- fore affiliated with and succored the robbers. The mob ceased to worry the extremely poor, and in the neighborhood of Jack's home, peace spread its white wings. The leader of the mob, however, long Bill Wilton, had never forgotten his visit to the Barry home- stead, and had threatened, at the corner grocery, on many an occa- sion, to get even with that "big boy of Barry's." Jack was soon to learn that men of Wilton's type, while arrant cowards, under One evening, their loud talk, are dangerous to weaker antagonists. late in October,when the threshing had been done, the grain placed in the bins, and much of the corn had been put on the ricks, Isaac Harland, a near neighbor of Jack's, and the only neighbor who had given the lonely boy a kind word, stopped at the gate. "Reckon I'll come in a minute," he said. "Glad to have you," said Jack, "step into the house." Harland entered the house, and after a brief exchange of weather talk, he said: "Got your grain threshed, I see?" "Yes, it's all in." "I see you are gettin' in your corn." "Yes, I'm working at it." "Well, there isn't much hurry about gettin' in your corn. This kind of weather ripens it, and makes it hard and flinty. The're givin' a good price for wheat and oats now." "Is that so," said Jack. "I think I'll sell some." "Reckoned you might be wan tin' to, so I thought I'd exchange teams and offer to haul a few days with my teams, if you'd do the same forme when I need you." "I'll be glad to," said Jack," and thank you for the offer, Mr.

Harland." "That's alright, my boy. There's another thing. Watch

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your bins tonight, and every night, for a while. Bill Wilton hasn't forgotten you, and is aimin' to get even. He has burned more than one rick of corn, and bin of wheat." "I'll watch, Mr. Harland, and thank you for the warning" Jack's eyes filled with tears. "Don't say a word. I'll send the teams over in the morning, and you can get your wheat and corn turned into cash." Mr. Harland went to the gate, and mounted his horse. "I won't forget you soon," said Jack. "Good night," said Harland. "Good night," said Jack; "and God bless you for a true friend." Jack watched that night from the back shed, which com- manded a good view of the granary and corn ricks, wrapped in a blanket, with his rifle and pistols within easy reach. "I've a right to defend my life and property," he said to his dog, Foxy, "and I'll do it." The night was dark and cloudy, with now and then a star shining through the gloom. About one o'clock, Jack saw a bright blaze flame up under a corner of the granary; and, as' the blaze shot up, a figure was silhouetted against the wall, half crouching. Jack fired low. Just as he fired, the figure raised up, and then with a yell of pain, disappeared. Jack fired once more, slipped from the roof, seized a bucket of water that stood under the pump, and ran to the granary. He dashed the water on the fire, putting it out, then stooped low, for fear of a bullet. He crawled on his hands and knees to the front of the granary, and lay close to the earth, with his ear He heard the faint foot-falls of a to the ground. horse's hoofs on the dry sod, and knew that his enemy had gone. Jack went back to the shed roof and waited for daylight. Mr. Harland came early with his teams and teamsters. Jack related the adventures of the night, and he looked serious, and gave him some good advice. "I will stay here while you are gone with the teams," he said, "I am sure you have not heard the last of the adventure." When Jack returned that night, Mr. Harland told him that he Iiad been favored with a call from some of his neighbors. "It seems that your old enemy, Bill Wilton, was your firefly,

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last night, and you hit him in the leg. Some of his friends were here today after you, and were very much surprised to see me. However, they will not trouble you for the present." Jack was overwhelmed with gratitude to his friend. "I would do this for any peaceable citizen, and it is my duty, my boy, to be a friend to the honest, and rebuke those who would disturb the peace of a community," said Mr. Harland. The hauling continued until nearly all the grain had been sold, and Jack found he had a respectable sum for his season's work. "Jack," said Mr. Harland when he left, "I shall not need your services, but leave you here to protect your property and get ready for winter. I'll use your team for our hauling." "Very well, Mr. Harland," replied Jack, "but you must keep the team as long as you need it, as that is the only way I can repay your kindness." "I'll do about what's right,'' he replied.

. Jack felt doubly lonesome after Mr. Harland and the men left. He kept a sharp lookout for marauders, and posted his dog, so that if any attack was made upon the ricks or stacks, he would be warned. The days of Indian summer passed away, and the weary, long winter began. There could have been no more lonely boy in the world. He worked at odd jobs around the farm, improving the place as best he could, and the evenings he spent in reading his Bible and the few books that had been left by his father. He re- flected upon the sacrifices his parents had made, and came to a fuller realization of the strength and beauty of their faith. More than once he said to himself, I never can live through another winter like this. I would rather walk barefooted to the Rocky Mountains. He had had no news of his folks, and the talk in the neigh- borhood was that the "Mormons" were encamped in the western part of Iowa, upon or near the Missouri river, some of them having gone to the Rocky Mountains. "I'll join them there after next harvest," said Jack, when Mr.. Harland told him what he heard. "And leave your farm?" asked Mr. Harland. "Yes, I'll leave it to you, answered Jack.

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"And I will hold it in trust till a better day." Jack had no more trouble from marauders, and as Wilton had left the neighborhood during the winter, he felt comparatively se-

cure from violence. When the first breeze laden with the smell of spring came up from the south, Jack rejoiced. Hard work meant freedom from wearying hours, and the good springtime would bring it. The snow rapidly melted, and the brown earth began to show points of green. Jack plowed and planted in faith, and reaped an abundant harvest. All summer long, he endeavored to dispose of the farm; no buyer would take it; no neighbor, except Mr. Harland, would aid him to sell. When a purchaser came in from some eastern district, he was carefully kept away from Jack's neighborhood by Jack's relentless enemies. Jack grew homesick, as the autumn came and work slack- ened, and longed with all his heart, for a sight of the dear faces and the loving voices, so far away. Perhaps they were needing his stalwart strength to aid in the battle of life. Perhaps there was a vacant chair. Ah, no, he would not think that! God would protect his wandering people! "Foxy," he said, one bright October morning (he had gotten into the habit of talking to his dog) "we will start west, right away.

I can't face another winter." Foxy wagged his tail and looked pleased. "You agree, do you, Foxy? Well, then, we'll go," and Foxy looked so wise that Jack laughed heartily, the first good laugh for many days. "That decision makes a new man of me, Foxy," and Jack whistled a gay tune as he went to work preparing for the journey. go to the Missouri and winter, and then if the folks have "I'll

left, go on in the spring," he said to himself.

Late that same afternoon, a large covered wagon, drawn by four big Kentucky mules, stopped at the gate. A tall Kentuckian got down from the wagon and came to the door, where Jack met him. " Yeh neighbor up the branch said I could find lodgings here to

night." "Yes, sir, you can; pull into the yard."

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Jack helped the woman and her children into the house, showed her where to find food to cook for supper, and, leaving her busy with the cooking, went back to help the stranger. "Got a nice place here," said the stranger, as he eyed the well-made house and barn and the ricks filled with corn, and the long haystack. "Wouldn't mind makin' yeh a trade." "Alright, sir," replied Jack, "we'll talk it over after supper." Three days later, Jack, with the stranger's four mules and big wagon, was on his way to Quincy to load with merchandise for the western trip. Foxy sat on the seat beside him. "Wasn't it a great trade, Foxy? Came just in time, too. And that eight hundred dollars in good money ain't to be sneezed at. The new pistols are all right, too. You see, Foxy," Foxy cocked

his ears, "when I saw his eyes wander over the place, and heard

his wife say everything was as handy as a pocket in a shirt, I knew I could strike high. I reckon, though, he is as well pleased

as we are. It was a fine old home, though, Foxy, and Jack sighed. Foxy looked wise, but said nothing. At Quincy, Jack bought a load of clothing and merchandise, such as he thought settlers in a new country would need, and then, with his wagon well loaded, began the first stage of his long journey. To him, the dark days seemed past, the future looked rosy with promise, and bright with hope. "We've got some things in this wagon that will make their eyes pop out, Foxy. And I've got something in that buckskin sack that will make a girl I know, smile some. Foxy, I never told you — what I found under the doorstep, did I? all done up so nice, and I ain't going to now."

Good weather favored Jack on his journey, and he reached Council Bluffs before the winter storms began. At Winter Quar- ters, he learned that his folks had gone to the valleys of the moun-

tains.

CHAPTER III. — MEETING. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky on sage brush and alkali, that July day, as the four Kentucky mules emerged fro m the

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canyon, and came out on the bench. Afar off through the bright afternoon sun-light, Jack could see the hazy line of the Great Salt Lake, encompassed by its mountainous walls, shimmering peacefully, blue as turquoise. Foxy sat on the front seat with ears erect, and steady eye. Something might happen. "It looks like a desert, instead of a garden of Eden, Foxy. I

can't say that the landscape holds any charms for me. Too much sage and sand. I reckon, that river is the Jordan. Well, Foxy, there is one more river to cross, as the darky says, and it ain't far off. If the girl who left that keepsake is here, and her mind hasn't changed, I'm likely to stay 'till I cross the river Jordan for the last time. But women change their minds, I've heard, Foxy, pretty quite sure about absence making the heart frequent, and I ain't grow fonder. However, we will soon know." Foxy barked, but it was at a Jack rabbit that ran out of a sage bush. When Jack got down from the high seat of his wagon, in front of his father's cabin, he was recognized by the younger brood, and a glad shout went up that was echoed around the old fort walls. His mother came rushing out of the house, and fell into his arms. The children clung to his legs making noisy demonstra- tions, and Foxy's bark joined in the chorus. Jack could hardly speak for joy, and the glad tears streamed down the face of his mother. "Oh, Jack, you are here," was all she could say, but she said it over and over. It was a merry party that sat down to the evening meal,

when the father had come in from working in the wheat field; and the mother had a good meal, having replenished her scant provis- ions with supplies from Jack's grub box. Not only was it a happy family, but a thankful one. The prayers of the parents regarding their son had been answered. During the meal, Jack related his adventures, the fortunate sale of the farm, and incidents of his long journey. "At Quincy," he said, "I loaded up pretty heavy with mer- chandise, groceries, and clothing and hardware. Things that I thought would be needed in a new country. When I reached Win- ter Quarteis, many of the people needed supplies, and I traded

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most of ray merchandise for flour. Well, I couldn't sell my flour, so I brought it along." "Thanks be to God," said the father. "The Lord has blessed us, my boy. We planted our crop this spring, hoping for a great increase; but late in May, the crickets came in clouds and devoured most of the grain. Had it not been for flocks of gulls, providen- tially sent by our heavenly Father, I fear the entire settlement

would have perished. I believe, with care we will have enough grain to carry us through. But what a blessing. It comes just in the right time! How much did you bring?" "Something over a ton." "Well, Jack, my boy, you have done well. We must celebrate your arrival. Isn't it near the 24th, Ned, you are always posted?" Ned was the second boy, and growing as stalwart as Jack. "It is Saturday, the twenty-second, father." "Day after tomorrow will be the first anniversary of the com- ing of the Saints to the valleys of the mountains. Mother, we will celebrate, and have a little supper Monday night, invite some

of our old friends over, and we'll have a good time." There was one subject that lay near Jack's heart, and yet he hardly had the courage to inquire regarding it. After the children had retired, and the tired father was quietly sleeping, Jack and his mother sat on the door step talking. "Mother," said Jack, "are the Duttons here?" "Oh, yes, they came along with us, last fall." "They were very good to me, in Nauvoo, and I wish you would have them over on Monday night." "Very well, we are good friends, and I'll ask them. One of the boys got married here, this spring, married Annie Clark. I

believe the oldest girl is going to marry Jimmie Brown. You knew Jimmie in Nauvoo, didn't you?" "Yes; I knew Jimmie," said Jack, slowly. "Hadn't we better go to bed, mother? I am so tired." "Oh, Jack, I'd forgotten how tired you must be. It's so good

to have you here, but there will be other days," said his mother, "I think I'll sleep in the wagon, it's so warm in the house," said Jack. "I can fix you comfortably in the house."

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"But it's so warm, and I'm used to it. I'll sleep in the wagon. Good night, little mother," and he kissed her. "Good night, my boy. I am so glad you are here." When Jack got into the wagon, Foxy thrust his cold nose into his hand. Jack stroked the silky head. The old habit of confid- ing his troubles to the dog was strong in him. "I reckon it's all up with me, Foxy," he said. But Foxy was sleepy and crept back under the seat. Jack tossed sleepless on his hard bed, all through the warm night. He went to meeting, next day, and met many of his old friends, but the face he longed to see was not there. That Sun- day was the longest day in all his experience. Monday, he un- packed his wagon, and delighted his mother and the family with the variety of nice things he had selected. One box remained unopened. "What's in that box?" inquired Ned. "A wedding dress for Mrs. Jack." "Let's see it." "Not on your life," said Jack. The evening guests came at sundown, or a little after. The last ones to arrive were Mr. and Mrs. Dutton, and Nan. They greeted him with expressions of joy. "Why didn't you come over and see us, Jack?" said Mrs. Dutton. "Been too busy," he said, quietly, and turned his head away. "I expect you have." "You folks better go in; I think you are late." Mr. and Mrs. Dutton went into the house. Nan started to follow, stopped, then looked at Jack. There were tears in her eyes, and tears in her voice, as she said, "Jack." Jack stepped quickly to her side, looked down into the blue eyes, filled with tears, then caught her to his heart. "Oh, Nan, I didn't know. Some one told me you were going to marry Jimmie Brown." "Jimmie Brown!" There was a wreath of scorn in the words. "How could you be so mean, Jack?" "Well, maybe you think I haven't suffered?"

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"Yes; but never to come near! It nearly killed me yesterday.

And, today I thought would never end. But I am glad now," and she looked up with joy in her eyes. "Did you get my letter, Jack?" "Yes, sweetheart, and the locket from under the doorstep." From around his neck he drew a string with the keepsake tied to it, and, opening it, showed a curl of brown hair, strangely like Nan's. "It's been there all the time, close to my heart, and it shall stay there now," and he replaced it. From a buckskin sack, Jack produced a plain gold ring. "See, I am ready for business," he said. Nan laughed. The door opened, and a flood of light poured out. "Come in, you young folks," said Jack's father, "we are just sitting down to the banquet." Nan took Jack's hand, led him towards the door. "Come in, Jack," she said softly.

"1976."

ANOTHER STEP ON FREEDOM'S STAGE— A LOFTIER INDEPENDENCE.

BY LIVINGSTONE C. ASHWORTH, OGDEN, UTAH.

"Robert," the aged farmer said, "My youngest son and best, I feel I have not long to live, Soon I'll be called to rest. And you'll be left all to yourself To struggle on alone. I wish things were in better shape For you, when I am gone.

"This little place, ev'n if 'twere clear, Is not much as it stands,

"

"1976." 691

Yet, as things are, 'twill be, I fear, A burden on your hands. We struggled hard to keep from debt, But, seemed like, 'twas no use; Sickness and death brought us so low, There's little left to lose.

"And Jake's gone altogether bad, That was a dreadful blow, — Our first boy and the hopes we had! Ah well —fate willed it so.

Your mother sank beneath it all, And thought death was a boon, She's reached, I'm sure, a better place, And I shall join her soon.

"But you were always a good lad, And never did forget The needed toil and sacrifice, When payments must be met. And oft, when everything went wrong, You've cheered us with your looks; Helped the dull night with merry song, Or read good words from books.

"And now, it worries me to think How you are going to live;

---

Our little hoard all had to go; There's nothing I can give — "Father," the stalwart youth replied, "I would not want your gold; — The healthy frame the power to will, Cannot be bought or sold.

"And these are my best heritage, Which none can take away, Fruit of my toil and talks with you, The lesson of each day. The wage of other men, even yours, Is theirs, and theirs alone;

——

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I cannot see my real right To claim it as my own.

"To say to the woman I may love: This was my father's wealth: Let's use it —the world says, all right,

Nor calls it shame or stealth. That sanction's not enough for me, I'd scorn the lyinglpledge; Rather, with heart and conscience free. Deem it a privilege

"To work for everything I get With my best hand and will, Conscious that what I earn is mine, Bought by my strength or skill. This nation's on a higher plane Than others ever stood: To scheme and wait for others' gain Is foreign to our blood.

"Some old-world customs we threw off, In seventeen seventy-six; Those dull old weeds with our fresh soil Could never intermix. But there's one lesson still remains, That's yet to be unlearned: The right men claim to use and spend What they have never earned.

"I hail a new, more righteous age, Now soon to gain ascendance; Another step on freedom's stage A loftier independence: When man shall want no rights or gifts Save those on all^bestowed His soul, his dear ones, and his home, His country and his God."