--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Bennion, Rulon P. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 25 number: 1 published: 1921-11 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Rulon P. Bennion, "The Surprise Genuine," *Improvement Era* 25, no. 1 (November 1921): 33–42.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2501unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2501unse start_page: 33 end_page: 42 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1921-11) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2501unse publication_year: 1921 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1921, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Surprise Genuine The Surprise Genuine By Rulon P. Bennion I In his newly built cabin of pine logs, Pete Purdy sat before a comfortable fire and listened to the low sighing of the wind in the trees outside. The cabin stood in a small clearing, near the creek which flowed along the bottom of the wooded canyon valley. Every evening, as now, the wind would come stealing down from the high mountains to the south and pass quietly out onto the great warm floor of Beson Valley, there to swirl and contradict itself and rise into the cloudless heavens. And every evening, Pete Purdy would sit and listen to it, as he gazed into the fire and planned for the winter that was ahead. He had come in the late summer and, finding the place to his liking, had hurried back to the county seat to claim it, returning im- mediately with a wagon-load of supplies, and his small herd of twenty cattle. Since that time he had been occupied with build- ing the cabin and such corrals and sheds as he needed. The location could not have pleased him better. He had wished for a spot where he could pursue his rather devious way9 undisturbed. He wanted to be alone, away from the criti- cism, advice, and sordid troubles of neighbors. He wanted a small, certain income— an occupation which would insure mod- erate returns, yet occasion no worry. And the narrow, lonely, canyon valley seemed to suit his needs exactly. There was an abundant supply of water everlastingly bubbling by in sheer willingness to wet the throat of cow or man. There was a goodly acreage of fertile soil, if he would trouble himself to clear it. There was pasture in the foothills that would keep his cattle in splendid condition both summer and winter — for it snows but little in the desert foothills. Above all, there was the seclusion he desired. He went at his work slowly, contentedly, taking a silent pleasure in building his own house, sheds, fences. He had discovered something, recently, concerning Beson Valley which he never dreamed of at the time he entered it — something which, no doubt, would have caused him to wander many a mile further in search of a home, had he known it then. Yet, since the information came so late, and since he had not settled in Beson Valley itself, but in a cedar-filled canyon en- trance adjoining it, he decided not to be troubled about the 34 IMPROVEMENT ERA matter, until it troubled him. Beson Valley has proved itself a veritable winter-paradise for the sheep-owners of the surround- ing counties. Its hard, white impervious soil, covered with noth- ing but scraggly greasewoods and shadscales, furnishes enough vegetation for the satisfactory wintering of sheep. It covers an immense territory, and in the fall of each year the sheep trail in from the various counties until hundreds of thousands of them can be seen crawling over its gray floor, or lined up at the creek where all must drink. And woe to the stockman or rancher who, at such time, treads its inviolate two-inch soil. It is his season of reckoning. The sheepmen argue priority of occu- pancy, and they argue that the soil is worthless for farming and the pastures too poor for cattle, and if their arguments prove ineffectual they are quite apt to weight them with lead. To this day not a building or a fence breaks the continuity of the great expanse, with the exception of the queer, rambling conglomeration of corrals and cabins the sheepmen themselves have erected on Beson Creek for their convenience in mid- winter. Here they keep their supplies — hay and grain for teams, food, extra clothing, everything their foresight tells them they may require. Here the carrier leaves their mail on his way wes^ to other settlements on the desert, and here they have always, heretofore, gathered to drink and amuse themselves through the long winter evenings. An old man by the odd name of Charlie Edith has for many years been hired to stay and look after the place and run a sort of store and postoffice during the busy season. In the late fall, a white camp appears on every knoll, stand- ing solitary and deserted at mid-day, like a wrecked schooner thrown up by the waves. Only the orderly array of harness on the tongue, and possibly a faint trace of wood-smoke rising in the thin, clear air above, disclaim complete desertion. Thread- ing the shallow valleys, or roaming over the low, barren rises, tended by solitary men on horseback, are the sheep — many thousands of them. The drowsy tinkle of their bells, the warm Indian summer sun, the intermittent sound of the camp-tend- er's guitar, produce an effect of peaceful somnolence that every herder knows and loves. The still air, however invisible, gives a soft, mellow tone to the landscape. It gleams with tiny, spidery filaments. Through it the lazy tink, tink, of the bells, and the staccato barking of the sheep-dogs, carry for seemingly impossible distances. Small wonder that the sheepmen regard invasion with savage glints in their eyes, and small wonder, too, that they have kept to this day their sacred preserve, untouched by outsiders. It was into this scene that Pete Pvirdy unwittingly intruded THE SURPRISE GENUINE 35 himself. He still felt secure in that his homestead occupied merely a wooded corner among the foothills, an area so negli- gible that the sheepmen would not consider it worth while to interfere. Still the circumstances were somewhat disquieting, and he knew they would remain so, until he had either been taken for granted or ousted. So it was with a mingling of apprehensive uneasiness and comfortable weariness that he sat before the fire on the late October night. He knew that if fair means were taken to induce him to leave, he would be only too willing to go. Probably he would drift further into the desert, counting on finding as good a prospect somewhere there. But if foul means were re- sorted to — it was this thought that caused him to debate se- riously— if the sheepmen strove to drive him out by unlawful means, what would he do? He leaned back meditatively! Did he have wits enough to cope with them? What sort of means would they employ if they decided to be forcibly rid of him? Suddenly there was a loud three-double rap at the door. His feet came to the floor with a bang, and then he stood ir- resolute, wondering if it could have been merely the wind. As he stood, there was a sharp crack outside, and the glass of one window rattled on the floor. A bullet imbedded itself with a thud in the wall above the bed. He was turning quickly toward the door, intending to bolt it, when he saw a large envelope on the floor just inside. He bolted the door and carried the envelope to the fire, gazing at it some time before he tore it open. Inside was a piece of white, blue-lined note-paper bearing the following message : Warning— We hereby take pleasure in notifying you, Mr. Settler, that Beson Valley and all its adjuncts are pre-empted. We wish to inform you that you are not wanted, and we give you ten days to get out. If you are still here November 7 you will be sorry you ever sighted this layout. X. Pete Purdy sat down by the stove. He had settled on Beson Creek as innocent of the sin he was committing as a horse eating out of another's stall. He had singled it out as a suitable haven from troublesome neighbors. He had come away into the desert for the sole purpose of fleeing petty annoyances. Frying pan into the fire — most obvious case! The idea of disputing ownership with anybody over anything was obnoxious. And yet, — quiet, unassertive man that he was — Pete Purdy was net- tled— stung to the quick. He crumpled the note savagely and flung it into the fire. "Phew!" he said, "wouldn't that cook you? And a pistol 36 IMPROVEMENT ERA shot by way of signature. Those gents mean business. Well, let 'em. This is once I balk." He rummaged a piece of cardboard from the pile of boxe3 in the corner, and shut the draft out of the broken window. This effected, he flung the bedclothes back, undressed, and went to bed. II Ten days later Pete Purdy sat on a log in front of his door- step when two irate horsemen rode into the clearing. He was whittling an axe helve, which he laid aside, rising to greet them good-naturedly. But they broke him off short. "Look here, you upstart, perhaps you ain't acquainted with the ways of this here country. You needn't expect no allowances for that. When we give a man notice to get out, he gets out — without giving a chance for words that ain't civil. Now if you got any idee — " "Why, yes, but what's the 'dif.' I refuse to get out." Both men grinned. "Oh you refuse, do you? Well, right here's where the fun starts. Con, get that log-chain." The older man covered Purdy with a revolver. The other leaped from his horse and went to get the heavy log-chain, which lay over a stump nearby. "We got a little procedure all figured out, Mr. Slocum. Fig- ured it out on the road up, after seeing your smoke this morn- ing. Nothing much to it, simple as Yankee Doodle, but ef- fective. It won't hurt you, though. Just a little gentle per- suasion such as you'll relish. Do you good. We'll be up every other day to see how you're progressing, and when you're good and tired and ready to say, 'pretty, please,' why, we'll bid you good luck. Here, Con — " He pulled from his coat and handed his partner a heavy pair of handcuffs. "Will you kindly inform me," said Purdy, "What you in- tend to do?" "Oh, most certainly," said the man addressed as Con. "Just hold out your mitts a jiffy and let me clap these handcuffs on. Have you got a pocketknife?" "Yes." "Well, we're going to stake you to that big cedar down by the creek." He pointed to a great half-dead cedar at the further side of the clearing. "Get his bedding, Jim. I reckon he'll need it. Come on, Slocum, forward march." The eighteen foot drag-chain just circled the tree below its heavy, spreading branches. Its two ends they locked se- THE SURPRISE GENUINE 37 curely in one end of the handcuffs. The other cuff went around Purdy's left wrist. "Now, young sweetie, you begin to savvy, eh? The idea is to cut the tree off with your jack-knife. If you manage it, why, you can have your old homestead, and welcome. But in case you get tired, or hungry, for instance, you better let us know. We'll give you a free escort outside Beson Valley, and enough grub to last you home. In the meantime — well, you can entertain your- self with your jack-knife. Quite an idea, don't you think, old sour-plum? Here comes your bedding." Purdy had indeed begun to look a trifle sour. If he had ever felt that he could cope with the situation he very much doubted it now. He began to play for a possible advantage. "If you don't mind, Jim," he said when they had made his fastenings complete, "I'd like to have you bring my stove down, and a couple of sacks of coal you'll find back under the bed." The two men debated his request silently, and finally Jim said, "Get it, Con. He'd best be comfortable, and he can burn the tree down as quick with a match as a cook-stove. Only with that twenty inch leash of his I imagine he'd find it a bit too hot for comfort. I sort of think, partner, you'd best be a little shy with fire, now. Get them dry twigs lighted, and you'll roast a nice, juicy brown — no mistake." "Hey, Jim," called Con from the house. "You fetch the stove. I'm bringing the coal." "All right. By the way, what about the pony?" "There's no feed for the pony," remarked Purdy, "but if you'll turn her out of the stable so's she can pasture — " "Not on your slick hide we don't," cut in Jim, "This here's a decidedly private affair. We don't want no whole raft of Slo- cumses shelling out right in the midst of the picnic. That wouldn't do at all. No, we'll take care of your pony. Old man Charlie'U take care of her while we're debating this matter." "As you say, Jim, it's not unlikely she might take a notion to trail off home if we let her loose. Never thought of that. Don't turn her in with any of the other horses, though." "She'll be put right in the upper west corral by the creek. All the feed and water she wants and all her company on the other side of the fence. Promise you that." Con had by this time brought both the stove and the coal, so, with a parting taunt for the prisoner, the two men swung into their saddles and rode away. Purdy watched them with a complacent grin, for a minute or two, and then kicked one of the sacks of coal. "Too gosh-blinked much of a hurry for their own good," he said after them. "Ain't that too rich for a cake? Figure to 38 IMPROVEMENT ERA starve me out, eh? And viind up by making me a present of a hundred-pound sack of potatoes. Take sometime I reckon. And in the meanwhile — we'll entertain ourself speculating on a way out of this." His first act was to work the chain about the tree down to within thirty inches of the ground, as that seemed to offer the greatest freedom. His bedding, he placed between the tree and the water, which ran past, three feet to the west. The stove he placed on a level mound, south of the tree, where its smoke would blow away around the other side. The coal and potatoes he leaned up against the north side. Convenient disposition thus made, he kindled a fire and put a potato in the oven to bake. The sun had set. His supper was perforce a slight one and a saltless one, but he enjoyed it none the less. It evidenced superior strategy. It replaced despair with a modicum of hope and gave him stom- ach for the enterprise. When it was over, he lay a long time looking up through the black branches and finally dozed off to sleep. Ill The next day was cold and windy enough to take the zest quite out of him. The smoke of the fire wheeled about him in fit- ful gusts, making him cough and sputter and curse the sheep- men for neglecting to bring him the stovepipe. He felt miser- able and discouraged and at times half inclined to give up. He examined the heavy chain and handcuffs closely and sensed that resistance was really futile. The outcome seemed unavoid- able, however far off. Yet every added discomfort caused the insolence of the two men to sting more deeply, till he vowed he would resist to the bitter finish. On the second day, Jim and Con, and a weazened, evil-look- ing man named Tupper, visited him toward late afternoon. They found him wrapped in his blanket, coughing, his face all blowzy with the wind and smoke, his hands chapped and bleeding, his bed and clothing dusty and bedraggled. But his determination was still unshaken, so that all they could do was to swear and stamp around and finally ride away again, imparting the in- formation that they would not be back for four days. Con was still inclined to twit him goodnaturedly, but the older men were plain-spoken and sullen. He recognized them now as part- ners of a bad reputation. The more scrupulous sheepmen had evidently chosen them for this task. Tupper was not a sheep- man at all, but a roustabout and gambler whom the sheepmen tolerated because of his lucky faculty for locating illicit liquor. He stayed at old Charlie's, as the establishment on Beson Creek THE SURPRISE GENUINE 39 was called, and played dry-farmer on the west bank by way of blind. It was while Purdy was unraveling these facts that an idea struck him — an idea so timely and so novel in character that he jumped clear of his blankets and acted for several minutes like a man bewitched. The disreputable Tupper had plowed several small plots on the west bank of Beson Creek and pretended to plant for dry-farm crops. No crops had ever materialized, but the shallow cultivation had encouraged a goodly growth of weeds, which the southwest wind had tossed hither and yon up- on the desert and piled up in a great windrow against the west corral fences of the Charlie place, forming a great, ungainly bridge over the creek, for many yards. It was in the adjoining corral where Pete's little pony, Dot, would be confined. And so his mind, once started in the right direction, leaped to an amazing conclusion. In the next minute he was busy cal- culating the number of dry branches he could reach and break out of the aged tree. He glanced grudgingly at the fire, which was at that moment devouring several heavy, straight sticks. "Nope, it's no go," he said, at last, and sat down by the fire with a crestfallen air. He made a movement to reclaim the burning sticks, but ended by shoving them completely into the fire and closing the door. "Let's see, I've simply got to get more wood." He fell into a long reverie from which he would occasionally rouse himself with a deep-drawn sigh, straightway to fall musing again. "I'll beat those fellows yet," he would exclaim suddenly. "I've got to. By George, if I can only get more wood, I'll sur- prise those rascals so bad their beards'll fall out. It looks like I've just got to wait for fairer weather though. Torture, but it's going to be hard to wait now!" For Purdy, that night was an aeon. The next day dragged through after it. From time to time, he would peel a hot, now also frozen, potato and munch it between swallows of water. The wood he used freely so as to have an excuse to ask for more when the sheepmen paid him their next visit. It seemed im- possible to do anything but wait and count on tricking them into helping him effect his escape. At last, on the fourth day, Con came. Prudy felt a secret thrill of gratification when he saw him riding down the gentle slope, alone. If he had asked for anything, it would have been exactly that. "Hello, Con," he said, cheerily. "Still alive and able to wag my toes. Blamed near famished though." "Great Scott, man," and this time Con Redd was in earnest. "I fully expected to find you dead. Six days without a snack. 40 IMPROVEMENT ERA I honestly feel sorry for you, but you'll have to come to times, that's all. You'd better come back with me. Looks mighty un- pleasant around here. What about it?" "Not on your oilskin jacket! I'm good for a corking amount yet." "Well," said Con with a peculiar intonation, "It isn't our custom to argue. I warn you, though, that your next visit is going to be a confounded unpleasant one. Bad Jim and Tup- per were all roiled up last night. I don't know what they con- template, but you can count on them to make it devilish un- pleasant. They whaled a poor Dutchman, last spring, till he didn't have another breath coming." "They'll never whale me." Pete Purdy's jaws clamped to-' gether decisively. "Trust me for that, they'll never whale me. You bring me some more firewood. I'm nearly out. There's a half dozen or so dry saplings, by the creek yonder. If those fel- lows had half the manners you've got, I'd walk out without a whimper." Con first examined the chain to make sure a large enough pry to break it couldn't be inserted. But such an idea seemed so ridiculous at sight of the short, massive links, pulled tightly about the tree, that he laughed at himself and went to fetch the saplings. He brought nearer a dozen. "Have you got any notion when those fellows intend com- ing up?" Purdy asked Con as he was preparing to leave. "Not exactly. But I do know Jim and the boss — that's Buck Leason — and Tupper, were discussing you last night at Old Charlie's, and they worked themselves into a regular fit. They're black. I shouldn't be surprised if they came up here tomorrow morning, hell-bent and chuck full of deviltry." "And you right in with them. Where are they now? Down at Old Charlie's?" "I left them there not an hour ago. It's a fact. And whether I am in with them or not, I sympathize with you sincerely if you stay here after tonight." "I really believe you are ashamed of your gang. You ought to be. But listen. I'm going to give those fellows down there a genuine surprise. When you get back down, you tell them I'm going to visit them. Tell them I'll be along tomorrow morning about 2 a. m. and give them such a visit as they won't forget in a week of Christmasses. Of course, if they think it's too early, they can stay in bed. I'll want my horse, tell them, and then I'm off to West Benton and the sheriff and my brother, Sam. After that I'm coming back to stay." Con looked puzzled and incredulous, but the best he could do was to promise and ride away. It looked like a bluff, but if THE SURPRISE GENUINE 41 it was, it was certainly a queer one. He could see no advantage to be gained by bluffing. He indulged in several unfinished laughs, on the way back to Old Charlie's — half-way laughs that held amusement in them and yet vexation. The fact of the mat- ter was that he hardly knew what to think. IV That night Pete Purdy's little Dot slept in her corner of the west fence as usual. Con Redd and Bad Jim Crugget, the dissolute Tupper and Old Charlie, and several other sheepmen, were at the house. They stayed awake late, drinking and mak- ing the walls ring with imprecations. But not a thing could they make of Pete Purdy's enigmatic message, so they finally blew the light out and went to bed. At two o'clock all was dark and still as death. A "horning" moon had just slipped behind the serrated desert hills to the west. Only the shrivelled, dehydrated man of the desert, Old Charlie, if he had chanced to lay awake in his bunk, would have heard the low, strained "yap, yap" of the coyotes and known that mischief was afoot. And looking forth from his little window, he would have seen a sight fit to make his eyes pop. But Old Charlie Edith snored evenly and slumbered, his tooth- less mouth working in and out as he drew and exhaled breath, and the outlandish object swerved and spun and meandered nearer on the current of Beson Creek unobserved. Whatever it was, it could easily have passed for the devil on a raft. Its dark body and malevolent, glaring eye seemed certainly a demon on fearful business bent. Awakened by its ghastly halo, the horses bunched at the far sides of the corrals, and stared at it in terrified fascination. Nearer and nearer it approached, until the reflection of its light could be seen in the water, and its grotesque, makeshift construction became laughably evident. A raft of dry saplings bound together with ragged strips of blanket was surmounted by a glowing camp-stove, its whole top part red with the fierce heat of smoldering coal. Even as it passed the south corner of the corrals, Pete Purdy's little Dot slept in the shadow of the west fence. But when a sudden crescendo of crackling sounded in the windrow of weeds just outside, she came to her feet with a bounce. Light showed in the fence cracks. Flames licked above the boards. Long tongues of fire went reaching up into the dark. Then all was wild disorder — the roaring of burning weeds and fences, the crashing of horses through wires and poles, the crazy shouts of men! When little Dot's mind came out of its bewilderment, she 42 IMPROVEMENT ERA was clear of the yards and going at a clapping gallop towards the eastern hills, the picture of her old home at West Benton uppermost in her brain. And before noon tkat day she was panting outside Sam Purdy's gate. Sam scented trouble directly. He knew his methodical brother Pete too well to suppose she had gotten away from him. Inside of half an hour he had saddled a good horse and was rac- ing away toward Beson Valley. The fire was soon checked among the rambling corrals, but the fury of the sheepmen was not checked. Lucky that the raft was burnt and the stove buried among black piles of cinders in the stream. In their bafflement and rage, if they had found Purdy, it is hard to tell what they might have done. But so patent was it that he had made good his threat and escaped, they never once thought of riding up the canyon to look for him. And so Pete Purdy, bereft of blankets, firewood, stove and coal, jumped up and down all day to keep warm. Just as the evening shadows were beginning to creep along the wooded canyon valley, his brother, Sam, arrived. Then a powerfully driven cold-chisel ate through a link of the heavy handcuffs, and he was free. He kept his homestead! Vernon* Utah