A Rustic Romance

A RUSTIC ROMANCE By Silas L. Cheney The small mountain village of Raymond lay prostrate and half- smothered under a heavy fall of snow. Still the natives, with a sturdiness attributed to pioneer stock, went about their cheerless tasks in a most amazingly matter-of-fact manner. To them there was nothing out of the ordinary about deep snow. They had been obliged to struggle with it so many months out of the year for so many years that it had come to assume the semblance of the inevitable, and therefore disturbed the equilibrium of their lives not at all. In fact, few things did disturb them sufficiently to cause excitement unless, perchance, it was the rare occurrence of a marriage, a birth, or a death among their scattered citizenry. For weeks nothing of so unusual a nature had happened, then suddenly the inhabitants were aroused by what seemed nothing short of phenomenal. It was a solitary fire blazing out like a lost star far up in the mountains where certainly no builders of fires should be at that time of the year. Under the impetus of a common curiosity, a number of villagers gathered at Martin's General Mercantile to converse and conjecture about this peculiar occurrence. The discussion, although lacking nothing in interest, was totally lacking in results. It traveled in circles and so arrived nowhere. Commencing with; "How can it be?" it soared in many and varied directions but, like a skilfully thrown boomerang, always came back to the starting point; "How can it be?" Every new arrival, who joined the circle about the large wood-stuffed heater at the rear of the store, was hailed as a possible Joshua who might lead them out of this wilderness of mystery. But such a Joshua did not arrive until Clifford Barnes .walked in upon them, found a leaning post at the end of the counter nearest the stove, and remained standing quietly, as one constrained to listen before speaking. Such a pro- cedure was not his custom and attracted attention immediately. He was off color and his dark eyes appeared strangely haunted. "What's the matter, Clif? Seen a ghost?" asked Mr. Martin, the store-keeper. Clifford glanced up at the questioner for a second, then let his gaze wander back to the massive sheet-iron stove which was beginning to glow dully from the heat within. "It's that fire upon the mountain there," he explained haltingly as he rammed his hands deep into his pockets and nervously shifted into another position. The highly-keyed interest of his auditors responded immediately. All eyes were turned in his direction. Was he trying to joke with them or was he about to solve the puzzle? "Out with it, boy," demanded Uncle Ben, who had lost none of his curiosity with age. "If you know anything about this here fire, why tell us about it." , "It's Tom Sharp's fire and it's a signal that him and Madge are needin help," replied Clifford huskily. "Ha, ha — " commenced- one who fancied this to be the absurdest of all absurd conjectures, but his mirth was rudely checked by Clifford who suddenly exploded with fury. "Shut up, Ed," he exclaimed. "You'll be laughin* yourself into trouble first thing you know,"_and his eyes flashed balefully. He was under an intense emotional strain, there was no doubt of that. This might have given credence to his explanation had it not been so unbelievable.

554 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Why, Clif, how can that be when Old Tom isn't trappin' up that- a-way a tall? He's up on Cottonwood creek. He told me his self that he was going up there," remarked Hollingshead spitting vehemently against the hot stove. "A of a lot you know about it!" declared Clifford hotly. "It was to keep inquisitive birds like you from snooping around his new trapping grounds that he made it a point to misinform you." It was not exactly surprising that Clifford should be more intimately acquainted with Tom Sharp's movements than anyone else, since, as was generally believed, he was engaged to Madge, the queer old trapper's daughter. Thus the hushed group waited expectantly for further explanation. "You see," Clifford went on, "he was up above the rapids on the South Fork of Snake River last summer and saw so many signs of beaver, bobcat, and fox that he decided to make his headquarters at the Old Prospectors' cabin, use Madge as a general roustabout and companion, spend the winter trappin', and come down in the spring with a load of furs." "Well, but how about the fire? It's on Baldy Knoll, not at Pros- pector's cabin," interrupted the store-keeper. "It's this way. The night before they left, I was down to see Madge. I says to her, 'Madge, what if something should happen to you up there? It 'ud be mighty uncomfortable wouldn't it?' Then the old man speaks up and says, 'Clif, if anything desperate should happen to us, why we'll make a fire at; night upon the top of Baldy Knoll which you can see from here. That's near where we'll be, you know. Now,' he says, 'I don't expect you'll ever see such a fire but if you ever do you want to come — quick.' And, fellows, it's on Baldy Knoll where the fire is now." "I wonder what could have happened?" asked one. "Why anything might' ve happened up there," interjected Hollingshead. "Only a fool would've thought of doing what he's done. Why the river might've become so blocked with snow and ice as to've flooded away their cabin and grub. A snowslide might-ve done the same thing, it's a likely place for snowslides anyway. Then, too, you'll all remember that it was up that-a-way where a man was killed in a fight with a lynx a few years ago." For a moment the group remained silent, then Uncle Ben spoke up quietly without lifting his eyes; "Be ye goin' up there then, Clif?" "Why — er — er — I — I can't," stammered Clifford glancing furtively around the group. There was no mistaking the look of dread and fear which lurked in his expressive eyes. The men looked at each other and then for an awkward interval sat quietly nursing their own thoughts. There was not one among them who could not imagine what was in Clifford's mind. They knew that it was about as much as a person's life was worth to respond to that signal. Any one of several natural things might happen to a man in the mountains at such a time which would make it very questionable whether he would ever live to tell the tale. Everyone seemed afraid to speak for fear of betraying himself as Clifford had done. In the group was a young man, scarcely more than a stranger, who had been listening intently without saying anything. In fact, no one seemed to expect or encourage him to speak. He was a husky young fellow of Norwegian extraction, having studious habits and city ways which failed to harmonize with the general scheme of things at Raymond. As a result the villagers shunned rather than sought his friendship. Frank Hansen had met Madge at school in the city the year before, and in his quiet, unassuming way had fallen desperately in love with her. When he became aware that she was not returning to school, he discontinued his study of medicine and got a job as a general farm hand near her home in order to advance his suit. It had not taken long for him to become

A RUSTIC ROMANCE 555 convinced of his error, since both Madge and her father seemed to go out of their way to slight him. That they considered him a sort of weakling was plain. The situation became almost unbearable, but his pride and determination refused to admit defeat so he stayed on. At times he imagined his love had turned to hate, but as he listened to the shocking revelation of her desperate need for help, he knew he was- mistaken. He knew that she meant as much to him as she had ever done — perhaps more. Someone must answer the signal, there was no doubt' about that. His bitter reflection told him that Clifford should do it, since he was the one who would be expected. But when Clifford so positively shirked his responsibility, Frank decided that it was up to him to step into the breach. "Fellows," he said, "if I could get someone to lend me a real good outfit, I'd make the trip up there and find out what's the matter." Everyone turned toward him in open-mouthed astonishment. Surely this was to be a night of surprises. Hollingshead expressed forcibly what all were thinking when he said, "What, you?" "Yes," Frank answered greatly embarrassed. It was not very gratify- ing that he should be obliged thus openly to kiss the hand that had publicly smitten him on a number of occasions. In order to satisfy the demands of pride he continued with force nonchalance; "I have been wanting to go up in there anyway, so I might as well go now when I can kill two birds with one stone." "Better think it over, Hansen," advised one. "This ain't no pleasure jaunt — this that you're figurin' on. It'll be a mighty hard journey from start to finish with prospects of being obliged to spend a long lonesome time at the other end. Sure as the world we'll have enough stormy weather to prevent you from returnin' for a while. Wouldn't surprise me none if it prevented you from gettin' that far back in the mountains." "I'm not going for pleasure," Frank answered curtly. "But, boy, you don't know what you're lettin yourself in for," declared Hollingshead with spirit. "If you attempt to go up there the chances is your bones will be whitenin' in the sun next summer. Even supposin' the snow is froze enough to travel over with snow-shoes now, there's no tellin' at this time o' year how long it will stay that-a-way. Supposin' a blizzard, a heavy snow, or a heavy thaw should catch you out in them mountains it 'ud mean your death and no mistake, unless you was prepared to hold up comfortable for a considerable length o' time. And that's not sayin' anything about the pitfalls, snowslides, and half-starved critters you're likely ' to meet up with." "Hollingshead is right," broke in Mr. Martin. "If anybody is to make that trip, let it be one who's purty well acquainted in these parts." "Well, if I don't go, who will?" Frank asked bluntly. For a long minute there was silence. It was clear no one cared to volunteer for so dangerous a mission. "That settles it," declared Frank springing to his feet. "Will you men get me a good toboggan and load it with provisions and equipment I am likely to need? I'll be back ready to start in less than an hour." "You'll surely not be startin' before mornin'?" asked Uncle Ben, awed into respect by this revelation of sterling manhood. "You fellows know as well as I that there's a storm brewing. When it strikes us it will be too late to think about going for some time, accord- ing to what you yourselves have said. No — I won't wait. By morning I intend to be quite a step on my way." With that he flung himself out of the store. It was more than twenty-four hours later that Frank, half-delirious

556 IMPROVEMENT ERA from exhaustion and exposure, staggered up thrpugh a blinding snowstorm to the door of Prospector's cabin. "Hello there! Hello!" he shouted huskily. Then his heart sprang into his throat as he heard a joyful cry followed by the sound of light footsteps running across the room. "Thank heaven," he breathed, "she is safe!" The bar was drawn, the door flung open, and there before him stood Madge in all her beauty and attractiveness. She sprang forward and threw her arms about his neck. "I knew you'd come. Oh, I knew you'd come," she exclaimed between sobs. There was so much love and longing in her dark brown eyes as she looked up into his face that it fairly made him giddy with happiness. He was on the verge of declaring his love for her, but as he stepped more fully into the light of the doorway he discovered that her expression had suddenly changed to one of surprise and disappoint- ment. "Why — Why, it isn't Clif!" she lamented. He staggered back as if struck in the face. To have brought dis- appointment to one for whom he had risked his life to bring relief and happiness was too much. Everything grew dim and swam before his un- steady gaze. He was not exactly certain as to what followed, for when he came to his senses, he was sitting on a bench before the fire with Madge doing her best to support him. "You must be dead tired and nearly frozen after that terrible trip. If you can sit here for a minute, I'll get you something hot to drink." Her concern made him feel ashamed of himself. What a fool he was. Of course, she had expected Clifford and would be disappointed when he did not come. He knew she wished him to explain the situation, but how was he to do so satisfactorily? By special request he carried a letter from Clifford addressed to her. Thinking that perhaps it would contain all necessary in- formation, he took it from an inside pocket and when she returned with a steaming cup he handed it to her. "Here's a letter for you," he said simply. The eagerness with which she seized and tore it open renewed his torture. '^Why should the love of such a girl be thrown away on a worthless pup?" he asked himself. He might just as well have asked why he persisted in loving her when it was so evident that she cared not at all for him. He closed his eyes in weariness and waited for her to finish the letter. Suddenly he was startled and amazed by her asking: "Why, Mr. Hansen, whatever could have persuaded you to come out here at such a time?" He opened his eyes and stared at her in utter astonishment. "What could have persuaded me?" he began but could say no more. "Why, yes. You see Clif says that he was about to come when he learned you were making a trip out near here, and as it was very hard for him to get away he made it worth your while to call and help us out." "Did_he say that!" exclaimed Frank springing to his feet in a rage. "Yes, that is what I thought he said, but perhaps I might better read it again," she replied. He did not wait for her to read the despicable lie a second time. It was plain that this was a trick employed to hide a yellow streak. That it had been cleverly done he was forced to admit, since it left him powerless. He could not hope to make Madge see through the deception and even if he could, what would be the use? Would she not continue to bestow her affections where once she had given them so wholeheartedly;" Besides, he was too exhausted to engage in any extended explanation and so figured the quick- est and best way would be to agree with what Clifford had written. Regaining control of himself he said as calmly as possible; "Well, fact is I have been wanting to prospect up here for some time. Thought I might strike something rich. Didn't know it would be so difficult along the way, you see. But why the signal fire? What's the matter?"

A RUSTIC ROMANCE 557 With swift contrition she cried, "Oh, I forgot about Daddy. He has broken his leg, and it's in an awful condition. He says he doesn't believe it a bad break and if only properly set would soon be all right. But the bones have slipped past each other slightly and I am not strong enough to help him pull them back into place." "That's certainly too bad," Frank said sympathetically. "But if it's as you say, I believe we'll be able to fix him up first rate. I'm not a bone specialist, but with your help I should be able to take care of a simple fracture. Where is your father? I think we'd better look after him at once." "That's right, you are a half-way doctor, aren't you? I'm so glad because you'll know just how to do things." She led the way to a corner of the room near the fire and pulled aside a blanket screen. There lay Mr. Sharp on a crudely constructed couch. He was evidently suffering acutely, although silently. Bending over him Frank made as thorough examination of the fracture as his limited skill and the swollen condition of the leg would permit. So far as he could tell, the case was largely as Mr. Sharp had diagnosed it. The femur had been broken half-way between the hip and the knee, and, due to the strong pull of the large leg muscles, the broken ends had slipped past each other. As a result the leg was terribly swollen and discolored. He knew full well how difficult the task of setting it would be, and felt in no condition for such an ordeal just now, yet it was something which had to be done. Straightening up, he spoke without looking at either Madge or her father. "It must be done at once but first we need splints, bandages and — " "We have them," interposed Madge eagerly. "Daddy told me how to cut the splints, the other things I got from most anything I could lay my hands on. It's all there," she said pointing to the foot of the couch. "You see we got everything ready and tried time and again to set it ourselves. Daddy held to those loops of rope which I spiked to the wall and I pulled on his leg but wasn't strong enough to pull it into place." "Well," said Frank, as he arranged the needed paraphernalia so it would be easily available, "if your father will hold to those ropes again and if you'll help him there, 'I'll get hold of his foot at this end and I think we'll be able to do the trick." It was a real task but was finally accomplished. The bone was set and as carefully and securely bandaged as was possible under the circumstances. "I think that is the best we can do," Frank said. "Oh, Mr. Hansen, how can we ever thank you?" cried Madge; and for an instant there was real appreciation for him in her eyes and voice. But this quickly changed to concern for her father who, after passing through so trying an ordeal, was left limp and almost lifeless. Together ,they rendered first aid until he recovered. Then as she busied herself in another room, he walked over to the fire and sank down full length in front of it. He glanced wearily about him, then closed his eyes. Since he could not see Madge there was nothing to interest him here. Nothing but the interior of a typical log cabin, the like of which one could see any time by going to the right kind of movies. Every bone and muscle in his body ached. He was sick in body, sick in mind, sick at heart, almost sick enough to die, and since there was nothing to live for he considered it would be a pleasure to die. With such comforting thoughts he dropped off into a stupor of oblivion and delirium and knew no more for days. At times he was very ill. In a way he also knew who cared for him, since in all his mental wanderings he pictured Madge, in some guise or other, hovering about in an intangible, angelic manner. More than this he did not know. To Madge his sickness was a revelation. It brought to light deep- seated feelings and powerful emotions which she was unaware she possessed. Ever since meeting him, Madge had rather liked Frank. Possibly this

5 58 IMPROVEMENT ERA friendliness might have developed into something stronger had it been al- lowed to run a natural course. But Mr. Sharp failed to approve of "that city chap," as he termed Frank, and so arbitrarily, almost automatically, Madge closed the door of her affections against him, and then, as if intuitively sensing her inability to keep it closed, had proceeded to erect so strong a barrier between them that no ordinary meeting would have broken it down. But now as she worked over him day after day, trying to keep his spirit from passing beyond the shadows, and as day after day in her loneliness she listened to his delirious ravings in which he laid bare his genuine af- fection for her, the purely artifical barrier she had erected between them gradu- ally melted away until only a ghost of it remained. That ghost was Clifford. She must be true to him; the one to whom she had pledged herself. Her father, who lay in the next room with a rapidly healing leg, could not help knowing what was going on, yet he said nothing. He was affected more than he cared to admit by the evidence of Frank's feelings for his daughter. To him it rang true, so true that more than once he was forced to choke back the tears which came to his eyes. Still, pride and a feeling that he had meddled too much in his daughter's affairs already, prevented him from saying anything. Madge was thus obliged to fight her battle by herself. With a nature such as her's, the outcome would have been very questionable had she not received convincing evidence of Clifford's cowardice and duplicity. This was a telling blow and before it she gave way entirely. From then on she fought and prayed for Frank's recovery with all the energy of her soul, and compelled those who had come in answer to her second signal fire to do like- wise. There was nothing she wanted more desperately and she cared little who knew it. She refused to give him up even when there seemed no hope for his recovery. Probably it was the subtle effect of this change in Madge's attitude which really did what medicine seemed unlikely to do, for under its stimulus he commenced to rally and after several days of sound sleeping, awoke one morning with the light of reason in his eyes. The one watching him, quietly left the room and gave the good news to those without. Madge, who had been forced into semi-relaxation, sprang to her feet and quickly tiptoed to his side. ' i i When Frank opened his eyes he felt bewildered at finding himself in a low, cooped-up room with furs of various animals everywhere in evi- dence: on the walls, on the floor, and even acting as a covering for his un- yielding bed. Within reach stood a stool covered with a nondescript as- sortment of medicine bottles, cups, spoons, etc. At the foot of his couch a small window let in a flood of bright sunlight. Looking through this, he could see the steep sides of white-clad mountains dotted thickly with pine trees whose branches drooped under a sparkling burden of snow. Small birds flitted about chirping gaily, and, as if coming from no great distance, he could clearly discern the heavy rush and gurgle of water. Why, where the deuce was he, anyway? As he glanced about the room again he saw Madge who had just entered. "Why, Madge, er — I mean Miss Sharp, where am I?" "You're here in Prospector's cabin. Don't you remember?" She asked, overjoyed at hearing him speak rationally for the first time in days. "Oh — a — let me see. I seem to remember — yes, I do remember. I came in answer to your signal fire, helped set your father's leg, and — but say, how is your father?" "Daddy? He's getting along fine. Says he intends to be looking after his traps soon." "That's good," Frank replied. "And how are you this morning?" she asked with concern.

A RUSTIC ROMANCE 559 "I? Oh, I feel fit as a fiddle. I'm mighty sorry though that I've been so much trouble, but just you wait a day or two and I'll be out of your way." "Why, Frank — ," then her voice trailed off into silence. She could not trust herself to speak further. But there was that in the way she had spoken which thrilled him as few things had ever done. He looked at her questioningly for a second, then closed his eyes before the vision he saw, determined to think things out and avoid arriving at a hasty or foolish conclusion. "It must be that pesky fever again, he muttered. "Yes, of course, it's the fever. That's the way she appears in my dreams and not in real life." As he lay quietly with closed eyes he became aware of someone singing in another room. Evidently they were trying to sing as low as possible but still the strains came to him quite distinctly in sharps, flats, and discords, However, it was quite appealing since those furnishing the music were cer- tainly in earnest. He listened to catch the words; "When upon life's billows you are tempest-tossed, When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost, Count your many blessings, name them one by one, And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done." "Who is that singing?" he asked. "It's Daddy, Mr. Martin, and Jacob Hollingshead. They are trying to celebrate your recovery. But isn't their singing just too funny for anything?" "Did you say that Mr. Martin and Mr. Hollingshead are here? How does that come about?" he queried looking up in surprise. "Well, you see when you became very sick, I built another signal fire and after the storm was over and the snow well frozen again, they came out to see what was the matter." "And Clifford?" he asked, then glanced down in embarrassment. "He remained behind as he did before and for the same reason. I know now what that reason is. I know also that you did not come out through that dangerous storm to prospect. You came to help us when no one else would run such a risk. Frank, you're fine — you're noble — " she broke down completely and dropping to her knees beside him, threw her arms about his neck and sobbed out convulsively: "You don't know how much yoi* mean to me. Why — why, I couldn't live without you. Thank heaven you have been given back to me." Frank could not answer. Words would not express his feelings. Rever- ently he put his arms around her and pressed her more closely to him. In the other room a brittle tenor, husky baritone, and uncertain bass, were again swinging into the refrain of their song with a galloping rhythm. Yet they sounded the depths of at least two sympathetic souls as they sang: "Count your blessings, name them one by one, Count your many blesssings, see what God hath done." Magna, Utah. Potato Production in Utah, by Prof. Geo. Stewart, agronomist, is the title of a circular (No. 58) issued December 2 by the Utah Agricultural Experiment Station. It considers a number of important factors of especial significance to potato growers of Utah. Particular attention has been given to these problems: factors in production, preparation of the seedbed, varieties to plant, cultivation, irrigation, diseases and treatment, harvesting, grading, storage, marketing, etc. Copies will be sent without charge to any resident of Utah who requests it. Address Publications Division, Utah Experiment Station, Logan, Utah.