By Way of Compensation

BY WAY OF COMPENSATION By John Q. Adams The irregular tread of a thousand feet brought consternation to the denizens of the desert, as the cavalcade crept wearily along. Five hundred stern-visaged, silent marchers had set their pace, and the chil- dren of Nature stepped quickly aside to let them pass. Countless lizards stampeded this way and that; while a gaunt coyote, poised in surveillance, betimes shrilled out a nerve-racking monologue. It was late afternoon, the hour of dead calm. The contact of foot, hoof and wheel with the sand and alkali made a cloud of vapory, choking dust. At intervals, patches of dwarf cactus or challenging sentries of the gigantic species succeeded easily in deflecting the line of march, for bare, bleeding flesh is no match for the merciless spine of the prickly pear. The coaxing "git up" bf the teamsters at the rear gave way eventually to the more effective whang of the four-lash rawhide. As the sun came in contact with the horizon, the blast of a bugle, clear, sudden, resonant, shattered the dread silence into quavering vi- brations, and instantly each animate unit of the company came to a standstill. The spot was selected simply because of the fact that the approaching twilight rendered [a halt imperative, not that it had any special features distinguishing it as a good camping place. Instead of the naturally expected move for immediate rest, num- bers of these weather-beaten soldiers set busily to excavating in several places with pick and shovel, as if their very lives depended upon the rapidity with which the holes were made. And such, indeed, was the case. They had gone for days without trace of water on the surface; and, as each evening came, it was either dig or remain thirsty. Night soon reigned supreme; stars of varying brilliancy danced and quivered; while the moon, mounting higher and higher toward the zenith of her throne, piloted her way among her stellar offspring. On all sides the peculiar night noises of the desert, subdued yet impressive, mingled low and indistinct in a soothing medley. Through it all Jethro Williams lay, his quiet, deep musing in strict accord with the surrounding restfulness of nature; and yet, as if for the purpose of mere emphasis or contrast, his thought grew ex- ceedingly tumultuous at times, as the gnawing pangs of an unappeased hunger prodded him to wakefulness. The usual, simple expedient of a belt taken up, hole by hole, as hunger made its inroad, failed utterly now to replace something substantial. With the approach of midnight, unable longer to endure it in silence, he quietly left his blankets, stepped over and between forms more restful than himself, and soon reached the solitary sentry, who stood leaning upon his musket for friendly support. , Making his identity known by the necessary pass-word, he left the confines of the

BY WAY OF COMPENSATION 355 camp and soon found himself far beyond the last wagon. His some- what aimless strides reminded him harshly of the fact that his bare feet, coming in contact with unnoticed cactus, were lacerated and swollen, and to proceed farther was an impossibility. He sank to the ground with added pain, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions; and then — a new thought — by some sudden transformation, things became different. The light had broken through his mental lethargy and miscon- ception, as the sun's unconquered rays break suddenly through the sullen cloud-banks; and Jethro was soon engaged in fervent, simple prayer. The Infinite always responds to man's earnest appeal; and, just as manna and quail and buffalo had often appeared before the eyes of Faith, so this man gazed with surprised delight upon a large hare not ten paces away. A quickly sent pistol ball found its mark in the equally surprised, long-eared visitor, and hope passed from a dying ember to the glow of reality — Jethro's entire field of endeavor was lighted up. His first impulse was to appease his hunger then and there, but, restraining himself, he returned to camp. As he brushed past a cov- ered wagon dignified by the word "Hospital," a harrowing groan of agony, mingled with execrations, informed him of the condition of the sole patient. Another half dozen steps would have taken him beyond the sound of the occupant's wail, but a piercing cry rang in his ears, "Food, food, only a bite!" Now was fought the battle in which hosts of mortals are van- quished each hour of every passing day — the fight of self. To lay down one's life willingly amid the glamour and stress of battle is not unusual; but in the isolation and secrecy of the heart — to quell the rebellion of every force within, and repel invasion from every quarter without, and all in calm, cold premeditation, devoid of the stimulus of attack, wherein men lose their identity in the frenzied heat of charges and counter-charges — there is the real battleground of life! Jethro Williams was now in the thick of that fight. Was he not on the verge of collapse himself, through scanty fare and almost super- human exertion? Had he not endeavored with his whole mental power, the last few days, to inveigle his unwary sense into the forlorn belief that the strips of rawhide which had formed the entire basis of the thin, tasteless fluid called "soup" were really strips of juicy, palatable beef or mutton? And now that he had been for,tunate above his companions in securing so invaluable a trophy as that dangling from his hand, why should he deny himself this sustenance that seemed so neces- sary in preventing the grim specter, Death, from knocking at his own door? And he recalled also that this particular man, more than all others in the company, for some mysterious, indefinable reason, had appeared to him the very antithesis of all that goes to make men in any way companionable. Never a word had passed between them; never had either acted hostile or otherwise toward the other; and yet Jethro, from the moment they left the banks of the Missouri, had entertained

356 IMPROVEMENT ERA a growing feeling that somehow, somewhere, they two would find themselves in an unusual relationship — and not a congenial one either. He stood in the dark, hesitating; and then, with a determination born of the faith by which he had become possessed of the priceless treasure, and as one in a dream, he raised the canvas on the darker side of the wagon, and deftly swung the limp bundle of fur and flesh into the bunk of the delirious occupant; and silently stole to his own tattered blankets. California in '49! What romance, adventure, accomplishments and varied experiences weave themselves with fascination around this simple phrase. On a rough bunk of slabs covered with dried grass, in one of the dirt-roofed cabins that made up San Francisco in that magic year, lay Jethro Williams, weak and emaciated, his haggard features hid behind a shaggy beard. He had come to San Francisco from Southern California after his discharge from the army, and had joined in the activities of the day — the great game of chance — and, apparently, had lost. A gaunt, raw-boned, bewhiskered individual sat on a small stool beside the bunk, his legs crossed, in deep, silent meditation. Quiet- ness reigned, not even the ticking of a clock obtruding itself. With an introductory cough, the man shifted his position to a more com- fortable attitude, and began speaking in deep, measured tones. "Well, pari, I reckon you are wondering what is coming next. I came in with the doctor for a purpose — it was easier that way; and now that he's gone I must give a reason for coming; and for staying, too, I suppose. I'm somewhat mixed in my thoughts and don't know just where to begin, but I have a 'score to settle with you, and you are expected to lie still, too, without a word." The younger man turned a wondering gaze towards the speaker, but with no opportunity of reading there the thoughts of his unex- pected visitor. B'ehind so grim and invulnerable a breastwork might be safely intrenched, without detection, either danger or favor. So he interposed no word, as the speaker continued with the object of his visit. ' "Just fifteen years ago I moved into old Missouri with my wife and baby — a happy man. The year we arrived there fever took the mother, and I was left with little, two-year-old Lexie, the only thing in the whole world for which to live. The child and I made a pretty fair trial at enjoying life until she entered her 'teens; and I began to fear the day that someone might take her from me. Of course, such a thought had never occurred to her. We had a large clearing there in the wilderness, and at harvest time several men were needed to help us. "One day two preachers came to our cabin and asked for a meal. I told them to line up with the crew, provided they tell what their business was in that neck o' the woods. They said their business there was to tell us something of vital importance, and that our asking them about it made their duty easier; but said they would rather wait

BY WAY OF COMPENSATION 357 until after we had eaten, and then explain it while we were resting in the shade; and they said that for the bread I gave them they would give us the 'bread of life.' 'Certainly, sir,' I replied, 'every person to his likin', but I can't get the meanin' of the bread o' life from you two.' "My little girl had prepared the dinner, and had gone to lie down in the room we had arranged in the attic, as she was suffering with a headache. The passing of victuals had only commenced when a quarrel arose between two of the hands sitting at opposite sides of the table. This was not their first altercation, as a smothered animosity had rankled in their bosoms for a long time, but now all reserve was cast aside; and before we realized what was happening, a puff of smoke filled the room, and one of the men lay dead. The men grabbed the other fellow, to prevent him from shooting anybody else. 'Hold on there, fellows;' he yelled, 'before God, I swear I didn't pull a trigger. The preacher there was the man with the shootin' irons. Didn't you see the gun in his hands?' All eyes were turned toward the accused, as he replied, 'Yes, I did have a gun in my hand, but it was while strug- gling to wrest it from your murderous grasp! Search me, if you desire; you'll find that my only weapon is my Bible.' One of the men put his hand into the preacher's pocket, and instead of a Bible he pulled out a smoking pistol. 'A pretty looking Bible;' I exclaimed, 'one that will either convert or kill, I reckon. "Well, I suppose old Jake got what he deserved all right, but it was murder just the same, and it looked like the preacher had done the shooting. There was nothing else to do but turn him over to the sheriff; so we left one of the men to guard the preachers, while the re- mainder of us scattered to get the sheriff, the coroner and others. I was the first one back, and I found the guard bound and the prisoners gone. "That wouldn't have been so bad if things had gone only that far, but — oh! I can't stand it; I can't stand to see that sight again!" The narrator paused, turned in his seat and drew a sleeve across his shaggy brow. For some moments he gazed into space, entirely oblivious, apparently, to his surroundings. Making a mighty effort to control himself, he proceeded in a husky, broken voice. "I called Lexie, but no answer came, and jumping up the ladder into the attic I saw a sight that, night or day, has never been erased from my mind. Lexie lay dead, shot by the second bullet that ranged up while the tussle for the gun was going on. "I swore vengeance on the preacher, for I felt sure that the vermin with the gun in his pocket had done the deed; of course, perhaps without meaning to, but what's the difference when the end is the same? Without waiting a day after the girl was buried, I followed the preacher, and in the course of time learned that he was a 'Mormon' from over the country; so I made my way to the place on the Missouri where his people were bunched like sheep. After a time, by keeping somewhat under cover, I learned that the man I was after had just died, leaving a widow and an only son. The government at that time.

358 IMPROVEMENT ERA only three years ago, though it seems a lifetime to me, was fighting Mexico, and called on the 'Mormons' for five hundred young men to go to the front. The boy had joined the company, and, though I felt in every part of my body that I must kill the son of my girl's murderer, I planned to do it some other day — always on some future day — for the proper time, when I could torture him with the story of his father's deed and then wipe out the account, had not presented itself when the company of five hundred was1 ready to leave. So I also joined, as a teamster in the supply train, and we started west. My, how I gloated over my revenge, and how hellish were my plans! "Well, we marched and marched for months, and my one big chance hadn't come when we struck starvation and the like, half way or more on the desert, and then I became terribly sick. "One night, my doctor said, when I lay cussing and raving, having had nothing to eat but leather soup for days, the wagon cover was lifted, and — " A sharp, piercing cry came from the sick man, as he bolted up- right in his bunk, with hands pressed to his head, and staring at the narrator with eyes fixed in horror and fright. "And that was you?" cried Jethro, all his premonitions of evil concerning this1 man coming back like a flash. "It's all a lie!" he shouted. "Have you been driving your horrible story into my heart, knowing you had me at bay, intending that I should be the means of settling the account you claim? It isn't true, I, I — ." He sank back exhausted. "Well, as I was going to say," continued the narrator, now by far the calmer of the two, "a big, fine rabbit came sailing into the wagon. The fellow who did it thought he was mighty cunning, but enough of the candle light fell upon his* face to let the doctor see who he was; and, of course, you know the rest. "Now, pal, you and I traveled from the Missouri in that com- pany, and more than once I could see that you looked on me as a peculiar fellow; and why shouldn't you, for you were sure enough marked for the sacrifice. If ever a thunder clap came from a clear sky, it was that act of yours that night; and I could never again bring myself to think along the line that had so constantly occupied my mind and heart. "So we brought up, or part of us did, at San Diego, and I met a man there, on his dying bed, who told me something of great im- portance both to you and to me. He was the man left to guard the preachers the day of the shooting, and he surely cleared the accused preacher with his story of coaxing them to escape, because he knew they were innocent. 'You know, I felt sorry for those preachers,' he said, 'because I saw the whole fracas, and they were no more guilty than I was. That fellow slipped the gun into the preacher's pocket as soon as he fired, and I was the only one, apparently, who saw the trick. I didn't dare to say anything, because I might have been corpse number two, with no gun to back up my words. So when we were alone I

' BY WAY OF COMPENSATION 359 told them they'd be doing the square thing to get out of there before the others returned, because it didn't make any difference if they were , innocent, old Bill and his bunch would fix them just the same, as that was exactly the kind of law under which they were living there at that time. I told them that I would be able sometime to clear them, but not under the circumstances then existing. I finally persuaded them to tie me up and go. They got into the canoe at the edge of the river and dropped down stream, and I have never seen them since.' Rising to his feet, the relentless pursuer drew a small sack from his pocket. "Only a few words more, pal," he said. "You see, I've beeji chasing you for nothing. You're on your back now and have had bad luck since coming here. I've done better. Back in the mountains where your people were headed three years ago, you have a mother. I know from reports1 that your people have arrived and settled there. As a small offering to balance our account, here is a little yellow dust to help you on your trip back there." Ignoring the attempted apologies and profuse thanks of the sick man, the grim-visaged westerner dropped the small wallet on the bunk, took Jethro's hand, gazed for a moment into his face, and in silent emotion strode from the room. Centerville, Utah. My 3pan of Years God gave to me my span of years, A journey fraught with smiles and tears, That I might learn to take his hand And reach, by faith, a fairer land, That I might strive to do his will, A worthy mission to fulfil. God gave to me my little span That I might do the good I can, To cheer my fellows on Life's road, Who toil beneath their heavy load, To share their burdens, smooth their way By kindly words and deeds each day, He bids me smile despite the rain, And sing with joy Life's glad refrain. God gave to me a few brief years, A pathway fraught with doubts and fears, Of sun and shadows, winds that blow, That through my trials I might grow In grace and wisdom, as eacb day I journey on my toilsome way. Rexburg, Idaho. SARAH A. NELSON.