Dust | Page 4

work in field and barn. Exposure and a lung
wound from a rebel bullet had sent Wade home an invalid, and during
the five years which had followed, he had realized only too well how
little help he had been to her.
It is not likely he would have had the iron persistency of purpose to
drag her through this new stern trial if he had not known that in her
heart, as in his, there gnawed ever an all-devouring hunger to work land
of their own, a fervent aspiration to establish a solid basis of
self-sustentation upon which their children might build. From the day a
letter had come from Peter Mall, an ex-comrade in Wade's old regiment,
saying the quarter-section next his own could be bought by paying
annually a dollar and twenty-five cents an acre for seven years, their
hopes had risen into determination that had become unshakable. Before
the eyes of Jacob and Sarah Wade there had hovered, like a promise,
the picture of the snug farm that could be evolved from this virgin soil.
Strengthened by this vision and stimulated by the fact of Wade's
increasing weakness, they had sold their few possessions, except the
simplest necessities for camping, had made a canvas cover for their
wagon, stocked up with smoked meat, corn meal and coffee, tied old
Brindle behind, fastened a coop of chickens against the wagon-box and,
without faltering, had made the long pilgrimage. Their indomitable
courage and faith, Martin's physical strength and the pulling power of
their two ring-boned horses --this was their capital.
It seemed pitifully meager to Wade at that despondent moment,
exhausted as he was by the long, hard journey and the sultry heat.
Never had he been so taunted by a sense of failure, so torn by the
haunting knowledge that he must soon leave his family. To die--that
was nothing; but the fears of what his death might mean to this group,
gripped his heart and shook his soul.
If only Martin were more tender! There was something so ruthless in
the boy, so overbearing and heartless. Not that he was ever deliberately

cruel, but there was an insensibility to the feelings of others, a capacity
placidly to ignore them, that made Wade tremble for the future. Martin
would work, and work hard; he was no shirk, but would he ever feel
any responsibility toward his younger brother and sister? Would he be
loyal to his mother? Wade wondered if his wife ever felt as he
did--almost afraid of this son of theirs. He had a way of making his
father seem foolishly inexperienced and ineffectual.
"I reckon," Wade analysed laboriously, "it's because I'm gettin' less
able all the time and he's growing so fast--him limber an' quick, and me
all thumbs. There ain't nothing like just plain muscle and size to make a
fellow feel as if he know'd it all."
Martin had never seemed more competent than this evening as, supper
over, he harnessed the horses and helped his mother set the little
caravan in motion. It was Martin who guided them to the creek, Martin
who decided just where to locate their camp, Martin who, early the next
morning, unloaded the wagon and made a temporary tent from its cover,
and Martin who set forth on a saddleless horse in search of Peter Mall.
When he returned, the big, kindly man came with him, and in Martin's
arms there squealed and wriggled a shoat.
"A smart boy you've got, Jacob," chuckled Peter, jovially, after the first
heart-warming greetings. "See that critter! Blame me if Martin, here,
didn't speak right up and ask me to lend 'er to you!" And he collapsed
into gargantuan laughter.
"I promised when she'd growed up and brought pigs, we'd give him
back two for one," Martin hastily explained.
"That's what he said," nodded Peter, carefully switching his navy plug
to the opposite cheek before settling down to reply, "and sez I, 'Why,
Martin, what d'ye want o' that there shoat? You ain't got nothin' to keep
her on!' 'If I can borrow the pig,' sez he, 'I reckon I can borrow the feed
somewheres.' God knows, he'll find that ain't so plentiful, but he's got
the right idea. A new country's a poor man's country and fellows like us
have to stand together. It's borrow and lend out here. I know where you
can get some seed wheat if you want to try puttin' it in this fall. There's
a man by the name of Perry--lives just across the Missouri line--who
has thrashed fifteen hundred bushel and he'll lend you three hundred or
so. He's willing to take a chance, but if you get a crop he wants you
should give him back an extra three hundred."

It was a hard