Letters of a Woman Homesteader | Page 5

though, to have just as good a time as possible, so I had a fish-hook in
my knapsack.
Presently, about noon, we came to a little dell where the grass was as
soft and as green as a lawn. The creek kept right up against the hills on
one side and there were groves of quaking asp and cottonwoods that
made shade, and service-bushes and birches that shut off the ugly hills
on the other side. We dismounted and prepared to noon. We caught a
few grasshoppers and I cut a birch pole for a rod. The trout are so
beautiful now, their sides are so silvery, with dashes of old rose and
orange, their speckles are so black, while their backs look as if they had
been sprinkled with gold-dust. They bite so well that it doesn't require
any especial skill or tackle to catch plenty for a meal in a few minutes.
In a little while I went back to where I had left my pony browsing, with
eight beauties. We made a fire first, then I dressed my trout while it
was burning down to a nice bed of coals. I had brought a frying-pan
and a bottle of lard, salt, and buttered bread. We gathered a few
service-berries, our trout were soon browned, and with water, clear, and
as cold as ice, we had a feast. The quaking aspens are beginning to turn
yellow, but no leaves have fallen. Their shadows dimpled and twinkled
over the grass like happy children. The sound of the dashing, roaring
water kept inviting me to cast for trout, but I didn't want to carry them
so far, so we rested until the sun was getting low and then started for
home, with the song of the locusts in our ears warning us that the
melancholy days are almost here. We would come up over the top of a
hill into the glory of a beautiful sunset with its gorgeous colors, then
down into the little valley already purpling with mysterious twilight. So

on, until, just at dark, we rode into our corral and a mighty tired, sleepy
little girl was powerfully glad to get home.
After I had mailed my other letter I was afraid that you would think me
plumb bold about the little Bo-Peep, and was a heap sorrier than you
can think. If you only knew the hardships these poor men endure. They
go two together and sometimes it is months before they see another
soul, and rarely ever a woman. I wouldn't act so free in town, but these
men see people so seldom that they are awkward and embarrassed. I
like to put them at ease, and it is to be done only by being kind of
hail-fellow-well-met with them. So far not one has ever misunderstood
me and I have been treated with every courtesy and kindness, so I am
powerfully glad you understand. They really enjoy doing these little
things like fixing our dinner, and if my poor company can add to any
one's pleasure I am too glad.
Sincerely yours, ELINORE RUPERT.
Mr. Stewart is going to put up my house for me in pay for my extra
work.
I am ashamed of my long letters to you, but I am such a murderer of
language that I have to use it all to tell anything.
Please don't entirely forget me. Your letters mean so much to me and I
will try to answer more promptly.

IV
A CHARMING ADVENTURE AND ZEBULON PIKE
_September 28, 1909._
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
Your second card just reached me and I am plumb glad because,
although I answered your other, I was wishing I could write you, for I

have had the most charming adventure.
It is the custom here for as many women as care to to go in a party over
into Utah to Ashland (which is over a hundred miles away) after fruit.
They usually go in September, and it takes a week to make the trip.
They take wagons and camp out and of course have a good time, but,
the greater part of the way, there isn't even the semblance of a road and
it is merely a semblance anywhere. They came over to invite me to join
them. I was of two minds--I wanted to go, but it seemed a little risky
and a big chance for discomfort, since we would have to cross the
Uinta Mountains, and a snowstorm likely any time. But I didn't like to
refuse outright, so we left it to Mr. Stewart. His "Ye're nae gang"
sounded powerful final, so the ladies departed in awed silence and I
assumed a martyr-like air and acted like a very much abused woman,
although he did only what I