O Pioneers! | Page 7

that the land wanted to be let alone, to preserve its
own fierce strength, its peculiar, savage kind of beauty, its
uninterrupted mournfulness.
The wagon jolted along over the frozen road. The two friends had less
to say to each other than usual, as if the cold had somehow penetrated
to their hearts.
"Did Lou and Oscar go to the Blue to cut wood to-day?" Carl asked.
"Yes. I'm almost sorry I let them go, it's turned so cold. But mother
frets if the wood gets low." She stopped and put her hand to her
forehead, brushing back her hair. "I don't know what is to become of us,
Carl, if father has to die. I don't dare to think about it. I wish we could
all go with him and let the grass grow back over everything."
Carl made no reply. Just ahead of them was the Norwegian graveyard,
where the grass had, indeed, grown back over everything, shaggy and
red, hiding even the wire fence. Carl realized that he was not a very
helpful companion, but there was nothing he could say.
"Of course," Alexandra went on, steadying her voice a little, "the boys
are strong and work hard, but we've always depended so on father that I
don't see how we can go ahead. I almost feel as if there were nothing to
go ahead for."
"Does your father know?"
"Yes, I think he does. He lies and counts on his fingers all day. I think
he is trying to count up what he is leaving for us. It's a comfort to him

that my chickens are laying right on through the cold weather and
bringing in a little money. I wish we could keep his mind off such
things, but I don't have much time to be with him now."
"I wonder if he'd like to have me bring my magic lantern over some
evening?"
Alexandra turned her face toward him. "Oh, Carl! Have you got it?"
"Yes. It's back there in the straw. Didn't you notice the box I was
carrying? I tried it all morning in the drug-store cellar, and it worked
ever so well, makes fine big pictures."
"What are they about?"
"Oh, hunting pictures in Germany, and Robinson Crusoe and funny
pictures about cannibals. I'm going to paint some slides for it on glass,
out of the Hans Andersen book."
Alexandra seemed actually cheered. There is often a good deal of the
child left in people who have had to grow up too soon. "Do bring it
over, Carl. I can hardly wait to see it, and I'm sure it will please father.
Are the pictures colored? Then I know he'll like them. He likes the
calendars I get him in town. I wish I could get more. You must leave
me here, mustn't you? It's been nice to have company."
Carl stopped the horses and looked dubiously up at the black sky. "It's
pretty dark. Of course the horses will take you home, but I think I'd
better light your lantern, in case you should need it."
He gave her the reins and climbed back into the wagon-box, where he
crouched down and made a tent of his overcoat. After a dozen trials he
succeeded in lighting the lantern, which he placed in front of Alexandra,
half covering it with a blanket so that the light would not shine in her
eyes. "Now, wait until I find my box. Yes, here it is. Good-night,
Alexandra. Try not to worry." Carl sprang to the ground and ran off
across the fields toward the Linstrum homestead. "Hoo, hoo-o-o-o!" he
called back as he disappeared over a ridge and dropped into a sand

gully. The wind answered him like an echo, "Hoo, hoo-o-o-o-o-o!"
Alexandra drove off alone. The rattle of her wagon was lost in the
howling of the wind, but her lantern, held firmly between her feet,
made a moving point of light along the highway, going deeper and
deeper into the dark country.

II
On one of the ridges of that wintry waste stood the low log house in
which John Bergson was dying. The Bergson homestead was easier to
find than many another, because it overlooked Norway Creek, a
shallow, muddy stream that sometimes flowed, and sometimes stood
still, at the bottom of a winding ravine with steep, shelving sides
overgrown with brush and cottonwoods and dwarf ash. This creek gave
a sort of identity to the farms that bordered upon it. Of all the
bewildering things about a new country, the absence of human
landmarks is one of the most depressing and disheartening. The houses
on the Divide were small and were usually tucked away in low places;
you did not see them until you came directly upon them. Most of