Over Prairie Trails | Page 2

intensity that there was no vitality left for the perception of the
things immediately around me.

ONE Farms and Roads
At ten minutes past four, of an evening late in September, I sat in the
buggy and swung out of the livery stable that boarded my horse. Peter,
the horse, was a chunky bay, not too large, nor too small; and I had
stumbled on to him through none of my sagacity. To tell the plain truth,
I wanted to get home, I had to have a horse that could stand the trip, no
other likely looking horse was offered, this one was--on a trial drive he
looked as if he might do, and so I bought him--no, not quite--I arranged

with the owner that I should make one complete trip with him and pay
a fee of five dollars in case I did not keep him. As the sequence showed,
I could not have found a better horse for the work in hand.
I turned on to the road leading north, crossed the bridge, and was
between the fields. I looked at my watch and began to time myself. The
moon was new and stood high in the western sky; the sun was sinking
on the downward stretch. It was a pleasant, warm fall day, and it
promised an evening such as I had wished for on my first drive out. Not
a cloud showed anywhere. I did not urge the horse; he made the first
mile in seven, and a half minutes, and I counted that good enough.
Then came the turn to the west; this new road was a correction line, and
I had to follow it for half a mile. There was no farmhouse on this short
bend. Then north for five miles. The road was as level as a table top--a
good, smooth, hard-beaten, age-mellowed prairie-grade. The land to
east and west was also level; binders were going and whirring their
harvest song. Nobody could have felt more contented than I did. There
were two clusters of buildings--substantial buildings--set far back from
the road, one east, the other one west, both clusters huddled homelike
and sheltered in bluffs of planted cottonwoods, straight rows of them,
three, four trees deep. My horse kept trotting leisurely along, the
wheels kept turning, a meadow lark called in a desultory way from a
nearby fence post. I was "on the go." I had torn up my roots, as it were,
I felt detached and free; and if both these prosperous looking farms had
been my property--I believe, that moment a "Thank-you" would have
bought them from me if parting from them had been the price of the
liberty to proceed. But, of course, neither one of them ever could have
been my property, for neither by temperament nor by profession had I
ever been given to the accumulation of the wealth of this world.
A mile or so farther on there stood another group of farm
buildings--this one close to the road. An unpainted barn, a long and low,
rather ramshackle structure with sagging slidedoors that could no
longer be closed, stood in the rear of the farm yard. The dwelling in
front of it was a tall, boxlike two-story house, well painted in a rather
loud green with white door and window frames. The door in front, one
window beside it, two windows above, geometrically correct, and stiff
and cold. The house was the only green thing around, however. Not a
tree, not a shrub, not even a kitchen garden that I could see. I looked

the place over critically, while I drove by. Somehow I was convinced
that a bachelor owned it--a man who made this house--which was much
too large for him --his "bunk." There it stood, slick and cold,
unhospitable as ever a house was. A house has its physiognomy as well
as a man, for him who can read it; and this one, notwithstanding its new
and shining paint, was sullen, morose, and nearly vicious and spiteful. I
turned away. I should not have cared to work for its owner.
Peter was trotting along. I do not know why on this first trip he never
showed the one of his two most prominent traits--his laziness. As I
found out later on, so long as I drove him single (he changed entirely in
this respect when he had a mate), he would have preferred to be hitched
behind, with me between the shafts pulling buggy and him. That was
his weakness, but in it there also lay his strength. As soon as I started to
dream or to be absorbed in the things around, he was sure to fall into
the slowest of walks. When then he heard the swish of the whip, he
would start