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Updated: June 28, 2025
ONCE upon a time there was a carter who brought his team and a friend into the Yellowstone Park without due thought. Presently they came upon a few of the natural beauties of the place, and that carter turned his team into his friend's team, howling: "Get out o' this, Jim. All hell's alight under our noses!" And they called the place Hell's Half-Acre to this day to witness if the carter lied.
On the opposite side of the park across the half-acre of waving bunch-grass, a many-pronged old buck in his thin red summer coat lay at the edge of the quaking aspens, sunning the velvet of his tender new horns to harden them against approaching combats.
Palms shut out from the half-acre had dropped their nuts within it, and the soil, rich in the ashes of man, was endeavoring to bring forth fairer fruit than headstones and iron crosses.
"I think I've heard of the Turner war, too," said the boy. "Was that the same as the Howard-Turner fighting?" "All of them were mixed up in each other's feuds in that Turner family," the Kentuckian replied, "but the 'Turner War' or the 'Hell's Half-Acre' feud was in Bell County, an' it started over some question o' water rights in Yellow Creek.
He wandered aimlessly down the street and crossed in the direction of hell's half-acre below the Baltimore depot. His uniform was wrinkled, his boots had not been blacked for a week, his linen was dirty, his hair rumpled, his handsome black moustache stained with drink, but he was hilariously conscious that he had two thousand dollars of Joe Hall's ill-gotten money in his pocket.
I mentioned it to-night at the County Club, when a gentleman said that this morning at Macroom a serious "row" had occurred between the local Board of Guardians there and a great crowd of labourers. The labourers thronged the Board-room, demanding the half-acre plots of land which had been promised them.
Slim little trees were bending in a sharp April wind; a small woman at the back of one of the small houses was taking whipping clothes from a line. The streets were deep in mud; Martie smiled as she read the crossposts: "High Street," "Maple Avenue," and "Sunset Avenue." Here and there a sign "Sold" embellished a barren half-acre. "You've really done wonders, Len," she said encouragingly.
'And if you gets potatoes you'll be getting a pig and then you'll want straw, and meal to fat 'un and then I'll not trust you in my barn, I can tell ye; and so there it was. And if I'd had only one half-acre of this here very down as we stands on, as isn't worth five shillings a year and I'd a given ten shillings for it my belly wouldn't a been empty now.
Then a neighbor in the next house, a half-acre away, looking across the field, called her mother to see how much Jerome Edwards looked like his father. "It gave me quite a turn when I see him come out, he looked so much like his father, for all he's so small," said she. "He walked out just like him; I declare, I didn't know but he'd come back."
A cross forty feet high, with a Christ nailed upon it, all snow-white, stood up against the deep blue sky. It was like a note of organ music in the great gray cathedral of the palms. Another forty minutes climbing brought us to the foot of the white symbol. A half-acre within white-washed palings, like any country graveyard, lay on the summit of the mountain.
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