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Updated: June 7, 2025
The next moment Hillas let go the rope. Dan reached madly. "Boy, you can't find him it'll only be two instead of one! Hillas! Hillas!" The storm screamed louder than the plainsman and began heaping the snow over three obstructions in its path, two that groped slowly and one that lay still.
The next moment Hillas let go the rope. Dan reached madly. "Boy, you can't find him it'll only be two instead of one! Hillas! Hillas!" The storm screamed louder than the plainsman and began heaping the snow over three obstructions in its path, two that groped slowly and one that lay still.
The older man leaned toward the younger. "Stove fire?" with a gesture of protest against the inadequate oil blaze. Hillas whispered, "Can't afford it. Coal is $9.00 in Haney, $18.00 here." They sat with heads thrust forward, listening in the intolerable silence. Dan lifted the blanket, hearkened a moment, then "pst!" another bit of iron fell into the pail.
I know you and the Clarks are people of education and, oh, all the rest; you could make your way anywhere." Hillas spoke slowly. "I think you have to live here to know. It means something to be a pioneer. You can't be one if you've got it in you to be a quitter. The country will be all right some day." He reached for his greatcoat, bringing out a brown-paper parcel.
Dan turned toward the stranger's voice. "We're going 'round to the blizzard-line tied from shed to shack. Take hold of it and don't let go. If you do you'll freeze before we can find you. When the wind comes, turn your back and wait. Go on when it dies down and never let go the rope. Ready? The wind's dropped. Here, Hillas, next to me."
He tiptoed across to the bench and pointed to the script beneath the plate. "Edward Winslow to his dear daughter, Alice ." He motioned toward the bed. "Her name?" Hillas nodded. Smith grinned. "Dan's right. Blood will tell, even to damning the rest of us." He sat down on the bench. "I understand more than I did, Hillas, since you crawled back after me out there. But how can you stand it here?
There were three men in the sled; Dan, the mail-carrier, crusty, belligerently Western, the self-elected guardian of every one on his route; Hillas, a younger man, hardly more than a boy, living on his pre-emption claim near the upper reaches of the stage line; the third a stranger from that part of the country vaguely defined as "the East."
Dan maintained unfriendly silence and Hillas answered: "Nothing but scrub on the banks of the creeks. Years of prairie fires have burned out the trees, we think." "Any ores mines?" The boy shook his head as he slid farther down in his worn buffalo coat of the plains. "We're too busy rustling for something to eat first. And you can't develop mines without tools." "Tools?"
Dan maintained unfriendly silence and Hillas answered. "Nothing but scrub on the banks of the creeks. Years of prairie fires have burned out the trees, we think." "Any ores mines?" The boy shook his head as he slid farther down in his worn buffalo coat of the plains. "We're too busy rustling for something to eat first. And you can't develop mines without tools." "Tools?"
"Yes, a railroad first of all." Dan shifted the lines from one fur-mittened hand to the other, swinging the freed numbed arm in rhythmic beating against his body as he looked along the horizon a bit anxiously. The stranger shivered visibly. "It's a god-forsaken country. Why don't you get out?" Hillas, following Dan's glance around the blurred sky-line, answered absently, "Usual answer is, 'Leave?
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