SHE enjoyed the horseback ride to Gregory. Although
she trembled at times from the sting of the intense
cold, the exercise the riding gave her body kept the
blood circulating freely, and she made the trip to the little
town without event.
Once there, after thawing the cold out of her face and
eyes, she proceeded to do her trading, filling the saddle-
bags to their fullest.
"Which way do you live from town?" inquired the
elderly man who waited upon her at the general store where
she was doing her trading.
"Seven miles southeast," she replied.
"Indeed!" he cried as if surprised. "But you didn't
come from there today this afternoon? That would be
directly against this storm!"
She nodded.
"Well, now, who would have thought you could have
made it! 'Tis an awful day without," he cried as he re-
garded her in wonder.
"It wasn't warm, I admit," she agreed; "but I didn't
seem to mind it so much!"
"You will not go back today rather tonight?"
"Oh, yes."
"But it would be very risky. Look! It's grown dark
already!" She looked out and observed that it had really
grown almost pitch dark during the few minutes she had
lingered inside. She was for a moment at a loss for a
reply, then, conscious that the wind would be to her back,
she laughed lightly as she said:
"Oh, I shan't mind. It will take me less than forty min-
utes, and then it'll all be over," and she laughed low and
easily again. The man frowned as he pursued:
"I don't like to see you start, a stranger in such a night
as this. Since settlement following a trail is rather treach-
erous. One may leave town on one, but be on some other
before they have gone two miles. And while the wind will
be to your back, the uncertainty of direction, should you
happen to look back or even around, is confusing. One
loses sense of the way they are going. I'd suggest that you
stick over until morning. It would be safer," he concluded,
shaking his head dubiously.
"Oh, I am not afraid," she cried cheerfully. She was
ready then, and with her usual dash, she crossed the short
board walk, vaulted into the saddle, and a few minutes
later the dull clatter of her horse's hoofs died in the distance.
With the wind to her back she rode easily. She enjoyed
the exercise the riding gave her, and was thrilled instead of
being frightened over what was before her. She followed
quite easily the trail that had taken her into the village.
In due time she pa**ed a house that she had observed when
going in that stood to one side of the trail, and then suddenly
the mare came to an abrupt halt. She peered into the dark-
ness before her. A barbwire fence was across the trail.
She could not seem to recall it being there on her way in.
Yet she argued with herself that she might have come around
and not noticed it. For a moment she was in doubt as to
which way to go to get around it. As she viewed it, it did
not extend perhaps more than a quarter mile or a half at
the most, after which she could come around to the other
side and strike the trail again. She gave the ever faithful
mare rein and they sailed down the fence line to where she
estimated it must shortly end.
She did not know that this was the old U-Cross fence,
and that because it stood on Indian land, it had not been
taken up when the great ranch had been moved into the
next county when giving up to the settler. In truth only a
few steps to her right she had left the trail she had followed
into town. The old trail had been cut off when The Home-
steader in whose house she had seen the light, had laid out
his claim, and it was this which caused the confusion. She
did not know that one could go to town, or to the railroad
today and returning on the morrow, find the route changed.
Homesteaders were without scruples very often in such mat-
ters. The law of the state was that before a followed trail
was cut off, it should be advertised for five weeks in advance
to that effect; but not one in twenty of the settlers knew
that such a law existed.
So Agnes Stewart had ridden fully two miles before she
became apprehensive of the fact that she had lost her way.
Now the most practical plan for her would been to have
turned directly about and gone back to where she had started
down the fence. But, charged with impatient youth, she
sought what she felt to be the quickest way about. Now
upon looking closely she could see that wires hung down in
places and that a post here and there had sagged. She urged
the mare over a place and then, once over, went in the direc-
tion she felt was home. The stiff, zero night air had some-
what dulled her, and she made the mistake of looking back,
thereby confusing her direction to the point where after a
few minutes she could not have sworn in what direction
she was going, except that the wind was still at her back.
She peered into the darkness before her. She thought
there would be lights of homesteaders about, and while
there was, the storm made it impossible for her to see them.
After a time she became alarmed, and recalled her father's
warning, also the store-keeper's. But her natural determi-
nation was to go on, that she would get her bearings, pres-
ently. So, with a jerking of her body as if to stimulate
circulation of the blood, she bent in the saddle and rode an-
other mile or more. She had crossed draws, ascended
hills, had stumbled over trails that always appeared to lead
in the wrong direction, and at last gave up for lost at
a summit where the wind and fine snow chilled her to
the marrow. She was thoroughly frightened now. She
thought to return to Gregory, but when she turned her eyes
against the wind, she could catch no sight of anything.
She was sure then that she could not make it back there had
she wished to. Not knowing what to do she allowed the
mare to trot ahead without any effort to direct her. She
had not gone far before she realized that they were follow-
ing a level stretch. And because she seemed to keep warm
when the horse moved, she allowed the mare to continue.
A half mile she estimated had been covered when out of
the darkness some dark shape took outline. She peered
ahead; the mare was ambling gently toward it, and she saw
after a time that it was a quaint, oblong structure, a sod
house apparently, many of which she had observed since
coming West into the new country. She was relieved. At
least she was not to freeze to d**h upon the prairie, a fact
that she had begun to regard as a possibility a few minutes
before. The mare fell into a walk and presently came up to
a low, square house, built of sod, with its odd hip roof re-
posing darkly in the outline. She called, "Hello," and was
patient. The wind bit into her, and she was conscious of
the bitter cold, and that she was beginning to feel its severe
effects. There was no response, and she called again, dis-
mounting in the meantime. When she saw no one she
went around to where she observed a low door at which
she knocked vigorously. From all appearances the place
was occupied, but no one was at home. She tried the
knob. It gave, and she pushed the door open cautiously.
All was darkness within. Then, dropping the bridle reins
she ventured inside. She could not understand why her
feet made no sound upon the floor, but in truth there was no
floor except the earth. She felt in her coat pocket and
presently produced a match. When the flaring light il-
luminated the surroundings, she gazed about. It was, she
quickly observed, a one room house. There was at her side
a monkey stove with an oven on the pipe; while at her left
stood a table with dishes piled thereupon. There was also
a lantern on the table and this she adjusted and lighted be-
fore the blaze died. She swung this about, and saw there
was a bed with dirty bed clothing, also a trunk, some boxes
and what nots.
"A bachelor, I'd wager," she muttered, and then blushed
when she considered her position. She looked about fur-
ther, and upon seeing fuel, proceeded to build a fire. This
done, she pa**ed outside, found a path that extended north-
west, and, leading the horse, soon came to a small barn.
Here she saw two stalls with a manger filled with hay.
She had to push the mare back to keep her from entering
and making herself at home. She pa**ed around the barn
and entered the door of a small shed, for cattle obviously,
but empty. Hay was in the manger, and, taking the bits
from the mare's mouth, she tied the reins to the manger,
unsaddled, and, leaving the shed after fastening the door,
she carried the saddle with her to the house.
The little stove was roaring from the fire she had started,
and she was surprised to find the room becoming warm.
She placed the saddle in a convenient position and lifted
her cap, whereupon her heavy hair fell over her shoulders.
She caught it up and wound it into a braid quickly, guiltily.
. . . She unbu*toned her coat then, and took a seat.
"There is no one here," she muttered to herself. "So
since I don't know the way home, and there's no one here
to tell me, guess I'll have to give it up until morning." She
was thoughtful then. This was something of an adventure.
Lost upon the prairie: a bachelor's homestead: there alone.
Then suddenly she started. From the storm swept outside
she thought she caught a sound, and thereupon became
quickly alert, but the next moment her tension relaxed. It
was only the wind at the corner of the house. The room
had become warm, she was uncomfortable with the heavy
coat about her. She was conscious, moreover, that her eyes
were heavy, sleep was knocking at her door. She shook off
the depression and fell again to thinking. She wondered
who could live there and she continued in her random
thinking until shortly, unconsciously, she fell into a doze.
She could not recall whether she had dozed an hour or
a minute, but she was awakened suddenly and jumped to her
feet; for, from the storm she had caught the sound of horses
and wagons pa**ing the house at only a short distance. She
stood terrified. Her eyes were wide, her lips were apart as
she listened to the grinding of the wagon wheels and they
went directly toward the barn. Then all was silent, and
she placed her hand to her heart, to still the frightened
beating there. She heard the horses shake in their har-
ness, and came to herself. The man of the place had re-
turned; she had taken charge of his house, he a bachelor and
she a maid. She felt embarra**ed. She got into her coat
and bu*toned it about her hurriedly; and then drawing the
cap over her head, she waited, expectantly, although she was
sure that time sufficient had expired, whoever drove the
teams had not come toward the house. She could hear the
horses, but she could not ascertain that they were being
unhitched. She was undecided for a moment, then, catch-
ing up the lantern, she quickly went outside. Two wagons
loaded heavily with coal greeted her. She pa**ed to the
front and found four horses, white with the frost from
perspiration, standing hitched to the loads. She pa**ed to
their heads. No one was about, and she was puzzled. She
pa**ed around to the other side, and as she did so, stumbled
over something. With the lantern raised, she peered down
and then suddenly screamed when she discovered it was a
man. Then, on second thought, fearing he had fallen from
the wagon and become injured, she put her arm through the
bail of the lantern, reached down, caught him by the shoul-
ders and shook him. He was not injured, she was relieved
to see; but what was the matter? In the next moment she
gave a quick start. She realized in a twinkling then, that
the man was freezing perhaps already frozen!
With quick intuition she reached and caught him beneath
the arms, and turning, dragged him to the house. She
opened the door, and lifting his body, carried him in her
arms across the room and laid him upon the bed, Then,
realizing that the night was severely cold, she rushed out,
closing the door behind her, and a half hour later had the
horses unhitched, unharnessed and tied in their stalls. This
done she returned hurriedly to the house to find the man
still unconscious, but breathing heavily. She did not know
at once what to do, but going to his feet, took off his shoes.
This was rather difficult, and she feared that from the way
they felt, his feet were frozen. She rubbed them vigor-
ously, and was relieved after a time to feel the blood cir-
culating and the same giving forth warmth. She sighed
with relief and then pulling off the heavy gloves, she ex-
ercised the same proceeding with the hands, and was cheered
to feel them give forth warmth after a time. She un-
bu*toned the coat at his throat, and rolling him over, man-
aged to get it off of him. Next she unbu*toned the collar,
drew off the cap, and for the first time saw his face. It was
swollen and very dark, she thought. She brought the
lantern closer and looked again. She gave a start then and
opened her mouth in surprise. Then she fell to thinking.
She went back to the chair beside the fire and reflected.
"It is all the same, of course," she said to herself. "But
I was just surprised. It all seems rather singular,” she
mused, and tried to compose herself. The surprise she had
just experienced, had, notwithstanding her effort at self pos-
session, disconcerted her. She turned suddenly, for she had
caught the sound of a noise from the bed. She got up
quickly and went to him. He had turned from his side to
his back. She stood over him with the lantern raised. To
see him better she leaned over, holding the lantern so that
her face was full in the light. She had unbu*toned her
coat at the throat, and seeking more comfort, had also re-
moved the cap she wore. She had, however, forgotten her
hair which had been held about her head by the cap and it
now fell in braids over her slender shoulders. On the in-
stant the man's eyes opened. He raised on an elbow, looked
into her face, smiled wanly, and murmured:
"It is you, Agnes. You have come and oh, I am glad,
for I have waited for you so long." In the next breath he
had fallen back upon the bed and was sleeping again, while
she staggered in great surprise. Who was this man that he
should call her name and say that he had waited?
But with Jean Baptiste, he snored in peace. His dream
had come true; the one of his vision had come as he had
hoped she would. But Jean Baptiste was not aware of the
debt he owed her; that through strange providence in get-
ting lost she had come into his sod house and saved his life.
But what he was yet to know, and which is the great problem
of our story, the girl, his dream girl, Agnes Stewart, hap-
pened to be white, while he, Jean Baptiste, The Home-
steader, was a Negro.