Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 7, 1928 — page 131: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HEARTBREAK TRAIL, think I’ll ever get back my faith in the essential goodness of things on God’s earth. “We know there are great, good men around us—General Robinson here, Luther Roberts—a lot of them; but what’s the use of all their striving against such a horde of the devil’s own imps? “A free country! Stars and Stripes! Sound the trum- “pets, beat the drums! Long live the President of the United States! “Bah! His infernal excellency, Pres- ident Franklin Pierce is very busy tell- ing refined jokes over the teacups in Washington drawing-rooms, while his own appointees in the territorial gov- ernment are hiring professional cut- throats to butcher men and women.” “Where do you reckon you’re going from here, Reuel?’? Hubert inquired anxiously, naively, quite overcome by his young friend’s bitter eloquence. “T wish I knew of a place to go,” said Reuel with a long sigh. “I’d keep away from the damnable sophistication of the large cities. Jowa and Minnesota seemed like promising, peaceful places. There’s no slavery in the Northern ter- ritories, and the settlers have been thrifty and law-abiding. “ But only the confirmed bachelor is foot-loose, Hubert, and I quickly re- nounced single harness when first I saw Miranda. If Miranda could bear to quit fashionable society and leave the cities, I’d take her north and be a far- mer on the Northern prairies. “IT have some money of my own, you know, and there’d be no desperate struggle. Td be independent, I'd have no boss, and all the misbegotten politicians could twiddle their thumbs outside my fences.” “T have no Miranda in my life,” mused Hubert, a pathetic quaver in his voice, “and I’m kind of a lonely son- of-a-gun, but I’d like to settle down if there was a likely place to settle. What you goin’ to do, Reuel, if that Miranda lady don’t want to quit the cities?” God bless the 271 “Why, I suppose her companionship should be enough happiness for any man, and I'll have to make her people my people, and her God my God. But I shall be an unpleasant old gentleman, Hubert, for at the age of twenty-three [ have formed a poor opinion of my fellow men.” It was well after midnight when Hubert went to his own room. Reuel felt exhausted, but he shook down the cinders in the sheet iron stove, re- plenished the fuel, and sat down close to the stove, turning up the collar of his jacket, jamming his hands deep into the pockets, and shivering a little. The wind howled about the building, shook the windows, and strained at the window panes as though it would burst them inward. Some wagons passed the hotel, and their wheels creaked in the dry, powdery snow, while the drivers yelled and swore at the mules. The winter seemed a melancholy and ungracious season, and then the young man wondered why people sought homes in such a region when there were smiling lands of perpetual sum- mer waiting to be colonized. The mule drivers were probably hurrying overland with freight for some river steamer farther south, and their wagons would be stalled in the snowdrifts again and again on the open road. They would work prodigiously with shovels, cursing and abusing the mules, and fight their way onward from drift to drift. There was a great deal of gratuitous, incidental labor and pain in the world’s work, and the vic- tims seemed strangely supine, doing little to better their lot or alleviate the pain. Near four o’clock some misguided rooster crowed prematurely in a neigh- boring yard, and Reuel was unduly ir- ritated by the bird’s presumption. Boards creaked in the corridor out- side the door, and advancing steps sounded unusually heavy and loud in the deathly stillness of the night. COPNICGLOOOKS (C@