Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
There was a distressful space to cross, of sand and slippery mud and
drowned vegetation, including the remains of her garden; the look of
everything was changed. Only the ditch-bank against the reddened sky
supplied the usual landmark. Its crest was black with shovelers, and up
and down in lurid light climbed the scraper-teams; climbed and dumped, and
dropped over the bank to climb again, like figures in a stage procession.
There was a bedlam roar and crackle of pitchy fires, rattle of harness,
clank of scraper-pans, shouts of men to the cattle, oaths and words of
command; and this would go forward unceasingly till the banks held water.
And what was the use of contending?
Nancy felt bitterly the insignificance of such small scattered folk as her
father, pitiful even in their spite. Their vengeance was like the malice of
field-mice or rabbits, which the farmers fenced out of their fields into
the desert where they belonged. What could such as they do either to help
or hinder this invincible march of capital into the country where they,
with untold hardships, had located the first claims? And some of them were
ready enough, for a little temporary relief, to part with their birthright
to these clever sons of Jacob.
“Out we go, to find some other wilderness for them to take away from us! We
are only mossbacks,” said the daughter of Esau.
As she spoke, half aloud to herself, a man rushed past her down the bank,
flattened himself on his hands, laid his face to the water, and drank and
paused to pant, and drank again, while she could have counted a score. Then
he lifted his head, sighed, and stretched himself back with a groan of
complete exhaustion.
The firelight touched his face, and showed her Travis: haggard,
hollow-eyed, soaked with ditch-water, and matted with mud, looking as if he
had been dragged bodily through the ditch-bank, like thread through a piece
of cloth.
Nancy did not try to avoid him.
“Oh, is it you?” he marveled, softly smiling up at her. “What a splendid
ride you made! Did nobody thank you? Finlayson said he couldn't find you
when he was leaving camp.”
Nancy answered not a word; she was trembling so that she feared to betray
herself by speaking.
“I was coming to say good-by, when I had washed my face,” he continued. “I
got my time to-night.”
“Your time?”
“My time-check. They are going to put another man in my place. So you
needn't hate me any longer on account of the ditch; you can transfer all
that to the next fellow.”
“Isn't that just like them? They never can do anything fair!”
“Like who? Do you suppose I'm going to kick about it? The only wonder is
they kept me on so long.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account