MEMORY’S STOREHOUSE UNLOCKED TRUE STORIES By John T. Bristow Pioneer Days In Wetmore And Northeast Kansas January — 1948 WETMORE, KANSAS and FRESNO, CALIFORNIA 1005 Ferger Avenue image2 “The SPECTATOR FORCE”— In “GAY NINETIES” This book does not carry the actual work of these pictured Associates—but it does bring them into the writings. The Author owes much to them for helpful co-operation during our newspaper regime—and maybe also, if the truth were known, they have been, in a manner, quite helpful in the actual writing. The book is dedicated to the memory of them. INDEX “The SPECTATOR FORCE”—In “GAY NINETIES” INDEX SUNSHINE AND ROSES Wetmore The Mineral Spring Wetmore in 1869-70 Our New Temporary Home Roses The Girls Didn’t Get LITTLE FILLERS CONSIDERATE KID THE BOY OF YESTERYEAR CAREFUL PLANNING RED RIFLEMEN A TWOTIMER TEXAS CATTLE AND RATTLESNAKES WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE DONE IN CALIFORNIA THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE MISS INTERPRETED THE “CIRCUS” LAYOUT Honesty—The Better Policy INNOCENT FALSEHOOD FATHER AND SONS PLUGGING FOR HER DADDY THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. HENRY, et al. SMALLPOX PESTILENCE CORRECT VISION GRAPES—RIPENED ON FRIENDSHIP’S VINE LOCAL “BOARD OF TRADE” FAMILY AFFAIR COMPLIMENTARY TO THE “KIDS” ANOTHER BRIGHT LITTLE STAR LLEWELLYN CASTLE MORE ABOUT THE COLONY FOLK HAPPY DAZE ODD CHARACTERS—COLORFUL, PICTURESQUE MY BEST INVESTMENT THE VIGILANTES MOUNT ERICKSON TURNING BACK THE PAGES WANTS INFORMATION Fix me: MEMORY’S STOREHOUSE UNLOCKED DESERT CHIVALRY THE WIFE—AT GOODSPRINGS MONEY MUSK GONE WITH THE WIND WHITE CHRISTMAS UNCLE NICK’S BOOMERANG SHORT CHANGED SUNSHINE AND ROSES Because of World Unrest and conditions with the Printing Fraternity what they are, this job has lain on the shelf for over a year. Most of the articles are dated, and appear just as written and published. Later unpublished articles remain as written at the time of preparation. Except for 1 story, and a few “Notes” the issue bears the date of January, 1948—and with situations running back into pioneer times. THE AUTHOR. This foreword is being written in California—in the shadow of Campbell mountain, a 1700-foot detachment from lofty Sierra Nevada range, 25 miles east of Fresno, on Christmas Day, 1947—six days before my eighty-sixth birthday. I am writing on an envelope—and a used one, at that—out in the open, in Anna’s and Virginia Anne’s rose garden, at the ranch home of my nephew, Sam Bristow, from whose orchard came the choice oranges sampled by our Wetmore friends at Christmastimes. I am writing in the rose garden for the same reason I Imagine Gray’s Elegy was written in the Country Churchyard—for privacy. My nephew’s home is filled with relatives, seventeen by actual count, waiting for the call to a turkey dinner.