Track's End: Being the Narrative of Judson Pitcher's Strange Winter Spent There as Told by Himself and Edited by Hayden Carruth Including an Accurate Account of His Numerous Adventures, and the Facts Concerning His Several Surprising Escapes from Death Now First Printed in FullCarruth, Hayden
General
Track's End: Being the Narrative of Judson Pitcher's Strange Winter Spent There as Told by Himself and Edited by Hayden Carruth Including an Accurate Account of His Numerous Adventures, and the Facts Concerning His Several Surprising Escapes from Death Now First Printed in Full
Carruth, Hayden
Adventure stories; Dakota Territory -- Fiction; Winter -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
There was not an apple in town, nor any kind of fresh fruit, but there
were dried apples and prunes, and canned fruit and vegetables,
especially tomatoes. Of the canned things I liked the strawberries
best, and ate many, though they tasted somewhat of the tin. There were
plenty of crackers in the stores, and some dry round things,
dark-colored, which called themselves gingersnaps; I took home a large
package in great glee, thinking I had made a find; I ate one of them
by main strength and gave the rest to the cow. Butter I made several
times, with fair success, though it was not like mother's, being more
greasy.
Fresh meat I missed very much, though the few jack-rabbits I got
helped out, and were good eating, as I have said, and smelled as good
as anything could while cooking. Some other fresh meat I had also, as
you shall see directly. Once I made up my mind to have some chicken.
There was one hen who was very fat and never, I was sure, laid an egg.
I took the hatchet, which was sharp enough, and went to the barn,
intending to behead her, having it all planned how I should cook her
for my Sunday dinner. When I got to the barn the hen seemed to know
what I intended, and she looked at me with one eye, very reproachful,
and I went back to the house with my hatchet and never made any more
plans for fried chicken.
There was much bad weather in January. Often I noticed that this was
the way of it: It would snow for one day, blizzard for three, and then
for two be still, steady, bitter cold. On these latter the thermometer
would often go over forty degrees below zero, with the sun shining
bright and the sky blue; but with a frightful big yellow-and-orange
sun-dog each side of the sun, morning and evening, like two great
columns; and sometimes there would be a big orange circle around the
sun all day, with much frost in the air.
Some of the nights were light, almost, as day with the northern lights
flaming up from behind Frenchman's Butte all over the whole sky, and
all colors and shapes. On these nights the horses (they had been wild
ponies once) would stamp about in the barn, and Kaiser would growl in
his sleep. When I rubbed the cat's back it would crack and sparkle.
The wolves seemed to howl more and differently on these nights, and
once I went to the station, thinking the fire there needed fixing, and
I heard the telegraph instrument clicking fit to tear itself to
pieces. Often the next day after the northern lights would come the
storm.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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