I had a hard time that day. The road was already cut up and at the
crossings of the swales the sod on which we relied to bear up our wheels
was destroyed by the host of teams that had gone on before me. That
endless stream across the Dubuque ferry was flowing on ahead of me; and
the fast-going part of it was passing me every hour like swift schooners
outstripping a slow, round-bellied Dutch square-rigger.
The mire-holes were getting deeper and deeper; for the weather was
showery. I helped many teams out of their troubles, and was helped by
some; though my load was not overly heavy, and I had four true-pulling
heavy cows that, when mated with the Alderney bull I had left behind me
with Mr. Westervelt, gave me the best stock of cattle--they and my other
cows--in Monterey County, until Judge Horace Stone began bringing in his
pure-bred Shorthorns; and even then, by grading up with Shorthorn blood
I was thought by many to have as good cattle as he had. So I got out of
most of my troubles on the Old Ridge Road with my cows, as I did later
with them and their descendants when the wheat crop failed us in the
'seventies; but I had a hard time that day. It grew better in the
afternoon; and as night drew on I could see the road for miles ahead of
me a solitary stretch of highway, without a team; but far off, coming
over a hill toward me, I saw a figure that looked strange and mysterious
to me, somehow.
5
It seemed to be a woman or girl, for I could see even at that distance
her skirts blown out by the brisk prairie wind. She came over the hill
as if running, and at its summit she appeared to stop as if looking for
something afar off. At that distance I could not tell whether she gazed
backward, forward, to the left or the right, but it impressed me that
she stood gazing backward over the route to the west along which she had
come. Then, it was plain, she began running down the gentle declivity
toward me, and once she fell and either lay or sat on the ground for
some time. Presently, though, she got up, and began coming on more
slowly, sometimes as if running, most of the time going from side to
side of the road as if staggering--and finally she went out of my sight,
dropping into a wide valley, to the bottom of which I could not see. It
was strange, as it appeared to me; this lone woman, the prairie, night,
and the sense of trouble; but, I thought, like most queer things, it
would have some quite simple explanation if one could see it close-by.
I made camp a few hundred yards from the road by a creek, along the
banks of which grew many willows, and some little groves of box-elders
and popples, which latter in this favorable locality grew eight or ten
feet tall, and were already breaking out their soft greenish catkins and
tender, quivering, pointed leaves: in one of these clumps I hid my
wagon, and in the midst of it I kindled my camp-fire. It seemed already
a little odd to find myself where I could not look out afar over
the prairie.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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