Elinore Pruitt Stewart - Letters of a Woman Homesteader
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Elinore Pruitt Stewart >> Letters of a Woman Homesteader
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LETTERS
OF A WOMAN
HOMESTEADER
BY
_Elinore Pruitt Stewart_
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1913 AND 1914, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY CO.
1914, BY ELINORE PRUITT STEWART
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published May 1914_
PUBLISHERS' NOTE
The writer of the following letters is a young woman who lost her
husband in a railroad accident and went to Denver to seek support for
herself and her two-year-old daughter, Jerrine. Turning her hand to the
nearest work, she went out by the day as house-cleaner and laundress.
Later, seeking to better herself, she accepted employment as a
housekeeper for a well-to-do Scotch cattle-man, Mr. Stewart, who had
taken up a quarter-section in Wyoming. The letters, written through
several years to a former employer in Denver, tell the story of her new
life in the new country. They are genuine letters, and are printed as
written, except for occasional omissions and the alteration of some of
the names.
4 PARK ST.
CONTENTS
I. THE ARRIVAL AT BURNT FORK 3
II. FILING A CLAIM 7
III. A BUSY, HAPPY SUMMER 15
IV. A CHARMING ADVENTURE AND ZEBULON PIKE 23
V. SEDALIA AND REGALIA 45
VI. A THANKSGIVING-DAY WEDDING 54
VII. ZEBULON PIKE VISITS HIS OLD HOME 60
VIII. A HAPPY CHRISTMAS 64
IX. A CONFESSION 77
X. THE STORY OF CORA BELLE 81
XI. ZEBBIE'S STORY 100
XII. A CONTENTED COUPLE 117
XIII. PROVING UP 133
XIV. THE NEW HOUSE 137
XV. THE "STOCKING-LEG" DINNER 143
XVI. THE HORSE-THIEVES 157
XVII. AT GAVOTTE'S CAMP 180
XVIII. THE HOMESTEADER'S MARRIAGE AND A LITTLE FUNERAL 184
XIX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE 193
XX. THE JOYS OF HOMESTEADING 213
XXI. A LETTER OF JERRINE'S 218
XXII. THE EFFICIENT MRS. O'SHAUGHNESSY 220
XXIII. HOW IT HAPPENED 225
XXIV. A LITTLE ROMANCE 230
XXV. AMONG THE MORMONS 256
XXVI. SUCCESS 279
* * * * *
LETTERS OF A WOMAN HOMESTEADER
I
THE ARRIVAL AT BURNT FORK
BURNT FORK, WYOMING,
_April 18, 1909._
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
Are you thinking I am lost, like the Babes in the Wood? Well, I am not
and I'm sure the robins would have the time of their lives getting
leaves to cover me out here. I am 'way up close to the Forest Reserve
of Utah, within half a mile of the line, sixty miles from the railroad.
I was twenty-four hours on the train and two days on the stage, and oh,
those two days! The snow was just beginning to melt and the mud was
about the worst I ever heard of.
The first stage we tackled was just about as rickety as it could very
well be and I had to sit with the driver, who was a Mormon and so
handsome that I was not a bit offended when he insisted on making love
all the way, especially after he told me that he was a widower Mormon.
But, of course, as I had no chaperone I looked very fierce (not that
that was very difficult with the wind and mud as allies) and told him
my actual opinion of Mormons in general and particular.
Meantime my new employer, Mr. Stewart, sat upon a stack of baggage and
was dreadfully concerned about something he calls his "Tookie," but I
am unable to tell you what that is. The road, being so muddy, was full
of ruts and the stage acted as if it had the hiccoughs and made us all
talk as though we were affected in the same way. Once Mr. Stewart asked
me if I did not think it a "gey duir trip." I told him he could call it
gay if he wanted to, but it didn't seem very hilarious to me. Every
time the stage struck a rock or a rut Mr. Stewart would "hoot," until
I began to wish we would come to a hollow tree or a hole in the ground
so he could go in with the rest of the owls.
At last we "arriv," and everything is just lovely for me. I have a
very, very comfortable situation and Mr. Stewart is absolutely no
trouble, for as soon as he has his meals he retires to his room and
plays on his bagpipe, only he calls it his "bugpeep." It is "The
Campbells are Coming," without variations, at intervals all day long
and from seven till eleven at night. Sometimes I wish they would make
haste and get here.
There is a saddle horse especially for me and a little shotgun with
which I am to kill sage chickens. We are between two trout streams, so
you can think of me as being happy when the snow is through melting and
the water gets clear. We have the finest flock of Plymouth Rocks and
get so many nice eggs. It sure seems fine to have all the cream I want
after my town experiences. Jerrine is making good use of all the good
things we are having. She rides the pony to water every day.
I have not filed on my land yet because the snow is fifteen feet deep
on it, and I think I would rather see what I am getting, so will wait
until summer. They have just three seasons here, winter and July and
August. We are to plant our garden the last of May. When it is so I can
get around I will see about land and find out all I can and tell you.
I think this letter is about to reach thirty-secondly, so I will send
you my sincerest love and quit tiring you. Please write me when you
have time.
Sincerely yours,
ELINORE RUPERT.
II
FILING A CLAIM
_May 24, 1909._
DEAR, DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
Well, I have filed on my land and am now a bloated landowner. I waited
a long time to even _see_ land in the reserve, and the snow is yet too
deep, so I thought that as they have but three months of summer and
spring together and as I wanted the land for a ranch anyway, perhaps I
had better stay in the valley. So I have filed adjoining Mr. Stewart
and I am well pleased. I have a grove of twelve swamp pines on my
place, and I am going to build my house there. I thought it would be
very romantic to live on the peaks amid the whispering pines, but I
reckon it would be powerfully uncomfortable also, and I guess my twelve
can whisper enough for me; and a dandy thing is, I have all the nice
snow-water I want; a small stream runs right through the center of my
land and I am quite near wood.
A neighbor and his daughter were going to Green River, the county-seat,
and said I might go along, so I did, as I could file there as well as
at the land office; and oh, that trip! I had more fun to the square
inch than Mark Twain or Samantha Allen _ever_ provoked. It took us a
whole week to go and come. We camped out, of course, for in the whole
sixty miles there was but one house, and going in that direction there
is not a tree to be seen, nothing but sage, sand, and sheep. About noon
the first day out we came near a sheep-wagon, and stalking along ahead
of us was a lanky fellow, a herder, going home for dinner. Suddenly it
seemed to me I should starve if I had to wait until we got where we had
planned to stop for dinner, so I called out to the man, "Little
Bo-Peep, have you anything to eat? If you have, we'd like to find it."
And he answered, "As soon as I am able it shall be on the table, if
you'll but trouble to get behind it." Shades of Shakespeare! Songs of
David, the Shepherd Poet! What do you think of us? Well, we got behind
it, and a more delicious "it" I never tasted. Such coffee! And out of
_such_ a pot! I promised Bo-Peep that I would send him a crook with
pink ribbons on it, but I suspect he thinks I am a crook without the
ribbons.
The sagebrush is so short in some places that it is not large enough to
make a fire, so we had to drive until quite late before we camped that
night. After driving all day over what seemed a level desert of sand,
we came about sundown to a beautiful canon, down which we had to drive
for a couple of miles before we could cross. In the canon the shadows
had already fallen, but when we looked up we could see the last shafts
of sunlight on the tops of the great bare buttes. Suddenly a great wolf
started from somewhere and galloped along the edge of the canon,
outlined black and clear by the setting sun. His curiosity overcame him
at last, so he sat down and waited to see what manner of beast we
were. I reckon he was disappointed for he howled most dismally. I
thought of Jack London's "The Wolf."
After we quitted the canon I saw the most beautiful sight. It seemed as
if we were driving through a golden haze. The violet shadows were
creeping up between the hills, while away back of us the snow-capped
peaks were catching the sun's last rays. On every side of us stretched
the poor, hopeless desert, the sage, grim and determined to live in
spite of starvation, and the great, bare, desolate buttes. The
beautiful colors turned to amber and rose, and then to the general
tone, dull gray. Then we stopped to camp, and such a scurrying around
to gather brush for the fire and to get supper! Everything tasted so
good! Jerrine ate like a man. Then we raised the wagon tongue and
spread the wagon sheet over it and made a bedroom for us women. We made
our beds on the warm, soft sand and went to bed.
It was too beautiful a night to sleep, so I put my head out to look and
to think. I saw the moon come up and hang for a while over the mountain
as if it were discouraged with the prospect, and the big white stars
flirted shamelessly with the hills. I saw a coyote come trotting along
and I felt sorry for him, having to hunt food in so barren a place, but
when presently I heard the whirr of wings I felt sorry for the sage
chickens he had disturbed. At length a cloud came up and I went to
sleep, and next morning was covered several inches with snow. It didn't
hurt us a bit, but while I was struggling with stubborn corsets and
shoes I communed with myself, after the manner of prodigals, and said:
"How much better that I were down in Denver, even at Mrs. Coney's,
digging with a skewer into the corners seeking dirt which _might_ be
there, yea, even eating codfish, than that I should perish on this
desert--of imagination." So I turned the current of my imagination and
fancied that I was at home before the fireplace, and that the backlog
was about to roll down. My fancy was in such good working trim that
before I knew it I kicked the wagon wheel, and I certainly got as warm
as the most "sot" Scientist that ever read Mrs. Eddy could possibly
wish.
After two more such days I "arrived." When I went up to the office
where I was to file, the door was open and the most taciturn old man
sat before a desk. I hesitated at the door, but he never let on. I
coughed, yet no sign but a deeper scowl. I stepped in and modestly
kicked over a chair. He whirled around like I had shot him. "Well?" he
interrogated. I said, "I am powerful glad of it. I was afraid you were
sick, you looked in such pain." He looked at me a minute, then grinned
and said he thought I was a book-agent. Fancy me, a fat, comfortable
widow, trying to sell books!
Well, I filed and came home. If you will believe me, the Scot was glad
to see me and didn't herald the Campbells for two hours after I got
home. I'll tell you, it is mighty seldom any one's so much appreciated.
No, we have no rural delivery. It is two miles to the office, but I go
whenever I like. It is really the jolliest kind of fun to gallop down.
We are sixty miles from the railroad, but when we want anything we send
by the mail-carrier for it, only there is nothing to get.
I know this is an inexcusably long letter, but it is snowing so hard
and you know how I like to talk. I am sure Jerrine will enjoy the cards
and we will be glad to get them. Many things that are a comfort to us
out here came from dear Mrs. ----. Baby has the rabbit you gave her last
Easter a year ago. In Denver I was afraid my baby would grow up devoid
of imagination. Like all the kindergartners, she depended upon others
to amuse her. I was very sorry about it, for my castles in Spain have
been real homes to me. But there is no fear. She has a block of wood
she found in the blacksmith shop which she calls her "dear baby." A
spoke out of a wagon wheel is "little Margaret," and a barrel-stave is
"bad little Johnny."
Well, I must quit writing before you vote me a nuisance. With lots of
love to you,
Your sincere friend,
ELINORE RUPERT.
III
A BUSY, HAPPY SUMMER
_September 11, 1909._
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
This has been for me the busiest, happiest summer I can remember. I
have worked very hard, but it has been work that I really enjoy. Help
of any kind is very hard to get here, and Mr. Stewart had been too
confident of getting men, so that haying caught him with too few men to
put up the hay. He had no man to run the mower and he couldn't run both
the mower and the stacker, so you can fancy what a place he was in.
I don't know that I ever told you, but my parents died within a year of
each other and left six of us to shift for ourselves. Our people
offered to take one here and there among them until we should all have
a place, but we refused to be raised on the halves and so arranged to
stay at Grandmother's and keep together. Well, we had no money to hire
men to do our work, so had to learn to do it ourselves. Consequently I
learned to do many things which girls more fortunately situated don't
even know have to be done. Among the things I learned to do was the way
to run a mowing-machine. It cost me many bitter tears because I got
sunburned, and my hands were hard, rough, and stained with machine oil,
and I used to wonder how any Prince Charming could overlook all that in
any girl he came to. For all I had ever read of the Prince had to do
with his "reverently kissing her lily-white hand," or doing some other
fool trick with a hand as white as a snowflake. Well, when my Prince
showed up he didn't lose much time in letting me know that "Barkis was
willing," and I wrapped my hands in my old checked apron and took him
up before he could catch his breath. Then there was no more mowing, and
I almost forgot that I knew how until Mr. Stewart got into such a
panic. If he put a man to mow, it kept them all idle at the stacker,
and he just couldn't get enough men. I was afraid to tell him I could
mow for fear he would forbid me to do so. But one morning, when he was
chasing a last hope of help, I went down to the barn, took out the
horses, and went to mowing. I had enough cut before he got back to show
him I knew how, and as he came back manless he was delighted as well as
surprised. I was glad because I really like to mow, and besides that, I
am adding feathers to my cap in a surprising way. When you see me again
you will think I am wearing a feather duster, but it is only that I
have been said to have almost as much sense as a "mon," and that is an
honor I never aspired to, even in my wildest dreams.
I have done most of my cooking at night, have milked seven cows every
day, and have done all the hay-cutting, so you see I have been working.
But I have found time to put up thirty pints of jelly and the same
amount of jam for myself. I used wild fruits, gooseberries, currants,
raspberries, and cherries. I have almost two gallons of the cherry
butter, and I think it is delicious. I wish I could get some of it to
you, I am sure you would like it.
We began haying July 5 and finished September 8. After working so hard
and so steadily I decided on a day off, so yesterday I saddled the
pony, took a few things I needed, and Jerrine and I fared forth. Baby
can ride behind quite well. We got away by sunup and a glorious day we
had. We followed a stream higher up into the mountains and the air was
so keen and clear at first we had on our coats. There was a tang of
sage and of pine in the air, and our horse was midside deep in
rabbit-brush, a shrub just covered with flowers that look and smell
like goldenrod. The blue distance promised many alluring adventures, so
we went along singing and simply gulping in summer. Occasionally a
bunch of sage chickens would fly up out of the sagebrush, or a jack
rabbit would leap out. Once we saw a bunch of antelope gallop over a
hill, but we were out just to be out, and game didn't tempt us. I
started, though, to have just as good a time as possible, so I had a
fish-hook in my knapsack.
Presently, about noon, we came to a little dell where the grass was as
soft and as green as a lawn. The creek kept right up against the hills
on one side and there were groves of quaking asp and cottonwoods that
made shade, and service-bushes and birches that shut off the ugly hills
on the other side. We dismounted and prepared to noon. We caught a few
grasshoppers and I cut a birch pole for a rod. The trout are so
beautiful now, their sides are so silvery, with dashes of old rose and
orange, their speckles are so black, while their backs look as if they
had been sprinkled with gold-dust. They bite so well that it doesn't
require any especial skill or tackle to catch plenty for a meal in a
few minutes.
In a little while I went back to where I had left my pony browsing,
with eight beauties. We made a fire first, then I dressed my trout
while it was burning down to a nice bed of coals. I had brought a
frying-pan and a bottle of lard, salt, and buttered bread. We gathered
a few service-berries, our trout were soon browned, and with water,
clear, and as cold as ice, we had a feast. The quaking aspens are
beginning to turn yellow, but no leaves have fallen. Their shadows
dimpled and twinkled over the grass like happy children. The sound of
the dashing, roaring water kept inviting me to cast for trout, but I
didn't want to carry them so far, so we rested until the sun was
getting low and then started for home, with the song of the locusts in
our ears warning us that the melancholy days are almost here. We would
come up over the top of a hill into the glory of a beautiful sunset
with its gorgeous colors, then down into the little valley already
purpling with mysterious twilight. So on, until, just at dark, we rode
into our corral and a mighty tired, sleepy little girl was powerfully
glad to get home.
After I had mailed my other letter I was afraid that you would think me
plumb bold about the little Bo-Peep, and was a heap sorrier than you
can think. If you only knew the hardships these poor men endure. They
go two together and sometimes it is months before they see another
soul, and rarely ever a woman. I wouldn't act so free in town, but
these men see people so seldom that they are awkward and embarrassed. I
like to put them at ease, and it is to be done only by being kind of
hail-fellow-well-met with them. So far not one has ever misunderstood
me and I have been treated with every courtesy and kindness, so I am
powerfully glad you understand. They really enjoy doing these little
things like fixing our dinner, and if my poor company can add to any
one's pleasure I am too glad.
Sincerely yours,
ELINORE RUPERT.
Mr. Stewart is going to put up my house for me in pay for my extra
work.
I am ashamed of my long letters to you, but I am such a murderer of
language that I have to use it all to tell anything.
Please don't entirely forget me. Your letters mean so much to me and I
will try to answer more promptly.
IV
A CHARMING ADVENTURE AND ZEBULON PIKE
_September 28, 1909._
DEAR MRS. CONEY,--
Your second card just reached me and I am plumb glad because, although
I answered your other, I was wishing I could write you, for I have had
the most charming adventure.
It is the custom here for as many women as care to to go in a party
over into Utah to Ashland (which is over a hundred miles away) after
fruit. They usually go in September, and it takes a week to make the
trip. They take wagons and camp out and of course have a good time,
but, the greater part of the way, there isn't even the semblance of a
road and it is merely a semblance anywhere. They came over to invite me
to join them. I was of two minds--I wanted to go, but it seemed a
little risky and a big chance for discomfort, since we would have to
cross the Uinta Mountains, and a snowstorm likely any time. But I
didn't like to refuse outright, so we left it to Mr. Stewart. His
"Ye're nae gang" sounded powerful final, so the ladies departed in awed
silence and I assumed a martyr-like air and acted like a very much
abused woman, although he did only what I wanted him to do. At last, in
sheer desperation he told me the "bairn canna stand the treep," and
that was why he was so determined. I knew why, of course, but I
continued to look abused lest he gets it into his head that he can boss
me. After he had been reduced to the proper plane of humility and had
explained and begged my pardon and had told me to consult only my own
pleasure about going and coming and using his horses, only not to
"expoose" the bairn, why, I forgave him and we were friends once more.
Next day all the men left for the roundup, to be gone a week. I knew I
never could stand myself a whole week. In a little while the ladies
came past on their way to Ashland. They were all laughing and were so
happy that I really began to wish I was one of the number, but they
went their way and I kept wanting to go _somewhere_. I got reckless and
determined to do something real bad. So I went down to the barn and
saddled Robin Adair, placed a pack on "Jeems McGregor," then Jerrine
and I left for a camping-out expedition.
It was nine o'clock when we started and we rode hard until about four,
when I turned Robin loose, saddle and all, for I knew he would go home
and some one would see him and put him into the pasture. We had gotten
to where we couldn't ride anyway, so I put Jerrine on the pack and led
"Jeems" for about two hours longer; then, as I had come to a good place
to camp, we stopped.
While we had at least two good hours of daylight, it gets so cold here
in the evening that fire is very necessary. We had been climbing higher
into the mountains all day and had reached a level tableland where the
grass was luxuriant and there was plenty of wood and water. I unpacked
"Jeems" and staked him out, built a roaring fire, and made our bed in
an angle of a sheer wall of rock where we would be protected against
the wind. Then I put some potatoes into the embers, as Baby and I are
both fond of roasted potatoes. I started to a little spring to get
water for my coffee when I saw a couple of jack rabbits playing, so I
went back for my little shotgun. I shot one of the rabbits, so I felt
very like Leather-stocking because I had killed but one when I might
have gotten two. It was fat and young, and it was but the work of a
moment to dress it and hang it up on a tree. Then I fried some slices
of bacon, made myself a cup of coffee, and Jerrine and I sat on the
ground and ate. Everything smelled and tasted so good! This air is so
tonic that one gets delightfully hungry. Afterward we watered and
restaked "Jeems," I rolled some logs on to the fire, and then we sat
and enjoyed the prospect.
The moon was so new that its light was very dim, but the stars were
bright. Presently a long, quivering wail arose and was answered from a
dozen hills. It seemed just the sound one ought to hear in such a
place. When the howls ceased for a moment we could hear the subdued
roar of the creek and the crooning of the wind in the pines. So we
rather enjoyed the coyote chorus and were not afraid, because they
don't attack people. Presently we crept under our Navajos and, being
tired, were soon asleep.
I was awakened by a pebble striking my cheek. Something prowling on the
bluff above us had dislodged it and it struck me. By my Waterbury it
was four o'clock, so I arose and spitted my rabbit. The logs had left a
big bed of coals, but some ends were still burning and had burned in
such a manner that the heat would go both under and over my rabbit. So
I put plenty of bacon grease over him and hung him up to roast. Then I
went back to bed. I didn't want to start early because the air is too
keen for comfort early in the morning.
The sun was just gilding the hilltops when we arose. Everything, even
the barrenness, was beautiful. We have had frosts, and the quaking
aspens were a trembling field of gold as far up the stream as we could
see. We were 'way up above them and could look far across the valley.
We could see the silvery gold of the willows, the russet and bronze of
the currants, and patches of cheerful green showed where the pines
were. The splendor was relieved by a background of sober gray-green
hills, but even on them gay streaks and patches of yellow showed where
rabbit-brush grew. We washed our faces at the spring,--the grasses that
grew around the edge and dipped into the water were loaded with
ice,--our rabbit was done to a turn, so I made some delicious coffee,
Jerrine got herself a can of water, and we breakfasted. Shortly
afterwards we started again. We didn't know where we were going, but we
were on our way.
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