The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1895-01-24
A RACE FOR A CLAIM.
How a Bright Wheelman Beat Old
Man Turpit.

A trunk full of books and bicycle
made rather a queer outfit to start
farm with, but they were all | had
when l settled in the Jim River
valley. OF course l did not buy them
for that purpose, but / happened to
have them, and not much else, when |
left school and went west for my
health.
That country was just beginning to
attract settlers then, and liking the
looks of the level prairies clad in a
mat of "blue-joint' as tall as a mans
head | lost no time in fling a pre-
emption on the best quarter section l
could find l had my pick for miles
up and down the river when fled in
August, but before winter settlers
came in with rush and sod shanties
and dugouts dotted the prairie in all
directions. Still there was plenty of
land, and nearly every settler filed his
presumption on one quarter while he
reserved another one hundred and
sixty acres ad joining to be taken as a
homestead after he had lived on his
preemption the six months required
by law before he could prove up"
which was necessary before fling a
homestead.
1t was too late in the season for
''breaking" when l reached Dakota,
and as l should have little use for a
team before the next spring, thought
it wise not to have any live stock to
feed during the long winter. The idea
of man running a farm with a
bicycle was very amusing to some of
my neighbors. My bookish notions.
too, were not considered good form
among pioneer people, and soon be-
came known far and wide as that
college dude with a wheel" This
amused rather than annoyed me. for l
got along very nicely and derived no
end of practical use and enjoyment
from both books and wheel. l built
sod shanty like the rest, hired
neighbor to haul stove and a
quantity of provisions from the near
est town, and began keeping house.
Once or twice a week / wheeled
twenty miles to this same town for my
mail. An old stage road running up
and down the river passed within one
hundred yards of my door, and no
where in the world, l think, was there
ever finer road for wheeling. There
were no ruts, no mud or stones, or
sand-nothing but two broad paths, as
smooth almost as an asphalt pave
ment, and as springy and noiseless as
only track made of tail grass pounded
down into tough, firm sod can be.
Wagon wheels did not cut through
and make a narrow rut, but played
here and there over breath of two
feet or more OH each side of slim
strip of standing "blue-joint."
Coming back from town one day a
grutf old fellow who held claim a
mile north of mine-''old man Turpit"
everyone called him came up behind
me with a lively team of four-year-
olds. ] never liked the old chap any
too we'll, and it was plain that he had
nothing but contempt for me and my
mount.
why don't We give that thing away
and git we boss O some account" he
called out as he ratified up
''Oh, this suits me very WE'LL" l re-
piled, banteringly. II like horse
that doesn't eat hay and oats, you
know"
The old man gave a sniff of con-
tempt, and popping the whip over his
colts cut out into the tall grass to pass
me. But somehow he didn't get past
though he whipped and shouted till
the air was fairly blue; and when
whirled in at my place and raised my
cap to him as he raced past, he was so
mad that he wouldn't even look that
way.
There were two fine quarter-sections
lying along the bank of the river be-
tween my claim and that of my neigh
Dor, Hans Larson, big-hearted, big
listed Norwegian with whom l often
changed work. Turpit never tired of
chatting him for changing work with
shat soft-handed dude" but Hans
only laughed good naturally at the
suggestion that | was getting the long
end of the bargain. He could easily do
rs much work as two like me.
DOTS NIL rightp he would say.