The Black Hills union. [volume] (Rapid City, Pennington County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1889-1904, 1899-08-11
OF THE SOIL,
A Vivid Picture Of Love and ,
Desertion.
BY Ethel Knight.


They We're married-heaven knows
why, as with so many of them-and
went to live on Vance's island, a long,
fertile strip in the river, three miles
wide. There were no other inhabitants,
I'M The hills on the river banks shut
away all sound of outer life. He had
been raised in the country, but she was
a town lass, and the gas lamps and
hustle of the seaport had got into her
blood. Perhaps she never loved him:
anyway she was not happy.
She was an Industrious wench. The
was kept scrupulously neat, and she
helped him in the fields, when, with
her sleeves rolled back from her round,
brown arms and a cows breakfast, as
they call the wide straw farmers hats
in New Brunswick, on her dark hair,
he thought her a proper woman enough,
with her 1.-THE, strong figure and gleam-
ing eye, but never told her so.
BY and by she seldom talked and
grew restless on the days when they
put off In their rowboat to deliver eggs
and butter to the river steamers. He
did not notice how eagerly she scanned
the dress Of the women passengers nor
how the captain kept an eye on all her
movements.
a came, tinting the landscape like
a splendid sunset, and the red and yell
low trees rustled in the windy sunshine
Of October days. Then he sprained his
ankle and had to bide at his doorstep,
while she took the boat and rowed out
to the steamer for the trade. She
seemed to be gone longer than neces-
sary. he thought. Perhaps she was
driving a hard bargain. She was
shrewd. and he was lucky to have her.
He wished she would liven up n bit,
though, and not long so much for the
town and shops. What did a farmers
Wife need In town except a market for
her wares? But women We're all odd.
He was right in his surmise. She
had raised the price Of the butter and
eggs and brought home a few extra
cents. So Oh the following days, when
she delayed her return several minutes,
ne was not impatient. But when the
next time for the steamer to pass came
and the minutes heightened into quar-
tiers, then hours, he grew disturbed and
hobbled to the beach. She pulled a
good, strong oar for a town lass, but
her father was a sailor, so it came nat
ural for her to manage a boat. The
river was a t%reacherous flow of water,
but her boat was easy to pull, and she
had not far to 60,
1t was strange he could not see her.
Perhaps she had gone around to the
sand beach. The rowan trees were
there, and she had a fancy for decking
up the house will, them. He thought
it somewhat cruel as well as profitless
to rob the birds of their winter food.
but she laughed at that.
He would best go home, he thought,
and put the potatoes on for dinner. 1t
was the lass work, but she had gone
to do his, SO turn about was fair. He
was so honest! At the close of day still
there was no sign Of her, and he tried
again to walk to the shore, but the in
jured ankle would not stand the
strain. and he was forced to sit and
wait.
Night came, but she did not return.
On his hands and knees he crawled to
the beach and called her name loudly,
with a harsh breaking in his voice. The
cries echoed back mockingly. The
moon went down behind the hills and
left him cropping in the dusky starlight.
His hands We're torn and his knees
bruised with the jagged stones as he
dragged himself, but he took no heed,
calling out for the woman whom for
the first time he realized in a dumb,
heavy way he loved.
At dawn, peering out eagerly, he saw
his boat ashore some distance up the
island. His heart beats quickened, and
sometl ing warm and tender flashed
through him. HOY be had missed her!
Poor lass! Perhaps she, too. missed
her home folk. Well, the work was
nearly done, and frost would soon bind
the river, and then he would drive her
to the town and take her to the fair;
yes, and buy her a warm, red hood and
ribbons. He laughed out loud as he
dragged himself to the house, thinking
Of her pleasure. She must have re-
turned some time back. The boat was
well up on the beach where hours ago
had been the tide. She was home and
doubtless wondering where he was.
She had staid out to give him a bit Of
q fright and had slipped in when he
had gone to search for her, dear lass!
He reached the cottage. The door
stood open, staring vacantly at him;
the fire was out, and the gusty wind
had scattered the light pine ash like
powder. She was not there. Doubt
grew IN his heart as slowly he dragged
himself back to the shore-to the boat.
Was she dead? A bitterness gnawed
him. Hupgrily he gazed at the waves