The Portland daily press., 1900-03-29
EAST SIDE THOAPSON'S
petition
A Story Of the Alkah
BY.a-. Plains.
MARGUERITE
sTABLER.

The fellows name was Thompson, and
he could handle bunch of steers with
the best Of them, but there was an air
Of metropolitanism about him that as
sorted III with his surroundings. And.
although he drank harder, swore better
and went rougher than any man Of them,
he had never been able to live down his
nickname of East Side" Thompson.
The Three Y outfit of cow punchers
had been on the trail more than a month,
and. according to all precedent and rea-
son. the rains should have set in weeks
before. but they had not. The grass that
had sprung up with the first early show
ers had scared aud died before the next
rain came to keep it alive. The shallow,
sluggish little streams of brackish water
that crawled along the bottom of their
beds, which the year before had been
swollen beyond their banks, finally gave
out utterly. In every direction the white
alkali plains glistened away to the meet
ing line OF the sky In an infnitude OF iso-
lation. The oldest inhabitant In all the
country round could not recall winter
that equaled this In dryness.
Howbeit, Nevada was then new
state and the population migratory. Will
son, the boss of the outfit, had hoped to
get out Of the sagebrush country and
strike the California line somewhere
above Bodie by the end of the first
month out, but there was no rain, no
water, and the plains lay in open cracks.
Day after day the sun rose, smiled
down upon the parched little bunch Of
men and cattle IA long hours as he sailed
across a Vloudless sky, serenely uncon-
scious of the maledictions hurled against
him, while the bare, burning prairie star
ed back In unblinking defiance.
There were gorgeous sunsets every
eyening-moments when the great fiery
ball seemed slmest to stand still TO give
O long backward glance before dropping
out Of sight, and with Midas touch turn
all the world to molten gold. But to the
played out COW puncher sunset means
nothing but bedtime-bedtime after
hard, parched, hopeless day. There were
clear, chaste moonlight nights OF won
drous radiance, too, but the moon was
seen only In the early morning, when
they rose to another day, more hard.
more parched, more hopeless. The cattle
mere anatomical charts by this time
went staggering about in crazy circles,
too weak to need watching, the three KS
on their fianks reduced to half the origi-
nal size by the shriveling Of the hide, or
fell heavily to the earth to rise again.
after many seasons OF sun and shower, as
prairie flowers and salt grass. Their bel
lowing was reduced to a moan almost
human in Its misery, for the one yoice
common to all created things, animal or
human, Is the voice of suffering.
The Missourian, great, hulking young
fellow, was first OF the men to show signs
OF weakening. That is the most terrible
moment In all like experiences, when the
men who have held on grimly and endur-
ed together see one of their number los
ing his grip. This had been an III as
sorted outfit when they started out with
the cattle across the plains, but standing
together, shoulder to shoulder, defying
death against fearful odds. knits man
deeply into the life Of his fellow. Among
these men there was no spoken SYM
pathy, no overt act of kindness, but In
their very sullenness was that grimmest
of all sacrifices, each man enduring In
stole silence In order that he might not
intrude his own sufferings upon his al
ready overcrowded nelghbor. The clinch-
ing of the lips to suppress groan when
one is thirst tnaddened may require more
heroism than facing a cannon with flags
flying and drums beating, inasmuch as
"he that ruleth his own spirit is greater
than he that taketh a city"
At last one day the Missourian gave
out utterly. He was not of the cowboy
build In the first place, but his splendid
horsemanship and enthusiasm had In
duced Wilson the boss, or Yankee Bill.
as he was called, to take him on. In
his delirium he lay and cried for water
day and night. He blubbered and begged
for water and called upon the names of
those he had known In his childhood.
Every man went about his own business,
which was largely the formulating of
fervent and eloquent oaths anent the
heat, the drought and the delay, and ap-
parently no one heard his cries. Water
was the one thing he wanted and the
one thing he could not get, so after they
had put his boots under his head to make
him comfortable they let him alone. I'm
der ordinary circumstances a Missourian
more or less was Of no great consequence
to Yankee Bill" but this break in the
ranks shattered the last vestige Of hope.
Whatever may have been done after that
In the effort to keep up their spirits was
mere bravado, for each man foresaw the
end.
The Missourian had been a quiet sort
In the camp, and no one had ever heard
him talk much, but now he talked inees-
sanity In the ssft, thick drawl Of the
south, and always of home scenes, OF the
memories Of boyhood that whetted the
edge of their torture till 1t was beyond
all enduring. Now he was fishing along
some stream and swearing I'm round terms
at some "fat head niger" for soaring
the fish. Now he was in school strug-
Cling with some problem he could never
solve beyond carry seven" Always CO.
herent enough TO call up memories In
their own minds of youth, misspent for
the most part. They could not move
farther away because they were camped
under the only shade in sight They
thought of dragging him or beyond ear
shot. but. while every one would have
been glad to have il done, no man could
do 1t himself. Their horny hands had
grown gentle in their ministering touches.
Escape was long since out of the ques-
tion, for the horses were worse of than
the men. Not one of them could carry