The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1901-06-13


was packing in front of the buggy
Il was Mortified to see that jhe
bronchos had passed over one ri the
many graves which mark the failure
of some hardy pioneer on these in
terminable prairies, and my buggy
had crashed against the small monu-
ment that some mourning friend or
relative had placed at this savage, soli-
tary resting place.
II tell you, Harry, my boy, | never
want again to experience such an IN
comfortable feeling as that which
flashed over me on my discovery.
This obstruction really appeared to
me to be the mark of my own end. l
am willing 70 admit that it was with
something of the unreasoning power
of maniac that | lifted and pulled
at the blackboard, until with a shout
of widest joy, I raised it over the
obstruction and jumping into it,
whipped up the fainting bronchos until
| had driven far away from the lone
ly, soul-harrowing locality.
But now l saw the strength of my
W
threatened by this new difficulty. mad.
~ urged them on, shouting and ours
ing, crying in my despair. Slower,
slower became their pace. while about
me the storm ragged and snarled, re-
coded and attacked, hurting the bat
tering ram of its power dead ia the
breasts of the mean, little, feeble
team, and many many times bringing
them to a dead stop.
81 think / must have become =
maniac as at last l saw one stumble
and fall, with his hoof caught in some
orifice in the orou-G, while the ether
sank slowly. patiently. into the snow
his life going out in his .ast struggle
to rise.
81 remember indistirctly of sitting
by the side of the bconchos with that
awful storm beating about lac. ar,
laughing and chatteriHg as | toyef
with their ears, or plavfully tickleC
their sides with the broken butt @
the whip. Then | remember q.
springing to my feet and gibbering {,
| ran, making wide circles abon
them. dashing up to their heads as
have done in my school days, wayip;
my arms to scare them into . scam.
per.
Then as the fatal warmth began
stealing over me, sank into the
snow and tossed handfuls of it at the
scurrying clouds and flying sleet.
when I opened my eyes l believed
myself in dreamland. About me was
every evidence of comfort and retire.
ment. The delicious sense of warn
fur coverings impressed me, and
raised myself slightly to take in more
of my surroundings. As l lifted my
eyes they Toasted on the fairy who
had provided my dreamland with all
these comforts. She was darkly, radi-
antly beautiful. and | reached out my
arms to bestow shower of affection
ate gratitude upon her. Then | re-
called the Storm, saw again my dead
team, myself running in madness
about them, and how l had sunk in
exhaustion into the snow. And is this
death?' l cried to the beautiful spirit
hanging over me. No. she answered,
you have been saved, and will, hope,
soon be able to arise
at is useless to dwell on my re-
covery to full consciousness, the
myriad of questions asked and the an
swers returned to them. My escape
is easily explained. You know, Harry,
how it was almost impossible in those
days to obtain lumber for the con-
struction of houses on the immense
prairie lands of the west, and how,
even in the present day, houses are
built by cutting long strips of sod
from the butfalo-tramped earth, laid
in layers to the desired height, and
covered with a roof of thatch so
closely woven as to be impermeable
to the rains of summer or the SHOWS
of winter. Rough as they are in
exterior, many of them are the homes
of wealthy ranch owners, and are
found in the most palatial residences
of the city.
We'll, in plunging through the
drifts my bronchos had at last fallen
in the yard of one of these sod
dwellings. Frank Coleman, the pro-
prietor of the ranch, pushing from the
barn through the banks of snow
heaped before the door, saw the dead
team. Shouting encouragement to
the driver he knew must be some
where near, he worked his way about
until he discovered my unconscious
form partially covered by the drift.
Then, with the fairy upon whom my
eyes had opened, he carried me into
the. house.
"You now know enough. l am not
going to tell you how my fairy be-
came my wife. We occasionally visit
the ranch on which my father-in-law,
Mr.. Coleman, has since constructed
one of the most handsome residences
in the west, and then we live over
those scenes.
well, going, old boy? Glad to see
you at any time, and my fairy may