Custer County Republican. (Broken Bow, Neb.) 1882-1921, 1907-02-07
To the Hill 'Kentry.'
RY HENRY c. WOOD.

BY HENRY C.. WOOD.
Copyright, 1906, by Daily story Pub. Coz
"LOr! Lor! Jabez," mumbled the
old woman, the wagon wheels creak'
ing a fitting accompaniment to her
high, shrill voice, "I'm skeered We
uns won't never git ter the hill ken
try. Hit seems a powerful long
way off"
The wagon creaked dolefully
along the white, dusty pike with al
most the plant Of a living crea-
ture in its monotonous whine, while
from the tangled grass and weeds
by the wayside the autumnal chorus
of insects chirped merrily-a CRATE
full contrast to the pessimistic We
hicle.
A man and woman, both past the
middle age, plodded YEARLY along
in the dust and heat, the woman
near the rear of the wagon, the man
at the horses bead. Now and then
he spoke a word of encouragement
to the bony, patient beast, whose
strength was ill-ftted to the burden
he pulled, although the woman lent
a willing hand wherever small
hillock was reached, and pushed at
the end of the wagon industriously.
''We-uns ii get thar all right,
mother" answered her husband, en-
couragingly, after a little space of
silence, "by ter-morrow we-uns
ought ter see the blue hills onct mo-
by noon ter-morrow."
'Lorl but we-uns III be glad ter
ketch a sight of 'em agin, Jabez,
we-uns air jes' pinin' fer look.
Amt you-uns tired an sick O the
low, flat country-it's the hills we
uns want"
The woman's voice ended in a
sort of passionate wall.
The spent horse staggered to the
side of the road, and began to nib
BILE at small patch of green I'M
der the shade of a protecting bush.
The man waited.
CHATS right, Baldy-eat all you
uns kim" he said, kindly. 'Hit's a
right smart journey, yit, but we
uns ii git thar, mother, don't ye
fret" he added, confidently.
The woman had pushed back her
limp sunbonnet from off her scant
gray locks, and stood looking away
vacantly toward the south, where
lay, beyond her vision, the blue up
lifting hills for which her poor old
heart so longed.
The face had once been pretty
one, long years ago, but now it was
sallow and wrinkled, and in the dim
eyes was the look of pining for the
hills.
The horse, somewhat refreshed
by the mouthful or two of green
grass, started again on it's slow jour-
ney down the white stretch of dusty
road.
At noon the little party made a
halt under the welcoming shade Of
tree by the roadside, while the
woman got frugal lunch from out
the wagon, and the man brought
water from nearby spring for the
meal, and the thirsty horse.
In the afternoon they reached a
city that lay in the path of their
journey.
The noise and movement con-
fused the old couple-the sight of
many strange faces struck them
with mighty sense of loneliness
and solitude-the country and the
hills they sought were as familiar
friends, but the hurrying crowds
seemed pitiless and apart from
them. There was a certain friend
lines in nature that was altogether
lacking in the busy haunts of man.
Besides, to these two, the city was
symbolical of all that was evil, and
cruel, and callous. Was it not a
city-possibly this very one-that
had swallowed in its Unsuitable
nav an innocent girl that this old
couple had cherished and called
daughter?
Little wonder that they now
looked about them with awe and
dread, and were eager to quit the
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