Kingsbury County independent. (DeSmet, Kingsbury County, S.D.) 1894-1929, 1910-02-25
CHAPTER 4.
THE AFFAIR AT T~RESSLER'S
FARM

FARM.
When the great architect had fin
ished building the earth, he dumped
the chips and debris into the center of
Pennsylvania, and men called the heap
the Seven Mountains.
They are not mountains at all, but
long ridges like giant burrows plowed
deep into the very sandstone and left
ragged and chaotic. Straight on they
go for leagues, making a right line of
h horizon. the second and third
ridges following as If drawn with a
photograph. Here and there is a wild
slash across the furrow, a rip into the
very foundations of the range, and
through the rock-snarl at the bottom
worms a scared little stream. 1t is a
gap-so they call it-and II n can
wriggle through the Jagged litter and
he r~hododendron, spiked like a wire
tangle, it will lead him into the next
valley, which is often a narrow gut full
of torn sandstone and matted scrub,
where only the rattlesnake may freely
go. Often there Is a bend in the fur
rows, a mad swirl as II the primal
dough had been stirred with a giant
mixer. Then the burrows run straight
again.
Thus the Seven Mountains, a ragged
hole In the heart of the east, where
the wild turkey still wakes the morn
Ing, Wn6Te the pear anu the uttf Stili
flourish, and where the eagle and the
buzzard wing undisturbed. The ridge
sides, rising sheer, and as steep as rock
debris will lie, are like the tailings OF
mighty stone quarries. A few dead
scrags OF trees break the sky line; mere
and there in the rock chaos are scrub
oak thickets blasted by fire, and in the
angle of the V always a little brook
filtering through the rho~dodendron tan
xrln Than pnrnnC riIOOC md YNiDhtU
breaks and jagged cliffs and right
angle turns, and sometimes there are
the ruthless tracks of fundamentals
leys choked up with hemlOck tops
snarled into the r~hododendron, ram
shackle sawmiils long since deserted,
winding "dinky" roads rusted out long
ago and half buried in the fire growth,
and the effect of 1t all is indeScribably
lonely and wild.
But the valleys are not all Of them
V-shaped and Uttered. There are places
where the riders leap far asunder leav-
Ing a ribbon of bottom land, the seat
of prosperous farms. Sometimes there
are small, shut-in valleys, like pockets
In the range, the homes of secluded
communities cozy bunch of farms
strung on a winding road and bounded
sharply by two gaps and the stone line
at the foot of the ridges. And of these
might be counted the alluvial banks
of Heller's Run, better known on the
local maps as Hell Bottom.
So much for geography.
II was December the fifth, Dan
Tressler's butchering day, as anyone in
the valley could have old as early as
the preceding June. The sign was
right and the moor was "in the up"
Squire Hartswick, lord of the Bottom,
had ~butchered on Thanksgiving day;
Jake K~isterbock had duly followed. and
now by every valley right it was Dan
Tressler's day. Things are not done
by nance among the thrifty Dutch"
Baer's almanac n the tradition of the
fathers rule central Pennsylvania with
deSpotic sway.
There was no lack of help. A meet
IN on Sunday at the Bottom church
brings out a goodly number, IL the
be fine; a funeral gathers the
old people; a ~"schnittin'" in the fall,
the young; but a "butcherin'" calls
for everybody not 'b~ed-fast," be the
weather what it may. Not that all the
inhabitants, hit or miss, are called.
Invitations
For your '~lations"
goes the valley proverb, but the rule
bars no one; for another valley saying
is to the effect that nobody can fire
a stone" at random in any OF the
Dutch valleys and not hit his second
cousin.
1t promised ideal ~butchering weather.
AS early as four in the morning
lanterns were dancing like firefiies. All
was hustle and din. Water was heat
ing in copper kettles-the valleys sup
ply of kettles; scalding tubs were roll
ing upon temporary bookings: scrap
ing tables We're arising; knives were
grinding, the sound coming up a dull
crSaking from behind the corncribs;
ms the boys. eager and excited, were
scurrying hither and back in the half
light, shouted at and commanded until
they were like "hens with their heads
off" In the kitchen the housewife,
calm but pale, was presiding like a
general at the outset of a campaign,
for the valley eaters, like a flock of
buzzards, were to descend at noon, n
she well knew shas h1eT- dinner, good or
bad, would be a topic for a year to
come.
II was one of those, clear, crisp morn
ings when there is a steel ring in the
air and ones breath floats out like
whiffs OF smoke. An inch of frowSy
snow had whisked owe everything the
day before, and IT had grown colder
during the night. In the east e the
black silhouette of Nance mountain,
hung long iron bars of cloud, untouched
as yet by the approaching dawn. From
the valley there came up a faint MUIR
muir, which on the vibrant air, soon
became distinguishable as the grumble
Of wheels owe a frozen road. Dan
Tressler caught II and Strengthened up
over his grindstone.
bet yeh that's old Milf still. Vas?
Hear them wheels clunk?' He ran his
thumb criticaIiy yer the knife edge,
then stopped the stone with water from
a gourd. ''Old Milf d set up all night
fore he'd let anybody get to a butch
erin fore he did wunst. Turn 'er right
Up smart, Jakey.
He was a picturesque figure as he
crouched ove the flying stone in the
uncertain light, his grizzled beard al
most swe ping the knife In his hands
and his eyes blinking small and sharp
behind iron-bowed spectacles. He
wore a "warmus." which fitted
tightly at the waist. and a wool
en- cap pulled down over his
ears. He was an eager little man, who
oil great occasions like this went about
ON the dog-trot. A wagon dreye heav-
lily into the yard. and with a nervous
jerk he wheeled about to meet it, the
long knife fiourishing in his hand.
wal, now, who'd IA thought Ii
Wunst? It's you sure enough. ain't II