The Alaska citizen., 1911-01-02
''In Gods"
 Back Yard
WHY ONE MOTHER CHOOSES TO LIVE IN BARREN OUTSKIRTS
 OF GoLDFiELD.

In the automobile. which is the present day substitute for the min ing camp stage coach, We had whiZ- led out of the seething squalor o. Goldfield an hour after sunrise or a bleak morning in November. says q writer in the Youths Companion In mid forenoon we swept up to I crude unpainted shack, over the door of which was a strip of can. vas lettered with promise of re- freshment.
 This shack was the only human shelter in 10000 square miles of the desert called in the venacular of that region, Gods Back Yard. Some speak of the shack as the half way house.: to some it Is 'Pe- erson's"; others call 1t the "Swede's Place." But it is always spoken of with respect.
 Storming jovially into the bare front room we sat down at the table and demanded of the smiling Peterson so many pots of freshly brewed coffee and heaps of dough, nuts.
 Peterson hustled into the back room--there were but two-to make the coffee. The engineer the Con gressman, the State Senator and he celebrated comedian began their customary toCthpick diagrammed symposium, full of assayer's tech, nicalities and meaningless to my ignorant ear as Russian poem. The driver perspired over his moter un Ter the broiling sun. Taking my camera I drifted aimlessly round to he rear of the shack. where ] thought I might sit in a patch of shade.
 As I turned the corner I beheld pretty little woman sitting on the lOor step. She was dressed in 2 prim and faded but lately washed and ironed gown of calico. Round her white neck was a pink silk hand kerchief. fastened in front with 8 fig coral brooch, her hands small Her eyes, seen closely, were dimly 1eculiarly blue.
 This was Mrs Peterson. Sittinc reside her on the door step. my hat at my feet, we talked a little while about the things that people always talk about in Nevada-the noal famine 'n Goldfield, the ty ohoid and pneumonia, the babies dy ng for want of milk.
 I had notice in the very beginning hat she never looked at me afteI her first glance, never looked al anything except tiny oval of up ended barrels slaves surrounding stake to which was nailed small weather beaten board, this beinc lbOut a hundred feet to the norti f us. and I noticed too that wher spoke of the milk starved babie she began to tremble and twist he' fingers ard breath muttel ings. The subject seemed a good one to drop Mrs. Peterson" I said, how does it happen that a woman so young md so plainly meant to live among he things that woman delight in can endure the loneliness, the deadly nonotony that you must endure here?"
 She did look at me then queery. 'Come,' she said, rising.
 We walked over to the oval of barrel slaves. It enclosed a littl, grave, possibly two feet long. The low mound was of the desert sand md on it was a wee thorny cactus. I read the awkwardly printed legend on the weather beaten board. This is what I saw:
 Here Lies the Body of Our Baby
 Olga
 Born January 10, 1906,
 Died November 15, 1908.
 God Let Her Play Little While
 in His Back Yard.
 But Now He Has Taken Her Into
 His House.
 It seemed a very long time during which I stood looking at that weath looked the less I could see.
 heard someone believing my name, coupled with threats about he doughnuts. but l did not move until at last Mrs. Peterson touched me gently on the arm. saying:
 Your friends are calling. Olaf has made your coffee.'
 I turned, not daring to look at her, and we walked back toward he house. Then she went on:
 You see, sir, Olga was born out here in this dreadful wilderness, and she never saw any other place while she lived. When-she dieG and we had buried her here, anf her little arms were-oh, l thought could not bear it! So Olaf took me away, up to Spokane.
 But all the time l thought Of my baby lying out here all alone under the barren sand, under the cruil sun, perhaps with her little grave disturbed by wolves ol trampled by strangers. And so ] was unhappier than ever. l askef Olaf to bring me back, and he did He is a good husband. And l never want to go away again"
 1 tried to say something car full about the possibility of having 2 new grave made in more cheerfu environment. But she shook he: head.
 No, ah, no!" she said. "Onl! here did the baby live; only here can I pretend sometimes that she is not dead. Bood-by!"