The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1913-11-27

an arrow, that. had they been at the
seaboard, would have made unparalleled
ed masts for briggs and schooners by
Just peeling.
These forest giants encountered his
land, and the potash from the wood
ashes and the virgin soil, raised wheat,
barley. Indian maize as almost nowhere
else. His rifle furnished the family
with meat OF the finest quality, elk.
bear, vension. quail, partridge, wood
cock. pigeon, duck and the like, and
brook trout were everywhere plenti-
full.
But the work OF Henry Baker was
finished and none knew it better than
he. There gathered around his print
year-old son, Samuel, and six younger
children. Baker waved them all away
save his eldest.
"Son," he said, IL am dying. I have
some things to say to you, who will
become the head OF the family when /
am gone" Through binding tears the
boy protested, but the father said COM
fortingly:
samuel, death Is not more than
birth. Such a natural thing, like taking
"a drink OF water. Not to be dreaded
nor feared, but to be met heroically and
with trust. Go to the fireplace, AXE
out the fourth stone from the top on
the right hand side. There you will
find q bag with some money. There
lacks only $50 to pay the balance OF
the amount we w the Connecticut
company for our farm. Deliver the
barley to Adam Harris distillery. I
have arranged for IL, take all the mon
ey and go to the land office and get q
deed In fee, warranted by the Con-
necticut company. With the farm paid
for, YOU ought 70 be able to get along.
This IL productive soil. and with no
more purchase money to pay, you
for your mother and the children.
Henry Baker ceased talking. closed
his eyes YEARLY and moved further up
on his pallet that he might better
breathe and catch q little OF the breeze
from the cooling pines.
Suddenly Henry Bakers eyes gleam-
ed with a strange, fierce light like the
fiickering Of q lamp about to go out.
Raising himself on his elbow, the sick
man shouted: Swear, son--swear to
me that your first duty in life will be
to mother and the children-my widow
and fatherless ones. Swear, that IL
may ease my dying pillow"
Raising his right hand solemnly sam
uel Baker said audibly. IT do so swear"
The sufferer sank back, a smile Of con-
tent OF his features. The mournful
sound OF soughing pines came through
the holes in the side of the house
which answered for windows. The dy-
ing man fell asleep and dreamed OF
cooling springs and Iceland more ice.
Toward morning his fevor developed
into increasing temperature, till final
ly his parched, burnt-out spirit took
flight. a,. h @@
After the funeral services Samuel
set things to rights, delivered h barley
to Harris distillery. went to the land
office and came back with a deed in
fee simple to 200 acares Of land, re-
solved that, IL 1t lay in his power, he
would provide for the family as his
father had wished.
The nearest ~neighbors OF the Bakers
was the family of Amos-Barton, which
was of the pioneer number. But the
one striking feature of 1t was their
daughter, Mary. She was II, of med
ium height, a face OF which every fea-
ture was Of even at-tractiveness, a
1.-THE figure with the s~uppleness OF a
young panther, beautiful olive complex
Ion, long black hair which floated
from her shoulders, black eyes and a
captivating smile which was the a
vel Of the neighborhood. She was by
far the best looking young woman In
the community.
AT church she had sat often side by
side with tall, straight Samuel Baker,
who was like a young hickory. He had
accompanied her on long walks
through the woods. Not that she was
afraid, for she carried a rifle, and was
as good q shot as there was at the
settlement.
Her father had been a victim OF the
Wyoming massacre and her mother,
tortured TO ~invalidism, had escaped
and moved her family to northern
Pennsylvania to get away from the
scene Of the tragedy which was W.
effaced from her memory.
Mary Barton was a girl of impulsive
moods, She vas like an April day,
sunshine and rain, smiles and tears.
Gentle as a dove, and when reused like
a young catamount. And because OF
this variable nature and the storms
which swept oye H., she was known In
the vicinity as "Bittersweet." 4
There were two boys in the Barton
family big enough to work the place,
including the eldest son. Amos, who
had a bad reputation In the neighbor-
hood. When horses were stolen, barns
burned OF other depredations COM
mitted, wise ones would shake their
heads and say, II guess Amos Barton
has been out again" He was q mya-
terious person, who ordinarily slept
daytime, as any might ascertain by
calling to see him, and what he did
nights was problematical.
Amos wore a suit of conspicuous but
ternut clothes for best, once the prop
erty of an uncle, whose widow, on the
death of that worthy. sent them on to
the Widow Barton, and as they better
fitted Amos than any other member
Of the family. he appropriated them.
The primitive Sunday was usually a
very quiet affair. Pleaaant days, the
pioneer families wandered through
forest aisles and arches DIM" under
the magnificent pine, hemlock and
hardwood. They viewed the silvery
waters OF the native rivers which
wound like cleaning threads through
dark forests, and found sermons In
stones and books in running brooks
The majesty OF the North Tier hills
brought to their minds the Creator of
them all, and the various ~scriptural
passages concerning them:
The strength OF the hills is his al
So" f.
IT viii look again to the hills from
whence cometh my strength"
The everlasting Mills"
They worshiped as they walked, all
unconsciously, but In sincerity and
truth. a.fg s.
But occasionally the Sunday quiet
was disturbed by the arrival of the
Rev. Elijah Thunder, one OF the then
eight Methodist circuit riders OF North
AmeEtca. His was the God OF vengeance
and ~ wrath and aR his 0sDACfal am