The Ekalaka eagle. [volume] (Ekalaka, Mont.) 1909-1920, 1914-05-01
David Growing to Manhood.

see hit amt a lot err men
hidin' behind masks an skeered ter
death. An yer jest listen ter ME, Kip
Ryerson," he said slowly, bringing his
face close to the others scared white
one, "you git cleared outer here by
tomorrer mawnin', err by tomorrer
night there1l be Ell place in this Draft
Colks'l show where there was err lynch
In like they do over at Wayside, only
this time hitll be er white man."
At his words, backed by calculations
Of "Dogged eff that amt sou That's
right!' "A-ha-a!!' Nov yer talkin'!'
from the other men, a frightened
shudder swept over Kip Ryerson. and
be was silent.
"NOw you've got our word,' Hedrick
concluded, IAN hits jest like I tell
you. an yer'd better not stay round
these parts studyin' on what we've
said too long." Falling back from Ry-
erson and followed by the others, he
stepped of the porch and in a few mo-
ments there was nothing left to tell
Of the visit saw the disappearing
twinkle Of lanterns. the barking of
aroused dogs up and down the Draft
and in Kip Ryerson's heart a great
fear.
David stole away home by himself,
crying all the way, partly because he
was unstrung, but chiefly because the
sight Of Ryerson rent him anew with
an awful, sickening hatred. At home
he crept to his mothers bedside and
told her what had happened, and aft
erward, when he was in his own bed,
he heard her, for the first time since
his fathers death, weeping as though
her heart would break.
That night a belated thunderstorm
gathered itself toward morning and,
sweeping up the valley, fell upon the
suffering hillsides in the glad relief Of
driven sheets Of rain, and when next
day the sun came up serenely it look
ed upon mountains sapphire and topaz
clear. freed from fire and smoke.
And Kip Ryerson was gone, no one
knew where; and in the crystal atmos-
phere David drew a deep, free breath.
Ten years have changed little in the
Draft. George Hedrick, gone a trlfe
gray on the temples and with a some
what hunched up 'stoop, still keeps the
store at the crossroads, dispensing the
necessaries Of life and the general COS
sip-its luxury-to all corners; and fo1
the most part the little farms lool
across the valley at one another, will
the same people toiling in their field.
or moving in and out of the doorway
Of their dwellings as of yore. Certain
~ the little stretch OF meadow Ian,
that looks over the county road at tn
field opposite still belongs to the Crecs
and the field it faces is Robert Red
din's as Of old.
And in this same field on a Ma,
morning, ten years and more since tn
funeral Of Anderson Cree, Robert RED
din, with most of his family to hel
him, went forth to plant his corn.
Mary" said Bobbie Reddin. tn
youngest who took the field that da,
gentleman verging on eight year
who toiled faithfully after his siste
dropping soup beans where she dro]
ped corn, "Nfary. I seed Lucy dro
pretty nigh ten grains er corr in or
hill, an sted er stoppin' ter pick 'e'
out she jest tromped EN- all in so
nobody wouldn't see an went on"
Mary Reddin, from her slend'
height Of eighteen years. smiled swee
" down at the little brothers sea
dalized face, but she made no reply.
In the depths Of Mary's s%unbonnet
little dimple looked out Of her chez
an instant as she listened to a certa
voice which came to her musical
across the fragrant field In the SC
language of the plow-"Whoa-ha
haup! Gee! Gee! Whoa-haw"
The voice was that of David Crt
and IL any one had told Mary Redd