The citizen-Republican. (Scotland, Bon Homme County, S.D.) 1???-19??, 1914-05-14
THE PRICE IS PAID

At suntset Curran was far in the
hills. There was a tiny hunting shack
IN the thick of an oak scrub ridge
where he had often spent the night in
other seasons with, Harlan or Arne,
seeking the squirrels and wild pigeons,
and now, unconsciously, his steps, led
thither. Without thought, without
purpose-only he must be alone with
his crisis Of defeat; he must keep rea-
son, he must grope for the tatters life
had left him.
All the afternoon he had wandered.
keeping from the roads, and meeting
no ono. He had beheld the silent Mid
land country, the cloud patches chas-
ing one another over the close cropped
meadows from ridge to ridge, the val
he heard the II swapping the corn.
from the frozen husks throwing it with
a rough cadence against the bump
boards Of the wagons; and now and
then he saw the yellow piles among
the shocked fodder and the pumpkin
vines. Again he saw a threshing
crew, the red machine roaring,
the flow of chaff, the CLINT of the
fork tines as the pitchers threw
the the bundles to the hand cut
tiers; the farm boys waIIowing in the
bright straw, the girls coming out to bid
the hands to dinner which the neigh
Dor women had gathered to prepare.
All this fine hearty life seemed strange
ly unreal, but curiously his mind alb
sorbed itself in it. He pictured the
long table in the farmhouse, the host
welcoming the threshers, the discus
sion Of the yield and price with the
weighers and sack sewers, as the own
er let the brown wheat run through his
fingers. All this he had been giving up
with his new larger life; this prosy
country friendliness which only this
year he a discovered and loved, and
which had made place for him, given
him honor. And now. at the momen of
his miracle, the precious knowledge of
their trust. and that he was equal to
this mans work, he had fallen; again,
the Wanderer, the man without UNDER
standing, the poet without song.
He turned from it all with tear-filled
eyes. climbing higher in the bluffs. The
leaves We're new-fallen, showing the
far-winding river, the bronze shields Of
the corn coming up to the black muddy
roads. leading to the towns, first past
the modest homes Of the workers and
hired folk. and then to the heavy-faced
houses of the rich. After all, a pleas
ant friendly town. coming at last to
know him: q wholesome town blown
always with odorous airs; and filled
with the voices Of young people, boys
climbing the cattle trails. s~Weethearts
wandering along the pebbly water
courses of Sunday afternoons; or old
men and women coming slowly along
the walks under the arching NAPLES,
speaking kindly. knowing every n and
the children of every one.
From the last high ridge, where the
upiands began, he could see the great
vistas. The smoke over the mines and
factories in Earlville. the Mississippi,
a band OF dull silver strung along the
nils OF illinois; and now, on his HON
shore. far to the north, a single farm
wagon, toiling up the red cash Of n
road to the yellow bluff, then rafting
on, a crawling speck at last, the
wrapped figure in the seat alone and
desolats under the sky. the low-press-
ing globe OF gray. He thought it might
be his friend. Hemminger, going back
to his home people. He would tell them
the news. He wondered how they would
receive it; IT they would not be sad
de1ed? They would open their weekly
paper. the damp and soggy little sheet
as II came from Its old press. and read
mis- announcement. The talk would 90
about-some nameless blight that had
struck down their champion, and only
the Infinite silence would answer. He
thought Of the farmers driving home.
ward from the rally that would not
take place. rough CARRIED, silent, in a
sort OF awe of Thad Tanner. the little
gray boss who was on top again. They
would guess at this much. But Cur
ran who, somehow, had appealed to
their own secret sentiment; who had
come clearing an obscure message, the
hghting good. the newer ideal Of de-
Notwithstanding past the money
lust of the republic-he. who had
dreamed that out of their gray and
honest lives he might weave the col.
ors OF his own infinite possibilities
what would they think of him?
tomorrow was the election, and by
n1ght the great fight would be won.
Ihey would all win. Delroy, he mill
tant governor, the Junior senator; all
the men Of the north in tho brilliant
campaign. But he who mad been OF
Them. OF whom the homo folk had been