The Irish standard., 1916-03-11

That dry season saw the beginning
of a drought that will long hold the
BLACKLIST page in the annals of the San
Francisco basin. 1t seemed but days
after the rains when the sparse grass
and new-leafed bushes Of the wilder
ness began to shrivel up. Day after
day the sun leaped braZcn, from the
horizon to the sky. his first level rays
searching out the scant, stored mois-
tnre Of whiting foliage, and the very
sap Of the hardy brush. While the cat-
tie were still fat they became weak
and turned to cactus for noursllmcnt.
They broke down the sickly branches
with their horns and rubbed them In
the sand to free them of the worst OF
the thOrns. HerdcrS rode the rounds
on weakening horses and dismounted
time and again to pull out spines from
the shouts of passive, painting cows.
Bulls died Of broken pride. They
would not subject themselves to the
pain Of eating cactus. The river-the
great rivcr-was no longer great. 1t
grumbled with weak voice from deep
down in the gorge. Gerry watched its
falling level with anxious eye and one
day sent an urgent call to Lieber for
help.
Lieber came. He brought with him
an army, every man bearing with him
the tool that had come soonest to his
hand. Spades were few and hoes; the
bright shares of pick or two caught
the light like lnnccs. Most Of the men
depended on the heavy sheath knives
they carried ut their sides. They
looked like an army Of sansculottcs
began to Dig. In two days they had
sunk 1t to the required level. When
they finished Gerry rode back with
them to help bring down Lieber's
weakening stock.
Kemp had stayed in sole possession
at Liebcr's. Digging was not in his
line, so he had volunteered to hold the
fort against the return Of the garr-
son. He welcomed Lieber and Gerry
to supper Of his own making in ap-
proved cowboy style: sour-dough bis
cults made by master hand, steaks
cut from freshly killed calf and fried
before toughncss set in, pile Of
creamy mashed spuds. There was n
LONELINESS about the meal that made
them eat in silence. They felt rs
though for years they had been wor-
Shipping false culinary gods. The pile
Of steaks. the heaped potatoes. the hot
biscuit, were exotics. strayed into a
land Of pepper sauces and garlic. The
supper seemed to the three men to
take on personality and to be III Mt
ease, but it was they that were III Mt
ease for the supper reminded them
that they were exiles.
The silence on the veranda that
night was even longer than usual. Ger
rvs mind went back to a French book
that he had bought in desperation ut
Pernambuco. He had ploughed through
half Of 1t and with catch in his
thoughts he remembered that 1t lay
open on the table when he left his lit
tie room in Piranhas on the morning
Of mornings that had broken life in
two. Some Of its phrases, conned
over and over again in his struggle
with the half-forgotten idiom, came
back to him. la parole est du temps,
lie silence de l'eternite." He smiled to
himself at the twisted meaning the
long silence OF his companions gave to
the words.
Then the smile left his face. He re-
membered the argument. The instinct
we all have for superhuman truths
tells US that 1t is dangerous to be 81
lent with those we would keep Mt a
distance, for words pass and are for
gotten between men, but silence-ac-
tive silence-is forever ineffaceable.
True life-the moments Of life that