The Wolf Point herald. (Wolf Point, Mont.) 1913-1940, 1923-11-08
CHAPTER II
East Meets West.

vi lOuI SldSeS IHdI pdSSeu thiouSh
Buckeye each day-the evening stage
from up the river-frOm the city TWEEN
ty miles aboye-was by far the most
important. Its arrival was the one
big event of the day. Half the village
was usually gathered about the broken
porch of Zeke Polick's general store
to see it come in.
The Buckeye post Office shifted back
and forth across the River road about
as often as the nation changed presi-
dents. Zeke Pollok was a Wing, and
the man in the White House in far-off
Washington happened to be a Wing.
That's why the post office was in a
store on the north side of the road in
the year of grace, 1S49, instead of in
a store ON the south side.
The River road was a bigger insti-
tuition than the town. 1t not only
halved the town; it well-nigh halved
its political faith. From the WarhOpe
farmstead at the east edge to the
school house at the west edge, it
formed, in political years, a sort of
devils lane" between the north sid
ers and the south siders. The farm
stead and the r%ed-roofed cottage
which is to say Jack Warhope and
the Colins-were both on the north
side of the road.
Simon Colin had once been Zeke
Polick's partner, but had dissolved the
partnership years before to follow the
more lucrative business of lending
money and collecting rents-mostly
his own. A banker without a bank, so
shrewd was his judgment and 50 hard
the bargains he drove, that half the
Flatwoods was under mortgage to him.
He still kept a sort of office in the
store-a desk by the dusty window; a
narrow shelf nailed along the tops Of
the palings at the longer side; a chair;
a table against the wall, on it three or
four law books that were never
opened. There was 40 safe. That
was at the red-roofed cottage.
Not a very imposing ofice-but the
commerce of the FlatwoOds passed
across those time-faded, Imprinted
palings. Even Zeke Pollok; Simon's
closest business associate, would
have been astonished to know the ac-
tual wealth that journeyed in an old
satchel back and forth every day be
tween house and store.
Dangerous?-twice the attempt had
been made to see inside that satchel,
and a man had died each time. The
old banker carried a huge double-bar-
relied horse pistol, loaded half to the
muzzle with buckshot, and he knew
the way to its light trigger as the
weasel knows the way to it's den.
And the safe at home-a craftsman
from the city tried that n night. The
old man blew a hole in his ribs the
size of an open hand with a sawed
off shotgun he always kept near his
bed.
The old banker had just closed his
desk, picked up the rusty satchel, and
come out on the porch of the store
when his daughter and the big woods
man joined the crowd around the post
ofice-a crowd doubly large, gathered
for the doubly suspicious occasion.
The girl ran to her father and
slipped an arm about his waist. He
looked down at her and grunted. 1t
was the only sign he gave that he knew
she was there.
Up beyond the Warhope farmstead
there came a prodigious rattle of
wheels, a CHATTER of iron-shod hoofs,
and the Milford stage dashed into
sight; roared across the wooden
bridge where the River road crossed
Eagle run rumbled past the church
into the village and pulled up in front
of the post office.
The crowd focked around it. The
guard threw off the mail sack. Zeke
Pollok picked it up and carried it in,
and the numbering stage ratified away
down the river.
One passenger had alighted, a tall
young mar wearing a full beard, neatly
cropped and ~pointed-the new preach
er, without a doubt-quite the oldest
array of satchels and umbrella, patent
leather boots and high hat, stiff neck
stock and enormous spectacles, that
had ever invaded the Flatwoods.
He seemed nervous as he stood at
the side of the road peering through
his ~spectacles, slightly amber
tinted, upon the crowd.